 Oliver Twist, Chapter XXVIII. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, reading by Brad Philippone. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, Chapter XXVIII, looks after Oliver and proceeds with his adventures. "'Wools tear you, throats,' muttered Sykes, grinding his teeth. I wish I was among sub-a-view, you'd howl the horse are for it.' As Sykes growled forth this implication with the most desperate ferocity that his desperate nature was capable of, he rested the body of the wounded boy across his bended knee, and turned his head for an instant to look back at his pursuers. There was little to be made out in the mist and darkness, but the loud shouting of men vibrated through the air, and the barking of the neighbouring dogs roused by the sound of the alarm bell resounded in every direction. "'Stop, you white-livered hound,' cried the robber, shouting after Toby Crackett, who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead. Stop!' The repetition of the word brought Toby to a dead standstill, for he was not quite satisfied that he was beyond the range of pistol-shot, and Sykes was in no mood to be played with. "'Bear a hand with the boy,' cried Sykes, beckoning furiously to his confederate. Come back!' Toby made a show of returning, but ventured in a low voice, broken for want of breath, to intimate considerable reluctance as he came slowly along. "'Quicker!' cried Sykes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and drawing a pistol from his pocket. Don't play booty with me!' At this moment the noise grew louder. Sykes, a game-looking round, could discern that the men who had given chase were already climbing the gate to the field in which he stood, and that a couple of dogs were some paces in advance of them. "'It's all up, Bill!' cried Toby. Drop the kid and show him your heels!' With his parting advice, Mr. Crackett, preferring the chance of being shot by his friend to the certainty of being taken by his enemies, fairly turned tail and darted off at full speed. Sykes clenched his teeth, took one look around, threw over the prostrate form of Oliver, the cape in which he had been hurriedly muffled, ran along the front of the hedge, as if to distract the attention of those behind from the spot where the boy lay, paused for a second before another hedge, which met it at right angles, and whirling his pistol high into the air, cleared it at a bound, and was gone. "'Ho! Ho! there!' cried a tremulous voice in the rear. "'Pincher! Neptune! Come here! Come here!' The dogs, who in common with their masters, seemed to have no particular relish for the sport in which they were engaged, readily answered to the command. Three men, who had by this time advanced some distance into the field, stopped to take a council together. "'My advice, or at least wise I should say, my orders is,' said the fattest man of the party, that we immediately go home again. "'I am agreeable to anything which is agreeable to Mr. Giles,' said a shorter man, who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very pale in the face, and very polite, as frightened men frequently are. "'I shouldn't wish to appear ill mannered, gentlemen,' said the third, who had called the dogs back. "'Mr. Giles ought to know.' "'Certainly,' replied the shorter man. "'And whatever Mr. Giles says, it isn't our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my situation. Think of my stars. I know my situation. To tell the truth, the little man did seem to know his situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a desirable one, for his teeth chatter in his head as he spoke. "'You are afraid, Britols,' said Mr. Giles. "'I ate,' said Britols. "'You are,' said Giles. "'You're a falsehood, Mr. Giles,' said Britols. "'You're a lie,' Britles,' said Mr. Giles. "'Now these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles' taunt, and Mr. Giles' taunt had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of going home again, imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The third man brought the dispute to a close, most philosophically. "'I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen,' said he. "'We're all afraid.' "'Speak for yourself, sir,' said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the party. "'So I do,' replied the man. "'It's natural and proper to be afraid under such circumstances. I am.' "'So am I,' said Britols. "'Only there's no call to tell a man he is so bounceably. These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who had once owed that he was afraid, upon which they all three faced about and ran back again with the completest unanimity until Mr. Giles, who had the shortest wind of the party and was encumbered with a pitchfork, most handsomely insisted on shopping, to make an apology for his hastiness of speech. "'But it's wonderful,' said Mr. Giles, when he had explained. "'A man will do when his blood is up. I should have committed murder, I know I should, if we'd caught one of them rascals. As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment, and as their blood, like his, had all gone down again, some speculation ensued upon the cause of the sudden change in their temperament. "'I know what it was,' said Mr. Giles. "'It was the gate. "'I shouldn't wonder if it was,' exclaimed Britols, catching at the idea. "'You may depend,' said Giles, that the gate stopped the flow of the excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away as I was climbing over it.' By a remarkable coincidence the other two had been visited with the same unpleasant sensation at that precise moment. It was quite obvious, therefore, that it was the gate, especially as there was no doubt regarding the time at which the change had taken place, as all three remembered that they had come in sight of the robbers at the instant of its occurrence. This dialogue was held between the two men who had surprised the burglars, and a travelling tinker who had been sleeping in an outhouse, and who had been roused together with his two mongrel-curses to join in the pursuit. Mr. Giles acted in the double capacity of Butler and Steward to the old lady of the mansion. Britols was a lad of all work, who, having entered her service a mere child, was treated as a promising young boy, still though he was something past thirty. Encouraging each other with such converse as this, but keeping very close together notwithstanding and looking apprehensively round, whatever a fresh gust rattled through the boughs, the three men hurried back to a tree behind which they had left their lantern, lest its light should inform the thieves in which direction to fire. Catching up to the light, they made the best of their way home at a good round trot, and long after their dusky forms had ceased to be discernible the light might have been seen twinkling and dancing in the distance, like some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmosphere through which it was swiftly bored. The air grew colder as day came slowly on, and the mist rolled along the ground like a dense cloud of smoke. The grass was wet, the pathways and low places were all mire and water. The damp breath of an unwholesome wind went languidly by with a hollow moaning. Still Oliver lay motionless and insensible on the spot where Sykes had left him. Morning drew on a pace. The air became more sharp and piercing as its first dull hue, the death of night rather than the birth of day, glimmered faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the darkness grew more and more defined, and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes. The rain came down thick and fast and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. But Oliver felt it not as it beat against him, for he lay stretched helpless and unconscious on his bed of clay. At length a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed, and uttering at the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and useless at his side. The bandage was saturated with blood. He was so weak that he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture. When he had done so he looked feebly round for help and groaned with pain. Trembling in every joint from cold and exhaustion he made an effort to stand upright, but shuddering from head to foot fell prostrate on the ground. After a short return of the stupor of which he had been so long plunged, Oliver, urged by a creeping sickness at his heart, which seemed to warn him that if he lay there he must surely die, got upon his feet at a say to walk. His head was dizzy, and he staggered to and fro like a drunken man, but he kept up nevertheless and with his head drooping languidly on his breast when stumbling onward he knew not wither. And now hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came crowding on his mind. He seemed to be still walking between sikes and cracket, who were angrily disputing for the very words they said sounded in his ears, and when he caught his own attention as it were by making some violent effort to save himself from falling he found that he was talking to them. Then he was alone with sikes plodding on as on the previous day, and as shadowy people passed him he felt the robbers grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly he started back at the report of firearms. There rose into the air loud cries and shouts, lights gleamed before his eyes. All was noise and tumult as some unseen hand bore him hurriedly away. Through all these rapid visions there ran an undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain which whirried and tormented him incessantly. Thus he staggered on, creeping almost mechanically between the bars of gates or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way until he reached a road. Here the rain began to fall so heavily that it roused him. He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there was a house, which perhaps he could reach. Pitying his condition they might have compassion on him, and if they did not it would be better he thought to die near human beings than in the lonely open fields. He summoned up all his strength for one last trial and bent his faltering steps towards it. As he drew nearer to this house of feeling come over him that he had seen it before, he remembered nothing of its details, but the shape and aspect of the building seemed familiar to him. That garden wall. On the grass inside he had fallen on his knees last night and prayed the two men's mercy. It was the very house they had attempted to rob. Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognized the place that for an instant he forgot the agony of his wound and thought only of flight. Flight! He could scarcely stand, and if he were in full possession of all the best powers of his slight and youthful frame wither could he fly. He pushed against the garden gate. It was unlocked and swung open on its hinges. He tottered across the lawn, climbed the steps, knocked faintly at the door, and his whole strength failing him sunk down against one of the pillars on the little portico. It happened that about this time Mr. Giles, Brittle's, and the Tinker were recruiting themselves after the fatigues and terrors of the night with tea and sundries in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. Giles's habit to admit to too great familiarity the humbler servants towards whom it was rather his want to deport himself with a lofty affability which, whether gratified, could not fail to remind him of his superior position in society. But death, fires, and burglary make all men equals. So Mr. Giles sat with his leg stretched out before the kitchen fender, leaning his left arm on the table, while with his right he illustrated a circumstantial and minute account of the robbery to which his bearers, but especially the cook and housemaid who were of the party, listened with breathless interest. "'It was about half-past two,' said Mr. Giles, but I wouldn't swear that it mightn't have been a little nearer three when I woke up, and turning round in my bed as it might be so, here Mr. Giles turned round at his chair and pulled the corner of the tablecloth over him to imitate bed-clothes. I fancied I hear the noise. At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale and asked the housemaid to shut the door, who asked Bretles, who asked the tinker, who pretended not to hear. "'Here the noise,' continued Mr. Giles. I says at first, this is illusion, and was composing myself off to sleep, when I hear the noise again distinct. What sort of noise?' asked the cook. "'A kind of a bursting noise,' replied Mr. Giles, looking round him. More like the noise of powdering an iron bar on nutmeg greater, suggested Bretles. It was when you heard it, sir,' rejoined Mr. Giles, but at this time it had a bursting sound. I turned down the clothes, continued Giles, rolling back the tablecloth, sat up in bed, and listened. The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated lore, and drew their chairs closer together. "'I heard it now quite apparent,' resumed Mr. Giles. "'Somebody, I says, is forcing of a door or window what's to be done. I'll call up that poor lad, Bretles, and save him from being murdered in his bed, or his throat, I says, may be cut from his right ear to his left, without his ever knowing it.' Here all eyes were turned upon Bretles, who fixed his upon the speaker, and stared at him, with his mouth wide open, and his face expressive of the most unmitigated horror. "'I tossed off the clothes,' said Giles, throwing away the tablecloth, and looking very hard at the cook and housemaid. Guts softly out of bed, drew on a pair of ladies present, Mr. Giles,' murmured the tinker. "'Of shoes, sir,' said Giles, turning upon him and laying great emphasis on the word, sees the loaded pistol that always goes upstairs with the plate-basket, and walked on tiptoes to his room. Bretles, I says, when I had woke him, don't be frightened. So you did, observed Bretles, in a low voice. "'We're dead men, I think,' Bretles, I says, continued Giles. But don't be frightened. Was he frightened?' asked the cook. "'Not a bit of it,' replied Mr. Giles. He was as firm, ah, pretty near as firm as I was. I should have died at once, I'm sure, if it had been me, observed the housemaid. You're a woman,' retorted Bretles, plucking up a little. "'Bretles is right,' said Mr. Giles, nodding his head approvingly. From a woman nothing else was to be expected. We, being men, took a dark lantern that was standing on Bretles' hob, and groped our way downstairs in the pitch-dark, as it might be so. Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two steps with his eyes shot to accompany his description with appropriate action, when he started violently in common with the rest of the company, and hurried back to his chair. The cook and housemaid screamed. "'It was a knock,' said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect serenity. Open the door, somebody. Nobody moved. "'It seems a strange sort of thing, a knock, coming at such a time in the morning,' said Mr. Giles, surveying the pale faces which surrounded him, and looking very blank himself. But the door must be opened. Do hear, somebody!' Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Bretles, but that young man, being naturally modest, probably considered himself nobody, and so held that the inquiry could not have any application to him. At all events he tendered no reply. Mr. Giles directed an appealing glance at the tinker, but he had suddenly fallen asleep. The women were out of the question. "'If Bretles would rather open the door in the presence of witnesses,' said Mr. Giles after a short silence, "'I am ready to make one. So am I,' said the tinker, waking up as suddenly as he had fallen asleep. Bretles capitulated on these terms, and the party being somewhat reassured by the discovery, made on throwing open the shutters, that it was now broad to-day, took their way upstairs with the dogs in front. The two women, who were afraid to stay below, brought up the rear. By the advice of Mr. Giles they all talked very loud toward any evil disposed person outside, that they were strong in numbers, and by a master stroke of policy originating in the brain of the same ingenious gentleman the dog's tails were well pinched in the hall to make them bark savagely. These precautions, having been taken, Mr. Giles held on fast by the tinker's arm to prevent his running away, as he pleasantly said, and gave the word of command to open the door. Bretles obeyed. The group, peeping timorously over each other's shoulders, beheld no more formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, who raised his heavy eyes and mutely solicited their compassion. A boy, exclaimed Mr. Giles, variantly pushing the tinker into the background. What's the matter with the gay white—Bretles, look here, don't you know? Bretles, who had got behind the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver than he uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and one arm, fortunately not the broken limb, lugged him straight into the hall and deposited him at full length on the floor thereof. Here he is, bald Giles, calling in a state of great excitement up the staircase. Here's one of the thieves, ma'am. Here's a thief-miss. Wound it, miss! I shot him, miss! And Bretles held the light. In a lantern, miss! cried Bretles, applying one hand to the side of his mouth so that his voice might travel the better. The two women's servants ran upstairs to carry the intelligence that Mr. Giles had captured a robber, and the tinker busied himself in endeavoring to restore Oliver lest he should die before he could be hanged. In the midst of all this noise and commotion there was heard a sweet female voice which quelled it in an instant. Giles, whispered the voice from the stair-head. I'm here, miss! replied Mr. Giles. Don't be frightened, miss! I ain't much injured. He didn't make a very desperate resistance, miss. I was soon too many for him. Hush! replied the young lady. You frightened my aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt? Wounded to desperate miss! replied Giles, with indescribable complacency. He looks as if he was a goon, miss! Bald Bretles, in the same manner as before. Wouldn't you like to come and look at him, miss? In case he should. Hush! Pray there's a good man, rejoined the lady. Wait quietly only one instant while I speak to aunt. With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice the speaker tripped away. She soon returned with the direction that the wounded person was to be carried carefully upstairs to Mr. Giles' room, and that Bretles was to saddle the pony and but take himself instantly to Chertsey, from which place he was to dispatch with all speed a constable and a doctor. But won't you take one look at him, first, miss? asked Mr. Giles, with as much pride as if Oliver were some bird of rare plumage that he had skillfully brought down. Not one little peep, miss? Not now for the world, replied the young lady. Poor fellow! O treat him kindly, Giles, for my sake. The old servant looked up at the speaker as she ran away, with a glance as proud and admiring as if she had been his own child. Then, bending over Oliver, he helped to carry him upstairs with the care and solicitude of a woman. In a handsome room, though its furniture had rather the air of old-fashioned comfort than of modern elegance, there sat two ladies at a well-spread breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous care in a full suit of black, was in attendance upon them. He had taken his station some half way between the sideboard and the breakfast-table, and with his body drawn up to its full height his head thrown back and inclined the nearest trifle on one side, his left leg advanced and his right hand thrust into his waistcoat while his left hung down by his side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who labored under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and importance. Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in years, but the high-backed, oaken chair in which she sat was not more upright than she. Dressed with the utmost nicety and precision, an acquaint mixture of bygone costume with some slight concessions to the prevailing taste which rather served to point the old style pleasantly than to impair its effect. She sat, at a stately manner, with her hands folded on the table before her, her eyes, and age had dimmed but little of their brightness, were attentively upon her young companion. The younger lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood. At that age, when, if ever angels be for God's good purposes enthroned in mortal forms, they may be without impiety supposed to abide in such as hers. She was not past seventeen, cast in so slight and exquisite a mold, so mild and gentle, so pure and beautiful, that earth seemed not her element, nor its rough creatures her fit companions. The very intelligence that shone in her deep blue eye and was stamped upon her noble head seemed scarcely of her age or of the world, and yet the changing expression of sweetness and good humor, the thousand lights that played about the face and left no shadow there, above all the smile, the cheerful, happy smile, were made for home and fireside peace and happiness. She was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. Chancing to raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, she playfully put back her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead, and threw into her beaming look such an expression of affection and artless loveliness that blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her. And Brittle's has been gone upwards of an hour, has he, asked the old lady after a pause. An hour and twelve minutes, ma'am, replied Mr. Giles, referring to a silver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon. He is always slow, remarked the old lady. Brittle's always was a slow boy, ma'am, replied the attendant, and seeing by the buy that Brittle's had been a slow boy for upwards of thirty years, there appeared no great probability of his ever being a fast one. He gets worse instead of better, I think, said the elder lady. It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play with any other boys, said the young lady, smiling. Mr. Giles was apparently considering the propriety of indulging in a respectful smile himself when a gig drove up to the garden gate, out of which there jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the door, and who, getting quickly into the house by some mysterious process, burst into the room and nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the breakfast table together. I never heard of such a thing, exclaimed the fat gentleman. My dear Mrs. Maley, bless my soul, in the silence of the night, too. I never heard of such a thing. With these expressions of condolence the fat gentleman shook hands with both ladies, and drawing up a chair inquired how they found themselves. You ought to be dead, positively dead with the fright, said the fat gentleman. Why didn't you send? Bless me, my man should have come in a minute, and so would I, and my assistant would have been delighted, or anybody, I am sure, under such circumstances, dear, dear, so unexpected, in the silence of the night, too. The doctor seemed especially troubled by the fact of the robbery having been unexpected and attempted in the night-time, as if it were the established custom of gentlemen of the house-breaking way to transact business at noon, and to make an appointment by post a day or two previous. And you, Miss Rose, said the doctor, turning to the young lady, I owe very much so indeed, said Rose, interrupting him. But there is a poor creature upstairs whom Aunt wishes you to see. Ah, to be sure, replied the doctor, so there is. That was your handiwork, Giles, I understand. Mr. Giles, who had been feverishly putting the teacups to rights, blushed very red and said that he had had that honour. Honor, eh, said the doctor. What I don't know. Perhaps it's as honourable to hit a thief in a black kitchen as to hit your man at twelve paces. Fancy that he fired in the air, and you fought a duel, Giles. Mr. Giles, who thought this light treatment of the matter an unjust attempt at diminishing his glory, answered respectfully that it was not for the like of him to judge about that. But he rather thought it was no joke to the opposite party. God, that's true, said the doctor. Where is he? Show me the way. I'll look in again as I come down, Mrs. Maley. That's the little window that he got in at, eh? Well, I couldn't have believed it. Talking all the while he followed Mr. Giles upstairs, and while he is going upstairs the reader may be informed that Mr. Losburn, a surgeon in the neighbourhood, known through a circuit of ten miles round as the doctor, had grown fat more from good humour than from good living, and was as kind and hearty and with all as eccentric an old bachelor as will be found in five times that space by any explorer alive. The doctor was absent much longer than either he or the ladies had anticipated. A large, flat box was fetched out of the gig, and a bedroom bell was rung very often, and the servants ran up and downstairs perpetually, from which tokens it was justly concluded that something important was going on above. At length he returned, and in reply to an anxious inquiry after his patient looked very mysterious and closed the door carefully. This is a very extraordinary thing, Mrs. Maley, said the doctor, standing with his back to the door as if to keep it shut. He is not in danger, I hope, said the old lady. Why, that would not be an extraordinary thing under the circumstances, replied the doctor, though I don't think he is. Have you seen the thief? No, rejoined the old lady, nor heard anything about him. No. I beg your pardon, ma'am, interposed Mr. Giles, but I was going to tell you about him when Dr. Losburn came in. The fact was that Mr. Giles had not, at first, been able to bring his mind to the avowal that he had only shot a boy. Such commendations had been bestowed upon his bravery that he could not for the life of him help postponing the explanation for a few delicious minutes, during which he had flourished in the very zenith of a brief reputation for undaunted courage. Rose wishes to see the man, said Mrs. Bailey, but I wouldn't hear of it. He, rejoined the doctor, there is nothing very alarming in his appearance. Have you any objection to see him in my presence? If it be necessary, replied the old lady, certainly not. Then I think it is necessary, said the doctor. At all events, I am quite sure that you would deeply regret not having done so if you postponed it. He is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow me, Miss Rose, will you permit me, not the slightest fear I pledge you my honour. End of Chapter 29 Oliver Twist, Chapter 30 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Brad Philippone. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, Chapter 30 relates what Oliver's new visitors thought of him. With many loacacious assurances that they would be agreeably surprised in the aspect of the criminal, the doctor drew the young lady's arm through one of his, and offering his disengaged hand to Mrs. Bailey led them with much ceremony and statelyness upstairs. Now, said the doctor in a whisper as he softly turned the handle of a bedroom door, let us hear what you think of him. He has not been shaved very recently, but he don't look at all ferocious, notwithstanding. Stop, though. Let me first see that he is in visiting order. Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning them to advance, he closed the door when they had entered, and gently drew back the curtains of the bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged black-visaged ruffian they had expected to behold, there lay a mere child, worn with pain and exhaustion, and sunk into a deep sleep. His wounded arm, bound and splintered up, was crossed upon his breast, his head reclined upon the other arm, which was half hidden by his long hair as it streamed over the pillow. The honest gentleman held the curtain in his hand, and looked on for a minute or so in silence. Whilst he was watching the patient thus, the younger lady glided softly past, and seating herself in a chair by the bedside, gathered Oliver's hair from his face, as she stooped over him, her tears fell upon his forehead. The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection he had never known. Thus a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of water in a silent place, or the odor of a flower, or the mention of a familiar word, would sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never were in this life, which vanished like a breath, which some brief memory of a happier existence long gone by, would seem to have awakened, which no voluntary exertion of the mind can ever recall. What can this mean, exclaimed the elder lady? This poor child can never have been the pupil of robbers. Vice, said the surgeon, replacing the curtain, takes up a boat in many temples, and who can say that a fair outside shall not enshrine her? But at so early an age, urged Rose. My dear young lady rejoined the surgeon, mournfully shaking his head. Crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims. But can you—oh, can you really believe that this delicate boy has been the voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society, said Rose? The surgeon shook his head in a manner which intimated that he feared it was very possible, and observing that they might disturb the patient led the way into an adjoining apartment. But even if he has been wicked, pursued Rose, think how young he is. Think that he may never have known a mother's love or the comfort of a home, that ill usage and blows or the want of bread may have driven him to herd with men who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy's sake think of this. Before you let them drag this sick child to a prison, which in any case must be the grave of all his chances of amendment. Oh, as you love me, and know that I have never felt the want of parents in your goodness and affection, but that I might have done so, and might have been equally helpless and unprotected with this poor child, have pity upon him before it is too late. My dear love, said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping girl to her bosom, do think I would harm the hair of his head. Oh no, replied Rose eagerly. No, surely, said the old lady. My days are drawing to their clothes, and may mercy be shown to me as I show it to others. What can I do to save him, sir? Let me think, ma'am, said the doctor. Let me think. Mr. Lawsburn thrust his hands into his pockets, and took several turns up and down the room, often stopping and balancing himself on his toes, and frowning frightfully. After various exclamations of, I've got it now, and no, I haven't, and as many renewals of the walking and frowning he at length made a dead halt and spoke as follows. I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully Giles, and that little boy brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a faithful fellow and an old servant, I know, but you can make it up to him in a thousand ways and reward him for being such a good shot besides. You don't object to that. Unless there is some other way of preserving the child, replied Mrs. Maley, there is no other, said the doctor, no other. Take my word for it. Then my aunt invests you with full power, said Rose, smiling through her tears, but pray don't be harder upon the poor fellow that is indispensably necessary. You seem to think, retorted the doctor, that everybody is disposed to be heart-hearted to-day, except yourself, Miss Rose. I only hope for the sake of the rising male sex, generally, that you may be found in as vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by the first eligible young fellow who appeals to your compassion, and I wish I were a young fellow that I might avail myself on the spot of such a favorable opportunity for doing so as the present. You are as great a boy as poor Brittle's himself, returned Rose, blushing. Well, said the doctor, laughing heartily, that is no very difficult matter, but to return to this boy, the great point of our agreement is yet to come. He will wake in an hour or so, I daresay, and although I have told that thick-hitted constable fellow downstairs that he mustn't be moved or spoken to on peril of his life, I think we may converse with him without danger. Now I make this stipulation, that I shall examine him in your presence, and that if from what he says we judge, and I can show to the satisfaction of your cool reason that he is a real and thorough bad one, which is more than possible, he shall be left to his fate without any further interference on my part at all events. Oh, no, Aunt, in treated Rose. Oh, yes, Aunt, said the doctor. Is it a bargain? He cannot be hardened in vice, said Rose. It is impossible. Very good, retorted the doctor, then so much the more reason for acceding to my proposition. Finally the treaty was entered into, and the parties there unto sat down to wait with some impatience until Oliver should awake. The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer trial than Mr. Lozberg had led them to expect, for hour after hour passed on, and still Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening, indeed, before the kindhearted doctor brought them the intelligence that he was at length sufficiently restored to be spoken to. The boy was very ill, he said, and weak from the loss of blood, but his mind was so troubled with anxiety to disclose something, that he deemed it better to give him the opportunity than to insist upon his remaining quiet until next morning, which he should otherwise have done. The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple history, and was often compelled to stop by pain and want of strength. It was a solemn thing to hear in the darkened room the feeble voice of the sick child recounting a weary catalog of evils and calamities which hard men had brought upon him. Oh, if when we oppressed and grind our fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought on the dark evidences of human error, which, like dense and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly it is true, but not less surely to heaven, to pour thereafter vengeance on our heads, if we heard but one instant in imagination the deep testimony of dead men's voices which no power can stifle and no pride shut out, where would be the injury and injustice, the suffering, misery, cruelty, and wrong that each day's life brings with it. Oliver's pillow was smooth by gentle hands that night, and loveliness and virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and happy, and could have died without a murmur. The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver composed to rest again, then the doctor, after wiping his eyes and condemning them for being weak all at once, he took himself downstairs to open upon Mr. Giles, and finding nobody about the parlours, it occurred to him that he could perhaps originate the proceedings with better effect in the kitchen, so into the kitchen he went. There were assembled in that lower house of the domestic Parliament of the women servants, Mr. Brittle's, Mr. Giles, the tinker who had received a special invitation to regale himself for the remainder of the day in consideration of his services, and the constable. The latter gentleman had a large staff, a large head, large features, and large half-moots, and he looked as if he had been taking a proportionate allowance of ale, as indeed he had. The adventures of the previous night were still under discussion, for Mr. Giles was expatiating upon his presence of mind when the doctor entered. Mr. Brittle's with a mug of ale in his hand was corroborating everything before his superior said it. "'Sit still,' said the doctor, waving his hand. "'Thank you, sir,' said Mr. Giles. "'Mrs. wished some ale to be given out, sir, and as I felt no ways inclined for my own little room, sir, and was disposed for company, I am taking mine among them here.' Brittle's headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and gentlemen generally were understood to express the gratification they derived from Mr. Giles's condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a patronizing air, as much as to say that so long as they behaved properly he would never desert them. "'How is the patient to-night, sir?' asked Giles. "'So-so,' returned the doctor. "'I am afraid you have cut yourself into a scrape there, Mr. Giles. "'I hope you don't mean to say, sir,' said Mr. Giles, trembling, that he's going to die. "'If I thought it, I should never be happy again. I wouldn't cut a boy off. No, not even Brittle's here. Not for all the plate in the county, sir.' "'That's not the point,' said the doctor mysteriously. "'Mr. Giles, are you a Protestant?' "'Yes, sir, I hope so,' faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very pale. "'And what are you, boy?' said the doctor, turning sharply upon Brittle's. "'Lord bless me, sir,' replied Brittle's, starting violently. "'I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir.' "'Then tell me this,' said the doctor, both of you, both of you. "'Are you going to take upon yourself to swear that the boy upstairs is the boy that was put through the little window last night? Out with it. Come, we are prepared for you.' The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best tempered creatures on earth, made this to man in such a dreadful tone of anger that Giles and Brittle's who were considerably muddled by ale and excitement stared at each other in a state of stupification. "'Pay attention to the reply, Constable, will you?' said the doctor, shaking his forefinger with great salinity of manner and tapping the bridge of his nose with it to bespeak the exercise of that worthy's utmost acuteness. Something may come of this before long.' The Constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff of office, which had been reclining indolently in the chimney corner. "'It's a simple question of identity, you will observe,' said the doctor. "'That's what it is, sir,' replied the Constable, coughing with great violence, for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it had gone the wrong way. "'Here's the house broken into,' said the doctor, and a couple of men catch one moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of gunpowder smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness, here's a boy come to that very same house next morning, and because he happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him by doing which they place his life in great danger and swear he is the thief. Now the question is whether these men are justified by the fact, if not in what situation do they place themselves?' The Constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn't law, he would be glad to know what it was. "'I ask you again,' thundered the doctor, "'are you, on your solemn oes, able to identify that boy?' Brittle's looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles. Mr. Giles looked doubtfully at Brittle's. The Constable put his hand behind his ear to catch the reply. The two women and the tinker leaned forward to listen. The doctor glanced keenly around, when a ring was heard at the gate, and at the same moment the sound of wheels. "'It's the runners,' cried Brittle's, to all appearance much relieved. The what?' exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn. "'The Bow Street officer,' replied Brittle's, taking up a candle. Me and Mr. Giles sent for him this morning.' "'What?' cried the doctor. "'Yes,' replied Brittle's. "'I sent a messy jump by the coachman, and I only wonder they weren't here before, sir.' "'You did, did you? And confound your slow coaches down here, that's all,' said the doctor, walking away. End of chapter 30. Oliver Twist, chapter 31. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Brad Philippone. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, chapter 31. Involves a critical position. "'Whose that?' inquired Brittle's, opening the door a little way with the chain up, and peeping out, shading the candle with his hand. "'Open the door,' replied a man outside. "'Is the officer's from Bow Street, as was sent to today?' Much comforted by this assurance, Brittle's opened the door to its full width, and confronted a portly man in a great coat, who walked in without saying anything more, and wiped his shoes on the mat as coolly as if he lived there. "'Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will you, young man?' said the officer. "'He's in the gig, a-mind in the Prad. Have you got a coach out here that you could put it up in for five or ten minutes?' Brittle's replying in the affirmative and pointing out the building, the portly man stepped back to the garden gate and helped his companion to put up the gig, while Brittle's lighted them, in a state of great admiration. This done, they returned to the house, and being shown into a parlor, took off their great coats and hats, and showed like what they were. The man who had knocked at the door was a stout personage of middle-height, aged about fifty, with shiny black hair, cropped pretty close, half-whiskers, a round face and sharp eyes. The other was a red-headed bony man in top boots, with a rather ill-favoured confidence, and a turned-up, sinister looking nose. "'Tell you, Governor, that Bluthers and Duff is here, will you?' said the stouter man, smoothing down his hair, and laying a pair of handcuffs on the table. "'Oh, good evening, master! Can I have a word or two with you in private, if you please?' This was addressed to Mr. Losburn, who now made his appearance, that gentleman, motioning Brittle's to retire, brought in the two ladies, and shut the door. "'This is the lady of the house,' said Mr. Losburn, motioning towards Mrs. Maley. Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he put his hat on the floor, and, taking a chair, motioned to Duff to do the same. The latter gentleman, who did not appear quite so much accustomed to good society, or quite so much at his ease in it, one of the two, seated himself after undergoing several muscular affections of the limbs and the head of his stick into his mouth with some embarrassment. "'Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,' said Blathers, "'what are all the circumstances?' Mr. Losburn, who appeared desirous of gaining time, recounted them at great length and with much circumlocution. Mr. Blathers and Duff looked very knowing, meanwhile, and occasionally exchanged a nod. "'I can't say for certain till I see the work, of course,' said Blathers, but my opinion at once is, I don't mind committing myself to that extent, that this wasn't done by a yokel, eh, Duff?' "'Certainly not,' replied Duff. "'And, translating the word yokel for the benefit of the ladies, I apprehend your meaning to be that this attempt was not made by a countryman,' said Mr. Losburn, with a smile. "'That's it, master,' replied Blathers. "'This is all about the robbery, is it?' "'All,' replied the doctor. "'Now, what is this about this here boy that the servants are talking on?' said Blathers. "'Nothing at all,' replied the doctor. "'One of the frightened servants chose to take it into his head that he had something to do with this attempt to break into the house, but it's nonsense, sheer absurdity.' "'Where he easy disposed of, if it is,' remarked Duff. "'What he says is quite correct,' observed Blathers, nodding his head in a confirmatory way, and playing carelessly with the handcuffs as if they were a pair of castanets. "'Who is the boy? What account does he give of himself? Where does he come from? He didn't drop out of the clouds, did he, master?' "'Of course not,' replied the doctor, with a nervous glance at the two ladies. "'I know his whole history, but we can talk about that presently. You would like first to see the place where the thieves made their attempt, I suppose.' "'Certainly,' rejoined Mr. Blathers. "'We'd better inspect the premises first and examine the servants afterwards. That's the usual way of doing business.' Lights were then procured, and Mr. Blathers and Duff, attended by the native constable, Brittle's, Giles, and everybody else in short, went into the little room at the end of the passage and looked out at the window, and afterwards went round by way of the lawn and looked in at the window, and after that had a candle handed out to inspect the shutter-width, and after that a lantern to trace the footsteps with, and after that a pitchfork to poke the bushes with. This done amidst the breathless interest of all beholders, they came in again, and Mr. Giles and Brittle's were put through a melodramatic representation of their share of the previous night's adventures, which they performed some six times over, contradicting each other in not more than one important respect the first time, and in not more than it does in the last. This consummation, being arrived at, Blathers and Duff cleared the room, and held a long council together, compared with which for secrecy and salinity a consultation of great doctors on the naughtiest point in medicine would be mere child's play. Meanwhile the doctor walked up and down the next room in a very uneasy state, and Mrs. Maley and Rose looked on with anxious faces. Upon my word, he said, making a halt after a great number of very rapid turns, I hardly know what to do. Surely, Sid Rose, the poor child's story, faithfully repeated to these men, would be sufficient to exonerate him. I doubt it, my dear young lady, said the doctor, shaking his head. I don't think it would exonerate him, either with them or with legal functionaries of a higher grade. What is he, after all, they would say? A runaway, judged by mere worldly considerations and probabilities. His story is a very doubtful one. You believe it, surely, interrupted, Rose? I believe it, strange as it is, and perhaps I may be an old fool for doing so, rejoined the doctor. But I don't think it is exactly the tale for a practical police officer, nevertheless. Why not, demanded Rose. Because my pretty cross-examiner, replied the doctor, because viewed with their eyes, there are many ugly points about it. He can only prove the parts that look ill and none of those that look well. Confound the fellows, they will have the why and the wherefore, and will take nothing for granted. On his own showing, you see, he has been the companion of thieves for some time past. He has been carried to a police officer on a charge of picking a gentleman's pocket. He has been taken away forcibly from that gentleman's house to a place which he cannot describe or point out, and of the situation of which he has not the remotest idea. He is brought down to Chertsey by men who seem to have taken a violent fancy to him, whether he will or no, and is put through a window to rob a house, and then just at the very moment when he is going to alarm the inmates, and so do the very thing that would set him all to rights, there rushes into the way a blundering dog of a half-bread butler and shoots him, as if on purpose to prevent his doing any good for himself. Don't you see all this? I see it, of course, replied Rose, smiling at the doctor's impetuosity, but I still do not see anything in it to discriminate the poor child. No, replied the doctor, of course not. Bless the bright eyes of your sex. They never see whether for good or bad more than one side of any question, and that is always the one which first presents itself to them. Having given vent to this result of experience, the doctor put his hands into his pockets and walked up and down the room with even greater rapidity than before. The more I think of it, said the doctor, the more I see that it will occasion endless trouble and difficulty if we put these men in possession of the boy's real story. I am certain it will not be believed, and even if they can do nothing to him in the end, still the dragging it forward and giving publicity to all the doubts that will be cast upon it must interfere materially with your benevolent plan of rescuing him from misery. Oh, what is to be done, cried Rose. Dear, dear, why did they send for these people? Why, indeed, exclaimed Mrs. Maley. I would not have had them here for the world. All I know is, said Mr. Lasburn at last, setting down with a kind of desperate calmness, that we must try and carry it off with a bold face. The object is a good one, and that must be our excuse. The boy has strong symptoms of fever upon him, and is in no condition to be talked to any more. That's one comfort. We must make the best of it, and if bad be the best, it is no fault of ours. Come in. Well, master, said Blathers, entering the room, followed by his colleague and making the door fast before he said any more. This won't a put-up thing. And what the devil's a put-up thing, demanded the doctor impatiently. We call it a put-up robbery, ladies, said Blathers, turning to them as if he pitied their ignorance, but had a contempt for the doctors, when the servants is in it. Nobody suspected them in this case, said Mrs. Maley. Very likely not, ma'am, replied Blathers. What they may have been in it for all that. More likely on that wary account, said Duff. We find it was a town-hand, said Blathers, continuing his report, for the style of work is first rate. Very pretty indeed it is, remarked Duff in an undertone. There was two of them in it, continued Blathers. And they had a boy with them. That's plain from the size of the window. That's all to be said at present. We'll see this lad that you've got upstairs at once, if you please. Perhaps they will take something to drink first, Mrs. Maley, said the doctor, his face brightening as if some new thought had occurred to him. Oh, to be sure, exclaimed Rose, eagerly, you shall have it immediately, if you will. Why, thank you, Miss, replied Blathers, drawing his coat sleeve across his mouth. It's dry work, this sort of duty. Any thing that's handy, Miss, don't put yourself out of the way on our accounts. What shall it be? asked the doctor, following the young lady to the sideboard. A little drop of spirit's master, if it's all the same, replied Blathers. It's a cold ride from London, ma'am, and I always find that spirits comes home warmer to the feelings. This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. Maley, who received it very graciously. While it was being conveyed to her, the doctor slipped out of the room. Oh, said Blathers, not holding his wine glass by the stem, but grasping the bottom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and placing it in front of his chest. I have seen a good many pieces of business like this in my time, ladies. That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton Blathers, said Mr. Duff, assisting his colleague's memory. That was something in this way, won't it? rejoined Mr. Blathers. That was done by Conky Chickweed, that was. You always gave that to him, replied Duff. It was the family pet, I tell you. Conky hadn't any more to do with it than I had. Get out, retorted Mr. Blathers. I know better. Do you mind that time when Conky was robbed of his money, though, would a stout that was, better than any novel book I ever see? What was that, inquired Rose, anxious to encourage any symptoms of good humour in the unwelcome visitors? It was a robbery, miss, that hardly anybody would have been down upon, said Blathers. This here Conky Chickweed—Conky means nosey, ma'am, interposed Duff. Of course the lady knows that, don't she? demanded Mr. Blathers. Always interrupting, you are, partner. This here Conky Chickweed, miss, kept a public house over Battlebridge Way, and he had a cellar where a good many young lords went to see cock-fighting and badger drawing in that. At a very intellectual manner the sports was conducted in, for I've seen him often. He weren't one of the family at that time, and one night he was robbed of three hundred and twenty-seven guineas in a canvass bag that was stole out of his bedroom in the dead of night by a tall man with a black patch over his eye, who had concealed himself under the bed, and, after committing the robbery, jumped slap out of a window, which was only a story high. He was very quick about it, but Conky was quick, too, for he fired a blunder-bus after him, and roused the neighborhood. They set up a human-croy directly, and when they came to look about him, found that Conky had hit the robber, for there was traces of blood all the way to some pailings a good distance off, and there they lost him. However, he had made off with the blunt, and consequently the name of Mr. Chickweed, licensed Whitler, appeared in the Gazette among the other bankrupts, and all manner of benefits and subscriptions, and I don't know what all was got up for the poor man, who was in a very low state of mind about his loss, and went up and down the streets for three or four days, appalling his hair off in such a desperate manner that many people was afraid he might be going to make way with himself. One day he come up to the office, all in a hurry, and have a private interview with the magistrate, who, after a deal of talk, rings the bell, and orders Jem Spires in. Jem was a active officer, and tells him to go and assist Mr. Chickweed in apprehending the man who robbed his house. I see him, Spires, said Chickweed, past my house yesterday morning. Why didn't you up and collar him, says Spires? I was so struck all over he that you might have fractured my skull with a toothpick, says the poor man. But we're short to half, and for between ten and eleven o'clock at night he passed a game. Spires no sooner heard this, that he put some clean linen and a comb in his pocket in case he should have to stop a day or two, and away he goes and sets himself down at one of the public house windows behind the little red curtain with his hat on, all ready to bolt out at a moment's notice. He was smoking his pipe here late at night, when all of a sudden Chickweed roars out here he is. Stop, Thief, murder! Jem Spires dashes out, and there he sees Chickweed a Terran down the street, full cry. Away goes Spires, on goes Chickweed, round turns the people, everybody roars out. Thieves, and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting all the time like mad. Spires loses sight of him a minute as he turns a corner, shoots round, sees a little crowd, dives in. Which is the man? Dummy, says Chickweed, I've lost him again. It was a remarkable occurrence, but he weren't to be seen nowhere, so they went back to the public house. Next morning Spires took his old place and looked out from behind the curtain, for a tall man, with a black patch over his eye, till his own two eyes ached again. At last he couldn't help shutting him to ease him a minute, and the very moment he did so he hears Chickweed a roaring out, here he is. Off he starts once more with Chickweed, halfway down the street ahead of him, and after twice as long a run as the yesterday's one, the man's lost again. This was done once or twice more till one half the neighbors give out that Mr. Chickweed had been robbed by the devil, who was playing tricks with him afterwards, and the other half that poor Mr. Chickweed had gone mad with grief. What did Jem Spires say, inquired the doctor, who had returned to the room shortly after the commencement of the story? Jem Spires, resumed the officer, for a long time said nothing at all, and listened to everything without seeming to, which showed he understood the business. But one morning he walked into the bar, and taken out his snuff-box, said, Chickweed, I found who'd done this here robbery. Have you, says Chickweed? Oh, my dear Spires, only let me have vengeance, and I die contented. Oh, my dear Spires, where is the villain? Come, says Spires, offering a pinch of snuff. None of that, Gammon, you did it yourself. So he had, and a good bit of money he had made by it, too, and nobody would never have found a note if he hadn't been so precious anxious to keep up appearances, said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and clinking the handcuffs together. Very curious indeed, observed the doctor. Now, if you please, you can walk upstairs. If you please, sir, returned Mr. Blathers, closely following Mr. Lawsburn, the two officers ascended to Oliver's bedroom, Mr. Giles preceding the party with a lighted candle. Oliver had been dozing, but looked worse, and was more feverish than he had appeared yet. Being assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in bed for a minute or so, and looked at the strangers without at all understanding what was going forward, in fact without seeming to recollect where he was, or what had been passing. This, said Mr. Lawsburn, speaking softly but with great vehemence notwithstanding, this is the lad who, being accidentally wounded by a spring gun in some boyish trespass on Mr. Whatcher Callum's grounds, at the back here, comes to the house for an assistance this morning, and is immediately laid hold of and maltreated by that ingenious gentleman with a candle in his hand, who had placed his life in considerable danger as I can professionally certify. Mr.'s Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was thus recommended to their notice, though bewildered butler gazed from them towards Oliver, and from Oliver towards Mr. Lawsburn, with a most ludicrous mixture of fear and perplexity. You don't mean to deny that, I suppose, said the doctor, laying Oliver gently down again. It was all done for the best, answered Giles. I am sure I thought it was the boy, or I wouldn't have meddled with him. I am not of an inhuman disposition, sir. Thought it was what, boy? inquired the senior officer. The housebreakers' boy, sir, replied Giles. They certainly had a boy. Well, do you think so now, inquired Blathers? Think what now? replied Giles, looking vacantly at his questioner. Think it's the same boy's stupid head, rejoined Blathers, impatiently. I don't know. I really don't know, said Giles, with a rueful countenance. I couldn't swear to him. What do you think? asked Mr. Blathers. I don't know what to think, replied poor Giles. I don't think it is the boy, indeed. I am almost certain that it isn't. You know it can't be. Has this man been a dracon, sir? inquired Blathers, turning to the doctor. What a precious, muddleheaded chap you are, said Duff, addressing Mr. Giles with supreme contempt. Mr. Losburn had been feeling the patient's pulse during this short dialogue, but he now rose from the chair by the bedside and remarked that if the officers had any doubts upon the subject, they would perhaps like to step into the next room and have Brittle's before them. Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a neighbouring apartment where Mr. Brittle's being called in involved himself on his respected superior in such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions and impossibilities as tended to throw no particular light on anything but the fact of his own strong mystification, except indeed his declarations that he shouldn't know the real boy if he were put before him that instant, that he had only taken Oliver to be he because Mr. Giles had said he was, and that Mr. Giles had five minutes previously admitted in the kitchen that he began to be very much afraid he had been a little too hasty. Among other ingenious surmises, the question was then raised whether Mr. Giles had really hit anybody, and upon examination of the fellow pistol to that which he had fired, it turned out to have no more destructive loading than gunpowder and brown paper, a discovery which made a considerable impression on everybody but the doctor, who had drawn the ball about ten minutes before. Upon no one, however, did it make a greater impression that on Mr. Giles himself, who, after laboring for some hours under the fear of having mortally wounded a fellow creature, eagerly caught at this new idea and favored it to the utmost. Finally the officers, without troubling themselves very much about Oliver, left the Chertsea Constable in the house and took up their rest for that night in the town, promising to return the next morning. With the next morning there came a rumour that two men and a boy were in the cage at Kingston, who had been apprehended overnight under suspicious circumstances, and who Kingston, Mr. Blathers and Duff journeyed accordingly. The suspicious circumstances, however, resolving themselves on investigation into the one fact that they had been discovered sleeping under a haystack, which, although a great crime, is only punishable by imprisonment, and is in the merciful eye of the English law and its comprehensive love of all the king's subjects, held to be no satisfactory proof in the absence of all other evidence that the sleeper or sleepers have committed burglary accompanied with violence and have therefore rendered themselves liable to the punishment of death, Mr. Blathers and Duff came back again as wise as they went. In short, after some more examination and a great deal more conversation, a neighbouring magistrate was readily induced to take the joint bail of Mrs. Maley and Mr. Losburn for Oliver's appearance if he should ever be called upon, and Blathers and Duff, being rewarded with a couple of guineas, returned to town with divided opinions on the subject of their expedition, the latter gentleman on a mature consideration of all the circumstances, inclining to the belief that the burglarious attempt had originated with the family pet, and the former being equally disposed to concede the full merit of it to the great Mr. Conky Chickweed. Meanwhile Oliver gradually throve and prospered under the united care of Mrs. Maley, Rose, and the kind-hearted Mr. Losburn. If fervent prayers gushing from hearts overcharged with gratitude be heard in heaven, and if they be not what prayers are, the blessings which the orphan child called down upon them sunk into their souls, diffusing peace and happiness. End of Chapter 31 Oliver Twist Chapter 32 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, reading by Brad Philippone. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, Chapter 32 Of the happy life Oliver began to lead with his kind friends. Oliver's ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition to the pain and delay attendant on a broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had brought on fever and ague, which hung about him for many weeks and reduced him sadly. But at length he began, by slow degrees, to get better, and to be able to say sometimes, in a few tearful words, how deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies, and how ardently he hoped that when he grew strong and well again he could do something to show his gratitude. Only something which would let them see the love and duty with which his breast was full, something however slight which would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not been cast away, but that the poor boy whom their charity had rescued from misery or death was eager to serve them with his whole heart and soul. Poor fellow, said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly endeavouring to utter the words of thankfulness that rose to his pale lips. You shall have many opportunities of serving us, if you will. We are going into the country, and my aunt intends that you shall accompany us. The quiet place, the pure air, and all the pleasure in beauties of spring will restore you in a few days. We will employ you in a hundred ways when you can bear the trouble. The trouble, cried Oliver. Oh dear lady, if I could but work for you, if I could only give you pleasure by watering your flowers or watching your birds or running up and down the whole day long to make you happy, what would I give to do it? You shall give nothing at all, said Miss Maley, smiling. For as I told you before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways, and if you only take half the trouble to please us that you promise now, you will make me very happy indeed. Happy, ma'am, cried Oliver, how kind of you to say so. You will make me happier than I can tell you, replied the young lady, to think that my good dear aunt should have been the means of rescuing anyone from such sad misery as you have described to us would be an unspeakable pleasure to me. But to know that the object of her goodness and compassion was sincerely grateful and attached in consequence would delight me more than you can well imagine. Do you understand me? She inquired, watching Oliver's thoughtful face. Oh yes, ma'am, yes, replied Oliver eagerly. But I was thinking that I am ungrateful now. To whom, inquired the young lady? To the kind gentleman and the dear old nurse who took so much care of me before, rejoined Oliver. If they knew how happy I am, they would be pleased, I am sure. I am sure they would, rejoined Oliver's benefactress, and Mr. Lozburn has already been kind enough to promise that when you are well enough to bear the journey he will carry you to see them. Has he, ma'am, cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure? I don't know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once again. In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of this expedition. One morning he and Mr. Lozburn set out, accordingly, in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maley. When they came to Chertsey Bridge Oliver turned very pale and uttered a loud exclamation. What's the matter with the boy? cried the doctor, as usual, all in a bustle. Do you see anything? Hear anything? Feel anything, eh? That, sir, cried Oliver, pointing out to the carriage window. That house? Yes, well, what of it? Stop, coachman, pull up here, cried the doctor. What of that house, my man, eh? The thieves, the house they took me to, whispered Oliver. The devil it is, cried the doctor. Hello there, let me out! But before the coachman could dismount from his box he had tumbled out of the coach by some means or other, and running down to the deserted tenement began kicking at the door like a madman. Hello! said a little ugly, humped-back man, opening the door so suddenly that the doctor from the very impetus of his last kick nearly fell forward into the passage. What's the matter here? Matter! exclaimed the other, collaring him without a moment's reflection. A good deal! Rubbery is the matter! There'll be murder the matter, too! replied the hump-back man coolly. If you don't take your hands off, do you hear me? I hear you, said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake. Where's—confound the fellow, what's his rascally name? Sykes, that's it. Where Sykes, you thief! The humped-back man stared, as if in excess of amazement and indignation, then twisting himself dexterously from the doctor's grasp, growled forth a volley of horrid oaths, and retired into the house. Before he could shut the door however the doctor had passed into the parlour without a word of parley. He looked anxiously round, not an article of furniture, not a vestige of anything, animate or inanimate, not even the position of the cupboards, answered Oliver's description. Now, said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, what do you mean by coming into my house in this violent way? Do you want to rob me, or to murder me, which is it? Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot and pear, your ridiculous old vampire? said the irritable doctor. What do you want, then? demanded the hunchback. Will you take yourself off before I do you a mischief curse you? As soon as I think proper, said Mr. Lasburn, looking into the other parlor, which, like the first-born, no resemblance whatever to Oliver's account of it. I shall find you out some day, my friend. Will you? stared the ill-favoured cripple. If you ever want me, I'm here. I haven't lived here mad and all alone for five and twenty years to be scared by you. You shall pay for this. You shall pay for this." And so, saying, the misshapen little demon set up a yell and danced upon the ground as if wild with rage. Stupid enough this muttered the doctor to himself. The boy must have made a mistake. Here, put that in your pocket and shut yourself up again. With these words he flung the hunchback a piece of money and returned to the carriage. The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wildest imprecations and curses all the way. But as Mr. Lasburn turned to speak to the driver, he looked into the carriage and eyed Oliver for an instant with a glance so sharp and fierce, and at the same time so furious and vindictive that, waking or sleeping, he could not forget it for months afterwards. He continued to utter the most fearful imprecations until the driver had resumed his seat, and when they were once more on their way they could see him some distance behind, beating his feet upon the ground, and tearing his hair in transports of real or pretended rage. I am an ass, said the doctor, after a long silence. Did you know that before, Oliver? No, sir. Then don't forget it another time. An ass, said the doctor again after a further silence of some minutes. Even if it had been the right place and the right fellows had been there, what could I have done single-handed? And if I had had assistance, I see no good that I should have done except leading to my own exposure and an unavoidable statement of the manner in which I have hushed up this business. That would have served me right, though. I am always involving myself in some scrape or other by acting on impulse. It might have done me good. Now the fact was that the excellent doctor had never acted upon anything but impulse all through his life, and it was no bad compliment to the nature of the impulses which governed him, that, so far from being involved in any peculiar troubles or misfortunes, he had the warmest respect and esteem of all who knew him. If the truth must be told, he was a little out of temper for a minute or two at being disappointed in procuring corroborative evidence of Oliver's story on the very first occasion on which he had a chance of obtaining any. He soon came round again, however, and finding that Oliver's replies to his questions were still as straightforward and consistent, and still delivered with as much of parents' sincerity and truth as they had ever been, he made up his mind to attach full credence to them from that time forth. As Oliver knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brownlow resided, they were unable to drive straight thither. When the coach turned into it, his heart beat so violently that he could scarcely draw his breath. Now, my boy, which house is it, in quiet Pistol-Losburn? That—that," replied Oliver, pointing eagerly out of the window. The White House. Oh, make haste, pray make haste. I feel as if I should die, it makes me tremble so. Come, come," said the good doctor, patting him on the shoulder. You will see them directly, and they will be overjoyed to find you safe and well. Oh, I hope so," cried Oliver. They were so good to me, so very, very good to me. The coach rolled on. It stopped. No, that was the wrong house. The next door. It went on a few paces and stopped again. Oliver looked up at the window, with tears of happy expectation coursing down his face. Alas, the White House was empty, and there was a bill on the window too let. Knock at the next door, cried Mr. Losburn, taking Oliver's arm in his. What has become of Mr. Brownlow, who used to live in the adjoining house, do you know? The servant did not know, but would go and inquire. She presently returned and said that Mr. Brownlow had sold off his goods and gone to the West Indies six weeks before. Oliver clasped his hands and sank feebly backwards. Has his housekeeper gone too, inquired Mr. Losburn, after a moment's pause? Yes, sir, replied the servant. The old gentleman, the housekeeper, and a gentleman who was a friend of Mr. Brownlow's, all went together. Then turned towards home again, said Mr. Losburn to the driver, and don't stop to bait the horses till you get out of this confounded London. The bookstorekeeper, sir, said Oliver. I know the way there. See him, pray, sir, do see him. My poor boy, this is disappointment enough for one day, said the doctor, quite enough for both of us. If we go to the bookstorekeeper's, we shall certainly find that he is dead, or has set his house on fire, or run away. No, home again straight, and did obedience to the doctor's impulse, home they went. This bitter disappointment caused Oliver much sorrow and grief, even in the midst of his happiness, for he had pleased himself many times during his illness with thinking of all that Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin would say to him, and what delight it would be to tell them how many long days and nights he had passed and reflecting on what they had done for him, and in bewailing his cruel separation from them, the hope of eventually clearing himself with them too, and explaining how he had been forced away, had buoyed him up, and sustained him under many of his recent trials, and now the idea that they should have gone so far and carried with them the belief that he was an imposter and a robber, a belief which might remain uncontradicted to his dying day was almost more than he could bear. The circumstance occasioned no alteration, however, in the behaviour of his benefactors. After another fortnight, when the fine warm weather had fairly begun, and every tree and flower was putting forth its young leaves and rich blossoms, they made preparations for quitting the house at Chertsey for some months. Sending the plate, which had so excited Fagin's cupidity to the bankers, and leaving Giles and another servant in care of the house, they departed to a cottage at some distance in the country and took Oliver with them. Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the peace of mind and soft tranquility the sickly boy felt in the balmy air, and among the green hills and rich woods of an inland village? Who can tell how scenes of peace and quietude sink into the minds of pain-worn dwellers in close and noisy places, and carry their own freshness deep into their jaded hearts? Men who have lived in crowded pent-up streets, through lives of toil, and who have never wished for change, men to whom custom has indeed been second nature, and would have come almost to love each brick and stone that formed the narrow boundaries of their daily walks, even they, with the hand of death upon them, have been known to yearn at last for one short glimpse of nature's face, and carried fire from the scenes of their old pains and pleasures, have seemed to pass it once into a new state of being. Crawling forth from day to day to some green, sunny spot, they have had such memories wakened up within them by the sight of the sky, and hill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste of heaven itself had soothed their quick decline, and they have sunk into their tombs as peacefully as the sun, whose setting they watched from their lonely chamber window, but a few hours before, faded from their dim and feeble sight. The memories which peaceful country scenes call up are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the graves of those we loved, may purify our thoughts, and bear down before its old enmity and hatred. But beneath all this their lingers, in the least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of having held such feelings long before in some remote and distant time which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and bends down pride and worldliness beneath it. It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oliver, whose days had been spent among squalid crowds, and in the midst of noise and brawling, seemed to enter on a new existence there. The rose and honeysuckle clung to the cottage walls. The ivy crept round the trunks of the trees, and the garden flowers perfumed the air with delicious odours. Hardbite was a little churchyard, not crowded with tall, unsightly gravestones, but full of humble mounds, covered with fresh turf and moss, beneath which the old people of the village lay at rest. Oliver often wandered here, and thinking of the wretched grave in which his mother lay would sometimes set him down and sob unseen. But when he raised his eyes to the deep sky overhead, he would cease to think of her as lying in the ground, and would weep for her, sadly, but without pain. It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene. The nights brought with them neither fear nor care, no languishing in a wretched prison, or associating with wretched men. Nothing but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every morning he went to a white-headed old gentleman who lived near the little church, who taught him to read better and to write, and who spoke so kindly and took such pains that Oliver could never try enough to please him. Then he would walk with Mrs. Maylee and Rose, and hear them talk of books, or perhaps sit near them in some shady place, and listen whilst the young lady read, which he could have done until it grew too dark to see the letters. Then he had his own lesson for the next day to prepare, and at this he would work hard in a little room which looked into the garden till evening came slowly on, when the ladies would walk out again and he with them. Listening with such pleasure to all they said, and so happy if they wanted a flower that he could climb or reach, or had forgotten anything he could run to fetch, that he could never be quick enough about it. When it became quite dark and they returned home, the young lady would sit down to the piano, and play some pleasant air, or sing in a low and gentle voice some old song which had pleased her on to hear. There would be no candles lighted at such times as these, and Oliver would sit by one of the windows listening to the sweet music in a perfect rapture. And when Sunday came how differently the day was spent, from any way in which he had ever spent it yet, and how happily too, like all the other days in that most happy time. There was the little church in the morning with the green leaves fluttering at the windows, the birds singing without, and the sweet-smelling air stealing in at the low porch, and filling the homely building with its fragrance. The poor people were so neat and clean, and knelt so reverently in prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a tedious duty, their assembling there together. And though the singing might be rude it was real, and sounded more musical, to Oliver's ears at least, than any he had ever heard in church before. Then there were the walks, as usual, and many calls at the clean houses of the laboring men, and at night Oliver read a chapter or two from the Bible which he had been studying all the week, and in the performance of which duty he felt more proud and pleased than if he had been the clergyman himself. In the morning Oliver would be a foot by six o'clock, roaming the fields and plundering the hedges, far and wide for nose gays of wild flowers, with which he would return laden home, and which it took great care and consideration to arrange to the best advantage for the embellishment of the breakfast table. There was fresh ground-sill, too, for Miss Maley's birds, with which Oliver, who had been studying the subject under the able tuition of the village-clock, would decorate the cages in the most approved taste. When the birds were made all spruce and smart for the day, there were usually some little commission of charity to execute in the village, or failing that there was rare cricket playing, sometimes on the green, or failing that there was always something to do in the garden, or about the plants to which Oliver, who had studied this science also under the same master, who was a gardener by trade, applied himself with hearty goodwill, until Miss Rose made her appearance, when there were a thousand commendations to be bestowed on all he had done. So three months glided away, three months which, in the life of the most blessed and favored of mortals, might have been unmingled happiness, and which, in Oliver's, were true felicity. With the purest and most amiable generosity on one side, and the truest warmest soul-felt gratitude on the other, it is no wonder that by the end of that short time Oliver Twist had become completely domesticated with the old lady and her niece, and that the fervent attachment of his young and sensitive heart was repaid by their pride in and attachment to himself. END OF CHAPTER XXXII Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, Chapter XXXIII, wherein the happiness of Oliver and his friends experiences a sudden check. Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came. If the village had been beautiful at first it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health, and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice-nooks, which was a deep and pleasant shade from whence to look upon the wide prospect steeped in sunshine which lay stretched beyond. The earth had dawned her mantle of brightest green and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigor of the year. All things were glad and flourishing. Still the same quiet life went on at the little cottage, and the same cheerful serenity prevailed among its inmates. Oliver had long since grown stout and healthy, but health or sickness made no difference in his warm feelings of a great many people. He was still the same gentle, attached, affectionate creature that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength, and when he was dependent for every slight attention and comfort on those who tended him. One beautiful night, when they had taken a longer walk than was customary with them, for the day had been unusually warm, and there was a brilliant moon and a light wind had sprung up, which was unusually refreshing. Rose had been in high spirits too, and they had walked on in merry conversation until they had far exceeded their ordinary bounds. Mrs. Mayly being fatigued, they returned more slowly home. The young lady merely throwing off her simple bonnet sat down to the piano as usual. After running abstractly over the keys for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very solemn air, and as she played it they heard a sound as if she were weeping. Rose, my dear, said the elder lady. Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the words had roused her from some painful thoughts. Rose, my love, cried Mrs. Mayly, rising hastily and bending over her. What is this? In tears! My dear child, what distresses you? Nothing on't nothing, replied the young lady. I don't know what it is, I can't describe it, but I feel not ill, my love, interposed Mrs. Mayly. No, no, oh not ill, replied Rose, shuddering as though some deadly chillness were passing over her while she spoke. I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray. Oliver hastened to comply with her request. The young lady, making an effort to recover her cheerfulness, strove to play some livelier tune, but her fingers dropped powerless over the keys. Covering her face with her hands, she sank upon a sofa, and gave vent to the tears which she now was unable to repress. My child, said the elderly lady, folding her arms about her. I never saw you so before. I would not alarm you if I could avoid it, rejoined Rose. But indeed, I have tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I am ill, aunt. She was indeed. For when candles were brought, they saw that in the very short time which had elapsed since their return home, the hue of her confidence had changed to a marble whiteness. Its expression had lost nothing of its beauty, but it was changed, and there was an anxious, haggard look about the gentle face which it had never worn before. Another minute, and it was suffused with a crimson flush, and a heavy wildness came over the soft blue eyes. Again this disappeared, like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud, and she was once more deadly pale. Oliver, who watched the old lady anxiously, observed that she was alarmed by these appearances, and so in truth was he. But seeing that she affected to make light of them, he endeavored to do the same. And they so far succeeded that when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night, she was in better spirits and appeared even in better health, assuring them that she felt certain she should rise in the morning quite well. I hope, said Oliver, when Mrs. Maley returned, that nothing is the matter. She don't look well to-night, but the old lady motioned him not to speak, and setting herself down in a dark corner of the room remained silent for some time. At length she said in a trembling voice, I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years. Too happy, perhaps. It may be time that I should meet with some misfortune, but I hope it is not this. What inquired Oliver? The heavy blow, said the old lady, of losing the dear girl, who has so long been my comfort and happiness. Oh, God forbid exclaimed Oliver hastily. A man to that, my child, said the old lady, wringing her hands. Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful, said Oliver. Two hours ago she was quite well. She is very ill now, rejoined Mrs. Maley. And we'll be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose, oh what shall I do without her? She gave way to such great grief that Oliver, suppressing his own emotion, ventured to remonstrate with her, and to beg earnestly that for the sake of the dear young lady herself she would be more calm. And consider, ma'am, said Oliver, as the tears forced themselves into his eyes, despite of his efforts to the contrary, who consider how young and good she is, and what pleasure and comfort she gives to all about her, I am sure, certain, quite certain, that for your sake, who are so good yourself and for her own, and for the sake of all she makes so happy, she will not die. Heaven will never let her die so young. Hush, said Mrs. Maley, laying her hand on Oliver's head. You think like a child, poor boy, but you teach me my duty not withstanding. I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, but I hope I may be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen enough of illness and death to know the agony of separation from the objects of our love. I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them, but this should give us comfort in our sorrow, for heaven is just, and such things teach us impressively that there is a brighter world than this than that the passage to it is speedy. God's will be done, I love her, and he knows how well. Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maley said these words, she checked her lamentations as though by one effort, and drawing herself up as she spoke, became composed and firm. He was still more astonished to find that this firmness lasted, and that under all the care and watching which ensued Mrs. Maley was ever ready and collected, performing all the duties which had devolved upon her steadily, and to all external appearances even cheerfully. But he was young, and did not know what strong minds are capable of under trying circumstances. How should he, when their possessors so seldom know themselves? An anxious night ensued. When morning came Mrs. Maley's predictions were but too well verified. Rose was in the first stage of a high and dangerous fever. We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless grief, said Mrs. Maley, laying her finger on her lip as she looked steadily into his face. This letter must be sent with all possible expedition to Mr. Losburn. It must be carried to the market-town, which is not more than four miles off by the footpath across the field, and then dispatched by an express-on horseback straight to Chertsey. The people at the inn will undertake to do this, and I can trust to you to see it done, I know. Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at once. Here is another letter, said Mrs. Maley, pausing to reflect. But whether to send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes on, I scarcely know. I would not forward it unless I feared the worst. Is it for Chertsey too, ma'am, inquired Oliver, impatient to execute his commission and holding out his trembling hand for the letter? No, replied the old lady, giving it to him mechanically. Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Harry Maley Esquire at some great Lord's house in the country where he could not make out. Shall it go, ma'am, asked Oliver, looking up impatiently. I think not, replied Mrs. Maley, taking it back. I will wait until to-morrow. With these words she gave Oliver her purse, and he started off without more delay at the greatest speed he could muster. Swiftly he ran across the fields and down the little lanes which sometimes divided them, now almost hidden by the high cord on either side, and now emerging on an open field where the mowers and haymakers were busy at their work, nor did he stop once save now and then for a few seconds to recover breath until he came in a great heat and covered with dust on the little marketplace of the market-town. Here he paused and looked about for the inn. There were a white bank and a red brewery and a yellow town hall, and in one corner there was a large house with all the wood about it painted green, before which was the sign of the George. To this he hastened as soon as it caught his eye. He spoke to a post-boy who was dozing under the gateway, and who, after hearing what he wanted, referred him to the Osler, who, after hearing all he had to say again, referred him to the landlord, who was a tall gentleman in a blue-neck cloth, a white hat, drab riches, and boots with tops to match, leaning against a pump by the stable door, picking his teeth with a silver toothpick. This gentleman walked with much deliberation into the bar to make out the bill, which took a long time making out, and after it was ready and paid, a horse had to be saddled, and a man to be dressed, which took up ten good minutes more. Meanwhile Oliver was in such a desperate state of impatience and anxiety that he felt as if he could have jumped upon the horse himself and galloped away full-tier to the next stage. At length all was ready, and the little parcel having been handed up with many injunctions and entreaties for its speedy delivery, the man set spurs to his horse, and rattling over the uneven paving of the marketplace was out of the town and galloping along the Turnpike Road in a couple of minutes. As it was something to feel certain that assistance was sent for, and that no time had been lost, Oliver hurried up the in-yard with a somewhat lighter heart. He was turning out of the gateway when he accidentally stumbled against a tall man wrapped in a cloak who was at that moment coming out of the indoor. Cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver and suddenly recalling, What the devil's this? I beg your pardon, sir, said Oliver. I was in a great hurry to get home and didn't see you were coming. Death! muttered the man to himself, glaring at the boy with his large dark eyes. Who would have thought it? Grind him to ashes. He'd start up from a stone coffin to come in my way. I am sorry, stammered Oliver, confused by the strange man's wild look. I hope I have not hurt you. Rot you! murmured the man in a horrible passion between his clenched teeth. If I only had the courage to say the word, I might have been free of you in a night. Curses on your head and black death on your heart, you imp! What are you doing here? The man shook his fist as he uttered these words incoherently. He advanced towards Oliver as if with the intention of aiming a blow at him, but fell violently on the ground, riving and foaming in a fit. Oliver gazed for a moment at the struggles of the madman, for such he supposed him to be, and then darted into the house for help. Having seen him safely carried into the hotel, he turned his face homeward, running as fast as he could to make up for lost time, and recalling with a great deal of astonishment and some fear the extraordinary behaviour of the person from whom he had just parted. The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection long, however, for when he reached the cottage there was enough to occupy his mind and to drive all considerations of self completely from his memory. Rose Maley had rapidly grown worse. Before midnight she was delirious. A medical practitioner who resided on the spot was in constant attendance upon her, and after first seeing the patient he had taken Mrs. Maley aside and pronounced her disorder to be one of a most alarming nature. In fact, he said, it would be little short of a miracle if she recovered. How often did Oliver start from his bed that night, and stealing out with noiseless footsteps to the staircase, listen for the slightest sound from the sick chamber? How often did a tremble shake his frame, and cold drops of terror start upon his brow when a sudden trampling of feet caused him to fear that something too dreadful to think of had even then occurred? And what had been the fervency of all the prayers he had ever muttered compared with those he poured forth now in the agony and passion of his supplication for the life and health of the gentle creature who was torturing on the deep grave's verge? O the suspense, the fearful acute suspense of standing idly by while the life of one we dearly love is trembling in the balance. O the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind and make the heart beat violently, and the breath come thick by the force of the images they conjure up before it, the desperate anxiety to be doing something to relieve the pain or lessen the danger which we have no power to alleviate, the sinking of soul and spirit which the sad remembrance of our helplessness produces, what tortures can equal these, what reflections or endeavours can in the full tide and fever of the time allay them. Morning came, and the little cottage was lonely and still. People spoke in whispers, anxious faces appeared at the gate from time to time, women and children went away in tears. All the live-long day and for hours after it had grown dark, Oliver paced softly up and down the gardens, raising his eyes every instant to the sick chamber and shuddering to see the darkened window looking as if death lay stretched inside. Late that night Mr. Losburn arrived. It is hard, said the good doctor, turning away as he spoke, so young, so much beloved, but there is very little hope. Another morning. The sun shone brightly, as brightly as if it looked upon no misery or care, and with every leaf and flower in full bloom about her, with life and health and sounds and sights of joy surrounding her on every side, the fair young creature lay wasting fast. Oliver crept away to the old churchyard and sitting down on one of the green mounds wept and prayed for her in silence. There was such peace and beauty in the scene, so much of brightness and mirth in the sunny landscape, such blithesome music in the songs of the summer birds, such freedom in the rapid flight of the rook, careering overhead, so much of life and joyousness and all that, when the boy raised his aching eyes and looked about, the thought instinctively occurred to him that this was not a time for death, that Rose could surely never die when humbler things were also glad and gay, that graves were for cold and cheerless winter, not for sunlight and fragrance. He almost thought that shrouds were for the old and shrunken, and that they never wrapped the young and graceful form in their ghastly folds. A knell from the church bell broke harshly on these youthful thoughts, another, again it was tolling for the funeral service. A group of humble mourners entered the gate wearing white favors for the corpse was young. They stood uncovered by a grave, and there was a mother, a mother once, among the weeping train, but the sun shone brightly and the bird sang on. Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received from the young lady, and wishing that the time could come again that he might never see showing her how grateful and attached he was. He had no cause for self-reproach on the score of neglect or want of thought, for he had been devoted to her service. And yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, on which he fancied he might have been more zealous and more earnest and wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about us, when every death carries to some circle of survivors thoughts of so much omitted and so little done, of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might have been repaired. There is no remorse so deep as that which is unavailing, if we would be spared its tortures. Let us remember this in time. When he reached home Mrs. Maley was sitting in the little parlor. Oliver's heart sank at sight of her, for she had never left the bedside of her niece, and he trembled to think what change could have driven her away. He learned that she had fallen into a deep sleep from which she would waken, either to recovery and life or to bid them farewell and die. They sat listening and afraid to speak for hours. The untasted beel was removed, with looks which showed that their thoughts were elsewhere. They watched the sun as he sank lower and lower, and at length cast over sky and earth those brilliant hues which heralded his departure. Their quick airs caught the sound of an approaching footstep. They both involuntarily darted to the door, as Mr. Lozburn entered. "'What of Rose?' cried the old lady. "'Tell me at once I can bear it. Anything but suspense! Oh, tell me in the name of heaven. You must compose yourself,' said the doctor, supporting her. Be calm, my dear ma'am, pray. Let me go in God's name, my dear child. She is dead. She is dying.' No, cried the doctor passionately. As he is good and merciful, she will live to bless us all for years to come.' The lady fell upon her knees, and tried to fold her hands together, but the energy which had supported her so long fled up to heaven with her first thanksgiving, and she sank into the friendly arms which were extended to receive her.