 Chapter number 37 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org According by Orthopiantidosi Chapter 37, in which three may perceive a contrast not uncommon in matrimonial cases. Mr Bumble sat in the workhouse parlor with his eyes moodyly fixed on the cheeriest grate. Whence, as it was summer time, no brighter gleam proceeded, than the reflection of certain sickly rays of the sun, which was sent back from its cold and shining surface. A paper fly cage dangled from the ceiling, to which he occasionally raised his eyes in gloomy thought, and as the heedless insects hovered round the gaudy network, what was the bumble would heave a deep sigh, where the more gloomy shadow overspread his countenance? Mr Bumble was meditating. It might be that the insects brought to mind some painful passage in his own past life. Nor was Mr Bumble's gloom and the only thing calculated to wake an a pleasing melancholy in the bosom of a spectator. There was an outwanting other appearances, and those closely connected with his own person, which announced the great change had taken place in the position of his affairs. A laced coat and the cocked hat, where were they? He still wore knee breeches and dark cotton stockings on his neither limbs, but they were not thar breeches. The coat was wide skirted, and that respected like thar coat, but oh, how different! The mighty cocked hat was replaced by a modest round one. Mr Bumble was no longer a beetle. There are some promotions in life, which impended on the more substantial rewards they offer, require peculiar value and dignity from the coats and waistcoats connected with them. A field marshal has his uniform, a bishop is silk apron, a countenance is silk gown, a beetle is cocked hat, strip the bishop of his apron, or the beetle will later have a lace. What are they? Men, mere men. Dignity and even holiness tools sometimes are more questions of coat and waistcoat than some people imagine. Mr Bumble had married Mrs Coney, who was master of the workhouse. Another beetle had come into power. On him the cocked hat, gold lace coat and staff, had all three descended. And tomorrow, two months it was done! Mr Bumble, the sigh. It seems an age. Mr Bumble might have meant that he had concentrated whole existence of happiness into the short space of eight weeks for the sigh. There was a grid still beading in the sigh. I assumed myself. It Mr Bumble, pursuing the same train of recollection. All six teaspoons, a pair of chocotols and a milk pot, and a small quantity of sicken and furniture, and 20 pounds in money. I went very reasonable. Cheap! Cheap! Cheap! Right, the shrewl voice of Mr Bumble there. It would have been dear any price and dear enough I paid for you. Lord of Bath knows that. Mr Bumble turned and encountered the face of his interesting consort, who imperfectly comprehending the few words he had overheard of his complaint, and hazarded the whole girl in a mark at an adventure. Mrs Bumble, ma'am! said Mr Bumble, with a sentimental sternness. Well cried the lady. Have the goodness to look at me! said Mr Bumble, fixing his eyes upon her. She stands such an eye as that! Mr Bumble did himself. She didn't stand anything. It is an eye I never knew to fail with porpoise. It fails with her! My power is gone! Whether in its seedingly small expansion of eye be sufficient to quell porpoise, who, being lightly fed, are in no very high condition, or whether the late Mrs Coney was particularly proof against eagle blances, are matters of opinion. The matter of fact is that the patron was in no way overpowered by Mr Bumble's scowl, but on the contrary treated it with great disdain. And even raised a laugh at which sounded as though it was genuine. On hearing this most unexpected sound, Mr Bumble looked, first incredulous and afterwards amazed. He then relapsed into his former state, nor did he rose himself until his detention was again awakened by the voice of his partner. Are you going to sit snoring there all day? Inquired Mrs Bumble. I'm going to sit here as long as I think proper, ma'am! Adjoined Mr Bumble. I am not snoring, I shall snore, gape, sneeze, laugh, or cry, as the humour strikes me. Such be my prerogative. Your prerogative? Sneered Mrs Bumble with ineffable contempt. I said the word, ma'am! Mr Bumble. Prerogative of man is to command. And what's the prerogative of woman in the name of Godness? cried the relic of Mr Corny. Deceased. To obey, ma'am! Thundered Mr Bumble. Your late unfortunate husband should have taunted you, and then perhaps he might have been alive now. I wish he was, poor man! Mrs Bumble, seeing at a glance, the decisive moment had now arrived. There the blow struck for the master's ship on one side or the other, must necessarily be final and conclusive. No sooner you were to hear this allusion to the dead and gone, than she dropped into a chair, and with that loud scream that Mr Bumble was a heart-hearted brute, fell into an aproxytism of tears. But tears were not the things to find their way to Mrs Bumble's soul. His heart was waterproof. Like water-bill beaver hats it improved with rain. His nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous by showers of tears, which being tokens of weakness and so far tacitimiditions of his own power, pleased and exalted him. He eyed, as good lady, with looks of great satisfaction, and begged, in an encouraging manner, that she should cry her hardest, the exercise being looked upon by the faculty as strongly conductive to health. It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper, said Mr Bumble, to cry away. As he discharged himself of this pleasantry, Mr Bumble took his hat from his peg, and put him on, rather rakishly, on one side as a man might, who felt he had asserted his superiority in a becoming manner, thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntered towards the door, with much ease and waggishness depicted his whole appearance. Now this is corny that Wals has tried the tears, because they were less troublesome than a manual assault, but she was quite prepared to make the trial of the later mode of proceeding, as Mr Bumble was not long in discovering. The first proof, here the experience of the fact, was conveyed in a hollow sound, immediately exceeded by the floating flying off of his hat to the opposite side of the room. This preliminary proceeding, laying bare his head, the expert lady, glassping him tightly around the throat with one hand, elected a shower of blows, dealt with single vigour and dexterity, upon it with the other. This done, she created a little variety by scratching his face and tearing his hair, and having by this time inflicted not punishment as she deemed necessary for the offence, she pushed him over a chair, which was luckily well situated for the purpose, and invited him to talk about his prerogative again, if he dared. Get up! said Mrs Bumble in the voice of a man, and take yourself away from here, at least you want me to do something desperate. Mr Bumble rose with a very rueful countenance, wondering much what something desperate might be. Peeking out of his hat, he looked towards the door. Are you going? demanded Mrs Bumble. Certainly, my dear, certainly! adjoined at Mr Bumble, making a quick emotion towards the door. I didn't intend to. I'm going, my dear. You'll say very violent at the very eye. This instant muster's Bumble to step hastily forward to replace the puppet, which had been kicked up in the scuffle. Mr Bumble immediately darted out of the room, without distoing another thought on his finished sentence, leaving a late Mrs Corny in full possession of the field. Mr Bumble was fairly taken by surprise, and fairly beaten. He had decided, repetitive or bullying, I have no inconsiderable pleasure from the exercise of petty cruelty, and consequently was, it is needless to say, a coward. This is by no means a disparagement to his character. For many official burdenages, who are held in great respect and admiration, are the victims of similar infirmities. That remark is made rather in his favour than otherwise, and with a view of impressing the reader, with a just sense of his qualifications for office. But the measure of his degradation was not yet full. After making a tour of the house and thinking for the first time that the poor laws really were too hard on people, and that men who ran away from their wives, leaving them chargeable to the perish, all injustice to be visited with no punishment at all, but rather rewarded as meritorious individuals who have suffered much. Mr Bumble came to a room where some of the female paupers were usually employed in washing the perished linen, and the voices in conversation are preceded. And Mr Bumble, summoning up all his native dignity. These women at least shall continue to respect the prerogative. Hello! Hello there! What do you mean by this noise, you pussies? With these words Mr Bumble opened the door, and walked in with a very fierce and angry manner, which was at once a change where he most humiliated and cowering air, as his eyes unexpectedly rested on the form of his lady wife. My dear! said Mr Bumble. I didn't know you were here! Didn't know I was here! repeated Mrs Bumble. What do you do here? I thought they were talking rather too much to be doing their work properly, my dear! Applied Mr Bumble, glancing distractedly at a couple of old women at the wash tub, were comparing notes of admiration at the workhouse master's humility. You thought they were talking too much! said Mrs Bumble. What business is it itself yours? Why, my dear! urged Mr Bumble submissibly. What business is it of yours? demanded Mrs Bumble again. It's very true, you're matron here, my dear. Submitted Mr Bumble, but I thought you might have been in the wage or so. I'll tell you what, Mr Bumble! returned his lady. We don't want any of your interference! You're a great use who's fond of poking your nose into things that don't concern you! Making everybody in the house laugh the moment your back is turned, making yourself look like a fool every hour in the day! Be off! Come! Mr Bumble, seeing with excruciating feelings the delight of the two old paupers, were tittering together most rapturously, hesitated for an instant. Mrs Bumble, who's patience broke no delay, cut up a bowl of soap-subs and motioning him towards the door, ordered him instantly to the pot on pain of receiving the contents upon his portly person. What could Mr Bumble do? He looked dejectedly round and slunk away, and as he reached the door the tittering of paupers broke into a shroomed chuckle of irrepressible delight. He'd wanted but this, he was degraded in their eyes, he'd lost caste and station before the very paupers. He'd fallen from all the height and pomp of beadleship to the lowest depth of the most snubbed hen peccary. All in two months, let Mr Bumble feel dismal thoughts. Two months! No more than two months ago! I was not only my own master but everybody else's, so far as the brook you work, houses concerned, and now! It was too much. Mr Bumble boxed the ears of a boy who opened the gate for him, for he reached the portal in his reverie and walked dejectedly into the street. He walked up one street and down another until exercise had abated the first passion of his grief, and then the revulsion of feeling made him thirsty. It passed a great media public houses, but at length there was before one in a byway, whose parlor, as he gathered from a hasty peep over the blinds, was deserted, saved by one solitary customer. It began to rain heavily at the moment. This determined him. Mr Bumble stepped in and ordered something to drink as he passed the bar, into the apartment into which he had looked from the street. The man who was seated there was tall and dark, and wore a large cloak. He had the air of a stranger, and they seemed, by a certain haggardness in his look, as well as by the dusty soils on his dress, to have travelled some distance. He eyed Bumble scants, as he entered, but scarcely deigned to knelt at his head, acknowledgement of his salutation. Mr Bumble had quite dignity enough for two, supposing even that the stranger had been more familiar, so he drank his gin and water in silence, and read the paper with great sure of pomp and circumstance. It so happened, however, as it will happen very often, when men fall into company under such circumstances, that Mr Bumble felt, every now and then, a bit powerful inducement, which he could not resist to steal a look at the stranger, and that whenever he did so, he withdrew his eyes, in some confusion, to find that the stranger was in that that vehement stealing a look at him. Mr Bumble's haggardness was enhanced by the very remarkable expression of the stranger's eye, which was keen and bright. Much shattered by a scowl of distrust and suspicion, unlike anything he had ever observed before, and repulsive to behold. When they had encountered each other's glance several times in this way, the stranger in harsh deep voice broke silence. Were you looking for me? he said, when you peered in at the window. Oh, not that I am aware of it, lest you, mister. Here Mr Bumble stopped short, for he was curious to know the stranger's name, and thought in his impatience he might supply the blank. I see you are not, said the stranger, inspiration of quiet sarcasm playing about his mouth. Oh, you who have known my name, you don't know it. I would recommend you not ask for it. I mean no harm, you old man, observed Mr Bumble majestically, and have done, said the stranger. Another silence exceeded this short dialogue, which was again broken by the stranger. I have seen you before, I think, said he. You were diffidently dressed that time, and I only passed you on the street, but I shall do you again. You were beetle here once, were you not? I was, had Mr Bumble in some surprise, but o' kill beetle, just so. You rejoined at the other, nodding his head. It was in that character, I saw you. What do you know? Master of the Workhouse rejoined at Mr Bumble, slowly and impressively, to check any undue familiarity the stranger might otherwise assume. Master of the Workhouse, young man. You have the same eyes, your own interests that you always had, I doubt not. Roger Oom the stranger, looking keenly into Mr Bumble's eyes, as he raised them in astonishment at the question. Don't scruple his hands so freely, man. I know you pretty well, you'll see. I suppose I'm married, man, applied Mr Bumble, shading his eyes with his hand, and surveying the stranger from head to foot, with, indeed, an urgent propensity. It's not more averse to turning and all this penny when it can than a single one, or a kill-fish who's not so well-paid than I can afford to refuse any little extra fee when it comes to them in a similar and proper manner. The stranger smiled and nodded his head again, as much to say he'd not mistaken his man, then rang the bell. Do this glass again. He said, handing Mr Bumble's empty tumbler to the landlord. Let it be strong and hot. You like it so, I suppose. Not too strong. And lying, Mr Bumble, with a delicate cough. You understand what that means, landlord. Said the stranger, dryly. The host smiled, disappeared, and shortly afterwards returned with the steaming joram, of which the first girl brought the water into Mr Bumble's eyes. Never listen to me. Said the stranger after closing the door, and we know. Even down to this place today, to find you out, and by one of those chances was the devil throws in the way of his friends and times. You walked into the very room I was sitting in, while you were up at most in my mind. I want some information from you. I don't ask you to give it for nothing, slight as it is. Put up mats to begin with. As his spoke, he pulled a couple of sovereigns across the table to his companion, carefully, as though unwilling that their chinking of money should be heard without. Mr Bumble had scrupled to examine the coins, and seen that they were genuine, and had poured them up. With the most satisfaction in his way to go pocket, he went on. Carry your memory back. Let me see. Twelve years last winter. It's a long time, Mr Bumble. Very good. I've done it. The scene, the workhouse. Good. And the time, night. Yes, and the place, the crazier whole. Whatever it was in which miserable triumph has brought forth the life and health that which are of the night, them themselves. Give birth to pulling children, and perish to rear them in their shame, naught of them to the grave. A lying in-room, I suppose. Let Mr Bumble not quite following the stranger's excited description. Yes, said the stranger. A boy was born there. A million boys, observed Mr Bumble, shaking his head despondently. A moraine on the young devils, cried the stranger. I speak of one, a meek-looking, pale-faced boy, with princes down here to coffin-maker. I wish he had made his coffin, and screwed his bonny in it, and who afterwards ran away to London, as it was supposed. Why, you mean Oliver? Don't twist, said Mr Bumble. I remember him, of course. There wasn't an ops in a young rascal. It's not of him I want here. I've heard enough of him. Said the stranger, stopping Mr Bumble and the outset of a tirade on the subject to pour Oliver's vices. It's of a woman, the heart that nursed his mother. Where is she? Where is she? Said Mr Bumble, whom the djinn in water had redended for seashore. It would be hard to tell. There's no midwifery there. What whichever place she's gone to, so I suppose she's had to employment anyway. What do you mean? A man to the stranger, sternly. That she died last winter. I enjoyed it, Mr Bumble. The man looked fixedly at him when he had given this information, although he did not withdraw his eyes for some time afterwards. His gaze gradually became vacant and abstracted, and it seemed lost in thought. For some time he appeared doubtful whether he ought to be relieved or disappointed by the intelligence, but the length he breathed more freely, and withdrawing his eyes observed that it was no great matter. With that he rose, as if depart. But Mr Bumble was cunning enough, and he at once saw that an opportunity was opened, for the lucrative disposal of some secret and the possession of his better half. He well remembered the night of old Sally's death, and the occurrences of that day had given him good reason to elect, as the occasion on which he had proposed Mrs Corny. And although that lady had never confided to him the disclosure of which she had been the solitary witness, he'd heard enough to know that it was related to something that had occurred in the old woman's attendance, as a workhouse nurse upon the young mother of Oliver Twist. Acerly calling this circumstance to mind, informed the stranger with an air of mystery, that one woman had been closeted with the old heriton shortly before she died, and that she caught, as he had reason to believe, certain light on the subject of his inquiry. How can I find her? Said the stranger, thrown off his guard, and plainly showing that all his fears, whatever they were, were roused afresh by the intelligence. Only through me rejoined at Mr Bumble. When cried the stranger, Acerly, tomorrow rejoined at Bumble. At nine in the evening, said the stranger, producing a scrap of paper, and writing down upon it an obscure address by the wall to the side, and characters that betrayed his agitation. At nine in the evening bring her to me there. I needn't tell you to be secret, it's your interest. With these words he led the way to the door, just stopping to pay for the liquor that had been drunk, shortly remarking that the roads were different, he departed that more ceremony than an empathetic repetition of the hour appointment for the following night. On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observed that it contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so he made after him to ask it. What do you want? cried the man, turning quickly round, as Bumble thought she was in the only arm, following me. Only to ask a question to the other, pointing to the scrap of paper. What name am I to ask for? Mugs rejoined that the man and strode hastily away. Chapter 37 of Oliver Twist and chapter number 38 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Arthur Piantadosi. Chapter 38 containing an accountable pass between Mr. and Mrs. Bumble and Mr. Mugs at their nocturnal interview. It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening, the clouds, which in threatening all day, spread out in a dense and sluggish mass of vapor, already yielded large drops of rain, and seemed a presage at a violent thunderstorm when Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, turning out of the main streets of the town, directed their course towards a scattered little colony of ruinous houses, distant from it some mile and a half, thereabouts, and erected on a low, unwholesome swamp, bordering upon the river. They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments, which might, perhaps, serve the double purpose of protecting their persons from the rain, and sheltering them from observation. The husband carried a lantern, from which, however, no light yet shone, and trodged on a few paces in front, as though the way being dirty, to give his wife the benefit of shredding in his heavier footsteps. They went on, in profound silence, every now and then Mr. Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned his head as if to make sure his helpmate was following. Then, discovering that she was close at his heels, he mended his rate of walking, and proceeded at a considerable increase of speed, towards their place of destination. This was far from being a place of doubtful character, for it had long been known as the residence of none but low ruffians, who under the various pretenses of living by their labour, subsided chiefly on plunder and crime, as a collection of mere hovels, some hastily built with loose bricks. Others of old, worm-eaten ship timber, jumbled together without any attempt at order arrangement, and planted, for the most part, within a few feet of a river's bank, a few licky boats drawn up out in the mud, made fast to the dwarf wall where it skirted it, and here and there, all coil of rope, appeared at first to indicate that they have, and since of these miserable cottages, is preserved some avocation on the river, but a glance at the shattered and useless condition of the articles thus displayed, would have led a passerby, without much difficulty, to an injection that they were disposed of, rather for the preservation of a pit, rather for the preservation of appearances, than with any view of their actually being employed. In the heart of this cluster of hut, since skating the river, which is about a story is overhung, so a large building, formerly used as a manufacturer of some kind, it had in its day, probably a furnished employment to the inhabitants of the surrounding tenements, but it long since gone through in, the rat, the worm, and the action of the damp, had weakened and rotted the piles on which it stood, and a considerable portion of the building had already sunk down into the water, while the remainder, totering and bending over the dark stream, seemed to wait a favourable opportunity of following its old companion, and involving itself in the same fate. It is before this ruinous building that the worthy couple passed, as the first peel of distant thunder reverberated in the air, and grain of remains pouring violently down. A blitz from it somewhere here, said Bumble, consulting a scrap paper he held to his hand. Alone there cried a voice from above. Following the sound, Mr Bumble raised his head and described him, and looking out the door, breast high on the second story, Stan, still a minute, cried the voice, I'll be with you directly, with which the head disappeared and the door closed. It's death, the man, asked Mr Bumble's good lady, Mr Bumble knotted in the affirmative. In mind what I told you, is the matron, and be careful to say as little as you can, but you betray us at once. Mr Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, was apparently about to express some doubts relative to the eyes' ability of proceeding any further with the enterprise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance of monks, or of a small door near where they stood and beckoned them in woods. Come in, you required impatiently, stamping his foot upon the ground. Don't keep me here. The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in, without any other invitation. Mr Bumble, who was ashamed or afraid to lag behind, followed, obviously very ill at ease, and was scarcely any of that remarkable dignity, which was usually his chief characteristic. What the devil made you stand, lingering there in the wet? It said, boggles, running round, and dressing Bumble up to read both of the door behind them. We were only cooling ourselves. Sam had Bumble, looking apprehensively about him. Cooling yourselves, we taught it, monks. Not all the rain that ever fell, or ever will fall, will put as much as hell's fire out as a man can carry about with him. You won't cool yourself so easily, don't think it! With his degree of little speech, monks turned short upon the matron, and bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easily account, was fain to withdraw her eyes and turn them towards the ground. That's the woman, is it, demanded monks. That is the woman! Applied Mr Bumble, mindful of his wife's caution. You think woman can never keep secrets, I suppose? Is it the matron, interposing and returning, as you spoke, the searching look of monks? I know they will always keep one, did it, found out, said monks. What may that be, as the matron? Loss of their own good name, implied monks. So, by the same rule, if a woman is a party to a secret that might hang a transporter, I'm not afraid of her telling it to anybody, not I! Do you understand, mistress? No, replied the matron, lightly quarrelling, as you spoke. Of course you don't, said monks. How should you? Bestowing something halfway between a smile and a frown upon his two companions, and again beckoning them to follow him, the man hastened across the apartment, which was of considerable extents, but low in the roof. He was preparing to ascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, leading to another floor or warehouses above, and a bright flash of lightning streamed down the aperture, and a peel of thunder thawed out, which shook the crazy building to its centre. Hear it! he cried, shrinking back. Hear it! rolling, crushing, all activity go through with thousand caverns where the devils are hiding from it. I hate the sound! He remained silent for a few moments, and then, removing his hand, suddenly from his face, showed to the unspeakable, and to the symposium, Mr. Bumble, and it was much distorted and discoloured. These feats come over me now, and then, said monks, observing his alarm, and thunder sometimes bringers them on. Don't mind me now! It's all over for this once. Thus speaking, he led the way up the ladder, and hastily closing the window-shutter of the room into which it led, lowered the ladder and turned the chunk at the end of a rope and pulley passed through one of the heavy beams in the ceiling, which cast a dim light upon an old table and early chairs at the place beneath it. And ow, said the monks, when they all receded themselves, as soon as we come to our business, the better, oh, the woman knows what it is, does she? And the question was addressed to Bumble, but his wife anticipated the reply by intimating that she was perfectly acquainted with it. He is right in saying that you were with his hag the night she had died, and that she told you of something. And by the woman of the boy you're named, applied the nature-interrupting. Yes. The first question is of what nature was a communication? I said, monks. That's the second. Observe the woman with much separation. The first is what may the communication be worth? Who the devil can tell that? I don't know what kind it is. That's monks. You're pretty better than you. I'm persuaded. Answered Mrs. Bumble. We did not want for spirit as a Yoke fellow could abundantly testify. Said the monks significantly, and when they look at your inquiry, there may be money's worth to get here. But how does that mean? Was the composer's reply something that was taken from her? Said monks. Something that you wore. Something that you went better did. Interrupted Mrs. Bumble. I have heard enough more ready to be sure that you are the man I ought to talk to. Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been admitted by his better half into any greater share of the secret that he had originally possessed, is under this dialogue without stretched neck and distended eyes which he directed toward his wife and monks. By turns, in undisguised astonishments, if possible, when the status certainly demanded what some was required for the disclosure. What is it worth to you? Asked the woman as collectively as before. It may be nothing. It may be twenty pounds. Applied monks. Speak out and let me know which. Add five pounds to the sum you have named. Give me five and twenty pounds in gold. The old woman. And I'll tell you all I know. Not before. Five and twenty pounds. The monks drawing back. I spoke as plainly as I could. And play Mrs. Bumble. It's not a large sum either. Not a large sum for a poultry secret that may be nothing when it's told. Like monks impatiently in which she's been lying dead for twelve years past a moor. Such matters keep well, and like good wine often double their value in course of time. Answered the matron, still preserving the resolute indifference that she has assumed. As to lying deads, there are those who will lie dead for twelve thousand years to come. Or twelve million for anything you or I know will tell strange tales at last. What have I paid for nothing? Inst monks, hesitating. You can easily take it away again. Applied the matron. I'm but a woman alone here, non-protected. Not alone, my dear, nor not protected neither. Submitted, Mr. Bumble, in a voice tremorous of fear, I am here, my dear. Besides, that Mr. Bumble is chittering as he spoke. Mr. Monks is too much of a gentleman to attempt any violence on parochial persons. Mr. Monks is aware that I am not a young man, my dear, also that I am a little run to seed, as I may say. But he has heard, I say, I have no doubt Mr. Monks has heard, my dear, that I am a very determined officer, with very uncommon strength. If I am most roused, I wonder little rousing, that's all. As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy faint of grasping his land with fierce determination, and plainly showed by the alarming expression of every feature that he did want a little rousing, and not a little. Prior to making any very war-like demonstration, unless indeed against paupers or other persons or persons trained down for the purpose, you are a fool, said Mr. Bumble in reply, and better hold your tongue, yet better cover it cut out before he came if he can't speak in a lower tone, said Monks grimly. So, he's your husband, eh? He is my husband, titted the matron, pairing the question. I thought as much when you came in, rejoined at Monks, marking the angry glance which Nate needed done to spouse what she spoke. So much the better, unless his attrition dealing with two people, when I find that there's only one will between them, I'm in urge to see here. He thrust his hand into a side pocket and reduced the canvas bag, tooled out twenty-five sovereigns on the table, and pushed them over to the one. Now, you said, gather them up and when this cursed peel of thunder, which I feel is coming up to break over, I'll stop his gone, let's hear your story. The thunder, which seemed in fact much nearer, and as shiver and break almost over their heads, hangs out sighted, Monks, raising his face from the table, then forward to listen to what the woman should say. The eyes of the three nearly touched as the two men enter over the table and the eagerness to hear, and the woman also leaned forward to render her whisper audible. The sickly rays of the suspended lantern falling directly upon them, aggravated the paleness and anxiety of their countenances, which encircled by the head deepest gloom and darkness looked ghastly in its stream. His woman, that we called out Sally, died. The matron began. She and I were alone. Was there no one by? Asked Monks and sameholder whispered. No secret, your idiot, in some other bet, no one who would hear and might by possibility understand. Not so, blight the woman. We were alone. I stood by her and beside the body when death came over it. God, said Monks, regarding attentively, go on. She spoke of a young creature, resume the matron, who had brought a child into the world some years before, not merely in the same room, but in the same bed. In which she lay dying. Said Monks, with quivering lip and rancid overshadowed her. Blood! How things come about! The child was the one you named to him last night. Said the matron, holding carelessly towards her husband. The mother of these churches had robbed. In life, asked Monks. In death, replied the woman, something like a shudder. She stole from the corpse when it hardly turned but a one in which Nanded and mother had clayed her. The last breath to keep for the nymph's sake. She soaked it! Said I, Monks, with desperate eagerness. Did she sell it? When? When? To whom? How long before? As she told me, with great difficulty that she had done this, said the matron. She fell back and died. Without saying more! cried Monks. When the voice which from its various suppression seemed only the more furious, it's a lie! All that they played with, she said more! I'll tear their life out of you both, but I'll know what it was. She didn't utter another word, said the woman, to all appearance unmoved. As Mr. Bumble was very far from being, and his strange man's violence. But she clutched my gown violently with one hand, which was partially closed when I saw that she was dead. And so, removed then by force, I found it clasped a scrap of dirty paper, which contained, in the post Monks, stretching forward. Nothing! replied the woman. It was a pawn, roguers, duplicate! For what? learned Monks. Ain't good time, I'll tell you, said the woman. I judged that she'd kept the trinket for some time, in the hope of turning it to better account. And then it pawned it, and had saved or scraped together money to pay the pawn roguers interest, year by year, invented running out, so that if anything came of it, it could still be redeemed. Nothing had come of it, and as I tell you, she died with a scrap of paper, and wore and tattered in her hand. The time was out in two days, I thought something might one day curve it too, and so redeemed the pledge. Where is it now? asked Monks quickly. There, replied the woman. And as if glad to be relieved of it, she hastily threw upon the table, and that as all kid bags, scarcely enlarged enough for a French watch. Which Monks pounced upon, tore open with trembling hands, contained a little gold locket, in which were two locks of hair, and plain gold wedding ring. It has the word, eyedness engraved on the inside. There is a plain left to the surname, and then follows the date, which is within a year before the child was born. I found out that, and this is all, said the Monks. After a close and eager scrutiny of the contents of a little packet, all replied the woman. Mr Bummel drew a long breath. As if he were glad to find that the story was over, no mention made of taking the 12 and 20 pounds back again, and now he took courage to wipe the perspiration which had been trickling over his nose, unchecked, during the whole of the previous dialogue. I know nothing of a story beyond what I can kiss at, says his wife, addressing Monks after a long silence, and I want to know nothing for it's safer not, but I may ask your two questions. May I? You may ask, said Monks, which I'm sure I'll reprise, but whether I answer or not is another question. Is it what you expected to get from me? Demanded the operational? It is, blind Monks, the other question. What do you suppose to do with it? Can it be used against me? Never, adjoined the Monks, nor against me either. See here, but don't move a step forward or your knife is not worth a borosch. With these words he suddenly wheeled the table aside and pulling an iron ring in the boarding, threw back a large trap door which opened close at Mr Bummel's feet, and caused that gentleman to retire several paces backward with great precipitation. Look down, said Monks, lowing the lantern into the gulf. Don't fear me, I could have let you down quietly enough when you were seated over it, if that had been my game. Thus in courage the matron drew near to the brink, and even Mr Bummel himself, impelled by curiosity, eventually to do the same. The turbid water, swollen by the heavy rain, was rushing rapidly on below and all other sounds were lost in the noise of its plashing and eddying against the green and slimy piles. There had once been a water mill beneath, the tide firming and chafing around the few rotten stakes, and fragments of machinery that had remained seemed to dart out onward. The new impulse, unfreed from the obstacles which had unfailing a attempted to stem its headlong course. If a fluttered man's body down there, where would it be tomorrow morning? said Monks, swinging a lantern to and fro in the dark well. Twelve miles down the river, and culled to pieces besides. Applied Bumble, recoiling at the thought, Monks threw the little packet from his breast where he had hurriedly thrust it, and tying it to a leaden weight, which had formed a part of some pulley, it was lying on the floor, dropped it into the stream, it fell straight and true as a dye, clove the water with its scarcely audible splash, and it was gone. The three looked into each other's faces, seemed to breathe more freely. There! said Monks, closing the trapdoor, which fell heavily back into its form position. If a sea ever keeps up its dead, as books say it will, it will keep its gold and silver to itself, and the trash among it, with nothing more to say, and may break up a pleasant party. By all means, observed Mr Bumble, with great alacrity. You all keep a quiet tongue in your head, will you not? said Monks, with a threatening look. I am not afraid of your wife. You may depend upon me, young man, and to Mr Bumble, bowing himself gradually toward the latter, they'd say it's a blightness, on everybody's account, young man, on my own, you know, Mr Monks, say to hear it, I, with Monks, light your lantern, and get away from here as fast as you can! It was fortunate that the conversation terminated to this point on Mr Bumble, who had bowed himself to within six inches of the latter, one unfailably have pitched headlong into the room below. He lighted his lantern from that which Monks had detached from the rope, and now carried in his hands, and making no effort to prolong the discourse, descended in silence, followed by his wife. Monks brought up the rear, after pausing on the steps to satisfy himself that there were no other sounds to be heard than the beating of the rain without, and the rushing of the water. They traversed the lower room, slowly, and with caution, for Monks stood out of every shadow, and Mr Bumble, holding his lantern foot above the ground, walked not only with remarkable care, but the marvel as he light-stepped for a gentleman of his figure, looking nervously about him for kitten trapped doors. The gate at which they had entered was softly unfastened and opened by Monks, merely exchanging a nod with their mysterious acquaintance. The married couple emerged near the wet and darkness outside. They were no sooner gone than Monks who appeared to entertain an invincible repugnance to being left alone, called to a boy who had been hidden somewhere below. Bitting him go first, and bear the light. He returned to the chamber. He had just quitted. Oliver Twist, Chapter 38 and Chapter 39 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Arthur Pierre de Doce Chapter 38 Influences some respectable characters with whom the reader is already acquainted and shows how Monks and the Jew laid their worthy heads together. On the evening following that upon which the three worthy is mentioned in the last chapter, dispose of their little matter of business as they are narrated, Mr William Sykes awakening from a nap drowsily growled forth an inquiry what time for night it was. The room in which Mr Sykes propounded this question was not one of those he had tenotined it, previously to the church he had expedition, although it was in the same quarter of the town. And it was situated at no great distance from its former lodgings. It was not, in appearance, so desirable in habitation of its old quarters, being a mean and badly furnished apartment, a very limited size, lighted only by one small window in the shelving roof and a butting on a rose and dirty lane. Nor were there wanted other indications of the good gentlemen having gone down in the world of late, for the great oddity of furniture and total absence of comfort, together with the disappearance of all such small movables as spare clothes and linen, the spooked state of extreme poverty, while the meager and attenuated condition of Mr Sykes himself would have fully confirmed these symptoms, if they had stood in any need of corroboration. The housebreak was lying on the bed, wrapped in his white coat, by a way of dressing gown, and displaying a set of features in no griot improved by the cadaverous hue or illness, and the addition of a soil nightcap, a stiff black beard of a weak's growth. The dog sat at the bedside, now eyeing his master with a wistful look, now pricking his ears and uttering a low growl at some noise in the street, or in the lower part of the house, attracted his attention, seated by the window, busily engaged in patching an old waistcoat that had forewarned a portion of the robber's ordinary dress, was a female, so pale and reduced with botching and privation, that there would have been considerable difficulty in resicculating that it was the same Nancy who has already figured his nest tail, but for the voice in which she were applied to Mr Sykes' session, not well, seven, said the girl, how do you feel tonight, Bill? As weak as bald, applied Mr Sykes with an aprication on his eyes and limbs. Yeah, lindos, ah, let me get all me in his sondering bed, anyhow. Illness did not improve Sykes to Sykes' temper, for as the girl raised him up and led him to a chair, he muttered various curses on her awkwardness and strucker. Warning, are you? Said Sykes, call if Stan sniveling there, it can do anything better than not call altogether. Do you hear me? I hear you, applied the girl, turning her face inside and torsing her laugh. What fancy have you got in your head now? All right, you've all better of it, have you? Oh, Sykes, marking the tear which trembled in her eye, all the better for you you have. Why, you didn't mean to say you'd be hard upon me tonight, Bill? Said the girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder. No! Cry, Mr. Sykes, why not? Such a number of knights, said the girl, with touch of woman's tenderness which communicated something like sweetness of tune, even to her voice. Such a number of knights, I've been patient with you, nursing and caring for you, as if you had been a child, and as the first I've seen you like yourself, you wouldn't have served me as you did just now, and you thought that, would you? Come, come, say you wouldn't. Well, then, rejoined Mr. Sykes, I wouldn't. I'm not dumb enough, girls won't win again. It's not in, said the girl, throwing herself into a chair. Don't you, she marked me. I'll soon be over. What'll be over? The man, it's Mr. Sykes with a savage voice. What fully are you up to now again? Get up and bustle about, and don't go over to me with your woman's nonsense. At any other time, this remonstrance, the tone in which it was delivered, would have been the desired effect, but the girl being really weak and exhausted, dropped her head over the deck of the chair, and fainted, before Mr. Sykes would doubt out a few of the appropriate oaths, which were, on similar occasions, with a custom to gather a sheet as threats. Not knowing very well what to do in this uncommon emergency, for Mrs. Nancy's hysterics were usually of that violent kind which the patient fights and struggles out of, that marching systems. Mr. Sykes tried a little blasphemy and trying that movement, treatment wholly ineffectual, called for assistance. What's the matter here, my dear? Said Fagin, looking in. Live a hand in the go, can't you? Lied Sykes impatiently. Don't stand shuddering grinning at me! With an exhalation surprise, enticed into the girl's assistance. Well, Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise no is the artful Dodger who had followed his venerable friend to the room, hastily deposited on the floor of bundle with which he was laid, and snatching a bottle from the grasp of Mr. Charlie Bates who came close to its heels, uncorked it in a twinkling with his teeth, and pulled a caution of its contents down the patient's throat. Previous Ted taking a taste, himself, revents mistakes. Give her a weave of frilly air with bellow, shall it? Mr. Dawkins, a slapper and Fagin will pull down those apetite cooks. These united storages administered with great energy, especially that department consigned the master Bates, were peer to consider his share in the proceedings. A piece of unexampled pleasantry were not long in perusing the desired effect. The girl gradually recovered the senses, and staggered into a chair by the bedside, hid her face with all the pillow, leaving Mr. Sykes to confront the newcomers in some astonishment as their unlooked-for appearance. Why, what, evil winds blow you here? He asked Fagin, no, evil winds at all, my dear, for evil winds blow nobody any good, and I brought something good with me, that you will be glad to see. Doge, my dear, open the bundle, and give Bill the little trifles that he spent all the money on this morning. In compliance with Mr. Fagin's request, the artful untied the bundle, which was of a large size and formed out of an old tablecloth, and handed the articles contained, one by one, to Charlie Bates, and placed them on the table with various encomitiums on their rarity and excellence. Stitch a rabbit boy, Bill, exclaimed the young gentleman, his closing to view of the heart's pastry. Stitch, dear, look at Richard's, with stitch and limbs, Bill, very bone in your mouth, and his occasion to pickle, half a pound of seven and six penny green, so precious strong he makes it with boil and war, eight, nine, blow the lid of the teapot off, a pound where half a more is sugar, and the fingers didn't work at all that, before they got you up to sort of a pitch of goodness. Oh, no! Two half, caught in brands, pound the best fresh, piece of double globeture, and the window ball, some of the richest sort you ever lost. Atherin's last penigaric, Master Bates produced, from one of his scented pockets, a full-size wine bottle, carefully corked, well, Mr. Dawkins, at this even instant, pulled out a wine glass full of raw spirits from the bottle they carried, which the invalid torn down his throat without a moment's hesitation. Ah, said Fagin, rubbing his hands with great satisfaction. You'll do, Bill, you'll do now. Do! exclaimed Mr. Sykes. I'm I adult for twenty times, oh, you don't have nothing to help me. What do you mean by leaving a man in this state? Three weeks and more you'll force out a rag-a-bone. Early here, him, boys, said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders, and asked come to bring him all these beautiful things. Oh, things is well enough in their way! Observed Mr. Sykes, little soothed he glanced over the table. But what are you going to say for yourself? Why, usually, be here down in the mouth, health, blotting everything else, and take no more notes of me all his moral time. And I'm worthy at your dork. Drive him down, surely! I never see such a dory dog as that. Right, Mr. Bates, doing as he was desired, smelling the grumb like your old lady are going to market. He make his fortune on the stage that dog would have revolved the drum, all besides. Oh, you din! Drowned Sykes, as the dog retreated under the bed, still growling angrily. What are you going to say for yourself, you ill-fancy? I was away from land, weakened more, my dear. What a plent! Applied the jewel. What about the other fall night? Demanded Sykes. What about the other fall night? You let me lie in here like a cigarette now, so... I couldn't help it, Bill. I can't go into a long explanation for company, but I couldn't help it upon my honor. A boy you walk! No, Sykes, it's disgusting. Yeah! Come here and pee in that air, pie, young you boys, it's a lie, my will choked me dead. Don't be out of temper, my dear. Urge Fakens, submissively. I've never got you, Bill, not once. No, I'm pounding you out! Applied Sykes with a bitter grin. You've been scheming and plotting the way every hour that I've laid shivering in blood in the air. Bill was to do this, and Bill was to do that, and Bill was to do it all. Dirt cheap as soon as he got well, and was quite poor enough for your work. It'd be for the girl I might doid. Yeah, now, Bill. Remonstrated Fakens, eagerly catching at the word, if it hadn't been for the girl. Oh, but poor old Fakens, what has the means of you having such a handy girl about you? It says true enough there, that Nancy, and I say it forward. Let him be, let him be! Nancy's appearance gave a new turn to the conversation, of the boys receiving a sly wing from the very old Jew. He began to cry her with liquor, of which, however, she took very sparingly, while faking, assuming an unusual blow of spirits, but actually brought Mr. Sykes into a better temper, by affecting to regard his threats as a little pleasant banter, and moreover, by laughing very hardly at one or two rough jokes, which after repeated applications to the spirit bottle, the condon sent it to make. It's all very well, said Mr. Sykes. Why must there be some blood at the new night? I haven't a piece of coin about me, applied the Jew. Then you got lots at home, they told it, Sykes, that I must have some from the air. Lots, cried Fakie, holding up his hands. I haven't so much as would. I don't know how much you've got, and I dare say you hardly know yourself, as it would take a pretty long time to count it, said Sykes. But it must have some do not, and that's flat. Well, well, said Fakie, with a sigh. Ah, oh, send the artful round the prism's leg. You won't do none of the kind. But I joined Mr. Sykes. Y'all feel the dear too awful, and won't forget to call, or lose his way, or get doors by traps, or be so perverted, or anything for a excuse, and put him up to it. Nineties of gold will get and fetch it, and make all sure an old lie down now, for snooze while she's gone. At a great deal of haggling and squabbling, Fagan bent down the amount of the acquired advance from five pounds to three pounds, four, and six pounds. But testing with many solemn adverse rations, that would leave only leave him 18 pence to keep house with. Mr. Sykes suddenly remarked that he couldn't get any more, he was to company him home. But the dodger in nasty baits put the eatables in the cupboard. The Jew then, taking leave of its affectionate friend, returned homeward, and tainted by Nancy and the boys. Mr. Sykes meanwhile, flinging himself on the bed, and composing himself to sleep away in the time until the young lady's return. In due course they arrived at Fagan's abode, where they found to be cracketed Mr. Chittling, and tend to pawn their fifteenth game at Cribbage, which it scarcely necessary to say that her gentleman lost, and with it his fifteenth and last sixpence much to the amusement of his young friends. Mr. Crackett, apparently somewhat ashamed to be found relaxing himself with the gentleman, so much his inferior, and station, and mental, and diamonds yawned, and quiring after Sykes took up his hat to go. —'Has nobody been to be?' asked Fagan. —'No living thing,' answered Mr. Crackett, putting up his collar. —'It's been all as swipes, yours sands up the handsome Fagan, who reccom-sents me for kick my house so long, dumber I must flouse the juryman, and should go and sleep as fast as new gain. If I hadn't had the cool nature he'd use this youngster.' —'Dory do, I'm blessed by I ain't!' With these and other ejaculations of the same kind, Mr. Toby Crackett swept up his winnings, and crammed him into his waistcoat pocket with a haughty air. As though such small pieces of silver who live beneath the consideration of a man of his figure. This done, he swaggered out of the room, with his much-much elegance and gentility, then Mr. Chittling, bestowing numerous admiring glances on his legs and boots till they were out of sight, assured the company that he considered his acquaintance cheap at fifteen six pence in an interview, and that he didn't value his losses the snap of his little finger. —'Wall rum-chop you are, Tom,' said Master Bates, highly amused by this decoration. —'No bit of it,' replied Mr. Chittler. —'I'm a Fagin, a very clever fellow, my dear,' said Fagin, patting him on the shoulder, winking at his other pupils. —'And Mr. Crackett is heavy as well, ain't he, Fagin?' asked Tom. —'No doubt it all, look at that, my dear.' —'And it is a crable thing to have his acquaintance, ain't it, Fagin?' —'Assumed Tom.' —'Very much so, indeed, my dear, they're only jealous, Tom, because they won't give it to them,' cried Tom triumphantly. —'All's where it is, he's clean me out, but I can go and earn some more when I like, can't I, Fagin?' —'To be sure you can, and the sooner you go, the better, Tom, so make up your law, said one, so don't lose any more time. —'Doctor, Charlie, it's time you're on the lay, come.' —'It's near ten, and nothing done yet.' —'An obedience to this hint, the boys, not into Nancy, took up their hats and left the room. The daughter and his facious friend indulging, as they went, in many witticisms that they'd spent Mr. Chittler, in whose corn-locked it is, but just is to say, there was nothing very conspicuous or peculiar. In his marches is there a great number of spirited young bloods upon town, who pay a much higher price than Mr. Chittling for being seen in good society, and a great number of fine gentlemen, imposing the good society aforesaid, who established their reputation upon very much the same putting as flash to be cracked. —'Now,' said Fagan, there left the room, I'll go and get you what cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a little cupboard, when I keep the few odd things the boys get, my dear. I never look up my money, for I've got nothing like a boy, dear. None to look up. It's a portrait, Nancy, and no thanks, but I'm fond of seeing that young people about me, and I bear it all, but I bear it all. —'Oh, shh!' he said, hastily concealing the key in his breast. —'Who's that? Listen!' The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded, appeared in no way interested in the arrival, all to care whether the person, whoever he was, came or went, until the murmur of a man's voice reached to ears. The instant she caught the sound, she tore off a bonnet and shawl with a rapidity of lightning, and thrust him under the table. The Jew turned the ground immediately afterwards. She muttered a complaint of the heat in a tone of langa that contrasted very remarkably with the extreme haste and violence of this action, which, however, had been observed by Fagan, who had his back taught her at that time. —'Bah!' he whispered, as though nettle by the interruption. —'It's the man I had expected before. He's coming downstairs. Not a word about the money while he's here, then. See? He won't stop long. Not ten minutes, my dear.' Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried a candle to the door, as man's step was heard upon the stair without. He leached it, and at the same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily into the room, was close upon the girl before he had deserved her, it was Manx. —'Live on, my young people!' said Fagan, observing that Manx drew back and were holding a stranger. —'Don't move, Nancy.' The girl drew closer to the table, and glanced at Manx with an air of careful levity, with through her eyes. But he as he turned towards Fagan, she stole another look, so keen and searching and full of purpose, that if there had been any bystander to observe the change, he could hardly believe the two looks to have proceeded from the same person. —'Elendours, great!' And, and good as Fagan, hesitating as though he feared to vex the other man by tubing to sanguine —'Not,' applied Manx with a smile. —'I.' The girl drew closer to the table, and made ill-offered leave the room. Wither she could see that Manx was pointing it to her, the Jew perhaps fearing she might say something aloud about the money, if he were endeavoured to get rid of her, pointed upward and took Manx out of the room. —'Not that infernal hoe he were in before.' She could hear the man say as they went upstairs, Fagan laughed, and making some reply which did not reach her, seemed by the creaking of the boards. Delirious companion to the second story. Before the stand of this footsteps had ceased to echo through the house, the girl had slipped off her shoes, and drawing her gown loosely over her head, and muffling her arms in it, stood at the door, listening with breathless interest. The moment the noise ceased, she glided from the room, ascended the stairs with incredible softness and silence, and was lost in the gloom above. The room remained deserted for a quarter of an hour or more. The girl glided back with the same unearthly tread, and immediately afterwards the two men were heard descending. Manx went at once into the street, and the Jew crawled upstairs again for the money. When he returned, the girl was adjusting her shawl and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone. —'Why, Nance!' exclaimed the Jew, starting back as he put down the candle. —'How pale you are!' —'Bell!' echoed the girl, shading her eyes with the hands, as if to look steadily at him. —'Quite horrible! What have you been doing to yourself?' —'Nothing that I know of, except sitting in this cloaked place, for I don't know how long and all,' implied the girl, carelessly. —'Come, let's get back. That's a dear.' The sigh for every piece of money faked until the amount into her hand. They parted without more conversation, merely interchanging a, good night. When the girl got into the open street, she sat down upon a doorstep and seemed for a few moments, totally bewildered and unable to pursue her way. Suddenly she rose, and hurrying on in direction quite opposite to that in which Sykes was awaiting her return, quickened her pace until it gradually rolled into a violent run. After completely exhausting herself, she stopped to take breath, and as if suddenly recollecting herself and imploring in an inability to do something she was bent upon, wrung her hands and burst into tears. It might be that her tears relieved her, or that she felt the full hopelessness of a condition, but she turned back, and hurrying with nearly as great rapidity in the contrary direction, partly to recover the lost time, and partly to keep pace with the violent current of her own thoughts, soon reached the dwelling which she had left the housebreaker. And she betrayed any agitation when she presented herself to Mr Sykes, he did not observe it, for merely inquiring if she had brought the money, and if receiving a reply in the affirmative uttered a growl of satisfaction, and replacing his head upon the pillow, resume the slumbers which her arrival had interrupted. It was fortunate for her that the possession of money occasioned him so much employment the next day in the way of eating and drinking, with all that so beneficial of an effect smoothing down the disparities of his temper, that he had neither time nor inclination to be very critical upon her behaviour and deportment, that she had all the abstracted and nervous matter of one who is in the eve of some bold and nasal step, which it should require no common struggle to resolve upon, would have been obvious to the links I fagin, who would most probably have taken the alarm at once, but Mr Sykes lacked the niceties of discrimination, and being troubled with no more subtle misgivings than those which resolved themselves into a doggie of roughness and behaviour towards everybody, and beating her furthermore in unusually amiable condition, as has already been observed, saw nothing unusual in her demeanour, and indeed troubles himself so little about her that, had her agitation been far more perceptible than it was, it would have been very unlikely to have wracked in his suspicions, as that day's disclosed in the girls at Sightman increased, and when night came on, and she sat by, watering until the house-breaker should drink himself to sleep, there was an unusual paleness in her cheek, and a fire in her eye, that even Sykes observed as astonishment. Mr Sykes being weak from the fever, was lying in bed, taking hot water with his chin, and less inflammatory, and he had pushed his glass towards an end-seater, but he punished for the third of full time, when these symptoms first struck him, what a burn my body! So the man, raising himself on his hands as he stared the girl on his face, you look like corpse come alive again, what's the matter? Matter? applied the girl, not then, what do you look at me so awful? What food is this? demanded Sykes, grasping her by the arm and shaking roughly, what is it? What do you mean? What are you thinking of? Or may things, Bill? replied the girl, shivering as she did so, pressing her hands upon her eyes, but Lord, what all was in that? The tone of forced gaiety, in which the last words are spoken, seemed to presuce a deeper impression on Sykes and the wild and rigid look that shed preceded them. I tell you what it is, said Sykes, if you haven't caught fever and caught it coming on now, there's some more unusual in the wind, and some dangerous too, you all know are going to, no dammit, you wouldn't do that. Do what? asked the girl. There ain't, said Sykes, fixing his eyes upon her, muttering the words themselves. There ain't a stall to all go, go in, or I'll call a throat-free mulch-goal. She'd go off, keep her coming on, that's it. Fortifying himself with his assurance, Sykes drained the glass to the bottom, and then with many grumbling oats, called for his physique, the girl jumped up with great alacrity, pulled her quickly out, but with her back towards him, and held the glissal to his lips when he dangles the contents. No! said the robber. Come on, sing aside me, and put on your own face, or I'll alter it so that you won't know it again when you do want it. The girl obeyed, Sykes locking a hand, and he has fell back upon the pillow, turning his eyes upon her face. They closed, opened again, closed once more, again opened. He shifted his position restlessly, and after dozing again, and again, for two or three minutes, and as often springing up with a look of terror, and gazing vacantly around him, was suddenly stricken, as it were, while in the very attitude rising into a deep and heavy sleep, the grasp his hand relaxed, the upraised arm felt languidly by his side, and he lay like one in a profound trance. The law no more taken effect at last. Merma the girl, as she rose from bedside, aw man, they're too late, even now. She day sleep dates to self in her bonnet and shawl, looking fearfully round from time to time. As if despite the sleeping draw, she expected every moment to feel the pressure of Sykes' heavy hand upon her shoulders, then stooping slightly around the other bed, she kissed the robber's lips, and then opening and closing the room door with noiseless touch, hurried from the house. A watchman was cutting half past nine, down a dark passage through which she had to pass, and gaining the main thoroughfare. How's it long gone a half hour? As the girl, he was right now in the other corner, said the man, raising his lantern to her face. Oh, can't get air in less than an hour more, uttered Nancy, brushing swiftly past him, and gliding rapidly down the street. Many of the shops were already closing in the back lanes and avenues through which she attract away, and making from spittle fields towards the west end of London. The clock struck ten, increasing her impatience. She tore along the narrow pavement, elbowing the passengers from side to side, darting almost under the horse's heads. Cross-crowded streets where masters and persons were eagerly awaited, urging her opportunity to do the like. Woman is mad, said the people, turning to look after as she rushed away. As she reached the more wealthy quarter of the town, the streets were comparatively deserted, and here her headlong progress excited a still greater curiosity and stragglers whom she had hurried past. Some quickened their pace behind, as though to see whether she was hastening at such an unusual rate, and if you made head upon her, and she looked back, surprised at her undermined speed, that they fell off one by one, and when she neared her place of destination, she was alone. It was a family hotel in a quiet but handsome street near Hyde Park, as the brilliant light of lamp which burned before its door guided her to the spot. The clock struck eleven. She had loitered for a few paces as though irresolute, and making a mobber mind or advance, but the sound determined her, and she stepped into the hall. The porter's seat was vacant. She looked round with an air of incertitude, and advanced all the stairs. No, not woman, said a smartly dressed female looking out from the doorbinder. What do you want here? A lady who slept up here in his house, and to the girl. A lady, was the reply, accompanied with a scornful look. What lady? Most mainly, said Nancy. The young woman whom by this time noted her appearance replied only by a look of virtuous disdain, and some other man to answer her. To him, Nancy repeated her request. What name am I to say? asked the waiter. I don't know you, is that a say, and any. Blight Nancy. Nor business, said the man. Nor, no, not, neither. And joined at the girl. I must see the lady. Come, said the man, pushing at all the door. None of this. Take yourself off. I shall be carried out if I go. Said the girl violently. I can make that the job he, too, you won't look, do. Is there any more here? She said, looking round. And will see a simple message carried on poor edge like me. This appeal produced an effect on a god-tempered faced man-cook, who, with some of the other suffins, was looking on, and was stepped forward to interfere. Take it up for a joke, can't you? said this person. Oh, off the gold, replied the man. You don't suppose any unlady will see such as her, do you? This illusioned Nancy's doubtful character raised a vast quantity of chast wrath in the bosom of poor housemaids, who were marked with great fervour that the creature was a disgrace to her sex, and wrongly advocated her being thrown ruthlessly into the kennel. Do what you like with me, said the girl, turning to the man again. But do what I ask you first, and I, shoot, and give his message for God, oh, my sake! The soft-hearted cook edited his intercession, and the result was that the man who had first appeared, and had took his delivery. What's it to be, said the man, with one foot on the stairs? A young woman, earnest now, suspecting me, is merely a lone, said Nancy. Said Nancy. Oh, look, if the lady were only the first word she asked to say, she wouldn't really know whether to hear her business, or how they turned out the doors as an imposter. I say, said the man. You're coming in strong. You give the message, said the girl firmly. And let me hear the lounge, sir. The man ran upstairs. Nancy remained pale and almost breathless, listening with cleavering lip to the very audible expressions of scorn, of which the chast housemaid were very prolific, and of which they became still more so, when the man returned, and said that the young woman was to walk upstairs. It's no good being prospered in this world, said the first housemate. Brask and better than a gold she stalled the fire, said the second. The third considered herself with wondering what way these are made of, and the fourth took the first in a quartet of shameful, with which the Dianas concluded. Regardless of all this, foreshad, etiamata zetat, Nancy followed the man with trembling limbs, to a small mantre chamber, lighted by a lamp from the ceiling. Here he left her, and retired. Oliver Twist, chapter 39, and chapter number 14 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Arthur Pietodosi. Chapter 40 A strange interview, which is a sequel to the last chapter. The girl's life had been squandered in the streets, and amongst the most noisy mother stools and dens of London. There was something of the woman's original nature left in her still, when she heard a light step approaching the door opposite to that by which she had entered, and thought of the wide contrast with the small room what in another moment contained, she felt burdened with the sense of her own deep shame, and shrunk as though she could scarcely bear the presence of her with whom she had sought this interview. But struggling with these utter feelings, pride, the vice of the lowest and most debased creatures, no less than of the high and self-assured, the miserable companion of thieves and rapians, the fallen outcasts of low homes, the associate of the scouring of jails and hulks, living within the shadow of the gallon itself. Even this degraded being felt too proud to portray a feeble gleam of the womanly feeling which she thought her weakness, which alone connected her with that humanity, of which her late in life had obliterated so many, many traces, when a very child. She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe the figure which presented itself was that of a slight and beautiful girl, then bending on the ground, she tossed her head with effected carelessness as she said, Is there all a matter getting to see you, lady? It ought to take me a fence and go away, as many don't. You'd have been sorry for it one day, and not without reason not either. I'm very sorry if anyone has behaved harshly to you, implied rose. Do not think of that. Tell me why you wish to see me. I am the person you inquired for. The kind tone of this answer, the sweet voice, the gentle manner, the absence of any accent of haughtiness of this pleasure, took the gold completely by surprise. She burst into tears. Oh, lady, lady! She said, clasping her hands rationally before her face, that there were more like you. There be fewer like me. There were. There were. Oh, sit down, said Rose, insolently. Oh, if you are in poverty or affliction, I should be truly glad to relieve you if I can. I shouldn't indeed, and sit down. Let me sit down, lady, so the girls still weeping, and they not speak to me so kindly. You know me better. It's going late. Is that your shot? Yes, said Rose, coiling your steps, as if to be nearer assistance in case you would require it. Why? Because, said the girl, I am about to put my life, your eye for holes in your hands. I am a girl, draggling all her back, the old faggings on the night you wait for out from the house in Pentonville. You! said Rose merely. Oh, you lady! Applied then. Oh, I mean, from the creature you ever heard of, it lives among thieves, and it never from the first moment I would recollect my eyes and senses operating all along the streets and knowing any better life, all kind of words than they had given me. So help me, God! Do not mind sweeping openly from me, girl, lady. Oh, well, you can go there and you would think. Don't look at me. I am well used to it. The poor woman fall back as I make my way caught in the crowded pavement. What dreadful things are these? said Rose, and the woman telling me, falling from a strange companion, I am having to pull your knees, my dear lady. Night, the girl, you had friends to care for and keep you in charge. I would. And that you never in the midst of cold and hunger, and rot in drunkenness, and something worse than all as I have been from the cri-cradle. I may use a word from Ali in the gutter, or mine, as they will be my deathbed. I pity you, said Rose, and the broken voice. It brings my heart to hug you and it blesses you for your gauntness, rejoin the girl. If you knew what I am, sometimes you would pity me, indeed. But I am stolen away from those who would who they murdered me if they knew I had been here, and tell you what I am a word. You know a men made mocks. No, said Rose. He knows you, applied the girl, and knew you were here. For it was by hearing him till the place that I found you out. I never heard the name, said Rose, and he go'd by some horror amongst us. And rejoin the girl, which I more than thought before. Sometime ago, and soon after all of her were put in your house on a night in the robbery, I spec'd in his man, living a conversational between him and Fakie in the dark. I found out what I heard, and mocks, and mine I asked you about, you know. Yes, said Rose. I understand. But mocks, and seeing him accidentally, it moves our boys on the day we first lost him, and known him directly to be the same child we was watching for, though I couldn't make out why. Barling was struck with faging, and if all it was got back, he should have a certain soul. And he was having more from making him a thief, which is mocks, one of the some burpers of his own. What purpose, asked Rose. He caught us up in my shadow walls, I listened in the hope of finding out, said the girl. And there are not many people who saw his means, it could have got out there waiting time, he would escape his scurry, but I did, and I saw him no more than last night. And what a good thing, all day, you lady. Last night he came again. Again they went upstairs, and I wrapped myself up in my shadow, not betraying me, again listening out the door. The first words I heard, monks say were these. So the only proof of the boy's identity, lie at the bottom of the river, and the old hag that perceived them, but his mother was roasting in the coffin. Then they laughed, and talked to his physician doing this, and mocks talking all about the boy, and getting very wild. He got young devil's money safely now, he'd rather have had it the other way. For what game it would have been, it would have brought a boat, and the boat to the boy's wheel, by driving it through every jail in town, and he hauled him up for some capital felony with faging could easily manage, after they made a good profit on him besides. What is all this? Said Rose. A true lady though, it comes from my lips. I'm glad the girl. And he said, but old commonly not my ears, but strange of yours, that if he could gratify his hatred by taking a boy alive, without turning in his own neck, danger he would. But as he couldn't, he'd be on the watch, meeting him at every turn in life, and if he took advantage of his burden in history, he might have been yet. Is your faith in, he says, due where you are, you will never lay in such snares as I will contrive for my young brother, Oliver. His brother, exclaimed Rose, owes were his words, setting Nancy glancing knees around, as if she scarcely ceased to do, since she had began to speak for a vision of psych's hold it up perpetually. And more, we spoke of you and your lady, and said it seemed contrived by Evan, or a devil against him, that Oliver should come in your hands. He laughed, and said, there was some comfort in that too, for I'm many thousands and hundred and thousands of pounds would you not give, here you are then, and though your tool-egg is found in your walls, said Rose, turning very pale, you tell me that this was said in the honest, he spoke in ardent, and I'm very honest, if the man ever did, applied the girl, shaking her head, he is in all these young man where his hatred is off, I know many who do worse thing, but I rather listen to them all a dozen times than they at Monks once, he throw me late, and I have to reach home without this vision of having been on such an errand as this, I must get back quickly. But what can I do? said Rose, don't use, can I tell this communication without your back? Why do you wish to return to companions depicting such terrible colours? If you repeat this information to a gentleman who I might consume in an instant for the next room, you can be consigned to some place of safety without a half an hour's delay. I wish to go back, said the girl, I must go back, because how can I tell such things to an innocent lady like you? Because among the men I told you of, there is one most desperate among them all, I can't leave, no, not even to be saved from the lot I am leading now. You having interfered this year, boys, perhaps before, said Rose, you're coming here, so great risk to tell me what you've heard, your manner, which convinces me of the truth of what you say, your evident contrition, and your sense of shame, all leading me to believe that you might get me redeemed. Oh, said the nearest girl, folding her hands as the tears course down her face, do not turn to death here to the untreaties of one of your own six, the first, the first that you believe, who ever appealed to you in the voice of pity and compassion. Do hear my words, and let me say you yet for better things. Lady, cried the girl, sinking on her knees, dear sweet lady, you are the first to ever bless me, such words as these, if I heard them years ago. Yeah, my, it turned me from a life of sin and sorrow, but it was too late, it is too late. It is never too late, said Rose, but tenetons and atonement. That is, right the girl, writhing in agony of her mind, I cannot leave him now, I could not be his death. Why should you be, said I asked Rose, no one could save him, cried the girl, if I told others what I told you, and let the dead in taking, he would surely die, he is a boldest, it has been so cruel. Is it possible, cried Rose, if such a man is this, you can assign every who to whom, and the certainty of immediate rescue, it is madness. I don't know what is, answered the girl, I only know it is so, and not with me alone, but with hundreds of hours, as bad and rich it is myself, I must go back, whether it is gold's wrath, for the wrong I had done, I do not know. But I am drawn back to him, through every sorrow in any usage, and I should be, I believe if I knew I was to die by his hand at last. What am I to do, said Rose, I should not let you laugh at me thus. You sure lady, and you know you will, joined the girl, rising, you may not wish to come I going, because I trust in your goodness, and for no promise from you, as a man would have done, but what do you say, is the communication you have made, said Rose, his mystery must be instigated, or how will it do to me, benefit all of her, when you are anxious to serve? You must have some kind, gentlemen about you, will hear it as secret, and voice you what to do, joined the girl. But where can I find you again, when it is necessary, said asked Rose, I do not seek to know where these dreadful people live, but where will you be walking or passing until you settle, period, from this time? When you promise me, that you will wear my secret, because you do kept, and because I am alone, and with the only other person who knows it, and that I should not be walked, shall fall down, asked the girl, I promise you solemnly, answered Rose, I race all night, from eleven to twelve, said the girl, without hesitation, all along the bridge, you find me alive. There is ten other moments, in the pose Rose, as the girl hurried towards the door, think once again on your own condition, and the opportunity of you having been escaping it, you proclaim on me, note only as the more intelligent bearer of this intelligence, but as a woman lost almost beyond redemption, when you return this gang of robbers, into this man, what a word can save you, what fascination is it that you can take you back, and make you cling to wickedness and misery? Oh, is there a cold in your heart that I can touch? Is there nothing left, to which I can appeal, against this terrible infatuation? Well ladies, I is young, and good and beautiful as you are, and like the girls steadily, in where your heart's love will carry you all lengths, even such as you, with old friends are the remorse, everything. I feel them, when such as I, have no certain roof, but a coughing lid, and afraid his sickness, or death, or husband or nurse, act like a rotten house, or any mum, and let him feel the place that there's been a blank, thought rule, or all that, that she lives. Oh, good hope, put a cure on us, prettiest lady, and the answer, I have only one feeling of the woman left, and for having that turned, by having judgement, from her comfort and pride, in her new means of violence, and suffering, you will, said Rose, after a pause, take some money from me, which may amne who, to live without dishonesty, it will all events, until we meet again. No, or penny, applied the girl, waving a hand. Do not close your heart, against all thy efforts, to help you, said Rose, stepping gently forward. I wish we'll serve you indeed. You would serve me best, lady, applied the girl, ringing her hands. You could take my life, it won't, for I felt more grief to think of, what I am tonight, than I ever did before, and I would be something, not to die, in the hell, in which I lived. God bless you, sweet lady, and said as much happiness on your head, as I brought shame on mine, thus speaking, and sobbing aloud, the unhappy creature turned away, while Rose, mainly, overpowered by this extraordinary interview, which had more the semblance of a rapid dream than an actual occurrence, sank into a chair, endeavoured to collect to wandering thoughts. Chapter 40 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens End.