 Chapter 50. The Pursuit and Escape Near to that part of the Thames, on which the church at Robberhine are buts, where the buildings on the banks are dirtiest and on the vessels and on the river blackest with the dust of colliers and the smoke of close-built low-roofed houses, there exists the filthiest, strangest, most extraordinary of the many localities that are hidden in London, wholly unknown even by name to the great masses of its inhabitants. To reach this place the visitor has to penetrate through a maze of close narrow and muddy streets, thronged by the roughest and poorest of waterside people, and devoted to the traffic they may be supposed to occasion. The cheapest and least delicate provisions are heaped in the shops, the corsets and communists of articles of wearing apparel, dangle at the salesman's door, and stream from the house parapet and windows, jostling with unemployed labourers of the lowest class, ballast heavers, coal whippers, brazen women, ragged children, and the raffin refuse of the river. He makes his way with difficulty along, assailed by offensive sights and smells from the narrow alleys which branch off on the right and left, and deafened by the clash of ponderous wagons that bear great piles of merchandise from the stacks of warehouses that arise from every corner. Arriving at lengths in streets for a motor and less frequented than those through which he has passed, he walks beneath tottering house fronts, projecting over the pavement, dismantled walls that seem to totter as he passes, chimneys half crushed, half hesitating to fall, windows guarded by rusty iron bars that time and dirt have almost eaten away, every imaginable sign of desolation and neglect. In such a neighbourhood beyond Dockhead in the borough of Southwark stands Jacobs Island, surrounded by a muddy ditch, six or eight feet deep, and 15 or 20 wide when the tide is in. One's called Mill Pond, but known in the days of this story as Folly Ditch. It is a creek or an inlet from the Thames and can always be filled at high water by opening the sluices at the lead mills from which it took its old name. At such times a stranger looking from one of the wooden bridges, thrown across it at Mill Lane, will see the inhabitants of the houses on either side, lowering from their back doors or windows, buckets, piles, domestic utensils of all kind, in which to haul the water up, and when his eye turned from these operations to the houses themselves, his utmost astonishment will be excited by the scene before him. Crazy wooden galleries, common to the backs of half a dozen houses, with holes from which to look upon the slime beneath, windows broken and patched with poles thrust out, on which to dry the linen that is never there. Rooms so small, so filthy, so confined, that the air would seem to be tainted even for the dirt and squalor which they shelter. Wooden chambers thrusting themselves out above the mud and threatening to fall into it, as some have done. Dirt besmeared walls and decaying foundations, every repulsive liniment of poverty, every loathsome indication of filth, rot and garbage, all of these ornament the banks of folly ditch. In Jacobs Island the warehouses are ruthless and empty, the walls are crumbling down, the windows are windows no more, the doors are falling into the streets, the chimneys are blackened but they yield no smoke. Thirty or forty years ago, before losses and chance resuits came upon it, it was a thriving place, but now it is a desolate island indeed. The houses have no owners, they are broken open, and entered upon by those who have the courage and there they live, and there they die. They must have powerful motives for a secret residence, or be reduced to a destitute condition indeed, who seek refuge in Jacobs Island. In an upper room of one of these houses, a detached house of fair size, ruinous in other aspects, but strongly defended at door and window, of which house the back commanded the ditch in a manner already described. They were assembled three men, who, regarding each other every now and then with looks of expressive perplexity and expectation, sat for some time in profound and gloomy silence. One of these was Toby Crackett, another Mr. Chitling, and the third, a robber of fifty years whose nose had been almost beaten in, in some old scuffle, and whose face bore a frightful scar, which might probably be traced to the same occasion. This man was a returned transport, and his name was Caggs. I wish, said Toby, turning to Mr. Chitling, that you had picked out some other crib when the two old ones got too warm, and had not come here, my fine fellow. Why didn't you, blunderhead, said Caggs? Well, I thought you'd have been a little more glad to see me than this, replied Mr. Chitling, with a melancholy air. Why, looking young gentleman, said Toby, when a man keeps himself so very exclusive as I have done, I buy that means as a snug house over his head, and with nobody apprying and smelling about it. It's rather a startling thing to have the honour of a visit from a young gentleman. However respectable and pleasant a person he may be to play cards with, at convenience, he circumstance as you are. Especially when the exclusive young man has got a friend stopping with him, that's arrived sooner than was expected from foreign parts, and is too modest to want to be presented to the judges on his return, added Mr. Caggs. There was a short silence after which Toby Crackett, seeming to abandon his hopeless any further effort to maintain his usual devil-naked air swagger, turned to Chitling and said, when was Fagan took then? Just at dinner time, two o'clock this afternoon, Charlie and I made our lucky up-the-washers chimney, and bolted on into an empty water-butt head downwards. But his legs were so precious long that he stuck out at the top, so he took him to, and bet. Poor bet she went to see the body to speak to who it was, replied Chitling, his countenance failing more and more. I went off mad, screaming and raving and beating her head against the boards, so they put a straight whisker on her and took her to the hospital, and there she is. What's become of young Bates, demanded Caggs. He hung about not to come over here before dark, but he'll be here soon, replied Chitling. There's nowhere else to go now, for the people at the cripples are all in custody, and the bar at the ken, I went up there and I also see it with my own eyes, is filled with traps. This is a smash instead of Tony biting his lips, as more than one will go with this. The sessions are on, said Caggs, so they get the inquest over and bolt returns King's evidence, as of course he will, from what he said already. They can prove Fagan an accessory before the fact, and get the trouble on Friday, and they're swinging six days from this by God. You should have heard the people groaned, said Chitling. The officers fought like devils or they'd have torn him away. He was down once, but they made a ring round him and fought their way along. You should have seen how he looked about him, all muddy and bleeding, and clunked at them as they were his dearest friends. I could see him now, not able to stand up like with the pressing of the mob, dragging him along amongst them, I could see the people jumping up, one behind another, and snarling with their teeth and making at him. I could see the blood upon his hair and beard, and hear the cries of which the women worked themselves into the centre of the crowd in the street corner, and swore they'd tear his heart out. The horror-stricken witness of this scene pressed his hands upon his ears, and with his eyes closed, got up and placed behind me two and fro like one distracted. While he was thus engaged, and the two men sat by in silence with their eyes fixed upon the floor, the pattering noise was heard upon the stairs, and Sykes Dogg bounded into the room. He ran to the window downstairs and into the street. The Dogg had jumped in at an open window. He made no attempt to follow them, nor was his master to be seen. What's the meaning of this, said Toby when they returned? He can't be coming here, I hope not. If he was coming here, he'd come with a Dogg, said Caggs, stooping down to examine the animal, who lay panting on the floor. Here, give us some water for him, he's run himself faint. He's drunk it all up, every drop said chitling after watching the Dogg sometime in silence. Covered with mud, lame, half-blind, he must have come a long way. Where can he have come from? exclaimed Tony. He's been to the other kens, of course, and finding them filled with strangers. Come on here, where he's been many a time and often. But where can he have come from first, and how comes he's here alone without the other? He, none of them called the murderer by his old name. He can't have made it away with himself. What do you think, said chitling? Toby shook his head. If he had, said Caggs, the Dogg had wanted to lead us away to where he did it. No, I think he's quite out of the country and left the Dogg behind, must have given him a slip somehow, or he wouldn't be so easy. The solution appearing to be the most probable one was adopted as a right. The Dogg creeping under a chair called himself up to sleep without more notice from anybody. It being now dark, the shuttle was closed and the candle lighted and placed upon the table. The terrible events of the last two days had made a deep impression upon all three. Increased by the danger and uncertainty of their own position, they drew their chairs closer together, starting at every sound. They spoke little and that in whispers and were silent and as all stricken, as if the remains of the murdered woman lay in the next room. They had sat thus some time when suddenly he was heard a hurried knocking at the door below. Young Bates, said Caggs, looking angrily rough, to check the fear he felt himself. The knocking came again. No, it wasn't he. He never knocked like that. Crack it went to the window. Shaking all over drew in his head. There was no need to tell him who it was. His pale face was enough. The Dogg too was on the alert in an instant and ran whining to the door. We must let him in, he said, taking up the candle. Is there any help for it? said the other man in a hoarse voice. None, he must come in. Don't leave us in the dark, said Caggs, taking down the candle from the chimney-piece and lighting it with such a trembling hand that the knocking was twice repeated before he had finished. Crack it went down to the door and returned, fuller by a man with his lower part of his face buried in a handkerchief, and another tied over his head under his hat. He drew them slowly off, blanched face, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, beard of three days growth, wasted flesh, short, thick breath. It was the very ghost of Sykes. He laid his hand upon a chair which stood in the middle of the room, but shuddering as he was about to drop into it, the signal glanced over his shoulder, dragged it back close to the wall, as close as it would go, and grounded against it. And sat down. Not a word had been exchanged. He looked for one to the other in silence. If an eye were furt of the rays that had met his, it was instantly averted. When his hollow voice broke the silence, all three started. They seemed never to have heard its tones before. How kind of that dog ear, he asked. Alone, three hours ago. The night's paper says that Fagans took. Is that true or a lie? True. They were silent again. Damn you all, said Sykes, passing his hand across his forehead. Have you nothing to say to me? There was an uneasy movement among them, but nobody spoke. You keep this house, said Sykes, turning his face to crack it. Did you mean to sell me, or let me lie until his aunt is over? You may stop here if you think it's safe to return the person addressed after some hesitation. Sykes carried his eyes slowly up the wall behind him, trying to turn his head than actually doing it, and said, Is it the body? Is it buried? They shook their heads. Why isn't it, he retorted with the same glance behind him? What do they keep such an ugly thing above ground for? Who's that knocking? Crack it, intimated by a motion of his hand as he left the room. But there was nothing to fear, and came directly back with Charlie Bates behind him. Sykes sat opposite the door, so at the moment the boy entered the room he encountered his figure. Toby, said the boy falling back, as Sykes turned his eyes towards him. Why didn't you tell me this downstairs? There had been something so tremendous in the shrinking of the three, that the wretched man was willing to propitiate even this lad. Accordingly he nodded and made as though he would shake hands with him. Let me go into the other room, said the boy, retreating still further. Charlie, said Sykes stepping forward. Don't you know me? Don't come nearer me, answered the boy, still retreating and looking with horror in his eyes upon the murderous face. You monster! The man stopped halfway and they looked at each other, but Sykes' eyes gradually sunk to the ground. Witness you free, cried the boy, shaking his clenched fist and becoming more and more excited as he spoke. Witness you free. I'm not afraid of him. If they came here after him, I'll give him up. I will. I'll tell you at once. He may kill me for it if he likes, or if he dares. But if I am here, I'll give him up. I'll give him up if he was beboiled alive. Murder! Help! If there's the pluck of a man among you three, you'll help me. Murder! Help! Down with him. Pouring out these cries and accompanying them with violent gesticulation, the boy actually threw himself single-handed upon the strong man, and in the intensity of his energy and the suddenness of his surprise, brought him heavily to the ground. The three spectators seemed quite stupefied. They offered no interference, and the boy and the man rolled around on the ground together. The former, heedless of the blows that showered upon him, wrenching his hands tighter and tighter in the garments about the murderer's breast, and never ceasing to call for help with all his might. The contest however was too unequal to last long. Sykes had him down and his knee was on his throat, when Crackett pulled him back with a look of alarm and pointed to the window. There were lights gleaming below, voices in loud and earnest conversation. The tramp of hurried footsteps, endless they seemed in number, crossing the nearest wooden bridge. One man on horseback seemed to be among the crowd, for there was the noise of hooves rattling on the uneven pavement. The gleam of lights increased, the footsteps came more thickly and noisily on. Then came a loud knocking at the door, and then a hoarse murmur from such a multitude of angry voices as would have made the boldest quail. Helped shriek the boy in a voice that rentneered. He's here, break down the door. In the king's name cried the voices without, and the horse cry arose again but louder. Break down the door screamed the boy, I'll tell you that I'll never open it, run straight to the room where the lawyer is, break down the door. Strokes thick and heavy rattled upon the door, and lower window shutters as he ceased to speak, and a loud huzzah burst from the crowd, giving the listener for the first time some adequate idea of its immense extent. Open the door to someplace where I can lock this screech in hell, babe. Cried Sykes fiercely, running to and fro, and dragging the boy now as easily as if he were an empty sack. That door quick, he flung him in, bolted it, and turned the key. Is the downstairs door fast? Double locked and chained replied Crackett, who, with the other two men, still remained quite helpless and bewildered. The panel's early strong, lined with sheet iron, and the windows too? Yes, and the windows. Damn you, cried the desperate ruffian, throwing up the sash and menacing the crowd. Do your worst, I'll cheat you yet. Of all the terrific yells that ever fell upon mortal ears, none could exceed the cry of the infuriated throne. Some shouted to those who were nearest to set the house on fire, others roared to the officers to shoot him dead. Among them all, none showed such fury as the man on horseback, who, throwing himself out of the saddle, and bursting through the crowd as if he were parting water, cried beneath the window in a voice that rose above all of us. Twenty guineats to the man who brings the ladder. The nearest voices took up the cry, and hundreds echoed it. Some called for ladders, some for sledgehammers, some rammed the torches to and fro as if to seek them, and still came back and roared again. Some spent their breath on impotent curses and excreations, some pressed forward with the ecstasy of madmen, and thus impeded the progress of those below. Some among the boldest attempted to climb up by the waterspout, and crevices in the wall, and all waved to and fro, in the darkness beneath like a field of corn, moved by an angry wind, and joined from time to time in one loud furious roar. The tide cried the murderer as he staggered back into the room, and shut the faces out. The tide was in as I came up, give me a rope, a long rope, they're all in front, I might drop off into the folly ditch, and clear off that way. Give me a rope or I shall do three more murders and kill myself. Panicked stricken men pointed to where such articles were kept. The murderer, hastily selecting the longest and strongest cord, hurried up to the house top. All the windows in the rear of the house had been long ago bricked up, except one small trap in the room where the boy was locked, and that was too small even for the passage of his body. But from this aperture he had never ceased to call on those without to guard the back, and thus when the murderer emerged at last on the house top by the door in the roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact of those in front, who immediately began to pour around, pressing upon each other in an unbroken stream. He planted a board which he had carried up with him for the purpose, so firmly against the door, and it must be a matter of great difficulty to open it from the inside, and creeping over the tiles looked over the low parapet, but water was out and the ditch a bed of mud. The crowd had been hushed during these few moments, watching his motions, and doubtful of his purpose, but the instant they perceived it and knew it was defeated, they raised a cry of triumphant excretion to which all their previous shouting had been whispers. Again and again it rose, those who were too great a distance to know its meaning, took up the sound, it echoed and re-echoed, it seemed as though the whole city had poured its population out to curse it. On pressed the people from the front, on, on, on, in the strong struggling current of angry faces, with here and there a glaring torch to lighten them up and show them out in all their roth and passion. The houses, on the opposite side of the ditch, had been entered by the mob. Sashes were thrown up or torn bodily out. There were tears and tears of faces in every window, cluster upon cluster of people clinging to every housetop, each little bridge and there were three inside, bent beneath the weight of the crowd upon it. Still the current poured on, to find some nook or hole from which to vent their shouts, and only for an instant to see the wretch. They have him now cried a man on the nearest bridge. Hurrah! The crowd grew light with uncovered heads and again the shout up rose. I will give fifty pounds, cried an old gentleman from the same quarter, to the man who takes him alive. I will remain here till he come to ask me for it. There was another roar. At this moment the word was passed among the crowd that the door was forced at last, and that he who had first called for the ladder and mounted into the room. The stream abruptly turned as this intelligence ran from mouth to mouth, and the people at the windows, seeing those upon the bridges pouring back, quitted their stations. And running into the street joined the concourse that now thronged Pelmel to the spot they had left, each man crushing and striving with his neighbour, all panting with impatience to get near the door, and look upon the criminal as the officers brought him out. The cries and shrieks of those who were pressed, almost to suffocation, or trampled down and trodden underfoot in the confusion, were dreadful. The narrow ways were completely blocked up, and at this time between them rushed up some to regain the space in front of the house, and the unavailing struggles of others to extricate themselves from the mass. The immediate attention was distracted from the murderer, through the universal eagerness for his capture was, if possible, increased. The man had shrunk down, thoroughly quelled by the ferocity of the crowd, and the impossibility of escape. But seeing this sudden change with no less rapidity than it had occurred, he sprang upon his feet, determined to make one last effort for his life, by dropping into the ditch, and at the risk of being stifled, endeavouring to creep away in the darkness and confusion. Riles to new strength and energy, and stimulated by the noise within the house, which announced that the entrance had really been affected, he set his foot against the stack of chimneys, passing one end of the rope tightly and firmly around it, and with the other made a strong running noose by the aid of his hands and teeth, almost in a second, he could let himself down by the cord to within less distance to the ground than his own height, and he had his knife ready in his hand to cut it then drop. At the very instant when he brought the loop over his head, previous to slipping it beneath his armpits, and when the old gentleman before mentioned who had clung so tight to the railing of the bridge as to resist the force of the crowd and retain his position, earnestly worn those about him that the man was about to lower himself down. At that very instant, the murderer, looking behind him on the roof, threw his arms above his head and uttered a yell of terror. The eyes again he cried in unearthly screech. Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled over the parapet. The noose was on his neck, he ran up with his weight, tight as a bow string, and swept as an arrow at speeds. He fell for five and thirty feet, but a sudden jerk, terrific convulsion of the limbs, and there he hung, and the open knife clenched in his stiffening hand. The old chimney quivered with a shock, but stood it bravely. The murderer swung lifeless against the wall, and the boy, thrusting aside the dangling body which obscured his view, called the people to come and take him out for god's sake. A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and forwards on the parapet with a dismal howl, and collecting himself for a spring jumped for the dead man's shoulders, missing his aim he fell into the ditch, turning completely over as he went, and striking his head against a stone, dashed out his brains. End of chapter 50. Chapter 51 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 51. Affording an explanation of more mysteries than one, and comprehending a proposal of marriage with no word of settlement or pinmally. The events narrated in the last chapter were yet but two days old, when Oliver found himself at three o'clock in the afternoon, in a travelling carriage rolling fast towards his native town. Mrs. Malian Rose and Mrs. Bedwin and the good doctor were with him. Mr. Brownlow followed in a post-chance, accompanied by one other person whose name had not been mentioned. They had not talked much upon the way, for Oliver was in a flutter of agitation and uncertainty, which deprived him of the power of collecting his thoughts, and almost of speech, and appeared to have scarcely less effect on his companions, who shared it in at least an equal degree. He and the two ladies had been very carefully made acquainted by Mr. Brownlow, with the nature of the admissions which had been forced from monks. Although they knew that the object of their present journey was to complete the work which had been so well begun, still the whole matter was enveloped in enough doubt and mystery to leave them in endurance of the most intense suspense. The same kind friend had, with Mr. Loosborn's assistance, cautiously stopped all channels of communication through which they could receive intelligence of the dreadful occurrences that had so recently taken place. It was quite true, he said, that they must know them before long, but it might be at a better time than the present, and it could not be at a worse, so they travelled on in silence, each busy with reflections on the subject which had brought them together, and no one disposed to give utterance to the thoughts which crowded upon all. But if Oliver, under these influences, had remained silent while they journeyed toward his birthplace by a road he had never seen, how the whole current of his recollections ran back to old times, and what a crowd of emotions were wakened up in his breast, when they turned into that which he had traversed on foot, a poor, houseless, wandering boy, without a friend to help him, or a roof to shelter his head. See there, there cried Oliver eagerly, clasping the hand of Rose, pointing out the carriage window, that's the style I came over, there are the hedges I crept behind, for fear anyone should overtake me and force me back. Yonder is the path across the fields leading to the old house, where I was a little child. Oh, dick, dick, my dear old friend, if I can only see you now. You will see him soon, replied Rose, gently taking his folded hands between her arms. If you tell him how happy you are and how rich you have grown, and in all your happiness, you have none so great as the coming back to make him happy too. Yes, yes, said Oliver, and we'll take him away from here, and we'll have him clothed and taught, and send him to some quiet country place where he may grow strong and well, shall we? Rose nodded yes, for the boy was smiling, through such happy tears that she could not speak. You will be good and kind to him, for you are to everyone, said Oliver. It will make you cry, I know, to hear what he can tell. But never mind, never mind, it will be all over, and you will smile again. I know that too. Think how changed he is. You did the same with me, he said. God bless you to me when I ran away, cried the boy with a burst of affection and emotion, and I will say God bless you now, and show him how I love him for it. As they approached the town, and at length drove through its narrow streets, it became a matter of no small difficulty to restrain the boy within reasonable bounds. There were so abeasly undertakers, just as it used to be, only smaller and less imposing in appearance than he remembered it. There were all the well-known shops and houses, with almost every one of which he had some slight incident connected. And there was Gamfield's cart, the very cart he used to have standing at the old public house door. There was the workhouse, the dreary prison of his youthful days, with its dismal windows frowning on the street. There was the same lean porter standing at the gate, at the sight of whom Oliver involuntarily shrunk back, and laughed at himself for being so foolish. Then cried and laughed again. There were scores of faces at the doors of windows that he knew quite well. There was nearly everything as if he had left it but yesterday, and all his recent life had been but a happy dream. But it was pure earnest joyful reality. They drove straight to the door of the chief hotel, which Oliver used to stare up at with awe, and think of mighty palace, but which had somehow fallen off in grandeur and size. And here was Mr Grimwick, all ready to receive them, kissing the young lady and the old one too, when they got out of the coach, as if he were the grandfather of the whole party, all smiles and kindness, not offering to eat his head, no, not once, not even when he contradicted a very old post boy about the nearest road to London, and maintained he knew best. But he had only come that way once, and at time passed asleep. There was dinner prepared, and there were bedrooms ready, and everything was arranged as if by magic. Notwithstanding all this, when the hurry of the first half hour was over, and the same silence and constraint prevailed that had marked their journey down, Mr Brownlow did not join the McDinner, but remained in a separate room. The two other gentlemen hurried in and out with anxious faces, and during the short intervals when they were present, conversed apart. Once Mrs Maylee was called away, and after being absent for nearly an hour, returned with eyes swollen with weeping. All these things made Rose and Oliver, who were not in any new secrets, nervous and uncomfortable. They sat wondering in silence, or if they exchanged a few words, spoke in whispers, as if they were afraid to hear the sound of their own voices. At length, when nine o'clock had come, and they began to think that they were to hear no more that night, Mr Looseburn and Mr Grimwig entered the room, followed by Mr Brownlow, and a man whom Oliver almost shrieked with surprise to see. For they had told him it was his brother, and it was the same man he had met at the market-town, and seen looking in with Fagan at the window of his little room. Monks cast a look of hate, which even then he could not dissemble, at the astonished boy, and sat down near the door. Mr Brownlow, who had papers in his hand, walked to a table near which Rose and Oliver were seated. This is a painful task, said he, of these declarations which have been signed in London before many gentlemen must be in substance repeated here. I would have spared you the degradation, but we must hear them from your own lips before we part, and you know why. Go on, said the person addressed, turning away his face. Quick, I've almost done enough, I think, don't keep me here. This child, said Mr Brownlow, drawing Oliver to him, and laying his hand upon his head, is your half-brother, the illegitimate son of your father, my dear friend Edwin Leverd, my poor young Agnes Fleming, who died giving him birth. The S said, Monks scowling at the trembling boy, the beating of whose heart he might have heard. That is the bastard child. The term you use, said Mr Brownlow, sternly, is a reproach to those long since passed beyond the feeble censure of the world. It reflects disgrace on no one living, except you who use it. Let that pass, he was born in this town. In the workhouse, was the sullen reply. You have the story there, he pointed impatiently to the papers, as he spoke. I must have it here too, said Mr Brownlow, looking round upon the listeners. Listen then, you, return, Monks. His father, being taken ill at Rome, was joined by his wife, my mother, from whom he had been long separated, and went from Paris and took me with her to look after his property, for what I know, for she had no great affection for him, or he for her. He knew nothing of us, for his senses were gone, and he slumbered on till the next day when he died. Among the papers in his desk were two. Dated on the night his illness first came on, directed to yourself. He addressed himself to Mr Brownlow, and he closed in a few short lines to you, with an intimation on the cover of the package, that it was not to be forwarded till after he was dead. One of these papers was a letter to this girl Agnes, the other a will. What of the letter? asked Mr Brownlow. The letter sheet of paper crossed and crossed again with a penitent confession, and prayers to God to help her. It palmed a tale on the girl, some secret mystery, he explained one day, prevented his marrying her just then, so she had gone on trusting patiently to him, though she trusted too far, and lost what none could ever give her back. She was at the time within a few months of her confinement. He told her, all he had meant to do, to hive her shame, if he had lived, and prayed her if he died, not to curse his memory, or think the consequences of their sin, would be visited on her or their young child. For all the guilt was his. He reminded her of the day he had given her the little locket, and the ring with her Christian name engraved upon it, and a blank left for that which he hoped one day to have bestowed upon her. Prayed her yet to keep it, and wear it next to her heart, as she had done before. And then ran on, wildly in the same words, over and over again, as if he had gone distracted. I believe he had. The will, said Mr Brownlow, as Oliver's tears fell fast. Monks was silent. The will, said Mr Brownlow, speaking for him, was in the same spirit as the letter. He talked of miseries which his wife had brought upon him, of the rebellious disposition, vice, malice, and premature bad passions, of you his only son. You had been trained to hate him, and left you and your mother each in annuity of eight hundred pounds. The bulk of his property he had divided into two equal portions, one for Agnes Fleming, and the other for their child. If it should be born alive, and ever come of age, if it were a girl, it was to inherit the money unconditionally. But if a boy, only on the stipulation, and in his minority, he should never have stained his name, with any public act of dishonour, meanness, cowardice, or wrong. He did this, he said, to mark his confidence in the other, and his conviction only strengthened by approaching death, that the child would share her gentle heart in noble nature, if he were disappointed in this expectation. Then the money was to come to you, for then, and not till then, when both children were equal, would he recognise your prior claim upon his purse. Who had none upon his heart, but had from an infant, repulsed him with coldness and aversion. My mother, said Monk, in the loudest tone, did what a woman should have done. She burnt this will, the letter never reached its destination, but that another proof she kept, in case they ever tried to lie away the plot. The girl's father had the truth from her, with every aggravation, that her violent hate, I love her for it now could have. Golden by shame and dishonour, he fled with his children into a remote corner of Wales, changing his very name that his friends might never know of his retreat. And here, no great while afterwards, he was found dead in his bed. The girl had left her home and secret some weeks before. He had searched for on foot in every town and village near. It was on the night when he returned home assured that she had destroyed herself to hide her shame, and his, at his old heart, broke. There was a short silence here, until Mr Brownlow took up the thread of the narrative. Years after this, he said, this man, Edward Leiford's mother, came to me. He had left her when only 18, robbed her of her jewels and money, gambled and squandered and forged and fled to London. Where for two years, he had associated with the lowest outcasts. She was sinking under a painful and incurable disease, and wished to recover him before she died. The inquiries were set on foot, and strict searches made. They were unabailing for a long time, ultimately successful, and he went back with her to France. Then she died, said monks, after a lingering illness and on her deathbed. She bequeathed these secrets to me. Together with her unquenchable and deadly hatred of all whom they involved. But she need not have left me that, for I had inherited it long before. She would not believe that the girl had destroyed herself and the child too, but was filled with the impression that a mild child had been born and was alive. I swore to her that if ever it crossed my path to hunt it down, never to let it rest, to pursue it with a bitterest and most unrelenting animosity. To vent upon it the hatred that I deeply felt, and to spit upon the empty vaunt and that insulting will by dragging it, if I could, to the very gallows foot. She was right. He came in my way at last. I began well, and but for babbling drabs I would have finished as I began. As the villain folded his arms tightly together and muttered curses on himself, in the impotence of baffled malice, Mr. Brownlow turned to the terrified group beside him and explained that the Jew, who had been his old accomplice and confidant, had a large reward for keeping Oliver in snare, for which some part was to be given up in the event of his being rescued, and that a dispute on his head had led to their visit to the country house for the purpose of identifying him. The locket and ring said Mr. Brownlow turning to monks. I bought them from a man and woman I told you of, who stole them from the nurse, who stole them from the corpse, answered monks without raising his eyes. You know what became of them. Mr. Brownlow merely nodded to Mr. Grimwig, who, disappearing with great alacrity, shortly returned, pushing in Mrs. Bumble and dragging her unwilling consort after him. Do my eyes deceive me, cried Mr. Bumble, with an ill-fated enthusiasm? Or is that little Oliver? Oh, Oliver, if you know how I've been grieving for you, hold your tongue full, moment, Mrs. Bumble. Isn't it nature, nature, Mrs. Bumble, that demonstrated the workhouse master? Can I be supposed to feel as I've brought him up brokely, when I see him is sitting here among ladies and gentlemen, for the very affable description. I always loved the boy, as if he'd been my own grandfather, said Mr. Bumble, holding for an appropriate companion. Master Oliver, my dear, you remember the breasted gentleman in the white waistcoat? And he went to heaven last week, in a note coffin with plaited handles on it. Come, sir, said Mr. Grimwig, tartly, suppress your feelings. I will do my endeavour, sir, replied Mr. Bumble. How do you do, sir? I hope you are very well. This salutation was addressed to Mr. Browno, who had stepped up within a short distance of the respectable couple. He inquired, as he pointed to monks, do you know that person? Perhaps you don't, said Mr. Browno, addressing her spouse. I never saw him in all my life, said Mr. Bumble. Well, sold him anything, perhaps? No, replied Mr. Bumble. You never had perhaps a certain gold locket and ring, said Mr. Browno. Certainly not, replied the matron. We were brought here to answer such nonsense as this. Again Mr. Browno nodded to Mr. Grimwig, and again that gentleman limped away with extraordinary readiness. But not again did he return with a stout man and wife. For this time he led in two pulsed women, who shook and tottered as they walked. You shut the door, the light-hold suddenly died, said the foremost one, raising her shriveled hand, but you couldn't shut out the sound nor stop the chinks. No, no, said the other, looking round her and weighing her toothless jaws. No, no, no. We heard her try to tell you what she'd done, and saw you take a paper from her hand, and watched you, too, the next day, to the pawnbroker's shop, said the first. Yes, answered the second, and it was a locket and a gold ring. We found out that, and saw it giving you. We were by, oh, we were by. And we know more than that, resume the first, for she told us often, long ago, that the young mother had told her that feeling she should never get over it. She was on her way at the time she was taken ill, to die near the grave of the father of the child. Would you like to see the pawnbroker himself, asked Mr Grimring, with a motion towards the door? No, replied the woman. Pee, she pointed to monks, has been coward enough to confess, as I see he has, and you have sounded all these hags until you have found the right ones. I have nothing more to say. What, then? I did sell them, and they're where you'll never get them. What, then? Nothing, said Mr Bumble, looking about him with a great ruthlessness. As Mr Grimring disappeared with the two old women, I hope this unfortunate little circumstance will not deprive me of my parochial office. Indeed it will, replied Mr Brownlow. You may make up your mind to that, and think yourself well off besides. It was all Mrs Bumble, she would do it, urged Mr Bumble first, looking round to ascertain that his partner had left the room. That is no excuse, replied Mr Brownlow. You were present on the occasion of the destruction of these trinkets, and indeed I am all guilty of the two in the eye of the law, for the law supposes that your wife acts under your direction. Ha! If the law supposes that, said Mr Bumble, squeezing his hat emphatically in both hands, the law is an ass, an idiot. If that's the eye of the law, then the law is a bachelor. And the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by experience, by experience. Lying great stress on the repetition of these two words, Mr Bumble fixed his hat on very tight, and putting his hands in his pockets, followed his helpmate downstairs. Young lady, said Mr Brownlow, turning to Rose, give me your hand, but do not tremble. You need not fear to hear the few remaining words you have to say. If they have, I do not know how they can, but if they have, any reference to me, said Rose, pray let me hear them at some other time. I am not the strength nor spirits now. Now you return the old gentleman drawing her arm through his. You have more fortitude than this, I am sure. Do you know this young lady, sir? Yes, replied monks. I never saw you before, said Rose faintly. I have seen you often, returned monks. The father of the unhappy Agnes had two daughters, said Mr Brownlow. What was the fate of the other, the child? The child, replied monks, when her father died in a strange place, in a strange name without a letter, book, or scrap of paper that yielded the fateful clue, of which his friends or relatives could be traced. The child was taken by some wretched cottagers, who reared it as their own. Go on, said Mr Brownlow, signing to Mrs Maley to approach. Go on. You could not find the spot to which these people had repaired, said monks, but where friendship fails, hatred will often force away. My mother found it after a year of cunning search. I hadn't found the child. She took it, did she? No, the people were poor and began to sicken. At least the man did, one of their fine humanity. So she left it with them, giving them a small present of money, which would not last long and promise more, which she never meant to send. She didn't quite rely, however, on their discontent and poverty, for the child's unhappiness, but told the history of the sister's shame, with such alterations as suited her, bade them to take good heed of the child, for she came of bad blood, and told them she was illegitimate, and sure to go wrong at one time or another. The circumstances countenanced all this, people believed it, and there the child dragged on in existence, miserable enough even to satisfy us, until a widow lady, residing then at Chester, saw the girl by chance, pitted her and took her home. There was some cursive spell, I think, against us, for in spite of all our effort she remained there, and was happy. I lost Saja two or three years ago, and saw her no more until a few months back. Do you see her now? Yes, leaning on your arm. But not the less, my niece, required Mrs. May, the folding the fainting girl, in her arms, not the less my dearest child. I would not lose her now for all the treasures of the world, my sweet companion, my own dear girl. The only friend I ever had, cried Rose, clinging to her. The kindest, best of friends. My heart will burst, I cannot bear all this. You have borne more, and have been through all, the best and gentlest creature that ever shed happiness on everyone she knew, said Mrs. Mayly, embracing her tenderly. Come, come, my love, remember who this is, who waits to clasp you in his arms. Poor child, see here, look, look, my dear. Not aunt, cried Oliver, throwing his arms about her neck. I'll never call her aunt. Sister, my own dear sister, that something taught my heart to love so dearly from the first. Rose, dear darling, Rose. Let the tears which fell and the broken words which were exchanged in the long embrace between the orphans be sacred. Father, sister and mother were gained and lost in that one moment. Joy and grief were mingled in the cup, but there were no bitter tears, for even grief itself arose so softened and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections. That it became a solemn pleasure and lost all character of pain. There were a long time alone, a soft tap at the door at length announced that someone was without. Oliver opened it, glided away, and gave place to Harry Mayly. I know it all, he said, taking a seat beside the lovely girl. Dear Rose, I know it all. I'm not here by accident, he added, after a length in silence, nor have I heard all this tonight, for I knew it yesterday, only yesterday. Do you guess that I've come to remind you of a promise? Stay, said Rose, you do know all. All you gave me leave at any time within a year to renew the subject of our last discourse. I did, not to press you, to alter your determination, pursue the young man, but to hear you repeat it. If you would, I was to lay whatever station of fortune I might possess at your feet. And if you still had heard to your former determination, I pledged myself, by no word or act, to seek to change it. The same reasons, which influenced me then, will influence me now, said Rose firmly. If I ever owed a strict and rigid duty to her, whose goodness saved me from a life of indigence and suffering, when should I ever feel as I should tonight, it's a struggle, said Rose, but one I am proud to make, it's a pang, but one my heart shall bear. The disclosure of tonight, Harry began. The disclosure of tonight, replied Rose softly, leaves me in the same position with reference to you, as that in which I stood before. You hardened your heart against me, Rose, urged her lover. Oh, Harry, Harry, said the young lady, bursting into tears. I wish I could and spare myself this pain. Why inflicted on yourselves, said Harry, taking a hand? Think, dear Rose, think what you have heard tonight. And what have I heard? What have I heard? cried Rose. It was censored. It's deep disgrace, so worked upon my father that he shunned all there. We've said enough, Harry, we've said enough. Not yet, not yet, said the young man, detaining her, as she rose. My hopes, my wishes, prospects, feeling, every thought in life, my love for you, have undergone a change. I offer you now no distinction among a bustling crowd, no mingling with a word of malice and diffraction, where the blood is called into honest cheeks by all, but real disgrace and shame, but a home, a heart and a home. Yes, dear Rose, and those and those alone, all I have to offer. What do you mean, she faltered? I mean this, that when I left you last, I left you with a firm determination to level all fancy barriers between yourself and me, resolved that if my world could not be yours, I would make yours mine, that no pride of birth should curl the lip at you, for I would turn from it. This I have done. Those who have shrunk for me, because of this, have shrunk from you, and proved you so far right. Such power and patternage, such relatives of influence and rank, have smiled upon me, then looked coldly now, but there are smiling fields and waving trees in England's richest county, and by one village church, mine, rose my own, there stands a rustic dwelling, which you can make me prouder than all the hopes I have renounced, measured a thousandfold. This is my rank and station now, and here I lay it down. It's a trying thing, waiting supper for lovers, said Mr Grimwy, waking up and pulling his pocket handkerchief from over his head. Truth to tell, the supper I've been waiting at most unreasonable time, neither Mrs Mayly, nor Harry, nor Rose, who all came in together, could offer a word of extenuation. I had serious thoughts of eating my head tonight, said Mr Grimwy, for I began to think I should get nothing else. I'll take the liberty, if you allow me, of saluting the bride that is to be. Mr Grimwy glossed no time in carrying this notice into effect. Upon the blushing girl, and the example being contagious, was followed both by the doctor and Mr Brownlow. Some people affirm that Harry Mayly had been himself, to set it originally in a dark room adjoining, but the best authorities consider this downright scandal, he being young and a clergyman. Oliver, my child, said Mrs Mayly, where have you been, and why do you look so sad? There are tears stealing down your face at this moment. What is the matter? It is a world of disappointment, often to the hopes we most cherish, and hopes that do our nature the greatest honour. Poor Dick was dead. End of chapter 51 Chapter 52 of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 52 Fagan's Last Night Alive The court was paved from floor to roof with human faces. Inquisitive and eager eyes peered from every inch of space, from the rail before the dock, away into the sharpest angle of the smallest corner in the galleries. All looks were fixed upon one man, Fagan. Before him and behind, above, below, on the right hand, and on the left, he seemed to stand surrounded by a firmament, all bright with gleaming eyes. He stood there in all this glare of living light, with one hand resting on the wooden slab before him, the other held to his ear, and his head thrust forward to enable him to catch with greater distinctness every word that fell from the presiding judge, who was delivering his charge to the jury. At times he turned his eyes sharply upon them to observe the effect of the slightest featherweight in his favour, and when the points against him were stated with terrible distinctness, looked towards his counsel in mute appeal, that he would even then urge something in his behalf. Beyond these manifestations of anxiety, he stirred not hand nor foot. It scarcely moved since the trial began, and now that the judge ceased to speak, he still remained in the same strained attitude of close attention with his gaze bent on him as though he listened still. A slight bustle in the court recalled him to himself, looking round he saw that the jury men had turned together to consider their verdicts, as his eyes wandered to the gallery, he could see the people rising above each other, to see his face, some hastily applying their glasses to their eyes, and others whispering to their neighbours, with looks expressive of tolerance. A few there were who seemed unmindful of him, and only looked to the jury in impatient wonder how they could delay. But in no one face, but even amongst the women of whom there were many there, could he read the faintest sympathy with himself, for any feeling but one of all absorbing interest, that he should be condemned. As he saw all this in one bewildered glance, the death-like stillness came again, and looking back he saw that the jury men had turned towards the judge, hush. They only sought permission to retire. He looked wistfully into their faces one by one when they passed out, as though to see which way the greater number lent, but that was fruitless. The jailer touched him on the shoulder, he followed mechanically to the end of the dock and sat down on a chair. The man pointed it out or he would not have seen it. He looked up into the gallery again, some of the people were eating and some fanning themselves with handkerchiefs, for the crowded place was very hot. There was young one man sketching his face in a little notebook. He wondered whether it was light, and looked on when the artist broke his pencil point, and made another with his knife, as any idle spectator might have done. In the same way when he turned his eyes upwards to the judge, his mind began to busy itself with the fashion of his dress and what it cost and how he put it on. There was an old fat gentleman on the bench too, who had gone out some half an hour before and now come back. He wondered within himself whether this man had been out to get his dinner, what he had, where he had had it, and pursued this train of careless thought until some new object caught his eyes and roused another. Not that all this time his mind was, for an instant, free from one oppressive overwhelming sense of the grave that opened at his feet. It was ever present to him, but in a vague and general way that he could not fix his thoughts upon it. Thus even while he trembled and turned burning hot at the idea of speedy death, he fell to counting the iron spikes before him, and wondering how the head of one had been broken off and whether they would mend it or leave it as it was. Then he thought of all the horrors of the gallows and the scaffold and stopped to watch a man sprinkling the floor to cool it and then went on to think again. At length there was a cry of silence and a breathless look from all towards the door. The jury returned and passed him close. He could glean nothing from their faces. They might as well have been of stone. Perfect stillness ensued on a rustle, on a breath, guilty. The building rang with a tremendous shout and another and another and echoed loud groans that gathered strength as they swelled out slog and angry thunder. There was a peel of joy from the populace outside preaching the news that he would die on Monday. The noise subsided and he was asked if he had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon him. He had resumed his listening attitude and looking intently at his question to know while the demand was made but it was twice repeated before he seemed to hear it and then he only muttered that he was an old man an old man and so dropping into a whisper was silent again. The judge assumed the black cap and the prisoner still stood with the same air and gesture but a woman in the gallery uttered some exclamation called forth by this dread solemnity. He looked hastily up as if angry at the interruption and bent forward yet more attentively. The address was solemn and impressive the sentence fearful to hear but he stood like a marble figure without the motion of a nerve his haggard face was still thrust forward his under jaw hanging down and his eyes staring out before him and the jailer put his hand upon his arm and beckoned him away he gazed stupidly about him for an instant and obeyed. They led him through a paved room under the court where some prisoners were waiting till their turns came and others were talking to their friends who crowded round a grate which looked into the open yard. There was nobody there to speak to him but as he passed the prisoners fell back to render him more visible to the people who were clinging to the bars and they assailed him with appropriate names and scratched and hissed. He shook his fist toward a spat upon them but his conductors hurried him on through a gloomy passage lighted by a few dim lamps into the interior of the prison. Here he was searched that he may not have about him the means of anticipating the law the ceremony performed they led him to one of the condemned cells and left him there alone. He sat down on the stone bench opposite the door which served for a seat and bedstead and casting his bloodshot eyes upon the ground tried to collect his thoughts. After a while he began to remember a few distorted fragments of what the judge had said though it had seemed to him at the time that he could not hear a word these gradually fell into their proper places and by degrees suggested more so that in a little while he had the hole almost as it was delivered to be hanged by the neck till he was dead that was the end to be hanged by the neck till he was dead. As it came on very dark he began to think of all the men he had known who had died upon the scaffold some of them through his means they rose up in such quick succession that he could hardly count them they'd seen some of them die he had joked too but because they died with prayers upon their lips with all the rattling noise the drop went down how suddenly they changed from stronger vigorous men to dangling heaps of clothes some of them may have inhabited that very cell set upon that very spot it was very dark why didn't they bring a light the cell had been built for many years scores of men must have passed their last hours there it was like sitting in a vault strewn with dead bodies cap, the noose, the pinioned arms the faces that he knew even beneath that hideous veil light, light at length when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy door and walls two men appeared one bearing a candle as he thrust into an iron candlestick fixed against the wall the other dragging in a mattress on which she passed the night the prisoner was to be left alone no more then came the night dark and dismal silent night other watchers are glad to hear this church clock strike for they tell of life and coming day to him they brought despair the boom of every iron bell become laden with one deep hollow sound death what a vile the noise and bustle of cheerful morning which penetrated even there to him it was another form of knell with mockery added to the warning the day passed off day there was no day it was gone as soon as come and the night came on again light so long and yet so short long in its dreadful silence and short in its fleeting hours at one time he raved and blasphemed at another howl and tore his hair venerable men of his own persuasion had come to pray beside him but they had driven them away with curses they renewed their charitable efforts and he beat the moth each saturday night he had only one night more to live and as he thought of this the day broke sunday it was not until the night of the last awful day that a withering sense of his helpless desperate state came in its full intensity upon his blighted soul not that he had ever held any defined positive hope of mercy but that he had never been able to consider more than the dim probability of dying so soon he had spoken little to either of the two men who relieved each other in their attendance upon him and they for their parts made no effort to arouse his attention he had sat there awake but dreaming now he started up every minute with gasping mouth and burning skin hurried to and fro in such a paroxysm of fear and wrath that even they used to such sights recalled from him with horror he grew so terrible at last in the torches of his evil conscience that one man could not bear to sit there eyeing him alone and so the two kept watch together he cowered down upon his stone bed and thought of the past it had been wounded with some missiles in the crowd of the day of his capture and his head was bandaged with a living cloth his red hair hung down upon his bloodless face his beard was torn and twisted into knots his eyes shone with a terrible light his unmasked flesh crackled with the fever that burnt him up eight nine then if it was on a trip to flight in them and those are the real arms treading on each other's heels where would he be when they came round again eleven another struck before the voice of the previous hour had ceased to vibrate at eight he would be the only mourner in his own funeral train at eleven those dreadful walls of new gate which have hidden so much misery and such unspeakable anguish are only for the eyes but too often and too long from the thoughts of men never held so dread as spectacle as that the few who lingered as they passed that wondered what the man was doing who was to be hanged tomorrow would have slept but ill that night if they if they could have seen him from early evening until nearly midnight little groups of two and three presented themselves at the launch gate and inquired with anxious faces whether any reprieve had been received these being answered in the negative communicated the welcome intelligence to clusters in the street they pointed out to one another the door from which he must come out and showed where the scaffold would be built and walking with unwilling steps turned back to conjure up the scene by degrees they fell off one by one and for an hour in the dead of night the street was left to solitude and darkness the space before the prison was cleared and a few strong barriers painted black had already been thrown across the road to break the pressure of the expected crowd where Mr Brownlow and Oliver appeared at the wicket and presented an order of omission to the prisoner signed by one of the sheriffs they were immediately admitted into the lodge is the young gentleman to come too so I said the man whose duty was to conduct them it's not a sight for children sir it is not indeed my friend who joined Mr Brownlow but my business with this man is intimately connected with him as this child has seen him in the full career of his success and villainy I think it as well even at the cost of some pain and fear that he should see him now these few words have been said apart so as to be inaudible to Oliver the man touched his hat and glancing at Oliver with some curiosity opened another gate opposite to that by which they had entered and led them on through dark and winding ways towards the cells this said the man stopping in a gloomy passage where a couple of workmen were making some preparations in profound silence this is the place he passes through if you step this way you can see the door he goes out at he led them into a stone kitchen fitted with coppers for dressing the prison food and pointed to a door there was an open grating above it through which came the sound of men's voices mingled with the noise of hammering and the throwing down at boards they were putting up the scaffold from this place they pass through several strong gates opened by other turn keys from the inner side and having entered an open yard ascended a flight of narrow steps and came into a passage with a row of strong doors on the left hand motioning them to remain where they were the turnkey knocked at one of these with this bunch of keys the two attendants after a little whispering came out into the passage stretching themselves as if glad of the temporary relief and motioned the visitors to follow the jailer into the cell they did so the condemned criminal was seated on his bed rocking himself from side to side with a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the face of a man his mind was evidently wandering to his old life for he continued to mutter without appearing conscious of their presence otherwise than as part of his vision good boy charlie charlie well done he mumbled oliver too oliver too quite a gentleman now quietly take that boy away to bed the jailer took the disengaged hand of oliver and whispering not to be alarmed looked on without speaking take him away to bed cried fagan do hear me some of you he has been the somehow the cause of all this it's worth the money to bring him up to it bolt his throat bill never mind the girl bolt his throat as deep as you can cut saw his head off fagan said the jailer it's me cried the Jew falling instantly into the attitude of listening he had assumed upon his trial an old man my lord a very old old man here said the turkey laying his hand upon his breast to keep him down here somebody wants to see you ask you some questions i suppose fagan fagan are you a man i shan't be one long he replied looking up at the face retaining no human expression but rage and terror struck them all dead what right have they to butcher me as he spoke he caught sight of oliver and mr brownlough shrinking to the furthest corner of the seat he demanded to know what they wanted there dead he said the turkey still holding him down now sir tell him what you want quick if you please well he grows worse as the time gets on you have some papers said mr brownlough advancing which were placed in your hands for better security by a man called monks it's all a lie together replied fagan i haven't won not won for the love of god said mr brownlough solemnly do not say that now upon the very verge of death but tell me where they are you know that sykes is dead that monks has confessed and there is no hope of any further gain where are those papers oliver cried fagan beckoning to him here here let me whisper to you i'm not afraid said oliver in a low voice as he relinquished mr brownlough's hand the papers said fagan drawing oliver towards him i'd in a canvas bag in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front room i want to talk to you my dear i want to talk to you yes yes returned oliver let me say a prayer do let me say one prayer say only one upon your knees with me and we will talk till morning outside outside replied fagan pushing the boy before him towards the door and looking vacantly over his head so i've gone to sleep don't believe you you can get me out you can take me so now then now then oh god forgive this wretched man crying the boy with a burst of tears that's right that's right said fagan that'll help us on this door first if i shake and tremble as we pass the gallows don't you mind but hurry on now now now have you nothing else to ask him sir inquired the turnkey no other question said mr brownlough i hope we could recall him to a sense of disposition nothing will do that sir replied the man shaking his head with better leaving the door of the cell opened and the attendants returned press on press on cried fagan softly but not so slow faster faster the man laid hands upon him and disengaging oliver from his grasp held him back he struggled with the power of desperation for an instant and then sent up a cry that penetrated even those massive walls and rang in their ears until they reached the open yard there was some time before they left the prison oliver nearly swooned after this frightful scene and was so weak that for an hour or more he had not the strength to walk day was dawning when they again emerged a great multitude had already assembled the windows were filled with people smoking and playing cards to beguile the time the crowd were pushing quarrelling jothing everything told of life and animation but one dark cluster of objects in the center of all the black stage the cross beam the rope and all the hideous apparatus of death end of chapter 52 chapter 53 of oliver twist by charles dickens this libra vox recording is in the public domain chapter 53 and last the fortunes of those who are figured in this tile are nearly closed a little that remains to their historian to relate is told in a few and simple words the four three months had passed rose Fleming and harry mailie were married in the village church which was henceforth to be the scene of the young clergyman's labours on the same day they entered into possession of their new and happy home mrs. mailie took upper abode with her son and daughter-in-law to enjoy during the tranquil reminder of her days the greatest felicity that age and worth could know the contemplation of the happiness of those on whom the warmest affections and tenderest cares of a well spent life have been unceasingly bestowed it appeared on full and careful investigation that the wreck of property remaining in the custody of monks which had never prospered either in his hands or in those of his mother were equally divided between himself and oliver it would yield to each little more than three thousand pounds by the provisions of his father's will oliver would have been entitled to the whole but mr. brownlow unwilling to deprive the elder son of the opportunity of retrieving his former vices and pursuing an honest career proposed this mode of distribution to which his young charge joyfully acceded monks still bearing that assumed name retired with his portion to a distant part of the new world where having quickly squandered it he once more fell into his old courses and after undergoing a long confinement for some fresh act of fraud and navery that length sunk under an attack of his old disorder and died in prison as far from home died the chief remaining members of his friend fagans gang mr. brownlow adopted oliver as his son removing with him and the old housekeeper within a mile of the parsonage house where his dear friends resided he gratified the only remaining wish of oliver's warm and honest heart and thus linked together a little society whose condition approached as nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever be known in this changing world soon after the marriage of the young people the worthy doctor returned to chirtsy where bereft of the presence of his old friends he would have been discontented if his temperament had admitted of such a feeling and would have turned quite peevish if he had known how for two or three months he contended himself with hinting that he feared the air began to disagree with him then finding that the place really no longer was to him what it had been he settled his business on his assistant and took a bachelor's cottage outside the village of which his young friend was pastor instantaneously recovered here he took to gardening planting fishing carpentering and various other pursuits of a similar kind all undertaken with his characteristic impetuosity in each and all he has since become famous about the neighborhood as a most profound authority before his removal he had managed to contract a strong friendship for mr grimwood which that eccentric gentleman cordially reciprocated he is accordingly visited by mr grimwood a great many times in the course of the year on all such occasions mr grimwood plants fishes and carpenters with great ardour doing everything in a very singular and unprecedented manner but always maintaining with his favorite assertion that his nose is ripe on some days he never fails to criticize the sermon to the young clergyman's face always informing mr looseburn in strict confidence afterwards that he considers it an excellent performance but deems it as well not to say so it is a standing and very favorite joke mr brownlow to ray him on his old prophecy concerning oliver and to remind him of the night on which they sat with the watch between them waiting his return but mr grimwood content that he was right in the main and in proof thereof remarks that oliver did not come back after all which always calls forth a laugh on his side and increases his good humor mr nova claypole receiving a free pardon from the crown in consequence of being admitted approver against fagan and considering his profession and all together as a safe one as he could wish was for some time at a loss for the means of a livelihood not burdened with too much work after some consideration you ended a business as an informer in which calling he releases a genteel subsistence his plan is to walk out once a week during church time attended by shallot in respectable attire the lady fades away at the doors of charitable publicans and the gentleman being accommodated with three penny worth of brandy to restore her lays an information next day and pockets half the penalty sometimes mr claypole fades himself but the result is the same mr and mrs bumble deprived of their situations were gradually reduced to a great indigence indigence and misery and finally became paupers in that very same workhouse and which said once lorded it over others mr bumble has been heard to say and in this reverse and degradation is not even the spirits to be thankful for being separated from his wife as the mr jiles and brittles they still remained at their old posts although the former is bald and the last known boy quite gray they sleep at the parsonage but divide their attention so equally among its inmates and oliver and mr brownlow and mr loose bernard to this day the villages have never been able to discover to which establishment they properly belong master charles baits appalled by sykes crime fell into a train of reflection whether an honest life was not after all the best arriving at that conclusion that it certainly was he turned his back upon the scenes of the past resolved to amend it in some new sphere of action he struggled hard and suffered much for some time but having a contented disposition and a good purpose succeeded in the end and from being a farmer's a drudge and a carrier's lad he is now the merriest young grazier in all of north hamptonshire and now the hand that traces these words falters as it approaches the conclusion of its task and would we for a little longer space the thread of these adventures i would feign linger yet with a few words among whom i have so long moved and share the happiness by endeavoring to depict it i would show rose maily in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood shedding her secluded path in life the gentle light that fell on all who trod it wither and shone into their hearts i would paint her the life and joy of the fireside circle and the lively summer group i would follow her through the sultry fields at noon and hear the low tones of her sweet voice in the moonlight evening war i would watch her in all her goodness and charity abroad and the smiling untarring discharge of domestic duties at home i would paint her and her dead sister's child happy in their love for one another and passing whole arms together in picturing the friends who made so sadly lost i would summon before me once again those joyous little faces that clustered round her knee and listened to their merry prattle i would recall the tones of that clear laugh and conjure up the sympathizing tear that glistened in the soft blue eye these are a thousand looks and smiles turns of thought and speech i would fine recall them every one how mr brayer and i went on from day to day feeling the mind of his adopted child with stores of knowledge becoming attached to him more and more as his nature developed itself and showed the thriving needs of all he wished him to become how he traced him in new traits of his early friend but awakened in his own bosom old remembrances melancholy yet sweet and soothing how the two orphans tried by adversity remembered its lessons in mercy to others and mutual love and further thanks to him who had protected and preserved them these are all matters which need not to be told i have said that they were truly happy and without strong affection and humanity of heart and gratitude to that being whose code is mercy and whose great attribute is benevolence to all things that breathe happiness can never be attained within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble tablet which bears as yet but one word agnus there's no coffin in that tomb and it may be many many years before another name is placed above it but the spirits of the dead ever come back to the earth to visit spots hollowed by the love the love beyond the grave of those whom they knew in life i believe that the shade of agnus sometimes hovers around that solemn look i believe it nonetheless because that nook is in a church and she was weak and earring end of chapter 53 end of oliver twist recording by peter kiebel nottingham united kingdom