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<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens</title>

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<h2 id="pgepubid00032">
      CHAPTER XXVIII — LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS
      ADVENTURES
    </h2>
<h3 id="pgepubid00033">
      ‘Wolves tear your throats!’ muttered Sikes, grinding his teeth. ‘I wish I
      was among some of you; you’d howl the hoarser for it.’ 
    </h3>
<p>
      As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the most desperate ferocity
      that his desperate nature was capable of, he rested the body of the
      wounded boy across his bended knee; and turned his head, for an instant,
      to look back at his pursuers.
    </p>
<p>
      There was little to be made out, in the mist and darkness; but the loud
      shouting of men vibrated through the air, and the barking of the
      neighbouring dogs, roused by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded in
      every direction.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Stop, you white-livered hound!’ cried the robber, shouting after Toby
      Crackit, who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead.
      ‘Stop!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The repetition of the word, brought Toby to a dead stand-still. For he was
      not quite satisfied that he was beyond the range of pistol-shot; and Sikes
      was in no mood to be played with.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Bear a hand with the boy,’ cried Sikes, beckoning furiously to his
      confederate. ‘Come back!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Toby made a show of returning; but ventured, in a low voice, broken for
      want of breath, to intimate considerable reluctance as he came slowly
      along.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Quicker!’ cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and
      drawing a pistol from his pocket. ‘Don’t play booty with me.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes, again looking round, could
      discern that the men who had given chase were already climbing the gate of
      the field in which he stood; and that a couple of dogs were some paces in
      advance of them.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s all up, Bill!’ cried Toby; ‘drop the kid, and show ‘em your heels.’ 
      With this parting advice, Mr. Crackit, preferring the chance of being shot
      by his friend, to the certainty of being taken by his enemies, fairly
      turned tail, and darted off at full speed. Sikes clenched his teeth; took
      one look around; threw over the prostrate form of Oliver, the cape in
      which he had been hurriedly muffled; ran along the front of the hedge, as
      if to distract the attention of those behind, from the spot where the boy
      lay; paused, for a second, before another hedge which met it at right
      angles; and whirling his pistol high into the air, cleared it at a bound,
      and was gone.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ho, ho, there!’ cried a tremulous voice in the rear. ‘Pincher! Neptune!
      Come here, come here!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The dogs, who, in common with their masters, seemed to have no particular
      relish for the sport in which they were engaged, readily answered to the
      command. Three men, who had by this time advanced some distance into the
      field, stopped to take counsel together.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my <i>orders</i>, is,’ said the
      fattest man of the party, ‘that we ‘mediately go home again.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I am agreeable to anything which is agreeable to Mr. Giles,’ said a
      shorter man; who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very pale
      in the face, and very polite: as frightened men frequently are.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I shouldn’t wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen,’ said the third, who
      had called the dogs back, ‘Mr. Giles ought to know.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Certainly,’ replied the shorter man; ‘and whatever Mr. Giles says, it
      isn’t our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation! Thank my
      stars, I know my sitiwation.’ To tell the truth, the little man <i>did</i>
      seem to know his situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no
      means a desirable one; for his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You are afraid, Brittles,’ said Mr. Giles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I an’t,’ said Brittles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You are,’ said Giles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You’re a falsehood, Mr. Giles,’ said Brittles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You’re a lie, Brittles,’ said Mr. Giles.
    </p>
<p>
      Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles’s taunt; and Mr. Giles’s
      taunt had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of
      going home again, imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The
      third man brought the dispute to a close, most philosophically.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘we’re all afraid.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Speak for yourself, sir,’ said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the
      party.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So I do,’ replied the man. ‘It’s natural and proper to be afraid, under
      such circumstances. I am.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So am I,’ said Brittles; ‘only there’s no call to tell a man he is, so
      bounceably.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that <i>he</i>
      was afraid; upon which, they all three faced about, and ran back again
      with the completest unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the shortest wind
      of the party, as was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely insisted
      on stopping, to make an apology for his hastiness of speech.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But it’s wonderful,’ said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, ‘what a man
      will do, when his blood is up. I should have committed murder—I know
      I should—if we’d caught one of them rascals.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment; and as their
      blood, like his, had all gone down again; some speculation ensued upon the
      cause of this sudden change in their temperament.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I know what it was,’ said Mr. Giles; ‘it was the gate.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I shouldn’t wonder if it was,’ exclaimed Brittles, catching at the idea.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You may depend upon it,’ said Giles, ‘that that gate stopped the flow of
      the excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away, as I was climbing
      over it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      By a remarkable coincidence, the other two had been visited with the same
      unpleasant sensation at that precise moment. It was quite obvious,
      therefore, that it was the gate; especially as there was no doubt
      regarding the time at which the change had taken place, because all three
      remembered that they had come in sight of the robbers at the instant of
      its occurance.
    </p>
<p>
      This dialogue was held between the two men who had surprised the burglars,
      and a travelling tinker who had been sleeping in an outhouse, and who had
      been roused, together with his two mongrel curs, to join in the pursuit.
      Mr. Giles acted in the double capacity of butler and steward to the old
      lady of the mansion; Brittles was a lad of all-work: who, having entered
      her service a mere child, was treated as a promising young boy still,
      though he was something past thirty.
    </p>
<p>
      Encouraging each other with such converse as this; but, keeping very close
      together, notwithstanding, and looking apprehensively round, whenever a
      fresh gust rattled through the boughs; the three men hurried back to a
      tree, behind which they had left their lantern, lest its light should
      inform the thieves in what direction to fire. Catching up the light, they
      made the best of their way home, at a good round trot; and long after
      their dusky forms had ceased to be discernible, the light might have been
      seen twinkling and dancing in the distance, like some exhalation of the
      damp and gloomy atmosphere through which it was swiftly borne.
    </p>
<p>
      The air grew colder, as day came slowly on; and the mist rolled along the
      ground like a dense cloud of smoke. The grass was wet; the pathways, and
      low places, were all mire and water; the damp breath of an unwholesome
      wind went languidly by, with a hollow moaning. Still, Oliver lay
      motionless and insensible on the spot where Sikes had left him.
    </p>
<p>
      Morning drew on apace. The air become more sharp and piercing, as its
      first dull hue—the death of night, rather than the birth of day—glimmered
      faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the
      darkness, grew more and more defined, and gradually resolved into their
      familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast, and pattered noisily
      among the leafless bushes. But, Oliver felt it not, as it beat against
      him; for he still lay stretched, helpless and unconscious, on his bed of
      clay.
    </p>
<p>
      At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed; and
      uttering it, the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung
      heavy and useless at his side; the bandage was saturated with blood. He
      was so weak, that he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture;
      when he had done so, he looked feebly round for help, and groaned with
      pain. Trembling in every joint, from cold and exhaustion, he made an
      effort to stand upright; but, shuddering from head to foot, fell prostrate
      on the ground.
    </p>
<p>
      After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long plunged,
      Oliver: urged by a creeping sickness at his heart, which seemed to warn
      him that if he lay there, he must surely die: got upon his feet, and
      essayed to walk. His head was dizzy, and he staggered to and fro like a
      drunken man. But he kept up, nevertheless, and, with his head drooping
      languidly on his breast, went stumbling onward, he knew not whither.
    </p>
<p>
      And now, hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came crowding on his
      mind. He seemed to be still walking between Sikes and Crackit, who were
      angrily disputing—for the very words they said, sounded in his ears;
      and when he caught his own attention, as it were, by making some violent
      effort to save himself from falling, he found that he was talking to them.
      Then, he was alone with Sikes, plodding on as on the previous day; and as
      shadowy people passed them, he felt the robber’s grasp upon his wrist.
      Suddenly, he started back at the report of firearms; there rose into the
      air, loud cries and shouts; lights gleamed before his eyes; all was noise
      and tumult, as some unseen hand bore him hurriedly away. Through all these
      rapid visions, there ran an undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain, which
      wearied and tormented him incessantly.
    </p>
<p>
      Thus he staggered on, creeping, almost mechanically, between the bars of
      gates, or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way, until he reached a
      road. Here the rain began to fall so heavily, that it roused him.
    </p>
<p>
      He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there was a house,
      which perhaps he could reach. Pitying his condition, they might have
      compassion on him; and if they did not, it would be better, he thought, to
      die near human beings, than in the lonely open fields. He summoned up all
      his strength for one last trial, and bent his faltering steps towards it.
    </p>
<p>
      As he drew nearer to this house, a feeling come over him that he had seen
      it before. He remembered nothing of its details; but the shape and aspect
      of the building seemed familiar to him.
    </p>
<p>
      That garden wall! On the grass inside, he had fallen on his knees last
      night, and prayed the two men’s mercy. It was the very house they had
      attempted to rob.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognised the place, that,
      for the instant, he forgot the agony of his wound, and thought only of
      flight. Flight! He could scarcely stand: and if he were in full possession
      of all the best powers of his slight and youthful frame, whither could he
      fly? He pushed against the garden-gate; it was unlocked, and swung open on
      its hinges. He tottered across the lawn; climbed the steps; knocked
      faintly at the door; and, his whole strength failing him, sunk down
      against one of the pillars of the little portico.
    </p>
<p>
      It happened that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brittles, and the tinker,
      were recruiting themselves, after the fatigues and terrors of the night,
      with tea and sundries, in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. Giles’s habit
      to admit to too great familiarity the humbler servants: towards whom it
      was rather his wont to deport himself with a lofty affability, which,
      while it gratified, could not fail to remind them of his superior position
      in society. But, death, fires, and burglary, make all men equals; so Mr.
      Giles sat with his legs stretched out before the kitchen fender, leaning
      his left arm on the table, while, with his right, he illustrated a
      circumstantial and minute account of the robbery, to which his bearers
      (but especially the cook and housemaid, who were of the party) listened
      with breathless interest.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It was about half-past two,’ said Mr. Giles, ‘or I wouldn’t swear that it
      mightn’t have been a little nearer three, when I woke up, and, turning
      round in my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles turned round in his
      chair, and pulled the corner of the table-cloth over him to imitate
      bed-clothes,) I fancied I heerd a noise.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale, and asked the
      housemaid to shut the door: who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, who
      pretended not to hear.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘—Heerd a noise,’ continued Mr. Giles. ‘I says, at first, “This is
      illusion”; and was composing myself off to sleep, when I heerd the noise
      again, distinct.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What sort of a noise?’ asked the cook.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘A kind of a busting noise,’ replied Mr. Giles, looking round him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a nutmeg-grater,’ 
      suggested Brittles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It was, when <i>you</i> heerd it, sir,’ rejoined Mr. Giles; ‘but, at this
      time, it had a busting sound. I turned down the clothes’; continued Giles,
      rolling back the table-cloth, ‘sat up in bed; and listened.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated ‘Lor!’ and drew their
      chairs closer together.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I heerd it now, quite apparent,’ resumed Mr. Giles. ‘“Somebody,” I says,
      “is forcing of a door, or window; what’s to be done? I’ll call up that
      poor lad, Brittles, and save him from being murdered in his bed; or his
      throat,” I says, “may be cut from his right ear to his left, without his
      ever knowing it.”’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Here, all eyes were turned upon Brittles, who fixed his upon the speaker,
      and stared at him, with his mouth wide open, and his face expressive of
      the most unmitigated horror.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I tossed off the clothes,’ said Giles, throwing away the table-cloth, and
      looking very hard at the cook and housemaid, ‘got softly out of bed; drew
      on a pair of—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ladies present, Mr. Giles,’ murmured the tinker.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘—Of <i>shoes</i>, sir,’ said Giles, turning upon him, and laying
      great emphasis on the word; ‘seized the loaded pistol that always goes
      upstairs with the plate-basket; and walked on tiptoes to his room.
      “Brittles,” I says, when I had woke him, “don’t be frightened!”’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So you did,’ observed Brittles, in a low voice.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘“We’re dead men, I think, Brittles,” I says,’ continued Giles; ‘“but
      don’t be frightened.”’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘<i>Was</i> he frightened?’ asked the cook.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not a bit of it,’ replied Mr. Giles. ‘He was as firm—ah! pretty
      near as firm as I was.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I should have died at once, I’m sure, if it had been me,’ observed the
      housemaid.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You’re a woman,’ retorted Brittles, plucking up a little.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Brittles is right,’ said Mr. Giles, nodding his head, approvingly; ‘from
      a woman, nothing else was to be expected. We, being men, took a dark
      lantern that was standing on Brittle’s hob, and groped our way downstairs
      in the pitch dark,—as it might be so.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two steps with his eyes shut,
      to accompany his description with appropriate action, when he started
      violently, in common with the rest of the company, and hurried back to his
      chair. The cook and housemaid screamed.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It was a knock,’ said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect serenity. ‘Open the
      door, somebody.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Nobody moved.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It seems a strange sort of a thing, a knock coming at such a time in the
      morning,’ said Mr. Giles, surveying the pale faces which surrounded him,
      and looking very blank himself; ‘but the door must be opened. Do you hear,
      somebody?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brittles; but that young man, being
      naturally modest, probably considered himself nobody, and so held that the
      inquiry could not have any application to him; at all events, he tendered
      no reply. Mr. Giles directed an appealing glance at the tinker; but he had
      suddenly fallen asleep. The women were out of the question.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘If Brittles would rather open the door, in the presence of witnesses,’ 
      said Mr. Giles, after a short silence, ‘I am ready to make one.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So am I,’ said the tinker, waking up, as suddenly as he had fallen
      asleep.
    </p>
<p>
      Brittles capitulated on these terms; and the party being somewhat
      re-assured by the discovery (made on throwing open the shutters) that it
      was now broad day, took their way upstairs; with the dogs in front. The
      two women, who were afraid to stay below, brought up the rear. By the
      advice of Mr. Giles, they all talked very loud, to warn any evil-disposed
      person outside, that they were strong in numbers; and by a master-stoke of
      policy, originating in the brain of the same ingenious gentleman, the
      dogs’ tails were well pinched, in the hall, to make them bark savagely.
    </p>
<p>
      These precautions having been taken, Mr. Giles held on fast by the
      tinker’s arm (to prevent his running away, as he pleasantly said), and
      gave the word of command to open the door. Brittles obeyed; the group,
      peeping timorously over each other’s shoulders, beheld no more formidable
      object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, who raised
      his heavy eyes, and mutely solicited their compassion.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
<img alt="0158m " src="1646223070011777107_0158m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-3028305993994194402"/><br/>
</div>
<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_0158.jpg.id-945937610562294920.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-945937610562294920" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<p>
      ‘A boy!’ exclaimed Mr. Giles, valiantly, pushing the tinker into the
      background. ‘What’s the matter with the—eh?—Why—Brittles—look
      here—don’t you know?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver,
      than he uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and one
      arm (fortunately not the broken limb) lugged him straight into the hall,
      and deposited him at full length on the floor thereof.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Here he is!’ bawled Giles, calling in a state of great excitement, up the
      staircase; ‘here’s one of the thieves, ma’am! Here’s a thief, miss!
      Wounded, miss! I shot him, miss; and Brittles held the light.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘—In a lantern, miss,’ cried Brittles, applying one hand to the side
      of his mouth, so that his voice might travel the better.
    </p>
<p>
      The two women-servants ran upstairs to carry the intelligence that Mr.
      Giles had captured a robber; and the tinker busied himself in endeavouring
      to restore Oliver, lest he should die before he could be hanged. In the
      midst of all this noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet female
      voice, which quelled it in an instant.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Giles!’ whispered the voice from the stair-head.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’m here, miss,’ replied Mr. Giles. ‘Don’t be frightened, miss; I ain’t
      much injured. He didn’t make a very desperate resistance, miss! I was soon
      too many for him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush!’ replied the young lady; ‘you frighten my aunt as much as the
      thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Wounded desperate, miss,’ replied Giles, with indescribable complacency.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He looks as if he was a-going, miss,’ bawled Brittles, in the same manner
      as before. ‘Wouldn’t you like to come and look at him, miss, in case he
      should?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush, pray; there’s a good man!’ rejoined the lady. ‘Wait quietly only
      one instant, while I speak to aunt.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice, the speaker tripped away.
      She soon returned, with the direction that the wounded person was to be
      carried, carefully, upstairs to Mr. Giles’s room; and that Brittles was to
      saddle the pony and betake himself instantly to Chertsey: from which
      place, he was to despatch, with all speed, a constable and doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But won’t you take one look at him, first, miss?’ asked Mr. Giles, with
      as much pride as if Oliver were some bird of rare plumage, that he had
      skilfully brought down. ‘Not one little peep, miss?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not now, for the world,’ replied the young lady. ‘Poor fellow! Oh! treat
      him kindly, Giles for my sake!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The old servant looked up at the speaker, as she turned away, with a
      glance as proud and admiring as if she had been his own child. Then,
      bending over Oliver, he helped to carry him upstairs, with the care and
      solicitude of a woman.
    </p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<a id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br/><br/><br/><br/>
</div>
<h2 id="pgepubid00034">
      CHAPTER XXIX — HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE
      HOUSE, TO WHICH OLIVER RESORTED
    </h2>
<p>
      In a handsome room: though its furniture had rather the air of
      old-fashioned comfort, than of modern elegance: there sat two ladies at a
      well-spread breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupulous care in a
      full suit of black, was in attendance upon them. He had taken his station
      some half-way between the side-board and the breakfast-table; and, with
      his body drawn up to its full height, his head thrown back, and inclined
      the merest trifle on one side, his left leg advanced, and his right hand
      thrust into his waist-coat, while his left hung down by his side, grasping
      a waiter, looked like one who laboured under a very agreeable sense of his
      own merits and importance.
    </p>
<p>
      Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in years; but the high-backed
      oaken chair in which she sat, was not more upright than she. Dressed with
      the utmost nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone costume,
      with some slight concessions to the prevailing taste, which rather served
      to point the old style pleasantly than to impair its effect, she sat, in a
      stately manner, with her hands folded on the table before her. Her eyes
      (and age had dimmed but little of their brightness) were attentively upon
      her young companion.
    </p>
<p>
      The younger lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood; at
      that age, when, if ever angels be for God’s good purposes enthroned in
      mortal forms, they may be, without impiety, supposed to abide in such as
      hers.
    </p>
<p>
      She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight and exquisite a mould; so
      mild and gentle; so pure and beautiful; that earth seemed not her element,
      nor its rough creatures her fit companions. The very intelligence that
      shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her noble head, seemed
      scarcely of her age, or of the world; and yet the changing expression of
      sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights that played about the face,
      and left no shadow there; above all, the smile, the cheerful, happy smile,
      were made for Home, and fireside peace and happiness.
    </p>
<p>
      She was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. Chancing to
      raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding her, she playfully put back
      her hair, which was simply braided on her forehead; and threw into her
      beaming look, such an expression of affection and artless loveliness, that
      blessed spirits might have smiled to look upon her.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And Brittles has been gone upwards of an hour, has he?’ asked the old
      lady, after a pause.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘An hour and twelve minutes, ma’am,’ replied Mr. Giles, referring to a
      silver watch, which he drew forth by a black ribbon.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He is always slow,’ remarked the old lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Brittles always was a slow boy, ma’am,’ replied the attendant. And
      seeing, by the bye, that Brittles had been a slow boy for upwards of
      thirty years, there appeared no great probability of his ever being a fast
      one.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He gets worse instead of better, I think,’ said the elder lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play with any other boys,’ 
      said the young lady, smiling.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Giles was apparently considering the propriety of indulging in a
      respectful smile himself, when a gig drove up to the garden-gate: out of
      which there jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the door: and
      who, getting quickly into the house by some mysterious process, burst into
      the room, and nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the breakfast-table
      together.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I never heard of such a thing!’ exclaimed the fat gentleman. ‘My dear
      Mrs. Maylie—bless my soul—in the silence of the night, too—I
      <i>never</i> heard of such a thing!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With these expressions of condolence, the fat gentleman shook hands with
      both ladies, and drawing up a chair, inquired how they found themselves.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You ought to be dead; positively dead with the fright,’ said the fat
      gentleman. ‘Why didn’t you send? Bless me, my man should have come in a
      minute; and so would I; and my assistant would have been delighted; or
      anybody, I’m sure, under such circumstances. Dear, dear! So unexpected! In
      the silence of the night, too!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The doctor seemed expecially troubled by the fact of the robbery having
      been unexpected, and attempted in the night-time; as if it were the
      established custom of gentlemen in the housebreaking way to transact
      business at noon, and to make an appointment, by post, a day or two
      previous.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And you, Miss Rose,’ said the doctor, turning to the young lady, ‘I—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh! very much so, indeed,’ said Rose, interrupting him; ‘but there is a
      poor creature upstairs, whom aunt wishes you to see.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah! to be sure,’ replied the doctor, ‘so there is. That was your
      handiwork, Giles, I understand.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Giles, who had been feverishly putting the tea-cups to rights, blushed
      very red, and said that he had had that honour.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Honour, eh?’ said the doctor; ‘well, I don’t know; perhaps it’s as
      honourable to hit a thief in a back kitchen, as to hit your man at twelve
      paces. Fancy that he fired in the air, and you’ve fought a duel, Giles.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Giles, who thought this light treatment of the matter an unjust
      attempt at diminishing his glory, answered respectfully, that it was not
      for the like of him to judge about that; but he rather thought it was no
      joke to the opposite party.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Gad, that’s true!’ said the doctor. ‘Where is he? Show me the way. I’ll
      look in again, as I come down, Mrs. Maylie. That’s the little window that
      he got in at, eh? Well, I couldn’t have believed it!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles upstairs; and while he is going
      upstairs, the reader may be informed, that Mr. Losberne, a surgeon in the
      neighbourhood, known through a circuit of ten miles round as ‘the doctor,’ 
      had grown fat, more from good-humour than from good living: and was as
      kind and hearty, and withal as eccentric an old bachelor, as will be found
      in five times that space, by any explorer alive.
    </p>
<p>
      The doctor was absent, much longer than either he or the ladies had
      anticipated. A large flat box was fetched out of the gig; and a bedroom
      bell was rung very often; and the servants ran up and down stairs
      perpetually; from which tokens it was justly concluded that something
      important was going on above. At length he returned; and in reply to an
      anxious inquiry after his patient; looked very mysterious, and closed the
      door, carefully.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘This is a very extraordinary thing, Mrs. Maylie,’ said the doctor,
      standing with his back to the door, as if to keep it shut.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He is not in danger, I hope?’ said the old lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, that would <i>not</i> be an extraordinary thing, under the
      circumstances,’ replied the doctor; ‘though I don’t think he is. Have you
      seen the thief?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No,’ rejoined the old lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nor heard anything about him?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, interposed Mr. Giles; ‘but I was going to tell
      you about him when Doctor Losberne came in.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The fact was, that Mr. Giles had not, at first, been able to bring his
      mind to the avowal, that he had only shot a boy. Such commendations had
      been bestowed upon his bravery, that he could not, for the life of him,
      help postponing the explanation for a few delicious minutes; during which
      he had flourished, in the very zenith of a brief reputation for undaunted
      courage.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Rose wished to see the man,’ said Mrs. Maylie, ‘but I wouldn’t hear of
      it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Humph!’ rejoined the doctor. ‘There is nothing very alarming in his
      appearance. Have you any objection to see him in my presence?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘If it be necessary,’ replied the old lady, ‘certainly not.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then I think it is necessary,’ said the doctor; ‘at all events, I am
      quite sure that you would deeply regret not having done so, if you
      postponed it. He is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow me—Miss
      Rose, will you permit me? Not the slightest fear, I pledge you my honour!’ 
    </p>
<p>
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</p>
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<h2 id="pgepubid00035">
      CHAPTER XXX — RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM
    </h2>
<p>
      With many loquacious assurances that they would be agreeably surprised in
      the aspect of the criminal, the doctor drew the young lady’s arm through
      one of his; and offering his disengaged hand to Mrs. Maylie, led them,
      with much ceremony and stateliness, upstairs.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now,’ said the doctor, in a whisper, as he softly turned the handle of a
      bedroom-door, ‘let us hear what you think of him. He has not been shaved
      very recently, but he don’t look at all ferocious notwithstanding. Stop,
      though! Let me first see that he is in visiting order.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning them to advance,
      he closed the door when they had entered; and gently drew back the
      curtains of the bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian
      they had expected to behold, there lay a mere child: worn with pain and
      exhaustion, and sunk into a deep sleep. His wounded arm, bound and
      splintered up, was crossed upon his breast; his head reclined upon the
      other arm, which was half hidden by his long hair, as it streamed over the
      pillow.
    </p>
<p>
      The honest gentleman held the curtain in his hand, and looked on, for a
      minute or so, in silence. Whilst he was watching the patient thus, the
      younger lady glided softly past, and seating herself in a chair by the
      bedside, gathered Oliver’s hair from his face. As she stooped over him,
      her tears fell upon his forehead.
    </p>
<p>
      The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity
      and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection he
      had never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of water
      in a silent place, or the odour of a flower, or the mention of a familiar
      word, will sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never
      were, in this life; which vanish like a breath; which some brief memory of
      a happier existence, long gone by, would seem to have awakened; which no
      voluntary exertion of the mind can ever recall.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What can this mean?’ exclaimed the elder lady. ‘This poor child can never
      have been the pupil of robbers!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Vice,’ said the surgeon, replacing the curtain, ‘takes up her abode in
      many temples; and who can say that a fair outside shell not enshrine her?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But at so early an age!’ urged Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘My dear young lady,’ rejoined the surgeon, mournfully shaking his head;
      ‘crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered alone. The
      youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But, can you—oh! can you really believe that this delicate boy has
      been the voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society?’ said Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated that he feared it
      was very possible; and observing that they might disturb the patient, led
      the way into an adjoining apartment.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But even if he has been wicked,’ pursued Rose, ‘think how young he is;
      think that he may never have known a mother’s love, or the comfort of a
      home; that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread, may have driven him
      to herd with men who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for
      mercy’s sake, think of this, before you let them drag this sick child to a
      prison, which in any case must be the grave of all his chances of
      amendment. Oh! as you love me, and know that I have never felt the want of
      parents in your goodness and affection, but that I might have done so, and
      might have been equally helpless and unprotected with this poor child,
      have pity upon him before it is too late!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘My dear love,’ said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping girl to her
      bosom, ‘do you think I would harm a hair of his head?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh, no!’ replied Rose, eagerly.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, surely,’ said the old lady; ‘my days are drawing to their close: and
      may mercy be shown to me as I show it to others! What can I do to save
      him, sir?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Let me think, ma’am,’ said the doctor; ‘let me think.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took several turns up
      and down the room; often stopping, and balancing himself on his toes, and
      frowning frightfully. After various exclamations of ‘I’ve got it now’ and
      ‘no, I haven’t,’ and as many renewals of the walking and frowning, he at
      length made a dead halt, and spoke as follows:
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully Giles,
      and that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a faithful fellow
      and an old servant, I know; but you can make it up to him in a thousand
      ways, and reward him for being such a good shot besides. You don’t object
      to that?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Unless there is some other way of preserving the child,’ replied Mrs.
      Maylie.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There is no other,’ said the doctor. ‘No other, take my word for it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then my aunt invests you with full power,’ said Rose, smiling through her
      tears; ‘but pray don’t be harder upon the poor fellows than is
      indispensably necessary.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You seem to think,’ retorted the doctor, ‘that everybody is disposed to
      be hard-hearted to-day, except yourself, Miss Rose. I only hope, for the
      sake of the rising male sex generally, that you may be found in as
      vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by the first eligible young fellow who
      appeals to your compassion; and I wish I were a young fellow, that I might
      avail myself, on the spot, of such a favourable opportunity for doing so,
      as the present.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,’ returned Rose,
      blushing.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well,’ said the doctor, laughing heartily, ‘that is no very difficult
      matter. But to return to this boy. The great point of our agreement is yet
      to come. He will wake in an hour or so, I dare say; and although I have
      told that thick-headed constable-fellow downstairs that he musn’t be moved
      or spoken to, on peril of his life, I think we may converse with him
      without danger. Now I make this stipulation—that I shall examine him
      in your presence, and that, if, from what he says, we judge, and I can
      show to the satisfaction of your cool reason, that he is a real and
      thorough bad one (which is more than possible), he shall be left to his
      fate, without any farther interference on my part, at all events.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh no, aunt!’ entreated Rose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh yes, aunt!’ said the doctor. ‘Is is a bargain?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He cannot be hardened in vice,’ said Rose; ‘It is impossible.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Very good,’ retorted the doctor; ‘then so much the more reason for
      acceding to my proposition.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Finally the treaty was entered into; and the parties thereunto sat down to
      wait, with some impatience, until Oliver should awake.
    </p>
<p>
      The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer trial than
      Mr. Losberne had led them to expect; for hour after hour passed on, and
      still Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening, indeed, before the
      kind-hearted doctor brought them the intelligence, that he was at length
      sufficiently restored to be spoken to. The boy was very ill, he said, and
      weak from the loss of blood; but his mind was so troubled with anxiety to
      disclose something, that he deemed it better to give him the opportunity,
      than to insist upon his remaining quiet until next morning: which he
      should otherwise have done.
    </p>
<p>
      The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple history,
      and was often compelled to stop, by pain and want of strength. It was a
      solemn thing, to hear, in the darkened room, the feeble voice of the sick
      child recounting a weary catalogue of evils and calamities which hard men
      had brought upon him. Oh! if when we oppress and grind our
      fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought on the dark evidences of
      human error, which, like dense and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly it is
      true, but not less surely, to Heaven, to pour their after-vengeance on our
      heads; if we heard but one instant, in imagination, the deep testimony of
      dead men’s voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride shut out; where
      would be the injury and injustice, the suffering, misery, cruelty, and
      wrong, that each day’s life brings with it!
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver’s pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that night; and loveliness
      and virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and happy, and could have
      died without a murmur.
    </p>
<p>
      The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver composed to
      rest again, than the doctor, after wiping his eyes, and condemning them
      for being weak all at once, betook himself downstairs to open upon Mr.
      Giles. And finding nobody about the parlours, it occurred to him, that he
      could perhaps originate the proceedings with better effect in the kitchen;
      so into the kitchen he went.
    </p>
<p>
      There were assembled, in that lower house of the domestic parliament, the
      women-servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, the tinker (who had received a
      special invitation to regale himself for the remainder of the day, in
      consideration of his services), and the constable. The latter gentleman
      had a large staff, a large head, large features, and large half-boots; and
      he looked as if he had been taking a proportionate allowance of ale—as
      indeed he had.
    </p>
<p>
      The adventures of the previous night were still under discussion; for Mr.
      Giles was expatiating upon his presence of mind, when the doctor entered;
      Mr. Brittles, with a mug of ale in his hand, was corroborating everything,
      before his superior said it.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Sit still!’ said the doctor, waving his hand.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mr. Giles. ‘Misses wished some
      ale to be given out, sir; and as I felt no ways inclined for my own
      little room, sir, and was disposed for company, I am taking mine among
      ‘em here.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and gentlemen generally
      were understood to express the gratification they derived from Mr. Giles’s
      condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a patronising air, as much as
      to say that so long as they behaved properly, he would never desert them.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘How is the patient to-night, sir?’ asked Giles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So-so’; returned the doctor. ‘I am afraid you have got yourself into a
      scrape there, Mr. Giles.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I hope you don’t mean to say, sir,’ said Mr. Giles, trembling, ‘that he’s
      going to die. If I thought it, I should never be happy again. I wouldn’t
      cut a boy off: no, not even Brittles here; not for all the plate in the
      county, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That’s not the point,’ said the doctor, mysteriously. ‘Mr. Giles, are you
      a Protestant?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, sir, I hope so,’ faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very pale.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And what are <i>you</i>, boy?’ said the doctor, turning sharply upon
      Brittles.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Lord bless me, sir!’ replied Brittles, starting violently; ‘I’m the same
      as Mr. Giles, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then tell me this,’ said the doctor, ‘both of you, both of you! Are you
      going to take upon yourselves to swear, that that boy upstairs is the boy
      that was put through the little window last night? Out with it! Come! We
      are prepared for you!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best-tempered
      creatures on earth, made this demand in such a dreadful tone of anger,
      that Giles and Brittles, who were considerably muddled by ale and
      excitement, stared at each other in a state of stupefaction.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you?’ said the doctor,
      shaking his forefinger with great solemnity of manner, and tapping the
      bridge of his nose with it, to bespeak the exercise of that worthy’s
      utmost acuteness. ‘Something may come of this before long.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff of office:
      which had been reclining indolently in the chimney-corner.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s a simple question of identity, you will observe,’ said the doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That’s what it is, sir,’ replied the constable, coughing with great
      violence; for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it had gone
      the wrong way.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Here’s the house broken into,’ said the doctor, ‘and a couple of men
      catch one moment’s glimpse of a boy, in the midst of gunpowder smoke, and
      in all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here’s a boy comes to that
      very same house, next morning, and because he happens to have his arm tied
      up, these men lay violent hands upon him—by doing which, they place
      his life in great danger—and swear he is the thief. Now, the
      question is, whether these men are justified by the fact; if not, in what
      situation do they place themselves?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn’t law, he would be
      glad to know what was.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I ask you again,’ thundered the doctor, ‘are you, on your solemn oaths,
      able to identify that boy?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles; Mr. Giles looked doubtfully at
      Brittles; the constable put his hand behind his ear, to catch the reply;
      the two women and the tinker leaned forward to listen; the doctor glanced
      keenly round; when a ring was heard at the gate, and at the same moment,
      the sound of wheels.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s the runners!’ cried Brittles, to all appearance much relieved.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The what?’ exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The Bow Street officers, sir,’ replied Brittles, taking up a candle; ‘me
      and Mr. Giles sent for ‘em this morning.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What?’ cried the doctor.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes,’ replied Brittles; ‘I sent a message up by the coachman, and I only
      wonder they weren’t here before, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You did, did you? Then confound your—slow coaches down here; that’s
      all,’ said the doctor, walking away.
    </p>
<p>
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