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

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<h2 id="pgepubid00023">
      CHAPTER XX — WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES
    </h2>
<p>
      When Oliver awoke in the morning, he was a good deal surprised to find
      that a new pair of shoes, with strong thick soles, had been placed at his
      bedside; and that his old shoes had been removed. At first, he was pleased
      with the discovery: hoping that it might be the forerunner of his release;
      but such thoughts were quickly dispelled, on his sitting down to breakfast
      along with the Jew, who told him, in a tone and manner which increased his
      alarm, that he was to be taken to the residence of Bill Sikes that night.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘To—to—stop there, sir?’ asked Oliver, anxiously.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, no, my dear. Not to stop there,’ replied the Jew. ‘We shouldn’t like
      to lose you. Don’t be afraid, Oliver, you shall come back to us again. Ha!
      ha! ha! We won’t be so cruel as to send you away, my dear. Oh no, no!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The old man, who was stooping over the fire toasting a piece of bread,
      looked round as he bantered Oliver thus; and chuckled as if to show that
      he knew he would still be very glad to get away if he could.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I suppose,’ said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oliver, ‘you want to know
      what you’re going to Bill’s for—-eh, my dear?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver coloured, involuntarily, to find that the old thief had been
      reading his thoughts; but boldly said, Yes, he did want to know.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, do you think?’ inquired Fagin, parrying the question.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Indeed I don’t know, sir,’ replied Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Bah!’ said the Jew, turning away with a disappointed countenance from a
      close perusal of the boy’s face. ‘Wait till Bill tells you, then.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver’s not expressing any greater curiosity
      on the subject; but the truth is, that, although Oliver felt very anxious,
      he was too much confused by the earnest cunning of Fagin’s looks, and his
      own speculations, to make any further inquiries just then. He had no other
      opportunity: for the Jew remained very surly and silent till night: when
      he prepared to go abroad.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You may burn a candle,’ said the Jew, putting one upon the table. ‘And
      here’s a book for you to read, till they come to fetch you. Good-night!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Good-night!’ replied Oliver, softly.
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew walked to the door: looking over his shoulder at the boy as he
      went. Suddenly stopping, he called him by his name.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver looked up; the Jew, pointing to the candle, motioned him to light
      it. He did so; and, as he placed the candlestick upon the table, saw that
      the Jew was gazing fixedly at him, with lowering and contracted brows,
      from the dark end of the room.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Take heed, Oliver! take heed!’ said the old man, shaking his right hand
      before him in a warning manner. ‘He’s a rough man, and thinks nothing of
      blood when his own is up. Whatever falls out, say nothing; and do what he
      bids you. Mind!’ Placing a strong emphasis on the last word, he suffered
      his features gradually to resolve themselves into a ghastly grin, and,
      nodding his head, left the room.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver leaned his head upon his hand when the old man disappeared, and
      pondered, with a trembling heart, on the words he had just heard. The more
      he thought of the Jew’s admonition, the more he was at a loss to divine
      its real purpose and meaning.
    </p>
<p>
      He could think of no bad object to be attained by sending him to Sikes,
      which would not be equally well answered by his remaining with Fagin; and
      after meditating for a long time, concluded that he had been selected to
      perform some ordinary menial offices for the housebreaker, until another
      boy, better suited for his purpose could be engaged. He was too well
      accustomed to suffering, and had suffered too much where he was, to bewail
      the prospect of change very severely. He remained lost in thought for some
      minutes; and then, with a heavy sigh, snuffed the candle, and, taking up
      the book which the Jew had left with him, began to read.
    </p>
<p>
      He turned over the leaves. Carelessly at first; but, lighting on a passage
      which attracted his attention, he soon became intent upon the volume. It
      was a history of the lives and trials of great criminals; and the pages
      were soiled and thumbed with use. Here, he read of dreadful crimes that
      made the blood run cold; of secret murders that had been committed by the
      lonely wayside; of bodies hidden from the eye of man in deep pits and
      wells: which would not keep them down, deep as they were, but had yielded
      them up at last, after many years, and so maddened the murderers with the
      sight, that in their horror they had confessed their guilt, and yelled for
      the gibbet to end their agony. Here, too, he read of men who, lying in
      their beds at dead of night, had been tempted (so they said) and led on,
      by their own bad thoughts, to such dreadful bloodshed as it made the flesh
      creep, and the limbs quail, to think of. The terrible descriptions were so
      real and vivid, that the sallow pages seemed to turn red with gore; and
      the words upon them, to be sounded in his ears, as if they were whispered,
      in hollow murmurs, by the spirits of the dead.
    </p>
<p>
      In a paroxysm of fear, the boy closed the book, and thrust it from him.
      Then, falling upon his knees, he prayed Heaven to spare him from such
      deeds; and rather to will that he should die at once, than be reserved for
      crimes, so fearful and appalling. By degrees, he grew more calm, and
      besought, in a low and broken voice, that he might be rescued from his
      present dangers; and that if any aid were to be raised up for a poor
      outcast boy who had never known the love of friends or kindred, it might
      come to him now, when, desolate and deserted, he stood alone in the midst
      of wickedness and guilt.
    </p>
<p>
      He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his head buried in
      his hands, when a rustling noise aroused him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What’s that!’ he cried, starting up, and catching sight of a figure
      standing by the door. ‘Who’s there?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Me. Only me,’ replied a tremulous voice.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver raised the candle above his head: and looked towards the door. It
      was Nancy.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Put down the light,’ said the girl, turning away her head. ‘It hurts my
      eyes.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver saw that she was very pale, and gently inquired if she were ill.
      The girl threw herself into a chair, with her back towards him: and wrung
      her hands; but made no reply.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘God forgive me!’ she cried after a while, ‘I never thought of this.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Has anything happened?’ asked Oliver. ‘Can I help you? I will if I can. I
      will, indeed.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      She rocked herself to and fro; caught her throat; and, uttering a gurgling
      sound, gasped for breath.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nancy!’ cried Oliver, ‘What is it?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her feet upon the ground; and,
      suddenly stopping, drew her shawl close round her: and shivered with cold.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver stirred the fire. Drawing her chair close to it, she sat there, for
      a little time, without speaking; but at length she raised her head, and
      looked round.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I don’t know what comes over me sometimes,’ said she, affecting to busy
      herself in arranging her dress; ‘it’s this damp dirty room, I think. Now,
      Nolly, dear, are you ready?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Am I to go with you?’ asked Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes. I have come from Bill,’ replied the girl. ‘You are to go with me.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What for?’ asked Oliver, recoiling.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What for?’ echoed the girl, raising her eyes, and averting them again,
      the moment they encountered the boy’s face. ‘Oh! For no harm.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Oliver: who had watched her closely.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Have it your own way,’ rejoined the girl, affecting to laugh. ‘For no
      good, then.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver could see that he had some power over the girl’s better feelings,
      and, for an instant, thought of appealing to her compassion for his
      helpless state. But, then, the thought darted across his mind that it was
      barely eleven o’clock; and that many people were still in the streets: of
      whom surely some might be found to give credence to his tale. As the
      reflection occured to him, he stepped forward: and said, somewhat hastily,
      that he was ready.
    </p>
<p>
      Neither his brief consideration, nor its purport, was lost on his
      companion. She eyed him narrowly, while he spoke; and cast upon him a look
      of intelligence which sufficiently showed that she guessed what had been
      passing in his thoughts.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush!’ said the girl, stooping over him, and pointing to the door as she
      looked cautiously round. ‘You can’t help yourself. I have tried hard for
      you, but all to no purpose. You are hedged round and round. If ever you
      are to get loose from here, this is not the time.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Struck by the energy of her manner, Oliver looked up in her face with
      great surprise. She seemed to speak the truth; her countenance was white
      and agitated; and she trembled with very earnestness.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I have saved you from being ill-used once, and I will again, and I do
      now,’ continued the girl aloud; ‘for those who would have fetched you, if
      I had not, would have been far more rough than me. I have promised for
      your being quiet and silent; if you are not, you will only do harm to
      yourself and me too, and perhaps be my death. See here! I have borne all
      this for you already, as true as God sees me show it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      She pointed, hastily, to some livid bruises on her neck and arms; and
      continued, with great rapidity:
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Remember this! And don’t let me suffer more for you, just now. If I could
      help you, I would; but I have not the power. They don’t mean to harm you;
      whatever they make you do, is no fault of yours. Hush! Every word from you
      is a blow for me. Give me your hand. Make haste! Your hand!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      She caught the hand which Oliver instinctively placed in hers, and,
      blowing out the light, drew him after her up the stairs. The door was
      opened, quickly, by some one shrouded in the darkness, and was as quickly
      closed, when they had passed out. A hackney-cabriolet was in waiting; with
      the same vehemence which she had exhibited in addressing Oliver, the girl
      pulled him in with her, and drew the curtains close. The driver wanted no
      directions, but lashed his horse into full speed, without the delay of an
      instant.
    </p>
<p>
      The girl still held Oliver fast by the hand, and continued to pour into
      his ear, the warnings and assurances she had already imparted. All was so
      quick and hurried, that he had scarcely time to recollect where he was, or
      how he came there, when the carriage stopped at the house to which the
      Jew’s steps had been directed on the previous evening.
    </p>
<p>
      For one brief moment, Oliver cast a hurried glance along the empty street,
      and a cry for help hung upon his lips. But the girl’s voice was in his
      ear, beseeching him in such tones of agony to remember her, that he had
      not the heart to utter it. While he hesitated, the opportunity was gone;
      he was already in the house, and the door was shut.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘This way,’ said the girl, releasing her hold for the first time. ‘Bill!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hallo!’ replied Sikes: appearing at the head of the stairs, with a
      candle. ‘Oh! That’s the time of day. Come on!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      This was a very strong expression of approbation, an uncommonly hearty
      welcome, from a person of Mr. Sikes’ temperament. Nancy, appearing much
      gratified thereby, saluted him cordially.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Bull’s-eye’s gone home with Tom,’ observed Sikes, as he lighted them up.
      ‘He’d have been in the way.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That’s right,’ rejoined Nancy.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So you’ve got the kid,’ said Sikes when they had all reached the room:
      closing the door as he spoke.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, here he is,’ replied Nancy.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Did he come quiet?’ inquired Sikes.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Like a lamb,’ rejoined Nancy.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Sikes, looking grimly at Oliver; ‘for the sake
      of his young carcase: as would otherways have suffered for it. Come here,
      young ‘un; and let me read you a lectur’, which is as well got over at
      once.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Thus addressing his new pupil, Mr. Sikes pulled off Oliver’s cap and threw
      it into a corner; and then, taking him by the shoulder, sat himself down
      by the table, and stood the boy in front of him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, first: do you know wot this is?’ inquired Sikes, taking up a
      pocket-pistol which lay on the table.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver replied in the affirmative.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well, then, look here,’ continued Sikes. ‘This is powder; that ‘ere’s a
      bullet; and this is a little bit of a old hat for waddin’.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver murmured his comprehension of the different bodies referred to; and
      Mr. Sikes proceeded to load the pistol, with great nicety and
      deliberation.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now it’s loaded,’ said Mr. Sikes, when he had finished.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, I see it is, sir,’ replied Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well,’ said the robber, grasping Oliver’s wrist, and putting the barrel
      so close to his temple that they touched; at which moment the boy could
      not repress a start; ‘if you speak a word when you’re out o’doors with me,
      except when I speak to you, that loading will be in your head without
      notice. So, if you <i>do</i> make up your mind to speak without leave, say
      your prayers first.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Having bestowed a scowl upon the object of this warning, to increase its
      effect, Mr. Sikes continued.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘As near as I know, there isn’t anybody as would be asking very partickler
      arter you, if you <i>was</i> disposed of; so I needn’t take this
      devil-and-all of trouble to explain matters to you, if it warn’t for your
      own good. D’ye hear me?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The short and the long of what you mean,’ said Nancy: speaking very
      emphatically, and slightly frowning at Oliver as if to bespeak his serious
      attention to her words: ‘is, that if you’re crossed by him in this job you
      have on hand, you’ll prevent his ever telling tales afterwards, by
      shooting him through the head, and will take your chance of swinging for
      it, as you do for a great many other things in the way of business, every
      month of your life.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That’s it!’ observed Mr. Sikes, approvingly; ‘women can always put things
      in fewest words.—Except when it’s blowing up; and then they
      lengthens it out. And now that he’s thoroughly up to it, let’s have some
      supper, and get a snooze before starting.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      In pursuance of this request, Nancy quickly laid the cloth; disappearing
      for a few minutes, she presently returned with a pot of porter and a dish
      of sheep’s heads: which gave occasion to several pleasant witticisms on
      the part of Mr. Sikes, founded upon the singular coincidence of ‘jemmies’ 
      being a can name, common to them, and also to an ingenious implement much
      used in his profession. Indeed, the worthy gentleman, stimulated perhaps
      by the immediate prospect of being on active service, was in great spirits
      and good humour; in proof whereof, it may be here remarked, that he
      humourously drank all the beer at a draught, and did not utter, on a rough
      calculation, more than four-score oaths during the whole progress of the
      meal.
    </p>
<p>
      Supper being ended—it may be easily conceived that Oliver had no
      great appetite for it—Mr. Sikes disposed of a couple of glasses of
      spirits and water, and threw himself on the bed; ordering Nancy, with many
      imprecations in case of failure, to call him at five precisely. Oliver
      stretched himself in his clothes, by command of the same authority, on a
      mattress upon the floor; and the girl, mending the fire, sat before it, in
      readiness to rouse them at the appointed time.
    </p>
<p>
      For a long time Oliver lay awake, thinking it not impossible that Nancy
      might seek that opportunity of whispering some further advice; but the
      girl sat brooding over the fire, without moving, save now and then to trim
      the light. Weary with watching and anxiety, he at length fell asleep.
    </p>
<p>
      When he awoke, the table was covered with tea-things, and Sikes was
      thrusting various articles into the pockets of his great-coat, which hung
      over the back of a chair. Nancy was busily engaged in preparing breakfast.
      It was not yet daylight; for the candle was still burning, and it was
      quite dark outside. A sharp rain, too, was beating against the
      window-panes; and the sky looked black and cloudy.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, then!’ growled Sikes, as Oliver started up; ‘half-past five! Look
      sharp, or you’ll get no breakfast; for it’s late as it is.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver was not long in making his toilet; having taken some breakfast, he
      replied to a surly inquiry from Sikes, by saying that he was quite ready.
    </p>
<p>
      Nancy, scarcely looking at the boy, threw him a handkerchief to tie round
      his throat; Sikes gave him a large rough cape to button over his
      shoulders. Thus attired, he gave his hand to the robber, who, merely
      pausing to show him with a menacing gesture that he had that same pistol
      in a side-pocket of his great-coat, clasped it firmly in his, and,
      exchanging a farewell with Nancy, led him away.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver turned, for an instant, when they reached the door, in the hope of
      meeting a look from the girl. But she had resumed her old seat in front of
      the fire, and sat, perfectly motionless before it.
    </p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
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<a id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
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<h2 id="pgepubid00024">
      CHAPTER XXI — THE EXPEDITION
    </h2>
<p>
      It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street; blowing and
      raining hard; and the clouds looking dull and stormy. The night had been
      very wet: large pools of water had collected in the road: and the kennels
      were overflowing. There was a faint glimmering of the coming day in the
      sky; but it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the scene: the
      sombre light only serving to pale that which the street lamps afforded,
      without shedding any warmer or brighter tints upon the wet house-tops, and
      dreary streets. There appeared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of
      the town; the windows of the houses were all closely shut; and the streets
      through which they passed, were noiseless and empty.
    </p>
<p>
      By the time they had turned into the Bethnal Green Road, the day had
      fairly begun to break. Many of the lamps were already extinguished; a few
      country waggons were slowly toiling on, towards London; now and then, a
      stage-coach, covered with mud, rattled briskly by: the driver bestowing,
      as he passed, an admonitory lash upon the heavy waggoner who, by keeping
      on the wrong side of the road, had endangered his arriving at the office,
      a quarter of a minute after his time. The public-houses, with gas-lights
      burning inside, were already open. By degrees, other shops began to be
      unclosed, and a few scattered people were met with. Then, came straggling
      groups of labourers going to their work; then, men and women with
      fish-baskets on their heads; donkey-carts laden with vegetables;
      chaise-carts filled with live-stock or whole carcasses of meat; milk-women
      with pails; an unbroken concourse of people, trudging out with various
      supplies to the eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the City,
      the noise and traffic gradually increased; when they threaded the streets
      between Shoreditch and Smithfield, it had swelled into a roar of sound and
      bustle. It was as light as it was likely to be, till night came on again,
      and the busy morning of half the London population had begun.
    </p>
<p>
      Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, and crossing Finsbury square,
      Mr. Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell Street, into Barbican: thence into
      Long Lane, and so into Smithfield; from which latter place arose a tumult
      of discordant sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement.
    </p>
<p>
      It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly ankle-deep, with
      filth and mire; a thick steam, perpetually rising from the reeking bodies
      of the cattle, and mingling with the fog, which seemed to rest upon the
      chimney-tops, hung heavily above. All the pens in the centre of the large
      area, and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant
      space, were filled with sheep; tied up to posts by the gutter side were
      long lines of beasts and oxen, three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers,
      drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and vagabonds of every low grade,
      were mingled together in a mass; the whistling of drovers, the barking
      dogs, the bellowing and plunging of the oxen, the bleating of sheep, the
      grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the shouts, oaths,
      and quarrelling on all sides; the ringing of bells and roar of voices,
      that issued from every public-house; the crowding, pushing, driving,
      beating, whooping and yelling; the hideous and discordant dim that
      resounded from every corner of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven,
      squalid, and dirty figures constantly running to and fro, and bursting in
      and out of the throng; rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene, which
      quite confounded the senses.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way through the thickest
      of the crowd, and bestowed very little attention on the numerous sights
      and sounds, which so astonished the boy. He nodded, twice or thrice, to a
      passing friend; and, resisting as many invitations to take a morning dram,
      pressed steadily onward, until they were clear of the turmoil, and had
      made their way through Hosier Lane into Holborn.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, young ‘un!’ said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St. Andrew’s
      Church, ‘hard upon seven! you must step out. Come, don’t lag behind
      already, Lazy-legs!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little companion’s
      wrist; Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of trot between a fast walk
      and a run, kept up with the rapid strides of the house-breaker as well as
      he could.
    </p>
<p>
      They held their course at this rate, until they had passed Hyde Park
      corner, and were on their way to Kensington: when Sikes relaxed his pace,
      until an empty cart which was at some little distance behind, came up.
      Seeing ‘Hounslow’ written on it, he asked the driver with as much civility
      as he could assume, if he would give them a lift as far as Isleworth.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Jump up,’ said the man. ‘Is that your boy?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes; he’s my boy,’ replied Sikes, looking hard at Oliver, and putting his
      hand abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol was.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Your father walks rather too quick for you, don’t he, my man?’ inquired
      the driver: seeing that Oliver was out of breath.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not a bit of it,’ replied Sikes, interposing.
      ‘He’s used to it. Here, take hold of my hand, Ned. In with
      you!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart; and the driver,
      pointing to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down there, and rest himself.
    </p>
<p>
      As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver wondered, more and more,
      where his companion meant to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick,
      Kew Bridge, Brentford, were all passed; and yet they went on as steadily
      as if they had only just begun their journey. At length, they came to a
      public-house called the Coach and Horses; a little way beyond which,
      another road appeared to run off. And here, the cart stopped.
    </p>
<p>
      Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the hand all
      the while; and lifting him down directly, bestowed a furious look upon
      him, and rapped the side-pocket with his fist, in a significant manner.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Good-bye, boy,’ said the man.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He’s sulky,’ replied Sikes, giving him a shake; ‘he’s sulky. A young dog!
      Don’t mind him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not I!’ rejoined the other, getting into his cart. ‘It’s a fine day,
      after all.’ And he drove away.
    </p>
<p>
      Sikes waited until he had fairly gone; and then, telling Oliver he might
      look about him if he wanted, once again led him onward on his journey.
    </p>
<p>
      They turned round to the left, a short way past the public-house; and
      then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time: passing many
      large gardens and gentlemen’s houses on both sides of the way, and
      stopping for nothing but a little beer, until they reached a town. Here
      against the wall of a house, Oliver saw written up in pretty large
      letters, ‘Hampton.’ They lingered about, in the fields, for some hours. At
      length they came back into the town; and, turning into an old public-house
      with a defaced sign-board, ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire.
    </p>
<p>
      The kitchen was an old, low-roofed room; with a great beam across the
      middle of the ceiling, and benches, with high backs to them, by the fire;
      on which were seated several rough men in smock-frocks, drinking and
      smoking. They took no notice of Oliver; and very little of Sikes; and, as
      Sikes took very little notice of them, he and his young comrade sat in a
      corner by themselves, without being much troubled by their company.
    </p>
<p>
      They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it, while Mr.
      Sikes indulged himself with three or four pipes, that Oliver began to feel
      quite certain they were not going any further. Being much tired with the
      walk, and getting up so early, he dozed a little at first; then, quite
      overpowered by fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell asleep.
    </p>
<p>
      It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from Sikes. Rousing
      himself sufficiently to sit up and look about him, he found that worthy in
      close fellowship and communication with a labouring man, over a pint of
      ale.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So, you’re going on to Lower Halliford, are you?’ inquired Sikes.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, I am,’ replied the man, who seemed a little the worse—or
      better, as the case might be—for drinking; ‘and not slow about it
      neither. My horse hasn’t got a load behind him going back, as he had
      coming up in the mornin’; and he won’t be long a-doing of it. Here’s luck
      to him. Ecod! he’s a good ‘un!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as there?’ demanded Sikes,
      pushing the ale towards his new friend.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘If you’re going directly, I can,’ replied the man, looking out of the
      pot. ‘Are you going to Halliford?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Going on to Shepperton,’ replied Sikes.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’m your man, as far as I go,’ replied the other. ‘Is all paid, Becky?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, the other gentleman’s paid,’ replied the girl.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I say!’ said the man, with tipsy gravity; ‘that won’t do, you know.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why not?’ rejoined Sikes. ‘You’re a-going to accommodate us, and wot’s to
      prevent my standing treat for a pint or so, in return?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very profound face;
      having done so, he seized Sikes by the hand: and declared he was a real
      good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was joking; as, if he had been
      sober, there would have been strong reason to suppose he was.
    </p>
<p>
      After the exchange of a few more compliments, they bade the company
      good-night, and went out; the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as
      they did so, and lounging out to the door, with her hands full, to see the
      party start.
    </p>
<p>
      The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing
      outside: ready harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without any
      further ceremony; and the man to whom he belonged, having lingered for a
      minute or two ‘to bear him up,’ and to defy the hostler and the world to
      produce his equal, mounted also. Then, the hostler was told to give the
      horse his head; and, his head being given him, he made a very unpleasant
      use of it: tossing it into the air with great disdain, and running into
      the parlour windows over the way; after performing those feats, and
      supporting himself for a short time on his hind-legs, he started off at
      great speed, and rattled out of the town right gallantly.
    </p>
<p>
      The night was very dark. A damp mist rose from the river, and the marshy
      ground about; and spread itself over the dreary fields. It was piercing
      cold, too; all was gloomy and black. Not a word was spoken; for the driver
      had grown sleepy; and Sikes was in no mood to lead him into conversation.
      Oliver sat huddled together, in a corner of the cart; bewildered with
      alarm and apprehension; and figuring strange objects in the gaunt trees,
      whose branches waved grimly to and fro, as if in some fantastic joy at the
      desolation of the scene.
    </p>
<p>
      As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock struck seven. There was a light
      in the ferry-house window opposite: which streamed across the road, and
      threw into more sombre shadow a dark yew-tree with graves beneath it.
      There was a dull sound of falling water not far off; and the leaves of the
      old tree stirred gently in the night wind. It seemed like quiet music for
      the repose of the dead.
    </p>
<p>
      Sunbury was passed through, and they came again into the lonely road. Two
      or three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sikes alighted, took Oliver by
      the hand, and they once again walked on.
    </p>
<p>
      They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary boy had expected;
      but still kept walking on, in mud and darkness, through gloomy lanes and
      over cold open wastes, until they came within sight of the lights of a
      town at no great distance. On looking intently forward, Oliver saw that
      the water was just below them, and that they were coming to the foot of a
      bridge.
    </p>
<p>
      Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the bridge; then turned
      suddenly down a bank upon the left.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The water!’ thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. ‘He has brought me to
      this lonely place to murder me!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      He was about to throw himself on the ground, and make one struggle for his
      young life, when he saw that they stood before a solitary house: all
      ruinous and decayed. There was a window on each side of the dilapidated
      entrance; and one story above; but no light was visible. The house was
      dark, dismantled: and the all appearance, uninhabited.
    </p>
<p>
      Sikes, with Oliver’s hand still in his, softly approached the low porch,
      and raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure, and they passed in
      together.
    </p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<a id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br/><br/><br/><br/>
</div>
<h2 id="pgepubid00025">
      CHAPTER XXII — THE BURGLARY
    </h2>
<h3 id="pgepubid00026">
      ‘Hallo!’ cried a loud, hoarse voice, as soon as they set foot in the
      passage.
    </h3>
<p>
      ‘Don’t make such a row,’ said Sikes, bolting the door. ‘Show a glim,
      Toby.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Aha! my pal!’ cried the same voice. ‘A glim, Barney, a glim! Show the
      gentleman in, Barney; wake up first, if convenient.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The speaker appeared to throw a boot-jack, or some such article, at the
      person he addressed, to rouse him from his slumbers: for the noise of a
      wooden body, falling violently, was heard; and then an indistinct
      muttering, as of a man between sleep and awake.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Do you hear?’ cried the same voice. ‘There’s Bill Sikes in the passage
      with nobody to do the civil to him; and you sleeping there, as if you took
      laudanum with your meals, and nothing stronger. Are you any fresher now,
      or do you want the iron candlestick to wake you thoroughly?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      A pair of slipshod feet shuffled, hastily, across the bare floor of the
      room, as this interrogatory was put; and there issued, from a door on the
      right hand; first, a feeble candle: and next, the form of the same
      individual who has been heretofore described as labouring under the
      infirmity of speaking through his nose, and officiating as waiter at the
      public-house on Saffron Hill.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Bister Sikes!’ exclaimed Barney, with real or counterfeit joy; ‘cub id,
      sir; cub id.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Here! you get on first,’ said Sikes, putting Oliver in front of him.
      ‘Quicker! or I shall tread upon your heels.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sikes pushed Oliver before him; and
      they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken
      chairs, a table, and a very old couch: on which, with his legs much higher
      than his head, a man was reposing at full length, smoking a long clay
      pipe. He was dressed in a smartly-cut snuff-coloured coat, with large
      brass buttons; an orange neckerchief; a coarse, staring, shawl-pattern
      waistcoat; and drab breeches. Mr. Crackit (for he it was) had no very
      great quantity of hair, either upon his head or face; but what he had, was
      of a reddish dye, and tortured into long corkscrew curls, through which he
      occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers, ornamented with large common
      rings. He was a trifle above the middle size, and apparently rather weak
      in the legs; but this circumstance by no means detracted from his own
      admiration of his top-boots, which he contemplated, in their elevated
      situation, with lively satisfaction.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Bill, my boy!’ said this figure, turning his head towards the door, ‘I’m
      glad to see you. I was almost afraid you’d given it up: in which case I
      should have made a personal wentur. Hallo!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes rested
      on Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackit brought himself into a sitting posture, and
      demanded who that was.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The boy. Only the boy!’ replied Sikes, drawing a chair towards the fire.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Wud of Bister Fagid’s lads,’ exclaimed Barney, with a grin.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Fagin’s, eh!’ exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver. ‘Wot an inwalable boy
      that’ll make, for the old ladies’ pockets in chapels! His mug is a fortin’ 
      to him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There—there’s enough of that,’ interposed Sikes, impatiently; and
      stooping over his recumbant friend, he whispered a few words in his ear:
      at which Mr. Crackit laughed immensely, and honoured Oliver with a long
      stare of astonishment.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now,’ said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, ‘if you’ll give us something to
      eat and drink while we’re waiting, you’ll put some heart in us; or in me,
      at all events. Sit down by the fire, younker, and rest yourself; for
      you’ll have to go out with us again to-night, though not very far off.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver looked at Sikes, in mute and timid wonder; and drawing a stool to
      the fire, sat with his aching head upon his hands, scarecely knowing where
      he was, or what was passing around him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Here,’ said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food, and a
      bottle upon the table, ‘Success to the crack!’ He rose to honour the
      toast; and, carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced to
      the table, filled a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents. Mr.
      Sikes did the same.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘A drain for the boy,’ said Toby, half-filling a wine-glass. ‘Down with
      it, innocence.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Indeed,’ said Oliver, looking piteously up into the man’s face; ‘indeed,
      I—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Down with it!’ echoed Toby. ‘Do you think I don’t know what’s good for
      you? Tell him to drink it, Bill.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He had better!’ said Sikes clapping his hand upon his pocket. ‘Burn my
      body, if he isn’t more trouble than a whole family of Dodgers. Drink it,
      you perwerse imp; drink it!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two men, Oliver hastily
      swallowed the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a violent
      fit of coughing: which delighted Toby Crackit and Barney, and even drew a
      smile from the surly Mr. Sikes.
    </p>
<p>
      This done, and Sikes having satisfied his appetite (Oliver could eat
      nothing but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow), the two
      men laid themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained his
      stool by the fire; Barney wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself on the
      floor: close outside the fender.
    </p>
<p>
      They slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time; nobody stirring but
      Barney, who rose once or twice to throw coals on the fire. Oliver fell
      into a heavy doze: imagining himself straying along the gloomy lanes, or
      wandering about the dark churchyard, or retracing some one or other of the
      scenes of the past day: when he was roused by Toby Crackit jumping up and
      declaring it was half-past one.
    </p>
<p>
      In an instant, the other two were on their legs, and all were actively
      engaged in busy preparation. Sikes and his companion enveloped their necks
      and chins in large dark shawls, and drew on their great-coats; Barney,
      opening a cupboard, brought forth several articles, which he hastily
      crammed into the pockets.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Barkers for me, Barney,’ said Toby Crackit.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Here they are,’ replied Barney, producing a pair of pistols. ‘You loaded
      them yourself.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘All right!’ replied Toby, stowing them away. ‘The persuaders?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’ve got ‘em,’ replied Sikes.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Crape, keys, centre-bits, darkies—nothing forgotten?’ inquired
      Toby: fastening a small crowbar to a loop inside the skirt of his coat.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘All right,’ rejoined his companion. ‘Bring them bits of timber, Barney.
      That’s the time of day.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With these words, he took a thick stick from Barney’s hands, who, having
      delivered another to Toby, busied himself in fastening on Oliver’s cape.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now then!’ said Sikes, holding out his hand.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver: who was completely stupified by the unwonted exercise, and the
      air, and the drink which had been forced upon him: put his hand
      mechanically into that which Sikes extended for the purpose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Take his other hand, Toby,’ said Sikes. ‘Look out, Barney.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The man went to the door, and returned to announce that all was quiet. The
      two robbers issued forth with Oliver between them. Barney, having made all
      fast, rolled himself up as before, and was soon asleep again.
    </p>
<p>
      It was now intensely dark. The fog was much heavier than it had been in
      the early part of the night; and the atmosphere was so damp, that,
      although no rain fell, Oliver’s hair and eyebrows, within a few minutes
      after leaving the house, had become stiff with the half-frozen moisture
      that was floating about. They crossed the bridge, and kept on towards the
      lights which he had seen before. They were at no great distance off; and,
      as they walked pretty briskly, they soon arrived at Chertsey.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Slap through the town,’ whispered Sikes; ‘there’ll be nobody in the way,
      to-night, to see us.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Toby acquiesced; and they hurried through the main street of the little
      town, which at that late hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone at
      intervals from some bed-room window; and the hoarse barking of dogs
      occasionally broke the silence of the night. But there was nobody abroad.
      They had cleared the town, as the church-bell struck two.
    </p>
<p>
      Quickening their pace, they turned up a road upon the left hand. After
      walking about a quarter of a mile, they stopped before a detached house
      surrounded by a wall: to the top of which, Toby Crackit, scarcely pausing
      to take breath, climbed in a twinkling.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The boy next,’ said Toby. ‘Hoist him up; I’ll catch hold of him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Before Oliver had time to look round, Sikes had caught him under the arms;
      and in three or four seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass on the
      other side. Sikes followed directly. And they stole cautiously towards the
      house.
    </p>
<p>
      And now, for the first time, Oliver, well-nigh mad with grief and terror,
      saw that housebreaking and robbery, if not murder, were the objects of the
      expedition. He clasped his hands together, and involuntarily uttered a
      subdued exclamation of horror. A mist came before his eyes; the cold sweat
      stood upon his ashy face; his limbs failed him; and he sank upon his
      knees.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Get up!’ murmured Sikes, trembling with rage, and drawing the pistol from
      his pocket; ‘Get up, or I’ll strew your brains upon the grass.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh! for God’s sake let me go!’ cried Oliver; ‘let me run away and die in
      the fields. I will never come near London; never, never! Oh! pray have
      mercy on me, and do not make me steal. For the love of all the bright
      Angels that rest in Heaven, have mercy upon me!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The man to whom this appeal was made, swore a dreadful oath, and had
      cocked the pistol, when Toby, striking it from his grasp, placed his hand
      upon the boy’s mouth, and dragged him to the house.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush!’ cried the man; ‘it won’t answer here. Say another word, and I’ll
      do your business myself with a crack on the head. That makes no noise, and
      is quite as certain, and more genteel. Here, Bill, wrench the shutter
      open. He’s game enough now, I’ll engage. I’ve seen older hands of his age
      took the same way, for a minute or two, on a cold night.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin’s head for sending Oliver
      on such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously, but with little noise.
      After some delay, and some assistance from Toby, the shutter to which he
      had referred, swung open on its hinges.
    </p>
<p>
      It was a little lattice window, about five feet and a half above the
      ground, at the back of the house: which belonged to a scullery, or small
      brewing-place, at the end of the passage. The aperture was so small, that
      the inmates had probably not thought it worth while to defend it more
      securely; but it was large enough to admit a boy of Oliver’s size,
      nevertheless. A very brief exercise of Mr. Sike’s art, sufficed to
      overcome the fastening of the lattice; and it soon stood wide open also.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now listen, you young limb,’ whispered Sikes, drawing a dark lantern from
      his pocket, and throwing the glare full on Oliver’s face; ‘I’m a going to
      put you through there. Take this light; go softly up the steps straight
      afore you, and along the little hall, to the street door; unfasten it, and
      let us in.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘There’s a bolt at the top, you won’t be able to reach,’ interposed Toby.
      ‘Stand upon one of the hall chairs. There are three there, Bill, with a
      jolly large blue unicorn and gold pitchfork on ‘em: which is the old
      lady’s arms.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Keep quiet, can’t you?’ replied Sikes, with a threatening look. ‘The
      room-door is open, is it?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Wide,’ replied Toby, after peeping in to satisfy himself. ‘The game of
      that is, that they always leave it open with a catch, so that the dog,
      who’s got a bed in here, may walk up and down the passage when he feels
      wakeful. Ha! ha! Barney ‘ticed him away to-night. So neat!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Although Mr. Crackit spoke in a scarcely audible whisper, and laughed
      without noise, Sikes imperiously commanded him to be silent, and to get to
      work. Toby complied, by first producing his lantern, and placing it on the
      ground; then by planting himself firmly with his head against the wall
      beneath the window, and his hands upon his knees, so as to make a step of
      his back. This was no sooner done, than Sikes, mounting upon him, put
      Oliver gently through the window with his feet first; and, without leaving
      hold of his collar, planted him safely on the floor inside.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Take this lantern,’ said Sikes, looking into the room. ‘You see the
      stairs afore you?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, ‘Yes.’ Sikes, pointing to the
      street-door with the pistol-barrel, briefly advised him to take notice
      that he was within shot all the way; and that if he faltered, he would
      fall dead that instant.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s done in a minute,’ said Sikes, in the same low whisper. ‘Directly I
      leave go of you, do your work. Hark!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What’s that?’ whispered the other man.
    </p>
<p>
      They listened intently.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nothing,’ said Sikes, releasing his hold of Oliver. ‘Now!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      In the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy had firmly
      resolved that, whether he died in the attempt or not, he would make one
      effort to dart upstairs from the hall, and alarm the family. Filled with
      this idea, he advanced at once, but stealthily.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Come back!’ suddenly cried Sikes aloud. ‘Back! back!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place, and by a
      loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall, and knew not
      whether to advance or fly.
    </p>
<p>
      The cry was repeated—a light appeared—a vision of two
      terrified half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes—a
      flash—a loud noise—a smoke—a crash somewhere, but where
      he knew not,—and he staggered back.
    </p>
</body></html>
