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<h2 id="pgepubid00030">
      CHAPTER XXVI — IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE
      SCENE; AND MANY THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND
      PERFORMED
    </h2>
<p>
      The old man had gained the street corner, before he began to recover the
      effect of Toby Crackit’s intelligence. He had relaxed nothing of his
      unusual speed; but was still pressing onward, in the same wild and
      disordered manner, when the sudden dashing past of a carriage: and a
      boisterous cry from the foot passengers, who saw his danger: drove him
      back upon the pavement. Avoiding, as much as was possible, all the main
      streets, and skulking only through the by-ways and alleys, he at length
      emerged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even faster than before; nor did he
      linger until he had again turned into a court; when, as if conscious that
      he was now in his proper element, he fell into his usual shuffling pace,
      and seemed to breathe more freely.
    </p>
<p>
      Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill meet, opens, upon the
      right hand as you come out of the City, a narrow and dismal alley, leading
      to Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops are exposed for sale huge bunches of
      second-hand silk handkerchiefs, of all sizes and patterns; for here reside
      the traders who purchase them from pick-pockets. Hundreds of these
      handkerchiefs hang dangling from pegs outside the windows or flaunting
      from the door-posts; and the shelves, within, are piled with them.
      Confined as the limits of Field Lane are, it has its barber, its
      coffee-shop, its beer-shop, and its fried-fish warehouse. It is a
      commercial colony of itself: the emporium of petty larceny: visited at
      early morning, and setting-in of dusk, by silent merchants, who traffic in
      dark back-parlours, and who go as strangely as they come. Here, the
      clothesman, the shoe-vamper, and the rag-merchant, display their goods, as
      sign-boards to the petty thief; here, stores of old iron and bones, and
      heaps of mildewy fragments of woollen-stuff and linen, rust and rot in the
      grimy cellars.
    </p>
<p>
      It was into this place that the Jew turned. He was well known to the
      sallow denizens of the lane; for such of them as were on the look-out to
      buy or sell, nodded, familiarly, as he passed along. He replied to their
      salutations in the same way; but bestowed no closer recognition until he
      reached the further end of the alley; when he stopped, to address a
      salesman of small stature, who had squeezed as much of his person into a
      child’s chair as the chair would hold, and was smoking a pipe at his
      warehouse door.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the hoptalmy!’ said this
      respectable trader, in acknowledgment of the Jew’s inquiry after his
      health.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The neighbourhood was a little too hot, Lively,’ said Fagin, elevating
      his eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon his shoulders.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well, I’ve heerd that complaint of it, once or twice before,’ replied the
      trader; ‘but it soon cools down again; don’t you find it so?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction of Saffron
      Hill, he inquired whether any one was up yonder to-night.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘At the Cripples?’ inquired the man.
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew nodded.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Let me see,’ pursued the merchant, reflecting.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, there’s some half-dozen of ‘em gone in, that I knows. I don’t think
      your friend’s there.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Sikes is not, I suppose?’ inquired the Jew, with a disappointed
      countenance.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘<i>Non istwentus</i>, as the lawyers say,’ replied the little man,
      shaking his head, and looking amazingly sly. ‘Have you got anything in my
      line to-night?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nothing to-night,’ said the Jew, turning away.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Are you going up to the Cripples, Fagin?’ cried the little man, calling
      after him. ‘Stop! I don’t mind if I have a drop there with you!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      But as the Jew, looking back, waved his hand to intimate that he preferred
      being alone; and, moreover, as the little man could not very easily
      disengage himself from the chair; the sign of the Cripples was, for a
      time, bereft of the advantage of Mr. Lively’s presence. By the time he had
      got upon his legs, the Jew had disappeared; so Mr. Lively, after
      ineffectually standing on tiptoe, in the hope of catching sight of him,
      again forced himself into the little chair, and, exchanging a shake of the
      head with a lady in the opposite shop, in which doubt and mistrust were
      plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a grave demeanour.
    </p>
<p>
      The Three Cripples, or rather the Cripples; which was the sign by which
      the establishment was familiarly known to its patrons: was the
      public-house in which Mr. Sikes and his dog have already figured. Merely
      making a sign to a man at the bar, Fagin walked straight upstairs, and
      opening the door of a room, and softly insinuating himself into the
      chamber, looked anxiously about: shading his eyes with his hand, as if in
      search of some particular person.
    </p>
<p>
      The room was illuminated by two gas-lights; the glare of which was
      prevented by the barred shutters, and closely-drawn curtains of faded red,
      from being visible outside. The ceiling was blackened, to prevent its
      colour from being injured by the flaring of the lamps; and the place was
      so full of dense tobacco smoke, that at first it was scarcely possible to
      discern anything more. By degrees, however, as some of it cleared away
      through the open door, an assemblage of heads, as confused as the noises
      that greeted the ear, might be made out; and as the eye grew more
      accustomed to the scene, the spectator gradually became aware of the
      presence of a numerous company, male and female, crowded round a long
      table: at the upper end of which, sat a chairman with a hammer of office
      in his hand; while a professional gentleman with a bluish nose, and his
      face tied up for the benefit of a toothache, presided at a jingling piano
      in a remote corner.
    </p>
<p>
      As Fagin stepped softly in, the professional gentleman, running over the
      keys by way of prelude, occasioned a general cry of order for a song;
      which having subsided, a young lady proceeded to entertain the company
      with a ballad in four verses, between each of which the accompanyist
      played the melody all through, as loud as he could. When this was over,
      the chairman gave a sentiment, after which, the professional gentleman on
      the chairman’s right and left volunteered a duet, and sang it, with great
      applause.
    </p>
<p>
      It was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominently from
      among the group. There was the chairman himself, (the landlord of the
      house,) a coarse, rough, heavy built fellow, who, while the songs were
      proceeding, rolled his eyes hither and thither, and, seeming to give
      himself up to joviality, had an eye for everything that was done, and an
      ear for everything that was said—and sharp ones, too. Near him were
      the singers: receiving, with professional indifference, the compliments of
      the company, and applying themselves, in turn, to a dozen proffered
      glasses of spirits and water, tendered by their more boisterous admirers;
      whose countenances, expressive of almost every vice in almost every grade,
      irresistibly attracted the attention, by their very repulsiveness.
      Cunning, ferocity, and drunkeness in all its stages, were there, in their
      strongest aspect; and women: some with the last lingering tinge of their
      early freshness almost fading as you looked: others with every mark and
      stamp of their sex utterly beaten out, and presenting but one loathsome
      blank of profligacy and crime; some mere girls, others but young women,
      and none past the prime of life; formed the darkest and saddest portion of
      this dreary picture.
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face to face
      while these proceedings were in progress; but apparently without meeting
      that of which he was in search. Succeeding, at length, in catching the eye
      of the man who occupied the chair, he beckoned to him slightly, and left
      the room, as quietly as he had entered it.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin?’ inquired the man, as he followed him
      out to the landing. ‘Won’t you join us? They’ll be delighted, every one of
      ‘em.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whisper, ‘Is <i>he</i>
      here?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No,’ replied the man.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And no news of Barney?’ inquired Fagin.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘None,’ replied the landlord of the Cripples; for it was he. ‘He won’t
      stir till it’s all safe. Depend on it, they’re on the scent down there;
      and that if he moved, he’d blow upon the thing at once. He’s all right
      enough, Barney is, else I should have heard of him. I’ll pound it, that
      Barney’s managing properly. Let him alone for that.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Will <i>he</i> be here to-night?’ asked the Jew, laying the same emphasis
      on the pronoun as before.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Monks, do you mean?’ inquired the landlord, hesitating.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Hush!’ said the Jew. ‘Yes.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Certain,’ replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his fob; ‘I expected
      him here before now. If you’ll wait ten minutes, he’ll be—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, no,’ said the Jew, hastily; as though, however desirous he might be
      to see the person in question, he was nevertheless relieved by his
      absence. ‘Tell him I came here to see him; and that he must come to me
      to-night. No, say to-morrow. As he is not here, to-morrow will be time
      enough.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Good!’ said the man. ‘Nothing more?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not a word now,’ said the Jew, descending the stairs.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I say,’ said the other, looking over the rails, and speaking in a hoarse
      whisper; ‘what a time this would be for a sell! I’ve got Phil Barker here:
      so drunk, that a boy might take him!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah! But it’s not Phil Barker’s time,’ said the
      Jew, looking up. ‘Phil has something more to do, before we can
      afford to part with him; so go back to the company, my dear, and tell
      them to lead merry lives—<i>while they last</i>. Ha! ha! ha!’
      
    </p>
<p>
      The landlord reciprocated the old man’s laugh; and returned to his guests.
      The Jew was no sooner alone, than his countenance resumed its former
      expression of anxiety and thought. After a brief reflection, he called a
      hack-cabriolet, and bade the man drive towards Bethnal Green. He dismissed
      him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sikes’s residence, and performed
      the short remainder of the distance, on foot.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now,’ muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the door, ‘if there is any deep
      play here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunning as you are.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      She was in her room, the woman said. Fagin crept softly upstairs, and
      entered it without any previous ceremony. The girl was alone; lying with
      her head upon the table, and her hair straggling over it.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘She has been drinking,’ thought the Jew, cooly, ‘or perhaps she is only
      miserable.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The old man turned to close the door, as he made this reflection; the
      noise thus occasioned, roused the girl. She eyed his crafty face narrowly,
      as she inquired to his recital of Toby Crackit’s story. When it was
      concluded, she sank into her former attitude, but spoke not a word. She
      pushed the candle impatiently away; and once or twice as she feverishly
      changed her position, shuffled her feet upon the ground; but this was all.
    </p>
<p>
      During the silence, the Jew looked restlessly about the room, as if to
      assure himself that there were no appearances of Sikes having covertly
      returned. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he coughed twice or
      thrice, and made as many efforts to open a conversation; but the girl
      heeded him no more than if he had been made of stone. At length he made
      another attempt; and rubbing his hands together, said, in his most
      conciliatory tone, ‘And where should you think Bill was now, my dear?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The girl moaned out some half intelligible reply, that she could not tell;
      and seemed, from the smothered noise that escaped her, to be crying.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And the boy, too,’ said the Jew, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of
      her face. ‘Poor leetle child! Left in a ditch, Nance; only think!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The child,’ said the girl, suddenly looking up, ‘is better where he is,
      than among us; and if no harm comes to Bill from it, I hope he lies dead
      in the ditch and that his young bones may rot there.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What!’ cried the Jew, in amazement.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ay, I do,’ returned the girl, meeting his gaze. ‘I shall be glad to have
      him away from my eyes, and to know that the worst is over. I can’t bear to
      have him about me. The sight of him turns me against myself, and all of
      you.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Pooh!’ said the Jew, scornfully. ‘You’re drunk.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Am I?’ cried the girl bitterly. ‘It’s no fault of yours, if I am not!
      You’d never have me anything else, if you had your will, except now;—the
      humour doesn’t suit you, doesn’t it?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No!’ rejoined the Jew, furiously. ‘It does not.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Change it, then!’ responded the girl, with a laugh.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Change it!’ exclaimed the Jew, exasperated beyond all bounds by his
      companion’s unexpected obstinacy, and the vexation of the night, ‘I <i>will</i>
      change it! Listen to me, you drab. Listen to me, who with six words, can
      strangle Sikes as surely as if I had his bull’s throat between my fingers
      now. If he comes back, and leaves the boy behind him; if he gets off free,
      and dead or alive, fails to restore him to me; murder him yourself if you
      would have him escape Jack Ketch. And do it the moment he sets foot in
      this room, or mind me, it will be too late!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What is all this?’ cried the girl involuntarily.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What is it?’ pursued Fagin, mad with rage. ‘When the boy’s worth hundreds
      of pounds to me, am I to lose what chance threw me in the way of getting
      safely, through the whims of a drunken gang that I could whistle away the
      lives of! And me bound, too, to a born devil that only wants the will, and
      has the power to, to—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word; and in that instant
      checked the torrent of his wrath, and changed his whole demeanour. A
      moment before, his clenched hands had grasped the air; his eyes had
      dilated; and his face grown livid with passion; but now, he shrunk into a
      chair, and, cowering together, trembled with the apprehension of having
      himself disclosed some hidden villainy. After a short silence, he ventured
      to look round at his companion. He appeared somewhat reassured, on
      beholding her in the same listless attitude from which he had first roused
      her.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nancy, dear!’ croaked the Jew, in his usual voice. ‘Did you mind me,
      dear?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Don’t worry me now, Fagin!’ replied the girl, raising her head languidly.
      ‘If Bill has not done it this time, he will another. He has done many a
      good job for you, and will do many more when he can; and when he can’t he
      won’t; so no more about that.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Regarding this boy, my dear?’ said the Jew, rubbing the palms of his
      hands nervously together.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The boy must take his chance with the rest,’ interrupted Nancy, hastily;
      ‘and I say again, I hope he is dead, and out of harm’s way, and out of
      yours,—that is, if Bill comes to no harm. And if Toby got clear off,
      Bill’s pretty sure to be safe; for Bill’s worth two of Toby any time.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And about what I was saying, my dear?’ observed the Jew, keeping his
      glistening eye steadily upon her.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Your must say it all over again, if it’s anything you want me to do,’ 
      rejoined Nancy; ‘and if it is, you had better wait till to-morrow. You put
      me up for a minute; but now I’m stupid again.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin put several other questions: all with the same drift of ascertaining
      whether the girl had profited by his unguarded hints; but, she answered
      them so readily, and was withal so utterly unmoved by his searching looks,
      that his original impression of her being more than a trifle in liquor,
      was confirmed. Nancy, indeed, was not exempt from a failing which was very
      common among the Jew’s female pupils; and in which, in their tenderer
      years, they were rather encouraged than checked. Her disordered
      appearance, and a wholesale perfume of Geneva which pervaded the
      apartment, afforded strong confirmatory evidence of the justice of the
      Jew’s supposition; and when, after indulging in the temporary display of
      violence above described, she subsided, first into dullness, and
      afterwards into a compound of feelings: under the influence of which she
      shed tears one minute, and in the next gave utterance to various
      exclamations of ‘Never say die!’ and divers calculations as to what might
      be the amount of the odds so long as a lady or gentleman was happy, Mr.
      Fagin, who had had considerable experience of such matters in his time,
      saw, with great satisfaction, that she was very far gone indeed.
    </p>
<p>
      Having eased his mind by this discovery; and having accomplished his
      twofold object of imparting to the girl what he had, that night, heard,
      and of ascertaining, with his own eyes, that Sikes had not returned, Mr.
      Fagin again turned his face homeward: leaving his young friend asleep,
      with her head upon the table.
    </p>
<p>
      It was within an hour of midnight. The weather being dark, and piercing
      cold, he had no great temptation to loiter. The sharp wind that scoured
      the streets, seemed to have cleared them of passengers, as of dust and
      mud, for few people were abroad, and they were to all appearance hastening
      fast home. It blew from the right quarter for the Jew, however, and
      straight before it he went: trembling, and shivering, as every fresh gust
      drove him rudely on his way.
    </p>
<p>
      He had reached the corner of his own street, and was already fumbling in
      his pocket for the door-key, when a dark figure emerged from a projecting
      entrance which lay in deep shadow, and, crossing the road, glided up to
      him unperceived.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Fagin!’ whispered a voice close to his ear.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah!’ said the Jew, turning quickly round, ‘is that—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes!’ interrupted the stranger. ‘I have been lingering here these two
      hours. Where the devil have you been?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘On your business, my dear,’ replied the Jew, glancing uneasily at his
      companion, and slackening his pace as he spoke. ‘On your business all
      night.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh, of course!’ said the stranger, with a sneer. ‘Well; and what’s come
      of it?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nothing good,’ said the Jew.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nothing bad, I hope?’ said the stranger, stopping short, and turning a
      startled look on his companion.
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply, when the stranger,
      interrupting him, motioned to the house, before which they had by this
      time arrived: remarking, that he had better say what he had got to say,
      under cover: for his blood was chilled with standing about so long, and
      the wind blew through him.
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin looked as if he could have willingly excused himself from taking
      home a visitor at that unseasonable hour; and, indeed, muttered something
      about having no fire; but his companion repeating his request in a
      peremptory manner, he unlocked the door, and requested him to close it
      softly, while he got a light.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s as dark as the grave,’ said the man, groping forward a few steps.
      ‘Make haste!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Shut the door,’ whispered Fagin from the end of the passage. As he spoke,
      it closed with a loud noise.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘That wasn’t my doing,’ said the other man, feeling his way. ‘The wind
      blew it to, or it shut of its own accord: one or the other. Look sharp
      with the light, or I shall knock my brains out against something in this
      confounded hole.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a short absence, he
      returned with a lighted candle, and the intelligence that Toby Crackit was
      asleep in the back room below, and that the boys were in the front one.
      Beckoning the man to follow him, he led the way upstairs.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We can say the few words we’ve got to say in here, my dear,’ said the
      Jew, throwing open a door on the first floor; ‘and as there are holes in
      the shutters, and we never show lights to our neighbours, we’ll set the
      candle on the stairs. There!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      With those words, the Jew, stooping down, placed the candle on an upper
      flight of stairs, exactly opposite to the room door. This done, he led the
      way into the apartment; which was destitute of all movables save a broken
      arm-chair, and an old couch or sofa without covering, which stood behind
      the door. Upon this piece of furniture, the stranger sat himself with the
      air of a weary man; and the Jew, drawing up the arm-chair opposite, they
      sat face to face. It was not quite dark; the door was partially open; and
      the candle outside, threw a feeble reflection on the opposite wall.
    </p>
<p>
      They conversed for some time in whispers. Though nothing of the
      conversation was distinguishable beyond a few disjointed words here and
      there, a listener might easily have perceived that Fagin appeared to be
      defending himself against some remarks of the stranger; and that the
      latter was in a state of considerable irritation. They might have been
      talking, thus, for a quarter of an hour or more, when Monks—by which
      name the Jew had designated the strange man several times in the course of
      their colloquy—said, raising his voice a little, ‘I tell you again,
      it was badly planned. Why not have kept him here among the rest, and made
      a sneaking, snivelling pickpocket of him at once?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Only hear him!’ exclaimed the Jew, shrugging his shoulders.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, do you mean to say you couldn’t have done it, if you had chosen?’ 
      demanded Monks, sternly. ‘Haven’t you done it, with other boys, scores of
      times? If you had had patience for a twelvemonth, at most, couldn’t you
      have got him convicted, and sent safely out of the kingdom; perhaps for
      life?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Whose turn would that have served, my dear?’ inquired the Jew humbly.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Mine,’ replied Monks.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But not mine,’ said the Jew, submissively. ‘He might have become of use
      to me. When there are two parties to a bargain, it is only reasonable that
      the interests of both should be consulted; is it, my good friend?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What then?’ demanded Monks.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I saw it was not easy to train him to the business,’ replied the Jew; ‘he
      was not like other boys in the same circumstances.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Curse him, no!’ muttered the man, ‘or he would have been a thief, long
      ago.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I had no hold upon him to make him worse,’ pursued the Jew, anxiously
      watching the countenance of his companion. ‘His hand was not in. I had
      nothing to frighten him with; which we always must have in the beginning,
      or we labour in vain. What could I do? Send him out with the Dodger and
      Charley? We had enough of that, at first, my dear; I trembled for us all.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘<i>That</i> was not my doing,’ observed Monks.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, no, my dear!’ renewed the Jew. ‘And I don’t quarrel with it now;
      because, if it had never happened, you might never have clapped eyes on
      the boy to notice him, and so led to the discovery that it was him you
      were looking for. Well! I got him back for you by means of the girl; and
      then <i>she</i> begins to favour him.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Throttle the girl!’ said Monks, impatiently.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, we can’t afford to do that just now, my dear,’ replied the Jew,
      smiling; ‘and, besides, that sort of thing is not in our way; or, one of
      these days, I might be glad to have it done. I know what these girls are,
      Monks, well. As soon as the boy begins to harden, she’ll care no more for
      him, than for a block of wood. You want him made a thief. If he is alive,
      I can make him one from this time; and, if—if—’ said the Jew,
      drawing nearer to the other,—‘it’s not likely, mind,—but if
      the worst comes to the worst, and he is dead—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s no fault of mine if he is!’ interposed the other man, with a look of
      terror, and clasping the Jew’s arm with trembling hands. ‘Mind that.
      Fagin! I had no hand in it. Anything but his death, I told you from the
      first. I won’t shed blood; it’s always found out, and haunts a man
      besides. If they shot him dead, I was not the cause; do you hear me? Fire
      this infernal den! What’s that?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What!’ cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body, with both arms,
      as he sprung to his feet. ‘Where?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yonder! replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. ‘The shadow! I saw
      the shadow of a woman, in a cloak and bonnet, pass along the wainscot like
      a breath!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from the room. The
      candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where it had been placed. It
      showed them only the empty staircase, and their own white faces. They
      listened intently: a profound silence reigned throughout the house.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s your fancy,’ said the Jew, taking up the light and turning to his
      companion.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’ll swear I saw it!’ replied Monks, trembling. ‘It was bending forward
      when I saw it first; and when I spoke, it darted away.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate, and,
      telling him he could follow, if he pleased, ascended the stairs. They
      looked into all the rooms; they were cold, bare, and empty. They descended
      into the passage, and thence into the cellars below. The green damp hung
      upon the low walls; the tracks of the snail and slug glistened in the
      light of the candle; but all was still as death.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What do you think now?’ said the Jew, when they had regained the passage.
      ‘Besides ourselves, there’s not a creature in the house except Toby and
      the boys; and they’re safe enough. See here!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his pocket; and
      explained, that when he first went downstairs, he had locked them in, to
      prevent any intrusion on the conference.
    </p>
<p>
      This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks. His
      protestations had gradually become less and less vehement as they
      proceeded in their search without making any discovery; and, now, he gave
      vent to several very grim laughs, and confessed it could only have been
      his excited imagination. He declined any renewal of the conversation,
      however, for that night: suddenly remembering that it was past one
      o’clock. And so the amiable couple parted.
    </p>
<p>
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<h2 id="pgepubid00031">
      CHAPTER XXVII — ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER;
      WHICH DESERTED A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY
    </h2>
<p>
      As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author to keep so mighty a
      personage as a beadle waiting, with his back to the fire, and the skirts
      of his coat gathered up under his arms, until such time as it might suit
      his pleasure to relieve him; and as it would still less become his
      station, or his gallantry to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom
      that beadle had looked with an eye of tenderness and affection, and in
      whose ear he had whispered sweet words, which, coming from such a quarter,
      might well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of whatsoever degree; the
      historian whose pen traces these words—trusting that he knows his
      place, and that he entertains a becoming reverence for those upon earth to
      whom high and important authority is delegated—hastens to pay them
      that respect which their position demands, and to treat them with all that
      duteous ceremony which their exalted rank, and (by consequence) great
      virtues, imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end, indeed, he had
      purposed to introduce, in this place, a dissertation touching the divine
      right of beadles, and elucidative of the position, that a beadle can do no
      wrong: which could not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable
      to the right-minded reader but which he is unfortunately compelled, by
      want of time and space, to postpone to some more convenient and fitting
      opportunity; on the arrival of which, he will be prepared to show, that a
      beadle properly constituted: that is to say, a parochial beadle, attached
      to a parochial workhouse, and attending in his official capacity the
      parochial church: is, in right and virtue of his office, possessed of all
      the excellences and best qualities of humanity; and that to none of those
      excellences, can mere companies’ beadles, or court-of-law beadles, or even
      chapel-of-ease beadles (save the last, and they in a very lowly and
      inferior degree), lay the remotest sustainable claim.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Bumble had re-counted the teaspoons, re-weighed the sugar-tongs, made
      a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and ascertained to a nicety the exact
      condition of the furniture, down to the very horse-hair seats of the
      chairs; and had repeated each process full half a dozen times; before he
      began to think that it was time for Mrs. Corney to return. Thinking begets
      thinking; as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corney’s approach, it occured to
      Mr. Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending the
      time, if he were further to allay his curiousity by a cursory glance at
      the interior of Mrs. Corney’s chest of drawers.
    </p>
<p>
      Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was
      approaching the chamber, Mr. Bumble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded to
      make himself acquainted with the contents of the three long drawers:
      which, being filled with various garments of good fashion and texture,
      carefully preserved between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with
      dried lavender: seemed to yield him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, in
      course of time, at the right-hand corner drawer (in which was the key),
      and beholding therein a small padlocked box, which, being shaken, gave
      forth a pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, Mr. Bumble returned
      with a stately walk to the fireplace; and, resuming his old attitude,
      said, with a grave and determined air, ‘I’ll do it!’ He followed up this
      remarkable declaration, by shaking his head in a waggish manner for ten
      minutes, as though he were remonstrating with himself for being such a
      pleasant dog; and then, he took a view of his legs in profile, with much
      seeming pleasure and interest.
    </p>
<p>
      He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs. Corney,
      hurrying into the room, threw herself, in a breathless state, on a chair
      by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one hand, placed the other
      over her heart, and gasped for breath.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Mrs. Corney,’ said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, ‘what is this,
      ma’am? Has anything happened, ma’am? Pray answer me: I’m on—on—’ 
      Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not immediately think of the word
      ‘tenterhooks,’ so he said ‘broken bottles.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh, Mr. Bumble!’ cried the lady, ‘I have been so dreadfully put out!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Put out, ma’am!’ exclaimed Mr. Bumble; ‘who has dared to—? I know!’ 
      said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty, ‘this is them
      wicious paupers!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s dreadful to think of!’ said the lady, shuddering.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then <i>don’t</i> think of it, ma’am,’ rejoined Mr. Bumble.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I can’t help it,’ whimpered the lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Then take something, ma’am,’ said Mr. Bumble soothingly. ‘A little of the
      wine?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not for the world!’ replied Mrs. Corney. ‘I couldn’t,—oh! The top
      shelf in the right-hand corner—oh!’ Uttering these words, the good
      lady pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard, and underwent a convulsion
      from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet; and, snatching a
      pint green-glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled
      a tea-cup with its contents, and held it to the lady’s lips.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I’m better now,’ said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking half of
      it.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness; and,
      bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Peppermint,’ exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling gently on
      the beadle as she spoke. ‘Try it! There’s a little—a little
      something else in it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his lips;
      took another taste; and put the cup down empty.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s very comforting,’ said Mrs. Corney.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Very much so indeed, ma’am,’ said the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a
      chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to
      distress her.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Nothing,’ replied Mrs. Corney. ‘I am a foolish, excitable, weak creetur.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not weak, ma’am,’ retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a little closer.
      ‘Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We are all weak creeturs,’ said Mrs. Corney, laying down a general
      principle.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So we are,’ said the beadle.
    </p>
<p>
      Nothing was said on either side, for a minute or two afterwards. By the
      expiration of that time, Mr. Bumble had illustrated the position by
      removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney’s chair, where it had
      previously rested, to Mrs. Corney’s apron-string, round which it gradually
      became entwined.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘We are all weak creeturs,’ said Mr. Bumble.
    </p>
<p>
      Mrs. Corney sighed.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Don’t sigh, Mrs. Corney,’ said Mr. Bumble.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I can’t help it,’ said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘This is a very comfortable room, ma’am,’ said Mr. Bumble looking round.
      ‘Another room, and this, ma’am, would be a complete thing.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It would be too much for one,’ murmured the lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘But not for two, ma’am,’ rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents. ‘Eh, Mrs.
      Corney?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the beadle
      drooped his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney’s face. Mrs. Corney, with great
      propriety, turned her head away, and released her hand to get at her
      pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The board allows you coals, don’t they, Mrs. Corney?’ inquired the
      beadle, affectionately pressing her hand.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And candles,’ replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the pressure.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Coals, candles, and house-rent free,’ said Mr. Bumble. ‘Oh, Mrs. Corney,
      what an Angel you are!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr.
      Bumble’s arms; and that gentleman in his agitation, imprinted a passionate
      kiss upon her chaste nose.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Such porochial perfection!’ exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously. ‘You know
      that Mr. Stout is worse to-night, my fascinator?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes,’ replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘He can’t live a week, the doctor says,’ pursued Mr. Bumble. ‘He is the
      master of this establishment; his death will cause a wacancy; that wacancy
      must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a prospect this opens! What a
      opportunity for a jining of hearts and housekeepings!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mrs. Corney sobbed.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The little word?’ said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. ‘The
      one little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ye—ye—yes!’ sighed out the matron.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘One more,’ pursued the beadle; ‘compose your darling feelings for only
      one more. When is it to come off?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length summoning
      up courage, she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble’s neck, and said, it
      might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was ‘a irresistible
      duck.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was
      solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the peppermint mixture; which
      was rendered the more necessary, by the flutter and agitation of the
      lady’s spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble
      with the old woman’s decease.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Very good,’ said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; ‘I’ll call at
      Sowerberry’s as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it
      that as frightened you, love?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It wasn’t anything particular, dear,’ said the lady evasively.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It must have been something, love,’ urged Mr. Bumble. ‘Won’t you tell
      your own B.?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not now,’ rejoined the lady; ‘one of these days. After we’re married,
      dear.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘After we’re married!’ exclaimed Mr. Bumble. ‘It wasn’t any impudence from
      any of them male paupers as—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, no, love!’ interposed the lady, hastily.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘If I thought it was,’ continued Mr. Bumble; ‘if I thought as any one of
      ‘em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance—’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,’ responded the lady.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘They had better not!’ said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. ‘Let me see
      any man, porochial or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it; and I
      can tell him that he wouldn’t do it a second time!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have seemed no
      very high compliment to the lady’s charms; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied
      the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much touched with this
      proof of his devotion, and protested, with great admiration, that he was
      indeed a dove.
    </p>
<p>
      The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked hat; and,
      having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner,
      once again braved the cold wind of the night: merely pausing, for a few
      minutes, in the male paupers’ ward, to abuse them a little, with the view
      of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of workhouse-master
      with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the
      building with a light heart, and bright visions of his future promotion:
      which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the
      undertaker.
    </p>
<p>
      Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper: and Noah
      Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater
      amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance
      of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed,
      although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with
      his cane on the counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and
      beholding a light shining through the glass-window of the little parlour
      at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going
      forward; and when he saw what was going forward, he was not a little
      surprised.
    </p>
<p>
      The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread and
      butter, plates and glasses; a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. At the upper
      end of the table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an easy-chair,
      with his legs thrown over one of the arms: an open clasp-knife in one
      hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other. Close beside him stood
      Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel: which Mr. Claypole condescended
      to swallow, with remarkable avidity. A more than ordinary redness in the
      region of the young gentleman’s nose, and a kind of fixed wink in his
      right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated; these
      symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish with which he took his
      oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation of their cooling
      properties, in cases of internal fever, could have sufficiently accounted.
    </p>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
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<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_0152.jpg.id-5451920203351974683.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-5451920203351974683" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<p>
      ‘Here’s a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!’ said Charlotte; ‘try him, do;
      only this one.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What a delicious thing is a oyster!’ remarked Mr. Claypole, after he had
      swallowed it. ‘What a pity it is, a number of ‘em should ever make you
      feel uncomfortable; isn’t it, Charlotte?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s quite a cruelty,’ said Charlotte.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So it is,’ acquiesced Mr. Claypole. ‘An’t yer fond of oysters?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not overmuch,’ replied Charlotte. ‘I like to see you eat ‘em, Noah dear,
      better than eating ‘em myself.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Lor!’ said Noah, reflectively; ‘how queer!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Have another,’ said Charlotte. ‘Here’s one with such a beautiful,
      delicate beard!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I can’t manage any more,’ said Noah. ‘I’m very sorry. Come here,
      Charlotte, and I’ll kiss yer.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What!’ said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. ‘Say that again, sir.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr. Claypole,
      without making any further change in his position than suffering his legs
      to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!’ said Mr. Bumble. ‘How dare you
      mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent
      minx? Kiss her!’ exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. ‘Faugh!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I didn’t mean to do it!’ said Noah, blubbering. ‘She’s always a-kissing
      of me, whether I like it, or not.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh, Noah,’ cried Charlotte, reproachfully.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yer are; yer know yer are!’ retorted Noah. ‘She’s always a-doin’ of it,
      Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please, sir; and makes all
      manner of love!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Silence!’ cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. ‘Take yourself downstairs, ma’am.
      Noah, you shut up the shop; say another word till your master comes home,
      at your peril; and, when he does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said
      he was to send a old woman’s shell after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do
      you hear sir? Kissing!’ cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. ‘The sin
      and wickedness of the lower orders in this porochial district is
      frightful! If Parliament don’t take their abominable courses under
      consideration, this country’s ruined, and the character of the peasantry
      gone for ever!’ With these words, the beadle strode, with a lofty and
      gloomy air, from the undertaker’s premises.
    </p>
<p>
      And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have
      made all necessary preparations for the old woman’s funeral, let us set on
      foot a few inquires after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether he be
      still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackit left him.
    </p>
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