Sikes nodded.
“And about—”
“Oh, ah, it’s all planned,” rejoined Sikes, interrupting him. “Never mind particulars. You’d better bring the boy here to morrow night. I shall get off the stones an hour arter daybreak. Then you hold your tongue, and keep the melting-pot ready, and that’s all you’ll have to do.”
After some discussion, in which all three took an active part, it was decided that Nancy should repair to the Jew’s next evening when the night had set in, and bring Oliver away with her, Fagin craftily observing that if he evinced any disinclination to the task, he would be more willing to accompany the girl who had so recently interfered in his behalf than anybody else. It was also solemnly arranged that poor Oliver should, for the purposes of the contemplated expedition, be unreservedly consigned to the care and custody of Mr. William Sikes; and further, that the said Sikes should deal with him as he thought fit; and should not be held responsible by the Jew for any mischance or evil that might befall him, or any punishment with which it might be necessary to visit him; it being understood that, to render the compact in this respect binding, any representations made by Mr. Sikes on his return should be required to be confirmed and corroborated, in all important particulars, by the testimony of flash Toby Crackit.
These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes proceeded to drink brandy at a furious rate and to flourish the crowbar in an alarming manner, yelling forth, at the same time, most unmusical snatches of song, mingled with wild execrations. At length, in a fit of professional enthusiasm, he insisted upon producing his box of housebreaking tools, which he had no sooner stumbled in with, and opened for the purpose of explaining the nature and properties of the various implements it contained, and the peculiar beauties of their construction, than he fell over the box upon the floor and went to sleep where he fell.
“Good night, Nancy,” said the Jew, muffling himself up as before.
“Good night.”
Their eyes met, and the Jew scrutinized her narrowly. There was no flinching about the girl. She was as true and earnest in the matter as
Toby Crackit
himself could be.
The Jew again bade her good night and, bestowing a sly kick upon the prostrate form of Mr. Sikes while her back was turned, groped downstairs.
“Always the way!” muttered the Jew to himself as he turned homeward. “The worst of these women is, that a very little thing serves to call up some long-forgotten feeling; and the best of them is, that it never lasts. Ha! ha! The man against the child, for a bag of gold!”
Beguiling the time with these pleasant reflections, ,Mr: Fagin wended his way, through mud and mire, to his gloomy abode, where the Dodger was sitting up, impatiently awaiting his return.
“Is Oliver a-bed? I want to speak to him,” was his first remark as they descended the stairs.
“Hours ago,” replied the Dodger, throwing open a door. “Here he is!”
The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon the floor, so pale with anxiety, and sadness, and the closeness of his prison, that he looked like death—not death as it shows in shroud and coffin, but in the guise it wears when life has just departed, when a young and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven, and the gross air of the world has not had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed.
“Not now,” said the Jew, turning softly away. “To-morrow. To-morrow.”
CHAPTER XX
Wherein Oliver is delivered over to Mr. William Sikes.
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.
“To—to—stop there, sir?” asked Oliver, anxiously.
“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!”
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.
“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?”
Oliver coloured, involuntarily, to find that the old thief had been reading his thoughts, but boldly said, Yes, he did want to know.
“Why, do you think?” inquired Fagin, parrying the question.
“Indeed I don’t know, sir,” replied Oliver.
“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.”
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.
“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!”
“Good night!” replied Oliver, softly.
The Jew walked to the door: looking over his shoulder at the boy as he went. Suddenly stopping, he called him by his name.
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.
“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.
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. 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.
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.
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 raided 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.
He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his head buried in his hands, when a rustling noise aroused him.
“What’s that!” he cried, starting up, and catching sight of a figure standing by the door. “Who’s there?”
“Me. Only me,” replied a tremulous voice.
Oliver raised the candle above his head and looked towards the door. It was Nancy.
“Put down the light,” said the girl, turning away her head. “It hurts my eyes.”
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.
“God forgive me!” she cried after a while, “I never thought of this.”
“Has anything happened?” asked Oliver. “Can I help you? I will if I can. I will, indeed.”
She rocked herself to and fro, caught her throat, and, uttering a gurgling sound, gasped for breath.
“Nancy!” cried Oliver. “What is it?”
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.
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.
“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?”
“Am I to go with you?” asked Oliver.
“Yes. I have come from Bill,” replied the girl. “You are to go with me.”
“What for?” asked Oliver, recoiling.
“What for?”. echoed the girl, raising her eyes, and averting them again, the moment they encountered the boy’s face. “Oh! For no harm.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Oliver, who had watched her closely.
“Have it your own way,” rejoined the girl, affecting to laugh. “For no good, then.”
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 occurred to him, he stepped forward and said, somewhat hastily, that he was ready.
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.
“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.”
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.
“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 to my death. See here! I have borne all this for you already, as true as God sees me show it.”
She pointed, hastily, to some livid bruises on her neck and arms, and continued, with great rapidity:
“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!”
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.
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.
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.