Oliver Twist
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 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.
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 occured 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 be 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.
“This way,” said the girl, releasing her hold for the first time.
“Bill!”
“Hallo!” replied Sikes: appearing at the head of the stairs, with a
candle. “Oh! That’s the time of day. Come on!”
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.
“Bull’s-eye’s gone home with Tom,” observed Sikes, as he lighted them
up. “He’d have been in the way.”
“That’s right,” rejoined Nancy.
“So you’ve got the kid,” said Sikes when they had all reached the room:
closing the door as he spoke.
“Yes, here he is,” replied Nancy.
“Did he come quiet?” inquired Sikes.
“Like a lamb,” rejoined Nancy.
“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.”
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.
“Now, first: do you know wot this is?” inquired Sikes, taking up a
pocket-pistol which lay on the table.
Oliver replied in the affirmative.
“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’.”
Oliver murmured his comprehension of the different bodies referred to;
and Mr. Sikes proceeded to load the pistol, with great nicety and
deliberation.
“Now it’s loaded,” said Mr. Sikes, when he had finished.
“Yes, I see it is, sir,” replied Oliver.
“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 _do_ make up your mind to speak
without leave, say your prayers first.”
Having bestowed a scowl upon the object of this warning, to increase
its effect, Mr. Sikes continued.
“As near as I know, there isn’t anybody as would be asking very
partickler arter you, if you _was_ 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?”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
Supper being ended—it may be easily conceived that Oliver had no great