Oliver Twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-12

and precisely dressed, rose as she undrew it, from an arm-chairclose by, in which she had been sitting at needlework.“Hush, my dear,” said the old lady softly. “You must be veryquiet, or you will be ill again; and you have been very bad—as badas bad could be, pretty nigh. Lie down again; there’s a dear!” Withthose words, the old lady very gently placed Oliver’s head uponthe pillow; and, smoothing back his hair from his forehead, lookedso kindly and loving in his face, that he could not help placing hislittle withered hand in hers, and drawing it round his neck.“Save us!” said the old lady, with tears in her eyes; “what agrateful little dear it is. Pretty creetur! What would his mother feelif she had sat by him as I have, and could see him now!”“Perhaps she does see me,” whispered Oliver, folding his handstogether; “perhaps she has sat by me. I almost feel as if she had.”“That was the fever, my dear,” said the old lady mildly.“I suppose it was,” replied Oliver, “because heaven is a longway off; and they are too happy there, to come down to thebedside of a poor boy. But if she knew I was ill, she must havepitied me, even there; for she was very ill herself before she died.She can’t know anything about me though,” added Oliver, after amoment’s silence. “If she had seen me hurt, it would have madeher sorrowful; and her face has always looked sweet and happy,when I have dreamed of her.”The old lady made no reply to this; but wiping her eyes first,and her spectacles, which lay on the counterpane, afterwards, as ifCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 115they were part and parcel of those features, brought some coolstuff for Oliver to drink; and then, patting him on the cheek, toldhim he must lie very quiet, or he would be ill again. So, Oliver keptvery still; partly because he was anxious to obey the kind old ladyin all things; and partly, to tell the truth, because he wascompletely exhausted with what he had already said. He soon fellin a gentle doze, from which he was awakened by the light of acandle; which, being brought near the bed, showed him agentleman with a large and loud-ticking gold watch in his hand,who felt his pulse, and said he was a great deal better.“You are a great deal better, are you not, my dear?” said thegentleman.“Yes, thank you, sir,” replied Oliver.“Yes, I know you are,” said the gentleman. “You’re hungry too,ain’t you?”“No, sir!” answered Oliver.“Hem!” said the gentleman. “No, I know you’re not. He is nothungry, Mrs. Bedwin,” said the gentleman, looking very wise.The old lady made a respectful inclination of the head, whichseemed to say that she thought the doctor was a very clever man.The doctor appeared much of the same opinion himself.“You feel sleepy, don’t you, my dear?” said the doctor.“No, sir,” said Oliver.“No,” said the doctor, with a very shrewd and satisfied look.“You’re not sleepy. Nor thirsty. Are you?”“Yes, sir, rather thirsty,” answered Oliver.“Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin,” said the doctor. “It’s verynatural that he should be thirsty. You may give him a little tea,ma’am, and some dry toast without any butter. Don’t keep him tooCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 116warm, ma’am; but be careful that you don’t let him be too cold;will you have the goodness?”The old lady dropped a curtsey. The doctor, after tasting thecool stuff, and expressing a qualified approval of it, hurried away;his boots creaking in a very important and wealthy manner as hewent downstairs.Oliver dozed off again, soon after this; when he awoke, it wasnearly twelve o’clock. The old lady tenderly bade him good-nightshortly afterwards, and left him in charge of a fat old woman whohad just come; bringing with her, in a little bundle, a small Prayer-book and a large night-cap. Putting the latter on her head and theformer on the table, the old woman, after telling Oliver that shehad come to sit up with him, drew her chair close to the fire, andwent off into a series of short naps, chequered at frequentintervals with sundry tumblings forward, and divers moans andchokings, which, however, had no worse effect than causing her torub her nose very hard, and then fall asleep again.And thus the night crept slowly on. Oliver lay awake for sometime, counting the little circles of light which the reflection of therushlight-shade threw upon the ceiling; or tracing with his languideyes the intricate pattern of the paper on the wall. The darknessand the deep stillness of the room were very solemn; as theybrought into the boy’s mind the thought that death had beenhovering there, for many days and nights, and might yet fill it withthe gloom and dread of his awful presence, he turned his faceupon the pillow, and fervently prayed to Heaven.Gradually, he fell into that deep, tranquil sleep which ease fromrecent suffering alone imparts; that calm and peaceful rest whichit is pain to wake from. Who, if this were death, would be rousedCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 117again to all the struggles and turmoils of life; to all its cares for thepresent; its anxieties for the future; more than all, its wearyrecollection of the past!It had been bright day, for hours, when Oliver opened his eyes;and when he did so, he felt cheerful and happy. The crisis of thedisease was safely past. He belonged to the world again.In three days’ time he was able to sit in an easy-chair, wellpropped up with pillows; and, as he was still too weak to walk,Mrs. Bedwin had him carried downstairs into the littlehousekeeper’s room, which belonged to her. Having him set, here,by the fireside, the good old lady sat herself down too; and, beingin a state of considerable delight at seeing him so much better,forthwith began to cry most violently.“Never mind me, my dear,” cried the old lady. “I’m only havinga regular good cry. There; it’s all over now; and I’m quitecomfortable.”“You’re very, very kind to me, ma’am,” said Oliver.“Well, never you mind that, my dear,” said the old lady; “that’sgot nothing to do with your broth; and it’s full time you had it; forthe doctor says Mr. Brownlow may come in to see you thismorning; and we must get up our best looks, because the better welook, the more he’ll be pleased.” And with this, the old ladyapplied herself to warming up, in a little saucepan, a basinful ofbroth, strong enough, Oliver thought, to furnish an ample dinner,when reduced to the regulation strength, for three hundred andfifty paupers, at the lowest computation.“Are you fond of pictures, dear?” inquired the old lady, seeingthat Oliver had fixed his eyes, most intently, on a portrait whichhung against the wall, just opposite his chair.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 118“I don’t quite know, ma’am,” said Oliver, without taking hiseyes from the canvas; “I have seen so few that I hardly know. Whata beautiful, mild face that lady’s is!”“Ah!” said the old lady, “painters always make ladies outprettier than they are, or they wouldn’t get any custom, child. Theman that invented the machine for taking likenesses might haveknown that would never succeed; it’s a deal too honest. A deal,”said the old lady, laughing very heartily at her own acuteness.“Is—is that a likeness, ma’am?” said Oliver.“Yes,” said the old lady, looking up for a moment from thebroth; “that’s a portrait.”“Whose, ma’am?” asked Oliver.“Why, really, my dear, I don’t know,” answered the old lady, ina good-humoured manner. “It’s not a likeness of anybody that youor I know, I expect. It seems to strike your fancy, dear.“It is so very pretty,” replied Oliver.“Why, sure you’re not afraid of it?” said the old lady, observing,in great surprise, the look of awe with which the child regardedthe painting.“Oh, no, no,” returned Oliver quickly; “but the eyes look sosorrowful; and where I sit, they seem fixed upon me. It makes myheart beat,” added Oliver, in a low voice, “as if it was alive, andwanted to speak to me, but couldn’t.”“Lord save us!” exclaimed the old lady, starting; “don’t talk inthat way, child. You’re weak and nervous after your illness. Let mewheel your chair round to the other side; and then you won’t seeit. There!” said the old lady, suiting the action to the word; “youdon’t see it now, at all events.”Oliver did see it in his mind’s eye as distinctly as if he had notCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 119altered his position; but he thought it better not to worry the kindold lady; so he smiled gently when she looked at him; and Mrs.Bedwin, satisfied that he felt more comfortable, salted and brokebits of toasted bread into the broth, with all the bustle befitting sosolemn a preparation.Oliver got through it with extraordinary expedition. He hadscarcely swallowed the last spoonful, when there came a soft tap atthe door. “Come in,” said the old lady; and in walked MrBrownlow.Now, the old gentleman came in as brisk as need be; but he hadno sooner raised his spectacles on his forehead, and thrust hishands behind the skirts of his dressing-gown to take a good look atOliver, than his countenance underwent a very great variety ofodd contortions. Oliver looked very worn and shadowy fromsickness, and made an ineffectual attempt to stand up, out ofrespect to his benefactor, which terminated in his sinking backinto the chair again; and the fact is, if the truth must be told, thatMr. Brownlow’s heart, being large enough for any six ordinary oldgentlemen of humane disposition, forced a supply of tears into hiseyes, by some hydraulic process which we are not sufficientlyphilosophical to be in a condition to explain.“Poor boy, poor boy!” said Mr. Brownlow, clearing his throat.“I’m rather hoarse this morning, Mrs. Bedwin. I’m afraid I havecaught cold.”“I hope not, sir,” said Mrs. Bedwin. “Everything you have had,has been well aired, sir.”“I don’t know, Bedwin. I don’t know,” said Mr. Brownlow; “Irather think I had a damp napkin at dinner-time yesterday; butnever mind that. How do you feel, my dear?”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 120‘“Very happy, sir,” replied Oliver. “And very grateful indeed,sir, for your goodness to me.”“Good boy,” said Mr. Brownlow stoutly. “Have you given himany nourishment, Bedwin? Any slops, eh?”“He had just had a basin of beautiful strong broth, sir,” repliedMrs. Bedwin, drawing herself up slightly, and laying a strongemphasis on the last word, to intimate that between slops, andbroth well compounded, there existed no affinity or connectionwhatsoever.“Ugh!” said Mr. Brownlow, with a slight shudder; “a couple ofglasses of port wine would have done him a great deal more good.Wouldn’t they, Tom White, eh?”“My name is Oliver, sir,” replied the little invalid, with a look ofgreat astonishment.“Oliver,” said Mr. Brownlow; “Oliver what? Oliver White, eh?”“No, sir, Twist—Oliver Twist.”“Queer name!” said the old gentleman. “What made you tell themagistrate your name was White?”“I never told him so, sir,” returned Oliver, in amazement Thissounded so like a falsehood, that the old gentleman lookedsomewhat sternly in Oliver’s face. It was impossible to doubt him;there was truth in every one of its thin and sharpened lineaments.“Some mistake;” said Mr. Brownlow. But, although his motivefor looking steadily at Oliver no longer existed, the old idea of theresemblance between his features and some familiar face cameupon him so strongly, that he could not withdraw his gaze.“I hope you are not angry with me, sir?” said Oliver, raising hiseyes beseechingly.“No, no,” replied the old gentleman. “Why! what’s this?Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 121Bedwin, look there!”As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture above Oliver’shead, and then to the boy’s face. There was its living copy. Theeyes, the head, the mouth; every feature was the same. Theexpression was, for the instant, so precisely alike, that theminutest line seemed copied with startling accuracy!Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden exclamation; for, notbeing strong enough to bear the start it gave him, he fainted away.A weakness on his part, which affords the narrative anopportunity of relieving the reader from suspense in behalf of thetwo young pupils of the merry old gentleman; and of recording.That when the Dodger, and his accomplished friend MasterBates, joined in the hue-and-cry which was raised at Oliver’sheels, in consequence of their executing an illegal conveyance ofMr. Brownlow’s personal property, as has been already described,they were actuated by a very laudable and becoming regard forthemselves; and for as much as the freedom of the subject and theliberty of the individual are among the first and proudest boasts ofa true-hearted Englishman, so I need hardly beg the reader toobserve, that this action should tend to exalt them in the opinionof all public and patriotic men in almost as great a degree as thisstrong proof of their anxiety, for their own preservation and safetygoes to corroborate and confirm the little code of laws whichcertain profound and sound-judging philosophers have laid downas the mainsprings of all Nature’s deeds and actions—the saidphilosophers very wisely reducing the good lady’s proceedings tomatters of maxim and theory, and, by a very neat and prettycompliment to her exalted wisdom and understanding, puttingentirely out of sight any considerations of heart, or generousCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 122impulse and feeling. For these are matters totally beneath a femalewho is acknowledged by universal admission to be far above thenumerous little foibles and weaknesses of her sex.If I wanted any further proof of the strictly philosophical natureof the conduct of these young gentlemen in their very delicatepredicament, I should at once find it in the fact (also recorded in aforegoing part of this narrative), of their quitting the pursuit, whenthe general attention was fixed upon Oliver; and makingimmediately for their home by the shortest possible cut. AlthoughI do not mean to assert that it is usually the practice of renownedand learned sages to shorten the road to any great conclusion(their course indeed being rather to lengthen the distance, byvarious circumlocutions and discursive staggerings, like untothose in which drunken men under the pressure of a too mightyflow of ideas are prone to indulge); still, I do mean to say, and dosay distinctly, that it is the invariable practice of many mightyphilosophers, in carrying out their theories, to evince greatwisdom and foresight in providing against every possiblecontingency which can be supposed at all likely to affectthemselves. Thus, to do a great right, you may do a little wrong;and you may take any means which the end to be attained, willjustify; the amount of the right, or the amount of the wrong, orindeed the distinction between the two, being left entirely to thephilosopher concerned, to be settled and determined by his clear,comprehensive, and impartial view of his own particular case.It was not until the two boys had scoured, with great rapidity,through a most intricate maze of narrow streets and courts, thatthey ventured to halt beneath a low and dark archway. Havingremained silent here, just long enough to recover breath to speak,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 123Master Bates uttered an exclamation of amusement and delight;and, bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, flung himselfupon a door-step, and rolled thereon in a transport of mirth.“What’s the matter?” inquired the Dodger.“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Charley Bates.“Hold your noise,” remonstrated the Dodger, looking cautiouslyround. “Do you want to be grabbed, stupid?”“I can’t help it,” said Charley. “I can’t help it! To see himsplitting away at that pace, and cutting round the corners, andknocking up again the posts, and starting on again as if he wasmade of iron as well as them, and me with the wipe in my pocket,singing out arter him—oh, my eye!” The vivid imagination ofMaster Bates presented the scene before him in too strongcolours. As he arrived at this apostrophe, he again rolled upon thedoor-step, and laughed louder than before.“What’ll Fagin say?” inquired the Dodger; taking advantage ofthe next interval of breathlessness on the part of his friend topropound the question.“What?” repeated Charley Bates.“Ah, what?” said the Dodger. “Why, what should he say?”inquired Charley, stopping rather suddenly in his merriment; forthe Dodger’s manner was impressive. “What should he say?”Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of minutes; then, taking off