‘Oh! God forgive this wretched man!’
cried the boy with a burst of tears.
‘That’s right, that’s right,’
said Fagin. ’That’ll help us on.
This door first. If I shake and tremble, as we
pass the gallows, don’t you mind, but hurry
on. Now, now, now!’
‘Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?’
inquired the turnkey.
‘No other question,’ replied Mr. Brownlow.
’If I hoped we could recall him to a sense
of his position—’
‘Nothing will do that, sir,’ replied the
man, shaking his head. ‘You had better
leave him.’
The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned.
‘Press on, press on,’ cried Fagin.
’Softly, but not so slow. Faster, faster!’
The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver
from his grasp, held him back. He struggled
with the power of desperation, for an instant; and
then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those
massive walls, and rang in their ears until they reached
the open yard.
It was some time before they left the prison.
Oliver nearly swooned after this frightful scene,
and was so weak that for an hour or more, he had not
the strength to walk.
Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great
multitude had already assembled; the windows were
filled with people, smoking and playing cards to beguile
the time; the crowd were pushing, quarrelling, joking.
Everything told of life and animation, but one dark
cluster of objects in the centre of all—the
black stage, the cross-beam, the rope, and all the
hideous apparatus of death.
AND LAST
The fortunes of those who have figured in this tale
are nearly closed. The little that remains to
their historian to relate, is told in few and simple
words.
Before three months had passed, Rose Fleming and Harry
Maylie were married in the village church which was
henceforth to be the scene of the young clergyman’s
labours; on the same day they entered into possession
of their new and happy home.
Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and daughter-in-law,
to enjoy, during the tranquil remainder of her days,
the greatest felicity that age and worth can know—the
contemplation of the happiness of those on whom the
warmest affections and tenderest cares of a well-spent
life, have been unceasingly bestowed.
It appeared, on full and careful investigation, that
if the wreck of property remaining in the custody
of Monks (which had never prospered either in his
hands or in those of his mother) were equally divided
between himself and Oliver, it would yield, to each,
little more than three thousand pounds. By the
provisions of his father’s will, Oliver would
have been entitled to the whole; but Mr. Brownlow,
unwilling to deprive the elder son of the opportunity
of retrieving his former vices and pursuing an honest
career, proposed this mode of distribution, to which
his young charge joyfully acceded.
