Stranica 139 [139]
97
round, she caught sight of the two old
women bending forward in the attitude of
eager listeners.
“Turn them away,” said the woman
drowsily ; “ make haste—make haste !”
The two old crones, chiming in togeth¬
er, began pouring out many piteous la¬
mentations that the poor dear was too far
gone to know her best friends, and utter¬
ing sundry protestations that they would
never leave her, when the superior pushed
them from the room, closed the door, and
returned to the bedside. On being ex¬
cluded, the old ladies changed their tone,
and cried through the keyhole that old
Sally was drunk; which, indeed, was not
unlikely, since, in addition to a moderate
dose of opium prescribed by the apothe¬
cary, she was labouring under the effects
of a final taste of gin and water, which
had been privily administered in the open¬
ness of their hearts by the worthy old la¬
dies themselves.
6 Now listen to me!” said the dying
woman aloud, as if making a great effort
to revive one latent spark of energy. "ln
this very room—in this very bed—I once
nursed a pretty young creetur’, that was
brought into the house with her feet cut
and bruised with walking, and all soiled
with dust and biood. She gave birth to a
boy, and died. Let me think—What was
the year again ?”
s Never mind the year,” said the impa¬
tient auditor; “ what about her ?”
“ Ay,” murmured the sick woman, re¬
lapsing into her former drowsy state,
“what about her?—what about— I
know !” she cried, jumping fiercely up,
her face flushed, and her eyes starting
from her head,—* I robbed her, so I did!
She wasn’t cold—I tell you she wasn’t
cold when I stole it !”
“ Stole what, for Gods sake!’ cried
the matron, with a gesture as if she would
call for help. .
“ Tt ""— replied the woman, laying her
hand over the others mouth,—* the only
thing she had! She wanted clothes to
keep her warm, and food to eat; but she
had kept it safe, and had it in her bosom.
It was gold, I tell you!—rich gold, that
might have saved her life !”
“ Gold !” echoed the matron, bending
eagerly over the woman as she fell back.
“ Go on, go on—yes—what of it? Who
was the mother ’'—when was it ?”
“She charged me to keep it safe,” re¬
plied the woman with a groan, “ and trust¬
ed me as the only woman about her. I
stole it in my heart when she first showed
it me hanging round her neck; and the
9 N
9
child’s death, perhaps, is on me besides!
They would have treated him better if
they had known it all !"
“ Known what?" asked the other,
“ Speak !"
“The boy grew so like his mother,”
said the woman, rambling on and. not
heeding the question, “ that I could never
forget it when I saw his face. Poor girl!
poor girl !—she was so young, too !—such
a ior lamb !—Wait; there’s more to
tell. I have not told you all, have I?”
“ No, no,” replied the matron, inclining
her head to catch the words as they came
more faintly from the dying woman.—* Be
uick, or it may be too late.”
6 "The mother,” said the woman, mak¬
ng a more violent effort than before,—
“the mother, when the pains of death
first came upon her, whispered in my ear,
that if her baby was born alive, and
thrived, the day might come when it
would not feel disgraced to heur its poor
oung mother named. ‘ And oh, my God !
she said, folding her thin hands together,
‘whether it be boy or girl, raise up some
friends for it in this troubled world, and
take pity upon a lonely desolate child
abandoned to its mercy !’”
“The boy’s name?" demanded the ma¬
tron. |
“ They called him Oliver,” replied the
“The gold I stole
woman feebly.
was ‘4
“ Yes, yes—what?” cried the other.
She was bending eagerly over the wo¬
man to hear her reply, but drew back
instinctively as she once again rose slowly
and stiffly into a sitting posture, and,
clutching the coverlet with both hands,
muttered some indistinct sounds in her
throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. .
* * *k ak * *
* Stone dead!” said one of the old wo¬
men, hurrying in as soon as the door was
opened.
“ And nothing to tell, after all,” rejoin¬
ed the matron, walking carelessly away.
The two crones were to all appearance
too busily occupied in the preparations for
their dreadful duties to make any reply,
and were left alone hovering about the
hedy.
CHAPTER THE THIRD,
Wherein this history reverts to Mr. Fagin ano
j company.
Wun these things were passing i
the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat in
the old den,—the same from which Oliver