Oldal 197 [197]
145
with much satisfactión in his waistcoat
pocket, he went on.
Carry your memory back—let me see
—twelve years last winter."
“It’s a long time,” said Mr. Bumble.
“Very good. I’ve done it.”
c The scene, the workhouse.”
66 Good !"
§ And the time, night.”
“ Yes,”
s And the place the crazy hole, wher¬
ever it was, in which miserable drabs
brought forth the life and health so often
denied to themselv ve birth to pul¬
ing children for the parish to rear, and hid
their shame, rot ’em, in the grave.”
6 The lying-in room, I suppose that
means?” said Mr. Bumble, not quite fol¬
lowing the stranger’s excited description.
“ Yes,” said the stranger. ‘ A boy was
born there.”
“ A many boys,” observed Mr. Bumble,
shaking his head despondingly.
“A murrain on the young devils!”
cried the stranger impatiently; “I speak
of one, a meek-looking, pale-faced hound,
who was apprenticed, down here, to a
coffin-maker, (I wish he had made his
coffin, and screwed his body in it,) and
who afterwards ran away to London, as
it was supposed.”
“Why, you mean Oliver— young
Twist!” said Mr. Bumble; "I remember
him of course. There wasn’t a obsti¬
nater young rascal "
“It’s not of him I want to hear; I’ve
heard enough of him,” said the stranger,
stopping Mr. Bumble in the very outset
of a tirade on the subject of poor Oliver s
vices. ‘It’s of a woman, the hag that
nursed his mother. . Where is she?”
s Where is she?" said Mr. Bumble,
whom the gin-and-water had rendered
facetious. “It would be hard to tell.
There’s no midwifery there, whichever
place she’s gone to; so Í suppose she’s
out of employment any way.”
6 What do you mean?" demanded the
stranger, sternly. i
“That she died last winter,” rejoined
Mr. Bumble.
The man looked fixedly at him when
he had given this information, and al¬
though he did not withdraw his eyes for
some time afterwards, his gaze gradually
became vacant and abstracted, and he
seemed lost in thought. For some time
he appeared doubtful whether he ought
to be relieved or disappointed by the in¬
telligence, but at length he breathed more
freely, and ae his eyes, observ¬
: 13
ed that it was no great matter, and rose
as if to depart.
Mr. Bumble was cunning enough, and
he at once saw that an opportunity was
opened for the lucrative disposal of some
secret in the possession of his better half.
He well remembered the night of old
Sally’s death, which the occurrences of
that day had given him good reason to
recollect as the occasion on which he had
proposed to Mrs. Corney; and although
that lady had never confided to him the
disclosure of which she had been the soli¬
tary witness, he had heard enough to
know that it related to something that
had occurred in the old woman’s atten¬
dance, as workhouse nurse, upon the
young mother of Oliver Twist. Hastily
calling this circumstance to mind, he in¬
formed the stranger with an air of mys¬
tery, that one woman had been closeted
with the old harridan shortly before she
died, and that she could, as he had reason
to believe, throw some light on the sub¬
ject of his inquiry.
“How can I find her?” said the
stranger, thrown off his , and plain¬
ly showing that all his fears (whatever
they were) were aroused afresh by the
intelligence. |
¥ “ Only through me,” rejomed Mr. Bum¬
e.
“ When?” cried the stranger, hastily.
“To-morrow,” rejoined Bumble.
6 At nine in the evening,” said the
stranger, producing a scrap of paper, and
writing down an obscure address, by the
water-side, upon it, in characters that be¬
trayed his agitation, " at nine in the even¬
ing, bring her to me there. I needn't
tell you to be secret, for it’s your inter¬
est.”
With these words he led the way to
the door, after stopping to pay for the
liquor that had been drunk; and shortly
remarking that their roads were different,
departed without more ceremony than an
emphatic repetition of the hour of ap¬
pointment for the son night.
On glancing at the address, the paro¬
chial functionary observed that it contain¬
ed no name. The stranger had not gone
far, so he made after him to ask it.
c Who’s that?” cried the man, turning
quickly round as Bumble touched him on
the arm. § Following me!”
“Only to ask a question,” said the
other, pointing to the scrap of paper.
c What name am I to ask for?”
s Monxs !” rejoined the man, and strode
hastily away.