Oldal 265 [265]
very carefully made acguainted by Mr.
Brownlow, with the nature of the admis¬
sions which had been forced from Monks,
and although they knew that the object
of their present journey was to complete
the work which had been so well begun,
still the whole matter was enveloped in
enough of doubt and mystery to leave
them in endurance of the most intense
suspense. |
“The same kind friend had, with Mr.
" Losberne’s assistance, cautiously stopped
all channels of communication through
which they could receive intelligence of
the dreadful occurrences that had so re¬
cently taken place. ‘Jt is quite true,”
he said, " that they must know them be¬
fore long, but it might be at a better time
than the present, and it could not be ata
worse.” So they travelled on in silence,
each busied with reflections on the object
which had brought them together, and
no one disposed to give utterance to the
thoughts which crowded upon all.
But if Oliver, under these inferences,
had remained silent, while they journeyed
towards his birth-place by a road he had
never seen, how the whole current of his
recollections ran back to old times, and
what a crowd of emotions were wakened
up in his breast when they turned into
that which he had traversed on foot, a
poor, houseless, wandering boy, without a
iend to help him, or a roof to shelter his
head.
* See there — there,” cried Oliver,
eagerly clasping the hand of Rose, and
pointing out at the carriage-window,
«that’s the stile I came over; there are
the hedges I crept behind for fear any one
should overtake me and force me back;
yonder is the path across the fields lead¬
ing to the old house when Í was a little
child. Oh, Dick! Dick! my dear old
friend, if I could only see you now 92
“You will see him soon,” replied Rose,
gent'y taking his folded hands between
er own. “ You shall tell him how happy
you are, and how rich you have grown,
and that, in all your happiness, you have
none so great as the coming back to make
him happy too.”
s Yes, yes,” said Oliver, “ and we’ll—
we’ll take him away from here, and have
him clothed and taught, and send him to
some quiet country place, where he may
grow strong and well—shall we ?”
Rose nodded “yes;” for the boy was
smiling through such happy tears that
she could not speak.
“ You will be kind and good to him, for
vou are to every one,” said Oliver. “It
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201
will make you cry, I know, to hear what
he can tell, but never mind, never mind,
it will be all over, and you will smile
again—I know that too—to think how
changed he is; you did the same with
me. He said, "God bless you’ to me
when I ran away,” cried the boy with a
burst of affectionate emotion, “ and I will
say, " God bless you’ now, and show him
how I love him for it !”’
As they approached the town, and at
length drove through its narrow streets,
it became matter of no small difficulty to
restrain the boy within reasonable bounds.
There was Sowerberry’s, the underta¬
ker’s, just as it used to be, smaller and
less imposing in appearance than he re¬
membered it—all the well-known shops
and houses, with almost every one of
which he had some slight incident con¬
nected—Gamfield’s cart, the very cart ho
used to have, standing at the old public¬
house door—the workhouse, the dreary
prison of his youthful days, with its dis¬
mal windows frowning on the streets—
the same lean porter standing at the gate,
at sight of whom Oliver involuntarily
shrunk back, and then laughed at himself
for being so foolish, then cried, then
laughed again — scores of faces at the
deors and windows that he knew quite
well—nearly everything as if he had left
it but yesterday, and all his recent life
had been but a happy dream.
But it was pure, earnest, joyful reality.
They drove straight to the door of the
up at with awe, and think a mighty pal¬
ace, but which had somehow fallen off in
grandeur and pw and here was Mr.
Grimwig, all ready to receive them,
kissing the young lady and the old one
too, when they got out of the coach, as if
he were the grandfather of the whole
offering to eat his head —no, not once;
not even when he contradicted a very old
postboy about the nearest road to London,
and maintained he knew it best, though
he had only come that way once, and that
time fast asleep. ‘There was dinner pre¬
pared, and there were bed-rooms ready,
and everything was arranged, as if by
magic.
Notwithstanding all this, when the
first half-hour was over, the same silence
and constraint prevailed that had marked
their journey down. Mr. Browniow did
not join them at dinner, but remained in
a separate room. ‘The two other gentle¬
men hurried in and out with anxious
faces, and during the short intervals tha: