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209
From early in the evening until mid¬
night, little groups of two or three pre¬
sented themselves at the lodge-gate, and
inguired with anxious faces whether any
reprieve had been received. These bein
answered in the negative, communica
the welcome intelligence to others in the
street, who pointed out to one another the
door from which he must come out, and
showed where the scaffold would be built,
and, walking with unwilling steps away,
turned back to conjure up the scene. By
degrees they fell off one by one; and for
an hour, in the dead of night, the street
was left to solitude and darkness. The
space before the prison was cleared, and
a few barriers, painted black, had
been already thrown across the road to
break the pressure of the expected crowd,
when Mr. Brownlow and Oliver appeared
at the wicket, and presented an order of
admission to the prison, signed by one of
the sheriffs. They were immediately ad¬
mitted into the lodge.
“Ts the young gentleman to come too,
sir?’ said the man whose duty it was to
conduct them. “ It’s not a sight for chil¬
dren, sir.”
“Tt is not indeed, my friend,” rejoined
Mr. Brownlow, “but my business with
this man is intimately connected with
him, and as this child has seen him in the
full career of his success and villany, I
think it better—even at the cost of some
pain and fear—that he should see him
now.”
These few words had been said apart,
so as to be inaudible to Oliver. ‘The man
touched his hat, and, glancing at him with
some curiosity, opened another gate oppo¬
site to that at which the entered,
and led them on, through dark and wind¬
ing ways, towards the cells.
“This,” said the man, stopping in a
gloomy passage where a couple of work¬
men were ing some preparations in
profound silence—* This is the place he
passes throu If you step this way,
you can see the door he goes out at.”
He led them into a store-kitchen, fitted
with coppers for dressing the prison food,
and pointed to a door. There was an
open grating above it, through which
came the sound of men’s voices, mingled
with the noise of hammering and the
throwing down of boards. ‘hey were
putting up the scaffold.
From this place they passed through
several strong gates, opened by other
turnkeys, from the inner side, and having
crossed an open yard, ascended a flight
of narrow steps and came into a passage
184 25
with a row of strong doors on the left
hand. Motioning them to remain where
they were, the turnkey knocked at one
of these with his bunch of keys. The
two attendants, after a little whispering,
came out into the , stretching
themselves, as if glad of the temporary
relief, and motioned the visiters to follow
the jailer into the cell. They did so.
The condemned criminal was seated on
his bed, rocking himself from side to side,
with a countenance more like that of a
snared beast than the face ofa man. His
mind was evidently wandering to his old
life, for he continued to mutter, without
seeming conscious of their presence other¬
wise than as a part of his vision.
“Good boy, Charley—well done,” he
mumbled—* Oliver too—ha, ha, ha,—Oli¬
ver too—quite the gentleman now—quite
the—take that boy away to bed.”
The jailer took the disengaged hand
of Oliver, and whispering him not to be
alarmed, looked on without speaking.
“Take him away to bed,” cried the
Jew. “Do you hear me, some of you?
He has been the—the—the somehow the
cause of all this. It’s worth the mone
to bring him up to it—Bolter’s throat, Bill
never mind the girl. Bolter’s throat as
deep as you can cut. Saw his head off.”
4 Fagin," said the jailer.
“That ’s me!" cried the Jew, falling
instantly into precisely the same attitude
of listening that he had assumed upon his
trial. “An old man, my lord; a very old,
old, man.”
“ Here,” said the turnkey, laying his
hand upon his breast to keep him down.
“ Here ’s somebody wants to see you, to
ask you some questions, I suppose. Fa¬
gin, Fagin, are you a man ?”
c] shan’t be one long,” replied the
Jew, looking up with a face retaining no
human expression but and terror.
“Strike them all dead; what right have
they to butcher me ?”
As he spoke, he caught sight of Oliver
and Mr. Brownlow, and, shrinking to the
furthest corner of the seat, demanded to
know what they wanted there.
“Steady,” said the turnkey, still hold¬
ing him down. “ Now, sir, tell him what
you want—dquick, if you please, for he
grows worse as the time gets on.”
“You have some papers,” said Mr.
Brownlow, advancing, “which were placed
in your hands for better security, by a
man called Monks.”
“It’s all a lie together,” replied the
Jew. “I haven’t one—not one.”
“ For the love of God,” said Mr. Brown¬