Oldal 275 [275]
OCR
209 From early in the evening until midnight, little groups of two or three presented 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 admitted 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 children, 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 opposite to that at which the entered, and led them on, through dark and winding ways, towards the cells. “This,” said the man, stopping in a gloomy passage where a couple of workmen 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 otherwise than as a part of his vision. “Good boy, Charley—well done,” he mumbled—* Oliver too—ha, ha, ha,—Oliver 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. Fagin, 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 holding 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
