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210 "n. low solemnly, “do not say that now, upon,the very verge of death; but tell me witere they are. dead, that Monks has confessed, that there to beguile the time; the crowd were Every dark cluster of objects in the very centre are those papers!" the rope, and all the hideous apparatus him. * Here, here. you.” | ‘7 am not afraid," said Oliver in a low voice, as he relinquished Mr. Brownlow’s hand. s The papers,” said the Jew, drawing him towards him, "are in a canvas bag, in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front-room. I want to talk to you, my dear, | want to talk to you.” | * Yes, yes,” returned Oliver. * Let me say a prayer. Do. Let me say one prayer; say only one upon your knees with me; and we will talk till morning.” c Outside—outside,” replied the Jew, pushing the boy before him towards the door, and looking vacantly over his head. ‘Say I’ve gone to sleep—they 71! believe you. You can get me out if you take me so. Now then, now then.”’ . *QOh! God forgive this wretched man!" cried the boy with a burst of tears. “«'That’s right, that’s right,” said the Jew; “that’ll help us on. This door first. If I shake and tremble as we pass the gallows, don’t you mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now.” “Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?” inquired the turnkey. c No other question, replied Mr. Brownlow. “If I hoped we could recal him to a sense of his real position va; * Nothing will do that, sir,’ replied the man, shaking his head. " You had better leave him.” The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned. 6 Press on, press on," cried the Jew. “Softly, but not so slow. Faster, faster.” The man laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver from his grasp, held him back. He writhed and struggled with the power of desperation, and sent up shriek upon shriek that penetrated even those massive walls, and rung in their ears until they reached the open yard. It was some time before they left the prison, for Oliver nearly swooned after this frightful scene, and was so weak that for an hour or more he had not the strength to walk. Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great multitude had already assembled. ‘The windows were filled with people, smoking and playing cards, Let me whisper to CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH, And Last. THE fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are nearly closed, and what little remains to their historian to relate, is told in few and simple words. Before three months had passed, Rose Fleming and Harry Maylie were married in the village church which was henceforth to be the scene of the young clergyman’s labours; on the same day they entered into possession of their new and happy home. Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and daughter-in-law, to enjoy during the tranquil remainder of her days the greatest felicity that age and worth can know—the contemplation of the happiness of those on whom the warmest affections and tenderest cares of a well It appeared on a full and careful investigation, that if the wreck of property remaining in the custody of Monks (which had never prospered in his hands or those of his mother,) were equally divided between himself and Oliver, it would yield to each little more than three thousand pounds. By the provisions of his father’s will, Oliver would have been entitled to the whole; but Mr. Brownlow, unwilling to deprive the elder son of the opportunity of retrieving his former vices, and pursuing an honest career, proposed this mode of distribution, to which his young charge most joyfully acceded. Monks, still bearing that assumed name, retired with his part of the New World, where, having quickly squandered it, he once more fell into his old courses, and after undergoing a long confinement for some fresh act of fraud and knavery, at length sunk under an attack of his old disorder, and died in prison. Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his own son, and removing with him and the old housekeeper to within a mile of the parsonage-house where his dear friends resided, gratified the only remaining wish of Oliver’s warm and earnest heart, and
