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doctor, standing with his back to the door, as if to keep it shut.
“He is not in danger, I hope?” said the old lady.
“Why, that would not be an extraordinary thing, under the
circumstances,” replied the doctor; “though I don’t think he is.
Have you seen this thief?”
“No,” rejoined the old lady.
“Nor heard anything about him?”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” interposed Mr. Giles; “but I was
going to tell you about him when Doctor Losberne came in.
The fact was, that Mr. Giles had not, at first, been able to bring
his mind to the avowal, that he had only shot a boy. Such
commendations had been bestowed upon his bravery, that he
could not, for the life of him, help postponing the explanation for a
few delicious minutes; during which he had flourished, in the very
zenith of a brief reputation for undaunted courage.
“Rose wished to see the man,” said Mrs. Maylie, “but I wouldn’t
hear of it.”
“Humph!” rejoined the doctor. “There is nothing very alarming
in his appearance. Have you any objection to see him in my
presence?”
“If it be necessary,” replied the old lady, “certainly not.”
“Then I think it is necessary,” said the doctor; “at all events, I
am quite sure that you would deeply regret not having done so, if
you postponed it. He is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow
me—Miss Rose, will you permit me? Not the slightest fear, I
pledge you my honour!”
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Chapter 30
Relates What Oliver’s New Visitors Thought Of
Him.
With many loquacious assurances that they would be
agreeably surprised in the aspect of the criminal, the
doctor drew the young lady’s arm through one of his;
and offering his disengaged hand to Mrs. Maylie, led them, with
much ceremony and stateliness, upstairs.
“Now,” said the doctor, in a whisper, as he softly turned the
handle of a bedroom door, “let us hear what you think of him. He
has not been shaved very recently, but he don’t look at all
ferocious notwithstanding. Stop, though! Let me first see that he is
in visiting order.”
Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning them
to advance, he closed the door when they had entered; and gently
drew back the curtains of the bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged,
black-visaged ruffian they had expected to behold, there lay a
mere child, worn with pain and exhaustion and sunk into a deep
sleep. His wounded arm, bound and splintered up, was crossed
upon his breast; his head reclined upon the other arm, which was
half-hidden by his long hair, as it streamed over the pillow.
The honest gentleman held the curtain in his hand, and looked
on for a minute or so, in silence. Whilst he was watching the
patient thus, the younger lady glided softly past, and seating
herself in a chair by the bedside, gathered Oliver’s hair from his
face. As she stooped over him, her tears fell upon his forehead.
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The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks
of pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a
love and affection he had never known. Thus, a strain of gentle
music, or the rippling of water in a silent place, or the odour of a
flower, or the mention of a familiar word, will sometimes call up
sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never were, in this life;
which vanish like a breath; which some brief memory of a happier
existence, long gone by, would seem to have awakened; which no
voluntary exertion of the mind can ever recall.
“What can this mean?” exclaimed the elder lady. “This poor
child can never have been the pupil of robbers!”
“Vice,” sighed the surgeon, replacing the curtain, “takes up her
abode in many temples; and who can say that a fair outside shall
not enshrine her?”
“But at so early an age!” urged Rose.
“My dear young lady,” rejoined the surgeon, mournfully
shaking his head; “crime, like death, is not confined to the old and
withered alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen
victims.”
“But, can you—oh! can you really believe that this delicate boy
has been the voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society?”
said Rose.
The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated that
he feared it was very possible; and observing that they might
disturb the patient, led the way into an adjoining apartment.
“But even if he has been wicked,” pursued Rose, “think how
young he is; think that he may never have known a mother’s love,
or the comfort of a home; that ill-usage and blows, or the want of
bread, may have driven him to herd with men who have forced
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him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy’s sake, think of this, before
you let them drag this sick child to a prison, which in any case
must be the grave of all his chances of amendment. Oh! as you
love me, and know that I have never felt the want of parents in
your goodness and affection, but that I might have done so, and
might have been equally helpless and unprotected with this poor
child, have pity upon him before it is too late!
“My dear love,” said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping
girl to her bosom, “do you think I would harm a hair of his head?”
“Oh, no!” replied Rose eagerly.
“No, surely,” said the old lady; “my days are drawing to their
close; and may mercy be shown to me as I show it to others! What
can I do to save him, sir?”
“Let me think, ma’am,” said the doctor; “let me think.”
Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took
several turns up and down the room; often stopping, and
balancing himself on his toes, and frowning frightfully. After
various exclamations of “I’ve got it now,” and “no, I haven’t,” and
as many renewals of the walking and frowning, he at length made
a dead halt, and spoke as follows:
“I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully
Giles, and that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a
faithful fellow and an old servant, I know; but you can make it up
to him in a thousand ways, and reward him for being such a good
shot besides. You don’t object to that?”
“Unless there is some other way of preserving the child,”
replied Mrs. Maylie.
“There is no other,” said the doctor. “No other, take my word
for it.”
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“Then my aunt invests you with full power,” said Rose, smiling
through her tears; “but pray don’t be harder upon the poor fellows
than is indispensably necessary.”
“You seem to think,” retorted the doctor, “that everybody is
disposed to be hard-hearted today, except yourself, Miss Rose. I
only hope, for the sake of the rising male sex generally, that you
may be found in as vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by the first
eligible young fellow who appeals to your compassion; and I wish I
were a young fellow, that I might avail myself, on the spot, of such
a favourable opportunity for doing so, as the present.”
“You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,” returned
Rose, blushing.
“Well,” said the doctor, laughing heartily, “that is no very
difficult matter. But to return to this boy. The great point of our
agreement is yet to come. He will wake in an hour or so, I dare say;
and although I have told that thick-headed constable-fellow
downstairs that he mustn’t be moved or spoken to, on peril of his
life, I think we may converse with him without danger. Now I
make this stipulation—that I shall examine him in your presence,
and that, if, from what he says, we judge, and I can show to the
satisfaction of your cool reason, that he is a real and thorough bad
one (which is more than possible), he shall be left to his fate,
without any further interference on my part, at all events.”
“Oh, no, aunt!” entreated Rose.
“Oh, yes, aunt!” said the doctor. “Is it a bargain?”
“He cannot be hardened in vice,” said Rose; “it is impossible.
“Very good,” retorted the doctor; “then so much the more
reason for acceding to my proposition.”
Finally the treaty was entered into; and the parties thereunto
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sat down to wait, with some impatience, until Oliver should awake.
The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer
trial than Mr. Losberne had led them to expect; for hour after hour
passed on, and still Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening,
indeed, before the kind-hearted doctor brought them the
intelligence, that he was at length sufficiently restored to be
spoken to. The boy was very ill, he said, and weak from the loss of
blood; but his mind was so troubled with anxiety to disclose
something, that he deemed it better to give him the opportunity,
than to insist upon his remaining quiet until next morning; which
he should otherwise have done.
The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple
history, and was often compelled to stop, by pain and want of
strength. It was a solemn thing to hear, in the darkened room, the
feeble voice of the sick child recounting a weary catalogue of evils
and calamities which hard men had brought upon him. Oh! if
when we oppress and grind our fellow-creatures, we bestowed but
one thought on the dark evidences of human error, which, like
dense and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly it is true, but not less
surely, to Heaven, to pour their after-vengeance on our heads; if
we heard but one instant, in imagination, the deep testimony of
dead men’s voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride shut
out; where would be the injury and injustice, the suffering misery,
cruelty, and wrong, that each day’s life brings with it!
Oliver’s pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that night; and
loveliness and virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and
happy, and could have died without a murmur.
The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver
composed to rest again, than the doctor, after wiping his eyes, and
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condemning them for being weak all at once, betook himself
downstairs to open upon Mr. Giles. And finding nobody about the
parlours, it occurred to him, that he could perhaps originate the
proceedings with better effect in the kitchen; so into the kitchen
he went.
There were assembled, in that lower house of the domestic
parliament, the women-servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, the tinker
(who had received a special invitation to regale himself for the
remainder of the day, in consideration of his services), and the
constable. The latter gentleman had a large staff, a large head,
large features, and large half-boots; and he looked as if he had
been taking a proportionate allowance of ale—as indeed he had.
The adventures of the previous night were still under
discussion; for Mr. Giles was expatiating upon his presence of
mind, when the doctor entered; Mr. Brittles, with a mug of ale in
his hand, was corroborating everything, before his superior said it.
“Sit still!” said the doctor, waving his hand.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Giles. “Missis wished some ale to be
given out, sir; and as I felt no ways inclined for my own little room,
sir, and was disposed for company, I am taking mine among ’em
here.”
Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and
gentlemen generally were understood to express the gratification
they derived from Mr. Giles’s condescension. Mr. Giles looked
round with a patronising air, as much as to say that so long as they
behaved properly, he would never desert them.
“How is the patient tonight, sir?” asked Giles.
“So-so;” returned the doctor. “I am afraid you have got yourself
into a scrape there, Mr. Giles.”
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“I hope you don’t mean to say, sir,” said Mr. Giles, trembling,
“that he’s going to die. If I thought it, I should never be happy
again. I wouldn’t cut a boy off—no, not even Brittles here—not for
all the plate in the county, sir.”
“That’s not the point,” said the doctor mysteriously. “Mr. Giles,
are you a Protestant?”
“Yes, sir, I hope so,” faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very
pale.
“And what are you, boy?” said the doctor, turning sharply upon
Brittles.
“Lord bless me, sir!” replied Brittles, starting violently; “I’m—
the same as Mr. Giles, sir.”
“Then tell me this,” said the doctor, “both of you—both of you!
Are you going to take upon yourselves to swear that that boy
upstairs is the boy that was put through the little window last
night? Out with it! Come! We are prepared for you!”
The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best-
tempered creatures on earth, made this demand in such a
dreadful tone of anger, that Giles and Brittles, who were
considerably muddled by ale and excitement, stared at each other
in a state of stupefaction.
“Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you?” said the
doctor, shaking his forefinger with great solemnity of manner, and
tapping the bridge of his nose with it, to bespeak the exercise of
that worthy’s utmost acuteness. “Something may come of this
before long.”
The constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff
of office, which had been reclining indolently in the chimney-
corner.
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“It’s a simple question of identity, you will observe,” said the
doctor.
“That’s what it is, sir,” replied the constable, coughing with a
great violence; for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it
had gone the wrong way.
“Here’s a house broken into,” said the doctor, “and a couple of
men catch one moment’s glimpse of a boy, in the midst of
gunpowder-smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and
darkness. Here’s a boy comes to that very same house, next
morning, and because he happens to have his arm tied up, these
men lay violent hands upon him—by doing which, they place his
life in great danger—and swear he is the thief. Now, the question
is, whether these men are justified by the fact; if not, in what
situation do they place themselves?”
The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn’t law,
he would be glad to know what was.
“I ask you again,” thundered the doctor, “are you, on your
solemn oaths, able to identify that boy?”
Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles; Mr. Giles looked
doubtfully at Brittles; the constable put his hand behind his ear, to
catch the reply; the two women and the tinker leaned forward to
listen; the doctor glanced keenly around; when a ring was heard at
the gate, and at the same moment, the sound of wheels.
“It’s the runners!” cried Brittles, to all appearance much
relieved.
“The what?” exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn.
“The Bow Street officers, sir,” replied Brittles, taking up a
candle; “me and Mr. Giles sent for ’em this morning.”
“What?” cried the doctor.
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“Yes,” replied Brittles; “I sent a message up by the coachman,
and I only wonder they weren’t here before, sir.”
“You did, did you? Then confound your slow coaches down
here; that’s all,” said the doctor, walking away.
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Chapter 31
Involves A Critical Position.
“W ho’s that?” inquired Brittles, opening the door a
little way, with the chain up, and peeping out,
