oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第87部分

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even　the　sight　of　you　brings　with　it　old　thoughts　of　him；　it　is　
because　of　all　these　things　that　I　am　moved　to　treat　you　gently　
now—yes；　Edward　Leeford；　even　now—and　blush　for　your　
unworthiness　who　bear　the　name。”　

“What　has　the　name　to　do　with　it？”　asked　the　other；　after　

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contemplating；　half　in　silence；　and　half　in　dogged　wonder；　the　
agitation　of　his　companion。　“What　is　the　name　to　me？”　

“Nothing；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow—“nothing　to　you。　But　it　was　
hers；　and　even　at　this　distance　of　time　brings　back　to　me；　an　old　
man；　the　glow　and　thrill　which　I　once　felt；　only　to　hear　it　repeated　
by　a　stranger。　I　am　very　glad　you　have　changed　it—very—very。”　

“This　is　all　mighty　fine；”　said　Monks　（to　retain　his　assumed　
designation）　after　a　long　silence；　during　which　he　had　jerked　
himself　in　sullen　defiance　to　and　fro；　and　Mr。　Brownlow　had　sat；　
shading　his　face　with　his　hand。　“But　what　do　you　want　with　me？”　

“You　have　a　brother；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　rousing　himself；　“a　
brother；　the　whisper　of　whose　name　in　your　ear　when　I　came　
behind　you　in　the　street；　was；　in　itself；　almost　enough　to　make　you　
accompany　me　hither；　in　wonder　and　alarm。”　

“I　have　no　brother；”　replied　Monks。　“You　know　I　was　an　only　
child。　Why　do　you　talk　to　me　of　brothers？　You　know　that；　as　well　
as　I。”　

“Attend　to　what　I　do　know；　and　you　may　not；”　said　Mr。　
Brownlow。　“I　shall　interest　you　by　and　by。　I　know　that　of　the　
wretched　marriage；　into　which　family　pride；　and　the　most　sordid　
and　narrowest　of　all　ambition；　forced　your　unhappy　father　when　a　
mere　boy；　you　were　the　sole　and　most　unnatural　issue。”　

“I　don’t　care　for　hard　names；”　interrupted　Monks；　with　a　
jeering　laugh。　“You　know　the　fact；　and　that’s　enough　for　me。”　

“But　I　also　know；”　pursued　the　old　gentleman；　“the　misery；　the　
slow　torture；　the　protracted　anguish　of　that　ill…assorted　union。　I　
know　how　listlessly　and　wearily　each　of　that　wretched　pair　
dragged　on　their　heavy　chain　through　a　world　that　was　poisoned　
to　them　both。　I　know　how　cold　formalities　were　succeeded　by　open　

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taunts；　how　indifference　gave　place　to　dislike；　dislike　to　hate；　and　
hate　to　loathing；　until　at　last　they　wrenched　the　clanking　bond　
asunder；　and　retiring　a　wide　space　apart；　carried　each　a　galling　
fragment；　of　which　nothing　but　death　could　break　the　rivets；　to　
hide　it　in　new　society　beneath　the　gayest　looks　they　could　assume。　
Your　mother　succeeded；　she　forgot　it　soon。　But　it　rusted　and　
cankered　at　your　father’s　heart　for　years。”　

“Well；　they　were　separated；”　said　Monks；　“and　what　of　that？”　

“When　they　had　been　separated　for　some　time；”　returned　Mr。　
Brownlow；　“and　your　mother；　wholly　given　up　to　continental　
frivolities；　had　utterly　forgotten　the　young　husband　ten　good　years　
her　junior；　who；　with　prospects　blighted；　lingered　on　at　home；　he　
fell　among　new　friends。　This　circumstance；　at　least；　you　know　
already。”　

“Not　I；”　said　Monks；　turning　away　his　eyes　and　beating　his　foot　
upon　the　ground；　as　a　man　who　is　determined　to　deny　everything。　
“Not　I。”　

“Your　manner；　no　less　than　your　actions；　assures　me　that　you　
have　never　forgotten　it；　or　ceased　to　think　of　it　with　bitterness；”　
returned　Mr。　Brownlow。　“I　speak　of　fifteen　years　ago；　when　you　
were　not　more　than　eleven　years　old；　and　your　father　but　one…andthirty—for　he　was；　I　repeat；　a　boy；　when　his　father　ordered　him　to　
marry。　Must　I　go　back　to　events　which　cast　a　shade　upon　the　
memory　of　your　parent；　or　will　you　spare　it；　and　disclose　to　me　the　
truth？”　

“I　have　nothing　to　disclose；”　rejoined　Monks。　“You　must　talk　on　
if　you　will。”　

“These　new　friends；　then；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　“were　a　naval　
officer　retired　from　active　service；　whose　wife　had　died　some　half　a　

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year　before；　and　left　him　with　two　children—there　had　been　more；　
but；　of　all　their　family；　happily　but　two　survived。　They　were　both　
daughters；　one　a　beautiful　creature　of　nineteen；　and　the　other　a　
mere　child　of　two　or　three　years　old。”　

“What’s　this　to　me？”　asked　Monks。　

“They　resided；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　without　seeming　to　hear　
the　interruption；　“in　a　part　of　the　country　to　which　your　father　in　
his　wanderings　had　repaired；　and　where　he　had　taken　up　his　
abode。　Acquaintance；　intimacy；　friendship；　fast　followed　on　each　
other。　Your　father　was　gifted　as　few　men　are。　He　had　his　sister’s　
soul　and　person。　As　the　old　officer　knew　him　more　and　more；　he　
grew　to　love　him。　I　would　that　it　had　ended　there。　His　daughter　did　
the　same。”　

The　old　gentleman　paused；　Monks　was　biting　his　lips；　with　his　
eyes　fixed　upon　the　floor；　seeing　this；　he　immediately　resumed：　

“The　end　of　a　year　found　him　contracted；　solemnly　contracted；　
to　that　daughter；　the　object　of　the　first；　true；　ardent；　only　passion　
of　a　guileless　girl。”　

“Your　tale　is　of　the　longest；”　observed　Monks；　moving　restlessly　
in　his　chair。　

“It　is　a　true　tale　of　grief；　and　trial；　and　sorrow；　young　man；”　
returned　Mr。　Brownlow；　“and　such　tales　usually　are；　if　it　were　one　
of　unmixed　joy　and　happiness；　it　would　be　very　brief。　At　length；　
one　of　those　rich　relations　to　strengthen　whose　interest　and　
importance　your　father　had　been　sacrificed；　as　others　are　often—it　
is　no　uncommon　case—died；　and　to　repair　the　misery　he　had　been　
instrumental　in　occasioning；　left　him　his　panacea　for　all　griefs—　
money。　It　was　necessary　that　he　should　immediately　repair　to　
Rome；　whither　this　man　had　sped　for　health；　and　where　he　had　

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died；　leaving　his　affairs　in　great　confusion。　He　went；　was　seized　
with　mortal　illness　there；　was　followed；　the　moment　the　
intelligence　reached　Paris；　by　your　mother；　who　carried　you　with　
her；　he　died　the　day　after　her　arrival；　leaving　no　will—no　will—so　
that　the　whole　property　fell　to　her　and　you。”　

At　this　part　of　the　recital；　Monks　held　his　breath；　and　listened　
with　a　face　of　intense　eagerness；　though　his　eyes　were　not　directed　
towards　the　speaker。　As　Mr。　Brownlow　paused；　he　changed　his　
position　with　the　air　of　one　who　has　experienced　a　sudden　relief；　
and　wiped　his　hot　face　and　hands。　

“Before　he　went　abroad；　and　as　he　passed　through　London　on　
his　way；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　slowly；　and　fixing　his　eyes　upon　the　
other’s　face；　“he　came　to　me。”　

“I　never　heard　of　that；”　interrupted　Monks；　in　a　tone　intended　
to　appear　incredulous；　but　savouring　more　of　disagreeable　
surprise。　

“He　came　to　me；　and　left　with　me；　among　some　other　things；　a　
picture—a　portrait　painted　by　himself—a　likeness　of　this　poor　
girl—which　he　did　not　wish　to　leave　behind；　and　could　not　carry　
forward　on　his　hasty　journey。　He　was　worn　by　anxiety　and　
remorse　almost　to　a　shadow；　talked　in　a　wild；　distracted　way；　of　
ruin　and　dishonour　worked　by　himself；　confided　in　me　his　
intention　to　convert　his　whole　property；　at　any　loss；　into　money；　
and；　having　settled　on　his　wife　and　you　a　portion　of　his　recent　
acquisition；　to　fly　the　country—I　guessed　too　well　he　would　not　fly　
alone—and　never　see　it　more。　Even　from　me；　his　old　and　early　
friend；　whose　strong　attachment　had　taken　root　in　the　earth　and　
covered　one　most　dear　to　both—even　from　me　he　withheld　any　
more　particular　confession；　promising　to　write　and　tell　me　all；　and　

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after　that　to　see　me　once　again；　for　the　last　time　on　earth。　Alas！　
That　was　the　last　time。　I　had　no　letter；　and　I　never　saw　him　more。　

“I　went；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　after　a　short　pause—“I　went；　
when　all　was　over；　to　the　scene　of　his—I　will　use　the　term　the　
world　would　freely　use；　for　worldly　harshness　or　favour　are　now　
alike　to　him—of　his　guilty　love；　resolved　that　if　her　fears　were　
realised；　that　erring　child　should　find　one　heart　and　home　to　
shelter　and　compassionate　her。　The　family　had　left　that　part　a　
week　before；　they　had　called　in　such　trifling　debts　as　were　
outstanding；　discharged　them；　and　left　the　place　by　night。　Why；　or　
whither；　none　can　tell。”　

Monks　drew　his　breath　yet　more　freely；　and　looked　round　with　
a　smile　of　triumph。　

“When　your　brother；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　drawing　nearer　to　
the　other’s　chair—“when　your　brother—a　feeble；　ragged；　
neglected　child—was　cast　in　my　way　by　a　stronger　hand　than　
chance；　and　rescued　by　me　from　a　life　of　vice　and　infamy—”　

“What？”　cried　Monks。　

“By　me；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow。　“I　told　you　I　should　interest　you　
before　long。　I　say　by　me—I　see　that　your　cunning　associate　
suppressed　my　name；　although　for　aught　he　knew；　it　would　be　
quite　strange　to　your　ears。　When　he　was　rescued　by　me；　then；　and　
lay　recovering　from　sickness　in　my　house；　his　strong　resemblance　
to　this　picture　I　have　spoken　of；　struck　me　with　astonishment。　
Even　when　I　first　saw　him　in　all　his　dirt　and　misery；　there　was　a　
lingering　expression　in　his　face　that　came　upon　me　like　a　glimpse　
of　some　old　friend　flashing　on　one　in　a　vivid　dream。　I　need　not　tell　
you　he　was　snared　away　before　I　knew　his　history—”　

“Why　not？”　asked　Monks　hastily。　

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“Because　you　know　it　well。”　

“I！”　

“Denial　to　me　is　vain；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow。　“I　shall　show　you　
that　I　know　more　than　that。”　

“You—you—can’t　prove　anything　against　me；”　stammered　
Monks。　“I　defy　you　to　do　it！”　

“We　shall　see；”　returned　the　old　gentleman；　with　a　searching　
glance。　“I　lost　the　boy；　and　no　efforts　of　mine　could　recover　him。　
Your　mother　being　dead；　I　knew　that　you　alone　could　solve　the　
mystery　if　anybody　could；　and　as；　when　I　had　last　heard　of　you；　
you　were　on　your　own　estate　in　the　West　Indies—whither；　as　you　
well　know；　you　retired　upon　your　mother’s　death　to　escape　the　
consequences　of　vicious　courses　here—I　made　the　voyage。　You　
had　left　it；　months　before；　and　were　supposed　to　be　in　London；　but　
no　one　could　tell　where。　I　returned。　Your　agents　had　no　clue　to　
your