oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第95部分

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hurried　to　and　fro；　in　such　a　paroxysm　of　fear　and　wrath　that　even　
they—used　to　such　sights—recoiled　from　him　with　horror。　He　
grew　so　terrible；　at　last；　in　all　the　tortures　of　his　evil　conscience；　
that　one　man　could　not　bear　to　sit　there；　eyeing　him　alone；　and　so　
the　two　kept　watch　together。　

He　cowered　down　upon　his　stone　bed；　and　thought　of　the　past。　
He　had　been　wounded　with　some　missiles　from　the　crowd　on　the　
day　of　his　capture；　and　his　head　was　bandaged　with　a　linen　cloth。　
His　red　hair　hung　down　upon　his　bloodless　face；　his　beard　was　
torn；　and　twisted　into　knots；　his　eyes　shone　with　a　terrible　light；　
his　unwashed　flesh　crackled　with　the　fever　that　burned　him　up。　

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Eight—nine—ten。　If　it　was　not　a　trick　to　frighten　him；　and　those　
were　the　real　hours　treading　on　each　other’s　heels；　where　would　
he　be；　when　they　came　round　again！　Eleven。　Another　struck；　
before　the　voice　of　the　previous　hour　had　ceased　to　vibrate。　At　
eight；　he　would　be　the　only　mourner　in　his　own　funeral　train；　at　
eleven—　

Those　dreadful　walls　of　Newgate；　which　have　hidden　so　much　
misery　and　such　unspeakable　anguish；　not　only　from　the　eyes；　but；　
too　often；　and　too　long；　from　the　thoughts；　of　men；　never　held　so　
dread　a　spectacle　as　that。　The　few　who　lingered　as　they　passed；　
and　wondered　what　the　man　was　doing　who　was　to　be　hanged　
tomorrow；　would　have　slept　but　ill　that　night；　if　they　could　have　
seen　him。　

From　early　in　the　evening　until　nearly　midnight；　little　groups　of　
two　and　three　presented　themselves　at　the　lodge　gate；　and　
inquired；　with　anxious　faces；　whether　any　reprieve　had　been　
received。　These　being　answered　in　the　negative；　communicated　
the　welcome　intelligence　to　clusters　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　strong　
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　prisoner；　signed　by　one　of　the　sheriffs。　They　were　
immediately　admitted　to　the　lodge。　

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“Is　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。”　

“It　is　not　indeed；　my　friend；”　rejoined　Mr。　Brownlow；　“but　my　
business　with　this　man　is　intimately　connected　with　him；　and　as　
the　child　has　seen　him　in　the　full　career　of　his　success　and　villainy；　
I　think　it　as　well—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　Oliver　with　
some　curiosity；　opened　another　gate；　opposite　to　that　by　which　
they　had　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　making　some　preparations　in　profound　
silence—“this　is　the　place　he　passes　through。　If　you　step　this　way；　
you　can　see　the　door　he　goes　out　at。”　

He　led　them　into　a　stone　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。　They　were　putting　up　the　scaffold。　

From　this　place；　they　passed　through　several　strong　gates；　
opened　by　other　turnkeys—from　the　inner　side；　and；　having　
entered　an　open　yard；　ascended　a　flight　of　narrow　steps；　and　came　
into　a　passage　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　passage；　stretching　themselves　
as　if　glad　of　the　temporary　relief；　and　motioned　the　visitors　to　

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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　of　a　man。　His　mind　was　evidently　
wandering　to　his　old　life；　for　he　continued　to　mutter；　without　
appearing　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　the　
boy　away　to　bed！”　

The　jailer　took　the　disengaged　hand　of　Oliver；　and；　whispering　
to　him　not　to　be　alarmed；　looked　on　without　speaking。　

“Take　him　away　to　bed！”　cried　Fagin。　“Do　you　hear　me；　some　of　
you？　He　has　been　the—the—somehow　the　cause　of　all　this。　It’s　
worth　the　money　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！”　

“Fagin；”　said　the　jailer。　

“That’s　me！”　cried　Fagin；　falling　instantly　into　the　attitude　of　
listening　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？”　

“I　shan’t　be　one　long；”　he　replied；　looking　up　with　a　face　
retaining　no　human　expression　but　rage　and　terror。　“Strike　them　
all　dead！　What　right　have　they　to　butcher　me？”　

As　he　spoke　he　caught　sight　of　Oliver　and　Mr。　Brownlow。　
Shrinking　to　the　farthest　corner　of　the　seat；　he　demanded　to　know　

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what　they　wanted　there。　

“Steady；”　said　the　turnkey；　still　holding　him　down。　“Now；　sir；　
tell　him　what　you　want。　Quick；　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　Fagin。　“I　haven’t　one—not　one。”　

“For　the　love　of　God；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　solemnly；　“do　not　say　
that　now；　upon　the　very　verge　of　death；　but　tell　me　where　they　are。　
You　know　that　Sikes　is　dead；　that　Monks　has　confessed；　that　there　
is　no　hope　of　any　further　gain。　Where　are　those　papers？”　

“Oliver；”　cried　Fagin；　beckoning　to　him。　“Here；　here！　Let　me　
whisper　to　you。”　

“I　am　not　afraid；”　said　Oliver；　in　a　low　voice；　as　he　relinquished　
Mr。　Brownlow’s　hand。　

“The　papers；”　said　Fagin；　drawing　Oliver　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。　I　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。”　

“Outside；　outside；”　replied　Fagin；　pushing　the　boy　before　him　
towards　the　door；　and　looking　vacantly　over　his　head。　“Say　I’ve　
gone　to　sleep—they’ll　believe　you。　You　can　get　me　out；　if　you　take　
me　so。　Now　then；　now　then！”　

“Oh！　God　forgive　this　wretched　man！”　cried　the　boy；　with　a　
burst　of　tears。　

“That’s　right；　that’s　right；”　said　Fagin。　“That’ll　help　us　on。　This　

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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。　

“No　other　question；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow。　“If　I　hoped　we　
could　recall　him　to　a　sense　of　his　position”—　

“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。　

“Press　on；　press　on；”　cried　Fagin。　“Softly；　but　not　so　slow。　
Faster；　faster！”　

The　men　laid　hands　upon　him；　and　disengaging　Oliver　from　his　
grasp；　held　him　back。　He　struggled　with　the　power　of　desperation；　
for　an　instant；　and　then　sent　up　cry　upon　cry　that　penetrated　even　
those　massive　walls；　and　rang　in　their　ears　until　they　reached　the　
open　yard。　

It　was　some　time　before　they　left　the　prison。　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　to　beguile　the　time；　the　crowd　were　
pushing；　quarrelling；　joking。　Everything　told　of　life　and　animation；　
but　one　dark　cluster　of　objects　in　the　centre　of　all—the　black　stage；　
the　cross…beam；　the　rope；　and　all　the　hideous　apparatus　of　death。　

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Chapter　53　

And　Last。　

The　fortunes　of　those　who　have　figured　in　this　tale　are　
nearly　closed。　The　little　that　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…inlaw；　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…spent　life　have　been　unceasingly　
bestowed。　

It　appeared；　on　full　and　careful　investigation；　that　if　the　wreck　
of　property　remaining　in　the　custody　of　Monks　（which　had　never　
prospered　either　in　his　hands　or　in　those　of　his　mother）　were　
equally　divided　between　himself　and　Oliver；　it　would　y