oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第114章

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came　over；　there　are　the　hedges　I　crept　behind　for　fear　any　one　
should　overtake　me　and　force　me　back！　Yonder　is　the　path　across　
the　fields；　leading　to　the　old　house　where　I　was　a　little　child！　Oh；　
Dick；　Dick；　my　dear　old　friend；　if　I　could　only　see　you　now！”　

“You　will　see　him　soon；”　replied　Rose；　gently　taking　his　folded　
hands　between　her　own。　“You　shall　tell　him　how　happy　you　are；　
and　how　rich　you　have　grown；　and　that　in　all　your　happiness　you　
have　none　so　great　as　the　coming　back　to　make　him　happy　too。”　

“Yes；　yes；”　said　Oliver；　“and　we’ll—we’ll　take　him　away　from　
here；　and　have　him　clothed　and　taught；　and　send　him　to　some　
quiet　country　place　where　he　may　grow　strong　and　well—shall　
we？”　

Rose　nodded　yes；　for　the　boy　was　smiling　through　such　happy　
tears　that　she　could　not　speak。　

“You　will　be　kind　and　good　to　him；　for　you　are　to　every　one；”　

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said　Oliver。　“It　will　make　you　cry；　I　know；　to　hear　what　he　can　tell；　
but　never　mind；　never　mind；　it　will　be　all　over；　and　you　will　smile　
again—I　know　that　too—to　think　how　changed　he　is；　you　did　the　
same　with　me。　He　said　‘God　bless　you’　to　me　when　I　ran　away；”　
cried　the　boy；　with　a　burst　of　affectionate　emotion；　“and　I　will　say　
‘God　bless　you’　now；　and　show　him　how　I　love　him　for　it！”　

As　they　approached　the　town；　and　at　length　drove　through　its　
narrow　streets；　it　became　matter　of　no　small　difficulty　to　restrain　
the　boy　within　reasonable　bounds。　There　was　Sowerberry’s　the　
undertaker’s　just　as　it　used　to　be；　only　smaller　and　less　imposing　
in　appearance　than　he　remembered　it—there　were　all　the　well…
known　shops　and　houses；　with　almost　every　one　of　which　he　had　
some　slight　incident　connected—there　was　Gamfield’s　cart；　the　
very　cart　he　used　to　have；　standing　at　the　old　public…house　door—　
there　was　the　workhouse；　the　dreary　prison　of　his　youthful　days；　
with　its　dismal　windows　frowning　on　the　street—there　was　the　
same　lean　porter　standing　at　the　gate；　at　sight　of　whom　Oliver　
involuntarily　shrank　back；　and　then　laughed　at　himself　for　being　
so　foolish；　then　cried；　then　laughed　again—there　were　scores　of　
faces　at　the　doors　and　windows　that　he　knew　quite　well—there　
was　nearly　everything　as　if　he　had　left　it　but　yesterday；　and　all　his　
recent　life　had　been　a　happy　dream。　

But　it　was　pure；　earnest　joyful　reality。　They　drove　straight　to　
the　door　of　the　chief　hotel　（which　Oliver　used　to　stare　up　at；　with　
awe；　and　think　a　mighty　palace；　but　which　had　somehow　fallen　off　
in　grandeur　and　size）；　and　here　was　Mr。　Grimwig　all　ready　to　
receive　them；　kissing　the　young　lady；　and　the　old　one　too；　when　
they　got　out　of　the　coach；　as　if　he　were　the　grandfather　of　the　
whole　party；　all　smiles　and　kindness；　and　not　offering　to　eat　his　

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head—no；　not　once；　not　even　when　he　contradicted　a　very　old　
postboy　about　the　nearest　road　to　London；　and　maintained　he　
knew　it　best；　though　he　had　only　come　that　way　once；　and　that　
time　fast　asleep。　There　was　dinner　prepared；　and　there　were　
bedrooms　ready；　and　everything　was　arranged　as　if　by　magic。　

Notwithstanding　all　this；　when　the　hurry　of　the　first　half…hour　
was　over；　the　same　silence　and　constraint　prevailed　that　had　
marred　their　journey　down。　Mr。　Brownlow　did　not　join　them　at　
dinner；　but　remained　in　a　separate　room。　The　two　other　
gentlemen　hurried　in　and　out　with　anxious　faces；　and；　during　the　
short　intervals　when　they　were　present；　conversed　apart。　Once；　
Mrs。　Maylie　was　called　away；　and　after　being　absent　for　nearly　an　
hour；　returned　with　eyes　swollen　with　weeping。　All　these　things　
made　Rose　and　Oliver；　who　were　not　in　any　new　secrets；　nervous　
and　uncomfortable。　They　sat　wondering；　in　silence；　or；　if　they　
exchanged　a　few　words；　spoke　in　whispers；　as　if　they　were　afraid　
to　hear　the　sound　of　their　own　voices。　

At　length　when　nine　o’clock　had　come；　and　they　began　to　think　
they　were　to　hear　no　more　that　night；　Mr。　Losberne　and　Mr。　
Grimwig　entered　the　room；　followed　by　Mr。　Brownlow　and　a　man　
whom　Oliver　almost　shrieked　with　surprise　to　see；　for　they　told　
him　it　was　his　brother；　and　it　was　the　same　man　he　had　met　at　the　
market…town；　and　seen　looking　in　with　Fagin　at　the　window　of　his　
little　room。　Monks　cast　a　look　of　hate；　which；　even　then；　he　could　
not　dissemble；　at　the　astonished　boy；　and　sat　down　near　the　door。　
Mr。　Brownlow；　who　had　papers　in　his　hand；　walked　to　a　table　near　
which　Rose　and　Oliver　were　seated。　

“This　is　a　painful　task；”　said　he；　“but　these　declarations；　which　
have　been　signed　in　London　before　many　gentlemen；　must　be　in　

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substance　repeated　here。　I　would　have　spared　you　the　
degradation；　but　we　must　hear　them　from　your　own　lips　before　we　
part；　and　you　know　why。”　

“Go　on；”　said　the　person　addressed；　turning　away　his　face。　
“Quick。　I　have　almost　done　enough；　I　think。　Don’t　keep　me　here。”　

“This　child；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　drawing　Oliver　to　him；　and　
laying　his　hand　upon　his　head；　“is　your　half…brother；　the　
illegitimate　son　of　your　father；　my　dear　friend　Edwin　Leeford；　by　
poor　young　Agnes　Fleming；　who　died　in　giving　him　birth。”　

“Yes；”　said　Monks；　scowling　at　the　trembling　boy；　the　beating　of　
whose　heart　he　might　have　heard。　“That　is　their　bastard　child。”　

“The　term　you　use；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　sternly；　“is　a　reproach　
to　those　who　have　long　since　passed　beyond　the　feeble　censure　of　
the　world。　It　reflects　disgrace　on　no　one　living；　except　you　who　use　
it。　Let　that　pass。　He　was　born　in　this　town。”　

“In　the　workhouse　of　this　town；”　was　the　sullen　reply。　“You　
have　the　story　there。”　He　pointed　impatiently　to　the　papers　as　he　
spoke。　

“I　must　have　it　here；　too；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　looking　round　
upon　the　listeners。　

“Listen　then！　You！”　returned　Monks。　“His　father　being　taken　ill　
at　Rome；　was　joined　by　his　wife；　my　mother；　from　whom　he　had　
been　long　separated；　who　went　from　Paris；　and　took　me　with　her—　
to　look　after　his　property；　for　what　I　know；　for　she　had　no　great　
affection　for　him；　nor　he　for　her。　He　knew　nothing　of　us；　for　his　
senses　were　gone；　and　he　slumbered　on　till　next　day；　when　he　
died。　Among　the　papers　in　his　desk；　were　two；　dated　on　the　night　
his　illness　first　came　on；　directed　to　yourself；”　he　addressed　
himself　to　Mr。　Brownlow；　“and　inclosed　in　a　few　short　lines　to　you；　

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with　an　intimation　on　the　cover　of　the　package　that　it　was　not　to　be　
forwarded　till　after　he　was　dead。　One　of　these　papers　was　a　letter　
to　this　girl　Agnes；　the　other　a　will。”　

“What　of　the　letter？”　asked　Mr。　Brownlow。　

“The　letter？—A　sheet　of　paper　crossed　and　crossed　again；　with　
a　penitent　confession；　and　prayers　to　God　to　help　her。　He　had　
palmed　a　tale　on　the　girl　that　some　secret　mystery—to　be　
explained　one　day—prevented　his　marrying　her　just　then；　and　so　
she　had　gone　on；　trusting　patiently　in　him；　until　she　trusted　too　
far；　and　lost　what　none　could　ever　give　her　back。　She　was；　at　that　
time；　within　a　few　months　of　her　confinement。　He　told　her　all　he　
had　meant　to　do；　to　hide　her　shame；　if　he　had　lived；　and　prayed　
her；　if　he　died；　not　to　curse　his　memory；　or　think　the　consequences　
of　their　sin　would　be　visited　on　her　or　their　young　child；　for　all　the　
guilt　was　his。　He　reminded　her　of　the　day　he　had　given　her　the　
little　locket　and　the　ring　with　her　Christian　name　engraved　upon　
it；　and　a　blank　left　for　that　which　he　hoped　one　day　to　have　
bestowed　upon　her—prayed　her　yet　to　keep　it；　and　wear　it　next　
her　heart；　as　she　had　done　before—and　then　ran　on；　wildly；　in　the　
same　words；　over　and　over　again；　as　if　he　had　gone　distracted。　I　
believe　he　had。”　

“The　will；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　as　Oliver’s　tears　fell　fast。”　

Monks　was　silent。　

“The　will；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　speaking　for　him；　“was　in　the　
same　spirit　as　the　letter。　He　talked　of　miseries　which　his　wife　had　
brought　upon　him；　of　the　rebellious　disposition；　vice；　malice；