“Why, we can’t afford to do that just now, my dear,” replied the Jew, smiling; “and, besides,that sort of thing is not in our way; or, one of these days, I might be glad to have it done.I know what these girls are, Monks, well. As soon as the boy begins to harden,she’ll care no more for him, than for a block of wood. You want him made a thief. If he is alive,I can make him one from this time; and, if—if—” said the Jew, drawing nearer to the other,—“it’s not likely, mind,—but if the worst comes to the worst, and he is dead—”
“It’s no fault of mine if he is!” interposed the other man, with a look of terror, and clasping the Jew’s arm with trembling hands. “Mind that. Fagin!I had no hand in it. Anything but his death, I told you from the first. I won’t shed blood;it’s always found out, and haunts a man besides. If they shot him dead, I was not the cause; do you hear me?Fire this infernal den!What’s that?”
“What!” cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body, with both arms, as he sprung to his feet. “Where?”
“Yonder!” replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. “The shadow!I saw the shadow of a woman, in a cloak and bonnet, pass along the wainscot like a breath!”
The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from the room. The candle,wasted by the draught, was standing where it had been placed.It showed them only the empty staircase, and their own white faces. They listened intently:a profound silence reigned throughout the house.
“It’s your fancy,” said the Jew, taking up the light and turning to his companion.
“I’ll swear I saw it!” replied Monks, trembling. “It was bending forward when I saw it first; and when I spoke, it darted away.”
The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate, and, telling him he could follow,if he pleased, ascended the stairs. They looked into all the rooms; they were cold, bare,and empty. They descended into the passage, and thence into the cellars below.The green damp hung upon the low walls;the tracks of the snail and slug glistened in the light of the candle; but all was still as death.
“What do you think now?” said the Jew, when they had regained the passage. “Besides ourselves,there’s not a creature in the house except Toby and the boys; and they’re safe enough. See here!”
As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his pocket; and explained,that when he first went downstairs, he had locked them in,to prevent any intrusion on the conference.
This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks.His protestations had gradually become less and less vehement as they proceeded in their search without making any discovery;and, now, he gave vent to several very grim laughs,and confessed it could only have been his excited imagination.He declined any renewal of the conversation, however, for that night:suddenly remembering that it was past one o’clock. And so the amiable couple parted.
CHAPTER XXVII. ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY
As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author to keep so mighty a personage as a beadle waiting,with his back to the fire, and the skirts of his coat gathered up under his arms,until such time as it might suit his pleasure to relieve him;and as it would still less become his station,or his gallantry to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom that beadle had looked with an eye of tenderness and affection,and in whose ear he had whispered sweet words, which, coming from such a quarter,might well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of whatsoever degree;the historian whose pen traces these words—trusting that he knows his place,and that he entertains a becoming reverence for those upon earth to whom high and important authority is delegated—hastens to pay them that respect which their position demands, and to treat them with all that duteous ceremony which their exalted rank, and (by consequence) great virtues, imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end, indeed, he had purposed to introduce, in this place, a dissertation touching the divine right of beadles, and elucidative of the position, that a beadle can do no wrong: which could not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable to the right-minded reader but which he is unfortunately compelled, by want of time and space, to postpone to some more convenient and fitting opportunity; on the arrival of which, he will be prepared to show, that a beadle properly constituted: that is to say, a parochial beadle, attached to a parochial workhouse, and attending in his official capacity the parochial church: is, in right and virtue of his office, possessed of all the excellences and best qualities of humanity; and that to none of those excellences, can mere companies’ beadles, or court-of-law beadles, or even chapel-of-ease beadles (save the last, and they in a very lowly and inferior degree), lay the remotest sustainable claim.
Mr. Bumble had re-counted the teaspoons, re-weighed the sugar-tongs,made a closer inspection of the milk-pot,and ascertained to a nicety the exact condition of the furniture,down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs;and had repeated each process full half a dozen times;before he began to think that it was time for Mrs. Corney to return. Thinking begets thinking;as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corney’s approach, it occured to Mr.Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending the time,if he were further to allay his curiousity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney’s chest of drawers.
Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was approaching the chamber, Mr.Bumble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded to make himself acquainted with the contents of the three long drawers:which, being filled with various garments of good fashion and texture,carefully preserved between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with dried lavender:seemed to yield him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, in course of time,at the right-hand corner drawer (in which was the key),and beholding therein a small padlocked box, which, being shaken, gave forth a pleasant sound,as of the chinking of coin, Mr. Bumble returned with a stately walk to the fireplace; and,resuming his old attitude, said, with a grave and determined air, “I’ll do it!” He followed up this remarkable declaration,by shaking his head in a waggish manner for ten minutes,as though he were remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant dog; and then,he took a view of his legs in profile, with much seeming pleasure and interest.
He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs. Corney, hurrying into the room,threw herself, in a breathless state, on a chair by the fireside,and covering her eyes with one hand, placed the other over her heart, and gasped for breath.
“Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, “what is this, ma’am?Has anything happened, ma’am?Pray answer me: I’m on—on—” Mr. Bumble, in his alarm,could not immediately think of the word “tenterhooks,” so he said “broken bottles.”
“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” cried the lady, “I have been so dreadfully put out!”
“Put out, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble; “who has dared to—?I know!” said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty, “this is them wicious paupers!”
“It’s dreadful to think of!” said the lady, shuddering.
“Then _don’t_ think of it, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble.
“I can’t help it,” whimpered the lady.
“Then take something, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble soothingly. “A little of the wine?”
“Not for the world!” replied Mrs. Corney. “I couldn’t,—oh!The top shelf in the right-hand corner—oh!” Uttering these words, the good lady pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard,and underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet; and,snatching a pint green-glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indicated,filled a tea-cup with its contents, and held it to the lady’s lips.
“I’m better now,” said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking half of it.
Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness; and,bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose.
“Peppermint,” exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling gently on the beadle as she spoke. “Try it!There’s a little—a little something else in it.”
Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his lips; took another taste; and put the cup down empty.
“It’s very comforting,” said Mrs. Corney.
“Very much so indeed, ma’am,” said the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a chair beside the matron,and tenderly inquired what had happened to distress her.
“Nothing,” replied Mrs. Corney. “I am a foolish, excitable, weak creetur.”
“Not weak, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a little closer. “Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?”
“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mrs. Corney, laying down a general principle.
“So we are,” said the beadle.
Nothing was said on either side, for a minute or two afterwards. By the expiration of that time, Mr.Bumble had illustrated the position by removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney’s chair,where it had previously rested, to Mrs. Corney’s apron-string,round which it gradually became entwined.
“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mr. Bumble.
Mrs. Corney sighed.
“Don’t sigh, Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble.
“I can’t help it,” said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again.
“This is a very comfortable room, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble looking round. “Another room, and this, ma’am, would be a complete thing.”
“It would be too much for one,” murmured the lady.
“But not for two, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents. “Eh, Mrs. Corney?”
Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the beadle drooped his,to get a view of Mrs. Corney’s face. Mrs. Corney, with great propriety, turned her head away,and released her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble.
“The board allows you coals, don’t they, Mrs. Corney?” inquired the beadle, affectionately pressing her hand.
“And candles,” replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the pressure.
“Coals, candles, and house-rent free,” said Mr. Bumble. “Oh, Mrs. Corney, what an Angel you are!”
The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr. Bumble’s arms;and that gentleman in his agitation, imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose.
“Such porochial perfection!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously. “You know that Mr. Slout is worse tonight, my fascinator?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully.
“He can’t live a week, the doctor says,” pursued Mr. Bumble.“He is the master of this establishment; his death will cause a wacancy;that wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a prospect this opens!What a opportunity for a jining of hearts and housekeepings!”
Mrs. Corney sobbed.
“The little word?” said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. “The one little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?”
“Ye—ye—yes!” sighed out the matron.
“One more,” pursued the beadle; “compose your darling feelings for only one more. When is it to come off?”
Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length summoning up courage,she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble’s neck, and said, it might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was “a irresistible duck.”
Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged,the contract was solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the peppermint mixture;which was rendered the more necessary, by the flutter and agitation of the lady’s spirits.While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman’s decease.
“Very good,” said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; “I’ll call at Sowerberry’s as I go home,and tell him to send tomorrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?”
“It wasn’t anything particular, dear,” said the lady evasively.
“It must have been something, love,” urged Mr. Bumble. “Won’t you tell your own B.?”
“Not now,” rejoined the lady; “one of these days. After we’re married, dear.”
“After we’re married!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble. “It wasn’t any impudence from any of them male paupers as—”
“No, no, love!” interposed the lady, hastily.
“If I thought it was,” continued Mr. Bumble;“if I thought as any one of ’em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance—”
“They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,” responded the lady.
“They had better not!” said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. “Let me see any man, porochial or extra-porochial,as would presume to do it; and I can tell him that he wouldn’t do it a second time!”
Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation,this might have seemed no very high compliment to the lady’s charms; but, as Mr.Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures,she was much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested, with great admiration, that he was indeed a dove.
The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked hat; and,having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner,once again braved the cold wind of the night: merely pausing, for a few minutes,in the male paupers’ ward, to abuse them a little,with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of workhouse-master with needful acerbity.Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart,and bright visions of his future promotion:which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the undertaker.
Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper:and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining through the glass-window of the little parlour at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and when he saw what was going forward, he was not a little surprised.
The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread and butter, plates and glasses;a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. At the upper end of the table, Mr.Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of the arms:an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other.Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel: which Mr.Claypole condescended to swallow, with remarkable avidity.A more than ordinary redness in the region of the young gentleman’s nose,and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated;these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish with which he took his oysters,for which nothing but a strong appreciation of their cooling properties,in cases of internal fever, could have sufficiently accounted.
“Here’s a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!” said Charlotte; “try him, do; only this one.”
“What a delicious thing is a oyster!” remarked Mr. Claypole, after he had swallowed it. “What a pity it is,a number of ’em should ever make you feel uncomfortable; isn’t it, Charlotte?”
“It’s quite a cruelty,” said Charlotte.
“So it is,” acquiesced Mr. Claypole. “An’t yer fond of oysters?”
“Not overmuch,” replied Charlotte. “I like to see you eat ’em, Noah dear, better than eating ’em myself.”
“Lor!” said Noah, reflectively; “how queer!”
“Have another,” said Charlotte. “Here’s one with such a beautiful, delicate beard!”
“I can’t manage any more,” said Noah. “I’m very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I’ll kiss yer.”
“What!” said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. “Say that again, sir.”
Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr. Claypole,without making any further change in his position than suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror.
“Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!” said Mr. Bumble. “How dare you mention such a thing, sir?And how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx?Kiss her!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. “Faugh!”
“I didn’t mean to do it!” said Noah, blubbering. “She’s always a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.”
“Oh, Noah,” cried Charlotte, reproachfully.
“Yer are; yer know yer are!” retorted Noah. “She’s always a-doin’ of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please, sir; and makes all manner of love!”
“Silence!” cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. “Take yourself downstairs, ma’am. Noah, you shut up the shop;say another word till your master comes home, at your peril; and, when he does come home,tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old woman’s shell after breakfast tomorrow morning. Do you hear sir?Kissing!” cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands.“The sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful!If Parliament don’t take their abominable courses under consideration, this country’s ruined,and the character of the peasantry gone for ever!” With these words, the beadle strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker’s premises.
And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home,and have made all necessary preparations for the old woman’s funeral,let us set on foot a few inquires after young Oliver Twist,and ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackit left him.
CHAPTER XXVIII. LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
“Wolves tear your throats!” muttered Sikes, grinding his teeth. “I wish I was among some of you; you’d howl the hoarser for it.”
As Sikes growled forth this imprecation,with the most desperate ferocity that his desperate nature was capable of,he rested the body of the wounded boy across his bended knee; and turned his head, for an instant, to look back at his pursuers.
There was little to be made out, in the mist and darkness;but the loud shouting of men vibrated through the air, and the barking of the neighbouring dogs,roused by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded in every direction.
“Stop, you white-livered hound!” cried the robber, shouting after Toby Crackit, who, making the best use of his long legs, was already ahead. “Stop!”
The repetition of the word, brought Toby to a dead stand-still.For he was not quite satisfied that he was beyond the range of pistol-shot;and Sikes was in no mood to be played with.
“Bear a hand with the boy,” cried Sikes, beckoning furiously to his confederate. “Come back!”
Toby made a show of returning; but ventured, in a low voice, broken for want of breath,to intimate considerable reluctance as he came slowly along.
“Quicker!” cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and drawing a pistol from his pocket. “Don’t play booty with me.”
At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes, again looking round,could discern that the men who had given chase were already climbing the gate of the field in which he stood;and that a couple of dogs were some paces in advance of them.
“It’s all up, Bill!” cried Toby; “drop the kid, and show ’em your heels.” With this parting advice, Mr. Crackit,preferring the chance of being shot by his friend, to the certainty of being taken by his enemies,fairly turned tail, and darted off at full speed. Sikes clenched his teeth; took one look around;threw over the prostrate form of Oliver, the cape in which he had been hurriedly muffled;ran along the front of the hedge, as if to distract the attention of those behind,from the spot where the boy lay; paused, for a second,before another hedge which met it at right angles; and whirling his pistol high into the air, cleared it at a bound, and was gone.
“Ho, ho, there!” cried a tremulous voice in the rear. “Pincher!Neptune!Come here, come here!”
The dogs, who, in common with their masters,seemed to have no particular relish for the sport in which they were engaged,readily answered to the command. Three men,who had by this time advanced some distance into the field, stopped to take counsel together.
“My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my _orders_, is,” said the fattest man of the party, “that we ’mediately go home again.”
“I am agreeable to anything which is agreeable to Mr. Giles,” said a shorter man;who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very pale in the face, and very polite: as frightened men frequently are.
“I shouldn’t wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen,” said the third, who had called the dogs back, “Mr. Giles ought to know.”
“Certainly,” replied the shorter man; “and whatever Mr. Giles says,it isn’t our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation!Thank my stars, I know my sitiwation.” To tell the truth,the little man _did_ seem to know his situation,and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a desirable one;for his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke.
“You are afraid, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles.
“I an’t,” said Brittles.
“You are,” said Giles.
“You’re a falsehood, Mr. Giles,” said Brittles.
“You’re a lie, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles.
Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles’s taunt; and Mr.Giles’s taunt had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of going home again,imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The third man brought the dispute to a close, most philosophically.
“I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “we’re all afraid.”
“Speak for yourself, sir,” said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the party.
“So I do,” replied the man. “It’s natural and proper to be afraid, under such circumstances. I am.”
“So am I,” said Brittles; “only there’s no call to tell a man he is, so bounceably.”
These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that _he_ was afraid; upon which,they all three faced about, and ran back again with the completest unanimity, until Mr.Giles (who had the shortest wind of the party,as was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely insisted on stopping,to make an apology for his hastiness of speech.
“But it’s wonderful,” said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, “what a man will do,when his blood is up. I should have committed murder—I know I should—if we’d caught one of them rascals. ”
As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment; and as their blood, like his,had all gone down again; some speculation ensued upon the cause of this sudden change in their temperament.
“I know what it was,” said Mr. Giles; “it was the gate.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if it was,” exclaimed Brittles, catching at the idea.
“You may depend upon it,” said Giles, “that that gate stopped the flow of the excitement.I felt all mine suddenly going away, as I was climbing over it.”
By a remarkable coincidence, the other two had been visited with the same unpleasant sensation at that precise moment.It was quite obvious, therefore, that it was the gate;especially as there was no doubt regarding the time at which the change had taken place,because all three remembered that they had come in sight of the robbers at the instant of its occurance.
This dialogue was held between the two men who had surprised the burglars,and a travelling tinker who had been sleeping in an outhouse, and who had been roused,together with his two mongrel curs, to join in the pursuit. Mr.Giles acted in the double capacity of butler and steward to the old lady of the mansion;Brittles was a lad of all-work: who, having entered her service a mere child,was treated as a promising young boy still, though he was something past thirty.
Encouraging each other with such converse as this; but, keeping very close together,notwithstanding, and looking apprehensively round,whenever a fresh gust rattled through the boughs; the three men hurried back to a tree,behind which they had left their lantern,lest its light should inform the thieves in what direction to fire. Catching up the light,they made the best of their way home, at a good round trot;and long after their dusky forms had ceased to be discernible,the light might have been seen twinkling and dancing in the distance,like some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmosphere through which it was swiftly borne.
The air grew colder, as day came slowly on;and the mist rolled along the ground like a dense cloud of smoke. The grass was wet; the pathways,and low places, were all mire and water; the damp breath of an unwholesome wind went languidly by,with a hollow moaning. Still, Oliver lay motionless and insensible on the spot where Sikes had left him.
Morning drew on apace. The air became more sharp and piercing,as its first dull hue—the death of night,rather than the birth of day—glimmered faintly in the sky.The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the darkness, grew more and more defined,and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast,and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. But, Oliver felt it not, as it beat against him;for he still lay stretched, helpless and unconscious, on his bed of clay.
At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed; and uttering it, the boy awoke.His left arm, rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and useless at his side;the bandage was saturated with blood. He was so weak,that he could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture; when he had done so,he looked feebly round for help, and groaned with pain. Trembling in every joint,from cold and exhaustion, he made an effort to stand upright; but, shuddering from head to foot, fell prostrate on the ground.
After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long plunged, Oliver:urged by a creeping sickness at his heart, which seemed to warn him that if he lay there,he must surely die: got upon his feet, and essayed to walk. His head was dizzy,and he staggered to and fro like a drunken man. But he kept up, nevertheless, and,with his head drooping languidly on his breast, went stumbling onward, he knew not whither.
And now, hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came crowding on his mind.He seemed to be still walking between Sikes and Crackit,who were angrily disputing—for the very words they said, sounded in his ears;and when he caught his own attention, as it were,by making some violent effort to save himself from falling, he found that he was talking to them.Then, he was alone with Sikes, plodding on as on the previous day;and as shadowy people passed them, he felt the robber’s grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly,he started back at the report of firearms; there rose into the air, loud cries and shouts;lights gleamed before his eyes; all was noise and tumult,as some unseen hand bore him hurriedly away. Through all these rapid visions,there ran an undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain, which wearied and tormented him incessantly.
Thus he staggered on, creeping, almost mechanically, between the bars of gates,or through hedge-gaps as they came in his way, until he reached a road.Here the rain began to fall so heavily, that it roused him.
He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there was a house, which perhaps he could reach.Pitying his condition, they might have compassion on him; and if they did not, it would be better,he thought, to die near human beings, than in the lonely open fields.He summoned up all his strength for one last trial, and bent his faltering steps towards it.
As he drew nearer to this house, a feeling come over him that he had seen it before.He remembered nothing of its details; but the shape and aspect of the building seemed familiar to him.
That garden wall!On the grass inside, he had fallen on his knees last night, and prayed the two men’s mercy.It was the very house they had attempted to rob.
Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognised the place, that, for the instant,he forgot the agony of his wound, and thought only of flight. Flight!He could scarcely stand: and if he were in full possession of all the best powers of his slight and youthful frame, whither could he fly?He pushed against the garden-gate; it was unlocked, and swung open on its hinges.He tottered across the lawn; climbed the steps; knocked faintly at the door; and,his whole strength failing him, sunk down against one of the pillars of the little portico.
It happened that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brittles, and the tinker, were recruiting themselves,after the fatigues and terrors of the night, with tea and sundries, in the kitchen.Not that it was Mr. Giles’s habit to admit to too great familiarity the humbler servants:towards whom it was rather his wont to deport himself with a lofty affability, which,while it gratified, could not fail to remind them of his superior position in society. But, death,fires, and burglary, make all men equals; so Mr.Giles sat with his legs stretched out before the kitchen fender, leaning his left arm on the table,while, with his right, he illustrated a circumstantial and minute account of the robbery,to which his hearers (but especially the cook and housemaid,who were of the party) listened with breathless interest.
“It was about half-past two,” said Mr. Giles,“or I wouldn’t swear that it mightn’t have been a little nearer three, when I woke up, and,turning round in my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles turned round in his chair,and pulled the corner of the table-cloth over him to imitate bed-clothes, ) I fancied I heerd a noise.”
At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale, and asked the housemaid to shut the door:who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, who pretended not to hear.