Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he put his hat on the floor, and taking a chair,motioned to Duff to do the same. The latter gentleman,who did not appear quite so much accustomed to good society,or quite so much at his ease in it—one of the two—seated himself,after undergoing several muscular affections of the limbs,and the head of his stick into his mouth, with some embarrassment.
“Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,” said Blathers. “What are the circumstances?”
Mr. Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining time, recounted them at great length,and with much circumlocution. Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked very knowing meanwhile, and occasionally exchanged a nod.
“I can’t say, for certain, till I see the work, of course,” said Blathers;“but my opinion at once is,—I don’t mind committing myself to that extent,—that this wasn’t done by a yokel; eh, Duff?”
“Certainly not,” replied Duff.
“And, translating the word yokel for the benefit of the ladies, I apprehend your meaning to be,that this attempt was not made by a countryman?” said Mr. Losberne, with a smile.
“That’s it, master,” replied Blathers. “This is all about the robbery, is it?”
“All,” replied the doctor.
“Now, what is this, about this here boy that the servants are a-talking on?” said Blathers.
“Nothing at all,” replied the doctor. “One of the frightened servants chose to take it into his head,that he had something to do with this attempt to break into the house; but it’s nonsense: sheer absurdity.”
“Wery easy disposed of, if it is,” remarked Duff.
“What he says is quite correct,” observed Blathers, nodding his head in a confirmatory way,and playing carelessly with the handcuffs, as if they were a pair of castanets. “Who is the boy?What account does he give of himself?Where did he come from?He didn’t drop out of the clouds, did he, master?”
“Of course not,” replied the doctor, with a nervous glance at the two ladies.“I know his whole history: but we can talk about that presently. You would like, first,to see the place where the thieves made their attempt, I suppose?”
“Certainly,” rejoined Mr. Blathers. “We had better inspect the premises first,and examine the servants afterwards. That’s the usual way of doing business.”
Lights were then procured; and Messrs. Blathers and Duff, attended by the native constable,Brittles, Giles, and everybody else in short,went into the little room at the end of the passage and looked out at the window;and afterwards went round by way of the lawn, and looked in at the window; and after that,had a candle handed out to inspect the shutter with; and after that,a lantern to trace the footsteps with; and after that, a pitchfork to poke the bushes with.This done, amidst the breathless interest of all beholders, they came in again; and Mr.Giles and Brittles were put through a melodramatic representation of their share in the previous night’s adventures:which they performed some six times over: contradicting each other,in not more than one important respect, the first time, and in not more than a dozen the last.This consummation being arrived at, Blathers and Duff cleared the room,and held a long council together, compared with which, for secrecy and solemnity,a consultation of great doctors on the knottiest point in medicine, would be mere child’s play.
Meanwhile, the doctor walked up and down the next room in a very uneasy state; and Mrs.Maylie and Rose looked on, with anxious faces.
“Upon my word,” he said, making a halt, after a great number of very rapid turns, “I hardly know what to do.”
“Surely,” said Rose, “the poor child’s story, faithfully repeated to these men, will be sufficient to exonerate him.”
“I doubt it, my dear young lady,” said the doctor, shaking his head.“I don’t think it would exonerate him, either with them,or with legal functionaries of a higher grade. What is he, after all, they would say?A runaway. Judged by mere worldly considerations and probabilities, his story is a very doubtful one.”
“You believe it, surely?” interrupted Rose.
“_I_ believe it, strange as it is; and perhaps I may be an old fool for doing so,” rejoined the doctor; “but I don’t think it is exactly the tale for a practical police-officer, nevertheless.”
“Why not?” demanded Rose.
“Because, my pretty cross-examiner,” replied the doctor: “because, viewed with their eyes,there are many ugly points about it; he can only prove the parts that look ill,and none of those that look well. Confound the fellows, they _will_ have the why and the wherefore,and will take nothing for granted. On his own showing, you see,he has been the companion of thieves for some time past; he has been carried to a police-officer,on a charge of picking a gentleman’s pocket; he has been taken away, forcibly,from that gentleman’s house, to a place which he cannot describe or point out,and of the situation of which he has not the remotest idea. He is brought down to Chertsey,by men who seem to have taken a violent fancy to him, whether he will or no;and is put through a window to rob a house; and then,just at the very moment when he is going to alarm the inmates,and so do the very thing that would set him all to rights, there rushes into the way,a blundering dog of a half-bred butler, and shoots him!As if on purpose to prevent his doing any good for himself!Don’t you see all this?”
“I see it, of course,” replied Rose, smiling at the doctor’s impetuosity;“but still I do not see anything in it, to criminate the poor child.”
“No,” replied the doctor; “of course not!Bless the bright eyes of your sex!They never see, whether for good or bad, more than one side of any question; and that is, always,the one which first presents itself to them.”
Having given vent to this result of experience, the doctor put his hands into his pockets,and walked up and down the room with even greater rapidity than before.
“The more I think of it,” said the doctor,“the more I see that it will occasion endless trouble and difficulty if we put these men in possession of the boy’s real story.I am certain it will not be believed; and even if they can do nothing to him in the end,still the dragging it forward, and giving publicity to all the doubts that will be cast upon it,must interfere, materially, with your benevolent plan of rescuing him from misery.”
“Oh!what is to be done?” cried Rose. “Dear, dear!why did they send for these people?”
“Why, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Maylie. “I would not have had them here, for the world.”
“All I know is,” said Mr. Losberne, at last: sitting down with a kind of desperate calmness,“that we must try and carry it off with a bold face. The object is a good one,and that must be our excuse. The boy has strong symptoms of fever upon him,and is in no condition to be talked to any more; that’s one comfort. We must make the best of it;and if bad be the best, it is no fault of ours. Come in!”
“Well, master,” said Blathers, entering the room followed by his colleague,and making the door fast, before he said any more. “This warn’t a put-up thing.”
“And what the devil’s a put-up thing?” demanded the doctor, impatiently.
“We call it a put-up robbery, ladies,” said Blathers, turning to them,as if he pitied their ignorance, but had a contempt for the doctor’s, “when the servants is in it.”
“Nobody suspected them, in this case,” said Mrs. Maylie.
“Wery likely not, ma’am,” replied Blathers; “but they might have been in it, for all that.”
“More likely on that wery account,” said Duff.
“We find it was a town hand,” said Blathers, continuing his report; “for the style of work is first-rate.”
“Wery pretty indeed it is,” remarked Duff, in an undertone.
“There was two of ’em in it,” continued Blathers; “and they had a boy with ’em;that’s plain from the size of the window. That’s all to be said at present.We’ll see this lad that you’ve got upstairs at once, if you please.”
“Perhaps they will take something to drink first, Mrs. Maylie?” said the doctor: his face brightening, as if some new thought had occurred to him.
“Oh!to be sure!” exclaimed Rose, eagerly. “You shall have it immediately, if you will.”
“Why, thank you, miss!” said Blathers, drawing his coat-sleeve across his mouth; “it’s dry work, this sort of duty.Anythink that’s handy, miss; don’t put yourself out of the way, on our accounts.”
“What shall it be?” asked the doctor, following the young lady to the sideboard.
“A little drop of spirits, master, if it’s all the same,” replied Blathers.“It’s a cold ride from London, ma’am; and I always find that spirits comes home warmer to the feelings. ”
This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. Maylie, who received it very graciously.While it was being conveyed to her, the doctor slipped out of the room.
“Ah!” said Mr. Blathers: not holding his wine-glass by the stem,but grasping the bottom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand:and placing it in front of his chest; “I have seen a good many pieces of business like this, in my time, ladies.”
“That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blathers,” said Mr. Duff, assisting his colleague’s memory.
“That was something in this way, warn’t it?” rejoined Mr. Blathers; “that was done by Conkey Chickweed, that was.”
“You always gave that to him” replied Duff. “It was the Family Pet, I tell you.Conkey hadn’t any more to do with it than I had.”
“Get out!” retorted Mr. Blathers; “I know better. Do you mind that time when Conkey was robbed of his money, though?What a start that was!Better than any novel-book _I_ ever see!”
“What was that?” inquired Rose: anxious to encourage any symptoms of good-humour in the unwelcome visitors.
“It was a robbery, miss, that hardly anybody would have been down upon,” said Blathers. “This here Conkey Chickweed—”
“Conkey means Nosey, ma’am,” interposed Duff.
“Of course the lady knows that, don’t she?” demanded Mr. Blathers. “Always interrupting, you are, partner!This here Conkey Chickweed, miss, kept a public-house over Battlebridge way, and he had a cellar,where a good many young lords went to see cock-fighting, and badger-drawing, and that;and a wery intellectual manner the sports was conducted in, for I’ve seen ’em off’en.He warn’t one of the family, at that time;and one night he was robbed of three hundred and twenty-seven guineas in a canvas bag,that was stole out of his bedroom in the dead of night,by a tall man with a black patch over his eye, who had concealed himself under the bed,and after committing the robbery, jumped slap out of window: which was only a story high.He was wery quick about it. But Conkey was quick, too; for he fired a blunderbuss arter him,and roused the neighbourhood. They set up a hue-and-cry, directly,and when they came to look about ’em, found that Conkey had hit the robber;for there was traces of blood, all the way to some palings a good distance off;and there they lost ’em. However, he had made off with the blunt; and, consequently,the name of Mr. Chickweed, licensed witler, appeared in the Gazette among the other bankrupts;and all manner of benefits and subscriptions, and I don’t know what all,was got up for the poor man, who was in a wery low state of mind about his loss,and went up and down the streets, for three or four days,a pulling his hair off in such a desperate manner that many people was afraid he might be going to make away with himself.One day he came up to the office, all in a hurry, and had a private interview with the magistrate,who, after a deal of talk, rings the bell, and orders Jem Spyers in (Jem was a active officer),and tells him to go and assist Mr. Chickweed in apprehending the man as robbed his house.‘I see him, Spyers,’ said Chickweed, ‘pass my house yesterday morning,’ ‘Why didn’t you up, and collar him!’ says Spyers. ‘I was so struck all of a heap,that you might have fractured my skull with a toothpick,’ says the poor man;‘but we’re sure to have him; for between ten and eleven o’clock at night he passed again.’ Spyers no sooner heard this, than he put some clean linen and a comb, in his pocket,in case he should have to stop a day or two; and away he goes,and sets himself down at one of the public-house windows behind the little red curtain,with his hat on, all ready to bolt out, at a moment’s notice. He was smoking his pipe here,late at night, when all of a sudden Chickweed roars out, ‘Here he is!Stop thief!Murder!’ Jem Spyers dashes out; and there he sees Chickweed, a-tearing down the street full cry.Away goes Spyers; on goes Chickweed; round turns the people; everybody roars out, ‘Thieves!’ and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting, all the time, like mad.Spyers loses sight of him a minute as he turns a corner; shoots round; sees a little crowd; dives in; ‘Which is the man?’ ‘D—me!’ says Chickweed, ‘I’ve lost him again!’ It was a remarkable occurrence, but he warn’t to be seen nowhere,so they went back to the public-house. Next morning, Spyers took his old place, and looked out,from behind the curtain, for a tall man with a black patch over his eye,till his own two eyes ached again. At last, he couldn’t help shutting ’em, to ease ’em a minute;and the very moment he did so, he hears Chickweed a-roaring out, ‘Here he is!’ Off he starts once more, with Chickweed half-way down the street ahead of him;and after twice as long a run as the yesterday’s one, the man’s lost again!This was done, once or twice more, till one-half the neighbours gave out that Mr.Chickweed had been robbed by the devil, who was playing tricks with him arterwards;and the other half, that poor Mr. Chickweed had gone mad with grief.”
“What did Jem Spyers say?” inquired the doctor; who had returned to the room shortly after the commencement of the story.
“Jem Spyers,” resumed the officer, “for a long time said nothing at all,and listened to everything without seeming to, which showed he understood his business. But,one morning, he walked into the bar, and taking out his snuffbox, says ‘Chickweed,I’ve found out who done this here robbery.’ ‘Have you?’ said Chickweed. ‘Oh, my dear Spyers, only let me have wengeance, and I shall die contented!Oh, my dear Spyers, where is the villain!’ ‘Come!’ said Spyers, offering him a pinch of snuff, ‘none of that gammon!You did it yourself.’ So he had; and a good bit of money he had made by it, too;and nobody would never have found it out,if he hadn’t been so precious anxious to keep up appearances!” said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and clinking the handcuffs together.
“Very curious, indeed,” observed the doctor. “Now, if you please, you can walk upstairs.”
“If _you_ please, sir,” returned Mr. Blathers. Closely following Mr. Losberne,the two officers ascended to Oliver’s bedroom; Mr. Giles preceding the party, with a lighted candle.
Oliver had been dozing; but looked worse, and was more feverish than he had appeared yet.Being assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in bed for a minute or so;and looked at the strangers without at all understanding what was going forward—in fact,without seeming to recollect where he was, or what had been passing.
“This,” said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but with great vehemence notwithstanding,“this is the lad, who, being accidently wounded by a spring-gun in some boyish trespass on Mr.What-d’ ye-call-him’s grounds, at the back here, comes to the house for assistance this morning,and is immediately laid hold of and maltreated,by that ingenious gentleman with the candle in his hand:who has placed his life in considerable danger, as I can professionally certify.”
Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was thus recommended to their notice.The bewildered butler gazed from them towards Oliver, and from Oliver towards Mr. Losberne,with a most ludicrous mixture of fear and perplexity.
“You don’t mean to deny that, I suppose?” said the doctor, laying Oliver gently down again.
“It was all done for the—for the best, sir,” answered Giles. “I am sure I thought it was the boy,or I wouldn’t have meddled with him. I am not of an inhuman disposition, sir.”
“Thought it was what boy?” inquired the senior officer.
“The housebreaker’s boy, sir!” replied Giles. “They—they certainly had a boy.”
“Well?Do you think so now?” inquired Blathers.
“Think what, now?” replied Giles, looking vacantly at his questioner.
“Think it’s the same boy, Stupid-head?” rejoined Blathers, impatiently.
“I don’t know; I really don’t know,” said Giles, with a rueful countenance. “I couldn’t swear to him.”
“What do you think?” asked Mr. Blathers.
“I don’t know what to think,” replied poor Giles. “I don’t think it is the boy; indeed,I’m almost certain that it isn’t. You know it can’t be.”
“Has this man been a-drinking, sir?” inquired Blathers, turning to the doctor.
“What a precious muddle-headed chap you are!” said Duff, addressing Mr. Giles, with supreme contempt.
Mr. Losberne had been feeling the patient’s pulse during this short dialogue;but he now rose from the chair by the bedside, and remarked,that if the officers had any doubts upon the subject,they would perhaps like to step into the next room, and have Brittles before them.
Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a neighbouring apartment, where Mr. Brittles,being called in, involved himself and his respected superior in such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions and impossibilities,as tended to throw no particular light on anything, but the fact of his own strong mystification;except, indeed, his declarations that he shouldn’t know the real boy,if he were put before him that instant; that he had only taken Oliver to be he, because Mr.Giles had said he was; and that Mr. Giles had, five minutes previously, admitted in the kitchen,that he began to be very much afraid he had been a little too hasty.
Among other ingenious surmises, the question was then raised, whether Mr.Giles had really hit anybody; and upon examination of the fellow pistol to that which he had fired,it turned out to have no more destructive loading than gunpowder and brown paper:a discovery which made a considerable impression on everybody but the doctor,who had drawn the ball about ten minutes before. Upon no one, however,did it make a greater impression than on Mr. Giles himself; who, after labouring, for some hours,under the fear of having mortally wounded a fellow-creature, eagerly caught at this new idea,and favoured it to the utmost. Finally, the officers,without troubling themselves very much about Oliver, left the Chertsey constable in the house,and took up their rest for that night in the town; promising to return the next morning.
With the next morning, there came a rumour, that two men and a boy were in the cage at Kingston,who had been apprehended over night under suspicious circumstances; and to Kingston Messrs.Blathers and Duff journeyed accordingly. The suspicious circumstances, however,resolving themselves, on investigation, into the one fact,that they had been discovered sleeping under a haystack; which, although a great crime,is only punishable by imprisonment, and is, in the merciful eye of the English law,and its comprehensive love of all the King’s subjects, held to be no satisfactory proof,in the absence of all other evidence, that the sleeper, or sleepers,have committed burglary accompanied with violence,and have therefore rendered themselves liable to the punishment of death; Messrs.Blathers and Duff came back again, as wise as they went.
In short, after some more examination, and a great deal more conversation,a neighbouring magistrate was readily induced to take the joint bail of Mrs. Maylie and Mr.Losberne for Oliver’s appearance if he should ever be called upon; and Blathers and Duff,being rewarded with a couple of guineas,returned to town with divided opinions on the subject of their expedition:the latter gentleman on a mature consideration of all the circumstances,inclining to the belief that the burglarious attempt had originated with the Family Pet;and the former being equally disposed to concede the full merit of it to the great Mr. Conkey Chickweed.
Meanwhile, Oliver gradually throve and prospered under the united care of Mrs. Maylie, Rose,and the kind-hearted Mr. Losberne. If fervent prayers,gushing from hearts overcharged with gratitude, be heard in heaven—and if they be not, what prayers are!—the blessings which the orphan child called down upon them, sunk into their souls, diffusing peace and happiness.
CHAPTER XXXII. OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS
Oliver’s ailings were neither slight nor few.In addition to the pain and delay attendant on a broken limb,his exposure to the wet and cold had brought on fever and ague:which hung about him for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. But, at length, he began,by slow degrees, to get better, and to be able to say sometimes, in a few tearful words,how deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies,and how ardently he hoped that when he grew strong and well again,he could do something to show his gratitude; only something,which would let them see the love and duty with which his breast was full; something,however slight, which would prove to them that their gentle kindness had not been cast away;but that the poor boy whom their charity had rescued from misery, or death,was eager to serve them with his whole heart and soul.
“Poor fellow!” said Rose, when Oliver had been one day feebly endeavouring to utter the words of thankfulness that rose to his pale lips;“you shall have many opportunities of serving us, if you will. We are going into the country,and my aunt intends that you shall accompany us. The quiet place, the pure air,and all the pleasure and beauties of spring, will restore you in a few days.We will employ you in a hundred ways, when you can bear the trouble.”
“The trouble!” cried Oliver. “Oh!dear lady, if I could but work for you; if I could only give you pleasure by watering your flowers,or watching your birds, or running up and down the whole day long, to make you happy; what would I give to do it!”
“You shall give nothing at all,” said Miss Maylie, smiling; “for, as I told you before,we shall employ you in a hundred ways; and if you only take half the trouble to please us,that you promise now, you will make me very happy indeed.”
“Happy, ma’am!” cried Oliver; “how kind of you to say so!”
“You will make me happier than I can tell you,” replied the young lady.“To think that my dear good aunt should have been the means of rescuing any one from such sad misery as you have described to us,would be an unspeakable pleasure to me;but to know that the object of her goodness and compassion was sincerely grateful and attached,in consequence, would delight me, more than you can well imagine. Do you understand me?” she inquired, watching Oliver’s thoughtful face.
“Oh yes, ma’am, yes!” replied Oliver eagerly; “but I was thinking that I am ungrateful now.”
“To whom?” inquired the young lady.
“To the kind gentleman, and the dear old nurse, who took so much care of me before,” rejoined Oliver. “If they knew how happy I am, they would be pleased, I am sure.”
“I am sure they would,” rejoined Oliver’s benefactress; “and Mr.Losberne has already been kind enough to promise that when you are well enough to bear the journey, he will carry you to see them.”
“Has he, ma’am?” cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure.“I don’t know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once again!”
In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of this expedition.One morning he and Mr. Losberne set out, accordingly, in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs.Maylie. When they came to Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a loud exclamation.
“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried the doctor, as usual, all in a bustle. “Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?”
“That, sir,” cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window. “That house!”
“Yes; well, what of it?Stop coachman. Pull up here,” cried the doctor. “What of the house, my man; eh?”
“The thieves—the house they took me to!” whispered Oliver.
“The devil it is!” cried the doctor. “Hallo, there!let me out!”
But, before the coachman could dismount from his box, he had tumbled out of the coach,by some means or other; and, running down to the deserted tenement,began kicking at the door like a madman.
“Halloa?” said a little ugly hump-backed man: opening the door so suddenly, that the doctor,from the very impetus of his last kick, nearly fell forward into the passage. “What’s the matter here?”
“Matter!” exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment’s reflection. “A good deal. Robbery is the matter.”
“There’ll be Murder the matter, too,” replied the hump-backed man, coolly,“if you don’t take your hands off. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake.
“Where’s—confound the fellow, what’s his rascally name—Sikes; that’s it. Where’s Sikes, you thief?”
The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amazement and indignation; then, twisting himself,dexterously, from the doctor’s grasp, growled forth a volley of horrid oaths,and retired into the house. Before he could shut the door, however,the doctor had passed into the parlour, without a word of parley.
He looked anxiously round; not an article of furniture; not a vestige of anything,animate or inanimate; not even the position of the cupboards; answered Oliver’s description!
“Now!” said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, “what do you mean by coming into my house, in this violent way?Do you want to rob me, or to murder me?Which is it?”
“Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot and pair, you ridiculous old vampire?” said the irritable doctor.
“What do you want, then?” demanded the hunchback. “Will you take yourself off, before I do you a mischief?Curse you!”
“As soon as I think proper,” said Mr. Losberne, looking into the other parlour; which,like the first, bore no resemblance whatever to Oliver’s account of it. “I shall find you out, some day, my friend.”
“Will you?” sneered the ill-favoured cripple. “If you ever want me, I’m here.I haven’t lived here mad and all alone, for five-and-twenty years, to be scared by you.You shall pay for this; you shall pay for this.” And so saying,the mis-shapen little demon set up a yell, and danced upon the ground, as if wild with rage.
“Stupid enough, this,” muttered the doctor to himself; “the boy must have made a mistake. Here!Put that in your pocket, and shut yourself up again.” With these words he flung the hunchback a piece of money, and returned to the carriage.
The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wildest imprecations and curses all the way;but as Mr. Losberne turned to speak to the driver, he looked into the carriage,and eyed Oliver for an instant with a glance so sharp and fierce and at the same time so furious and vindictive,that, waking or sleeping, he could not forget it for months afterwards.He continued to utter the most fearful imprecations, until the driver had resumed his seat;and when they were once more on their way, they could see him some distance behind:beating his feet upon the ground, and tearing his hair, in transports of real or pretended rage.
“I am an ass!” said the doctor, after a long silence. “Did you know that before, Oliver?”
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t forget it another time.”
“An ass,” said the doctor again, after a further silence of some minutes.“Even if it had been the right place, and the right fellows had been there, what could I have done, single-handed?And if I had had assistance, I see no good that I should have done,except leading to my own exposure, and an unavoidable statement of the manner in which I have hushed up this business.That would have served me right, though. I am always involving myself in some scrape or other,by acting on impulse. It might have done me good.”
Now, the fact was that the excellent doctor had never acted upon anything but impulse all through his life,and it was no bad compliment to the nature of the impulses which governed him,that so far from being involved in any peculiar troubles or misfortunes,he had the warmest respect and esteem of all who knew him. If the truth must be told,he was a little out of temper, for a minute or two,at being disappointed in procuring corroborative evidence of Oliver’s story on the very first occasion on which he had a chance of obtaining any.He soon came round again, however; and finding that Oliver’s replies to his questions,were still as straightforward and consistent,and still delivered with as much apparent sincerity and truth, as they had ever been,he made up his mind to attach full credence to them, from that time forth.
As Oliver knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brownlow resided,they were enabled to drive straight thither. When the coach turned into it,his heart beat so violently, that he could scarcely draw his breath.
“Now, my boy, which house is it?” inquired Mr. Losberne.
“That!That!” replied Oliver, pointing eagerly out of the window. “The white house. Oh!make haste!Pray make haste!I feel as if I should die: it makes me tremble so.”
“Come, come!” said the good doctor, patting him on the shoulder. “You will see them directly,and they will be overjoyed to find you safe and well.”
“Oh!I hope so!” cried Oliver. “They were so good to me; so very, very good to me.”
The coach rolled on. It stopped. No; that was the wrong house; the next door.It went on a few paces, and stopped again. Oliver looked up at the windows,with tears of happy expectation coursing down his face.