In the morning, Oliver would be a-foot by six o’clock,roaming the fields, and plundering the hedges,far and wide, for nosegays of wild flowers,with which he would return laden, home;and which it took great care and consideration to arrange,to the best advantage,for the embellishment of the breakfast-table.There was fresh groundsel, too,for Miss Maylie’s birds, with which Oliver,who had been studying the subject under the able tuition of the village clerk,would decorate the cages, in the most approved taste.When the birds were made all spruce and smart for the day,there was usually some little commission of charity to execute in the village;or, failing that, there was rare cricket-playing,sometimes, on the green; or, failing that,there was always something to do in the garden,or about the plants,to which Oliver (who had studied this science also,under the same master, who was a gardener by trade,) applied himself with hearty good-will,until Miss Rose made her appearance:when there were a thousand commendations to be bestowed on all he had done.
So three months glided away; three months which,in the life of the most blessed and favoured of mortals,might have been unmingled happiness, and which,in Oliver’s were true felicity.With the purest and most amiable generosity on one side;and the truest, warmest,soul-felt gratitude on the other; it is no wonder that,by the end of that short time,Oliver Twist had become completely domesticated with the old lady and her niece, and that the fervent attachment of his young and sensitive heart, was repaid by their pride in, and attachment to, himself.
CHAPTER XXXIII. WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS,EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK
Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came.If the village had been beautiful at first it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green; and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year; all things were glad and flourishing.
Still, the same quiet life went on at the little cottage,and the same cheerful serenity prevailed among its inmates.Oliver had long since grown stout and healthy;but health or sickness made no difference in his warm feelings of a great many people. He was still the same gentle, attached, affectionate creature that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength, and when he was dependent for every slight attention, and comfort on those who tended him.
One beautiful night,when they had taken a longer walk than was customary with them:for the day had been unusually warm,and there was a brilliant moon,and a light wind had sprung up,which was unusually refreshing.Rose had been in high spirits, too,and they had walked on, in merry conversation,until they had far exceeded their ordinary bounds. Mrs.Maylie being fatigued, they returned more slowly home.The young lady merely throwing off her simple bonnet,sat down to the piano as usual.After running abstractedly over the keys for a few minutes,she fell into a low and very solemn air;and as she played it,they heard a sound as if she were weeping.
“Rose, my dear!” said the elder lady.
Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker,as though the words had roused her from some painful thoughts.
“Rose, my love!” cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily,and bending over her. “What is this?In tears!My dear child, what distresses you?”
“Nothing, aunt; nothing,” replied the young lady.“I don’t know what it is; I can’t describe it; but I feel—”
“Not ill, my love?” interposed Mrs. Maylie.
“No, no!Oh, not ill!” replied Rose: shuddering as though some deadly chillness were passing over her, while she spoke; “I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray!”
Oliver hastened to comply with her request.The young lady, making an effort to recover her cheerfulness,strove to play some livelier tune;but her fingers dropped powerless over the keys.Covering her face with her hands, she sank upon a sofa,and gave vent to the tears which she was now unable to repress.
“My child!” said the elderly lady, folding her arms about her,“I never saw you so before.”
“I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,” rejoined Rose; “but indeed I have tried very hard,and cannot help this. I fear I _am_ ill, aunt.”
She was, indeed; for, when candles were brought,they saw that in the very short time which had elapsed since their return home,the hue of her countenance had changed to a marble whiteness.Its expression had lost nothing of its beauty;but it was changed;and there was an anxious haggard look about the gentle face,which it had never worn before. Another minute,and it was suffused with a crimson flush:and a heavy wildness came over the soft blue eye.Again this disappeared,like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud;and she was once more deadly pale.
Oliver, who watched the old lady anxiously,observed that she was alarmed by these appearances;and so in truth, was he;but seeing that she affected to make light of them,he endeavoured to do the same,and they so far succeeded,that when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night,she was in better spirits;and appeared even in better health:assuring them that she felt certain she should rise in the morning, quite well.
“I hope,” said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie returned,“that nothing is the matter?She don’t look well tonight, but—”
The old lady motioned to him not to speak;and sitting herself down in a dark corner of the room,remained silent for some time. At length, she said,in a trembling voice:
“I hope not, Oliver.I have been very happy with her for some years:too happy, perhaps.It may be time that I should meet with some misfortune;but I hope it is not this.”
“What?” inquired Oliver.
“The heavy blow,” said the old lady,“of losing the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness. ”
“Oh!God forbid!” exclaimed Oliver, hastily.
“Amen to that, my child!” said the old lady, wringing her hands.
“Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful?” said Oliver. “Two hours ago, she was quite well.”
“She is very ill now,” rejoined Mrs. Maylie;“and will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose!Oh, what shall I do without her!”
She gave way to such great grief, that Oliver,suppressing his own emotion,ventured to remonstrate with her; and to beg,earnestly, that, for the sake of the dear young lady herself,she would be more calm.
“And consider, ma’am,” said Oliver,as the tears forced themselves into his eyes,despite of his efforts to the contrary. “Oh!consider how young and good she is,and what pleasure and comfort she gives to all about her.I am sure—certain—quite certain—that, for your sake,who are so good yourself; and for her own;and for the sake of all she makes so happy;she will not die. Heaven will never let her die so young. ”
“Hush!” said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver’s head.“You think like a child, poor boy.But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding.I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver,but I hope I may be pardoned, for I am old,and have seen enough of illness and death to know the agony of separation from the objects of our love. I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us comfort in our sorrow; for Heaven is just; and such things teach us, impressively, that there is a brighter world than this; and that the passage to it is speedy. God’s will be done!I love her; and He knows how well!”