Oliver Twist
FATAL CONSEQUENCES
It was nearly two hours day-break; that time which in the autumn of the year, may be called the of night; when the are and deserted; when appear to slumber, and and have home to dream; it was at this still and hour, that Fagin sat in his old lair, with so and pale, and so red and blood-shot, that he looked less like a man, than like some phantom, from the grave, and by an spirit.
He sat over a cold hearth, in an old coverlet, with his a that upon a table by his side. His right hand was to his lips, and as, in thought, he his long black nails, he among his a such as should have been a dog’s or rat’s.
Stretched upon a on the floor, Noah Claypole, fast asleep. Towards him the old man sometimes his for an instant, and then them again to the candle; which with a long-burnt almost double, and in upon the table, that his were elsewhere.
Indeed they were. Mortification at the of his scheme; of the girl who had to with strangers; and of the of her to him up; at the of his on Sikes; the of detection, and ruin, and death; and a and by all; these were the which, close upon each other with and whirl, through the brain of Fagin, as every and purpose at his heart.
He sat without his in the least, or appearing to take the smallest of time, until his quick ear to be by a in the street.
“At last,” he muttered, his and mouth. “At last!”
The as he spoke. He to the door, and presently returned by a man to the chin, who a under one arm. Sitting and his coat, the man the of Sikes.
“There!” he said, the on the table. “Take of that, and do the most you can with it. It’s been trouble to get; I I should have been here, three hours ago.”
Fagin his hand upon the bundle, and locking it in the cupboard, sat again without speaking. But he did not take his off the robber, for an instant, this action; and now that they sat over against each other, to face, he looked at him, with his so violently, and his so by the which had him, that the his chair, and him with a look of affright.
“Wot now?” Sikes. “Wot do you look at a man so for?”
Fagin his right hand, and his in the air; but his was so great, that the power of speech was for the moment gone.
“Damme!” said Sikes, in his with a look of alarm. “He’s gone mad. I must look to myself here.”
“No, no,” Fagin, his voice. “It’s not—you’re not the person, Bill. I’ve no—no fault to with you.”
“Oh, you haven’t, haven’t you?” said Sikes, looking at him, and a pistol into a more pocket. “That’s lucky—for one of us. Which one that is, don’t matter.”
“I’ve got that to tell you, Bill,” said Fagin, his chair nearer, “will make you than me.”
“Aye?” returned the with an air. “Tell away! Look sharp, or Nance will think I’m lost.”
“Lost!” Fagin. “She has well settled that, in her own mind, already.”
Sikes looked with an of great into the Jew’s face, and reading no satisfactory of the there, his in his hand and him soundly.
“Speak, will you!” he said; “or if you don’t, it shall be for want of breath. Open your mouth and say you’ve got to say in plain words. Out with it, you old cur, out with it!”
“Suppose that that’s there—” Fagin began.
Sikes to where Noah was sleeping, as if he had not him. “Well!” he said, his position.
“Suppose that lad,” Fagin, “was to peach—to upon us all—first out the right for the purpose, and then having a meeting with ’em in the to paint our likenesses, every mark that they might know us by, and the where we might be most easily taken. Suppose he was to do all this, and to upon a plant we’ve all been in, more or less—of his own fancy; not grabbed, trapped, tried, by the and to it on and water,—but of his own fancy; to his own taste; out at nights to those most against us, and to them. Do you me?” the Jew, his with rage. “Suppose he did all this, what then?”
“What then!” Sikes; with a oath. “If he was left alive till I came, I’d his under the iron of my into as many as there are upon his head.”
“What if I did it!” Fagin almost in a yell. “I, that so much, and so many myself!”
“I don’t know,” Sikes, his teeth and white at the suggestion. “I’d do something in the that ’ud me put in irons; and if I was along with you, I’d upon you with them in the open court, and your out the people. I should have such strength,” the robber, his arm, “that I your as if a had gone over it.”
“You would?”
“Would I!” said the housebreaker. “Try me.”
“If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or—”
“I don’t who,” Sikes impatiently. “Whoever it was, I’d them the same.”
Fagin looked hard at the robber; and, him to be silent, over the upon the floor, and the to him. Sikes in his chair: looking on with his hands upon his knees, as if much what all this and was to end in.
“Bolter, Bolter! Poor lad!” said Fagin, looking up with an of anticipation, and speaking slowly and with marked emphasis. “He’s tired—tired with for her so long,—watching for her, Bill.”
“Wot d’ye mean?” asked Sikes, back.
Fagin no answer, but over the again, him into a posture. When his name had been times, Noah his eyes, and, a yawn, looked about him.
“Tell me that again—once again, just for him to hear,” said the Jew, pointing to Sikes as he spoke.
“Tell what?” asked the Noah, himself pettishly.
“That about— Nancy,” said Fagin, Sikes by the wrist, as if to prevent his the house he had enough. “You her?”
“Yes.”
“To London Bridge?”
“Yes.”
“Where she met two people.”
“So she did.”
“A and a lady that she had gone to of her own before, who asked her to give up all her pals, and Monks first, which she did—and to him, which she did—and to tell her what house it was that we meet at, and go to, which she did—and where it be best from, which she did—and what time the people there, which she did. She did all this. She told it all every word without a threat, without a murmur—she did—did she not?” Fagin, with fury.
“All right,” Noah, his head. “That’s just what it was!”
“What did they say, about last Sunday?”
“About last Sunday!” Noah, considering. “Why I told that before.”
“Again. Tell it again!” Fagin, his on Sikes, and his other hand aloft, as the from his lips.
“They asked her,” said Noah, who, as he more wakeful, to have a who Sikes was, “they asked her why she didn’t come, last Sunday, as she promised. She said she couldn’t.”
“Why—why? Tell him that.”
“Because she was at home by Bill, the man she had told them of before,” Noah.
“What more of him?” Fagin. “What more of the man she had told them of before? Tell him that, tell him that.”
“Why, that she couldn’t very easily out of doors unless he where she was going to,” said Noah; “and so the time she to see the lady, she—ha! ha! ha! it me laugh when she said it, that it did—she gave him a drink of laudanum.”
“Hell’s fire!” Sikes, from the Jew. “Let me go!”
Flinging the old man from him, he from the room, and darted, and furiously, up the stairs.
“Bill, Bill!” Fagin, him hastily. “A word. Only a word.”
The word would not have been exchanged, but that the was unable to open the door: on which he was and violence, when the Jew came up.
“Let me out,” said Sikes. “Don’t speak to me; it’s not safe. Let me out, I say!”
“Hear me speak a word,” Fagin, his hand upon the lock. “You won’t be—”
“Well,” the other.
“You won’t be—too—violent, Bill?”
The day was breaking, and there was light for the men to see each other’s faces. They one glance; there was a fire in the of both, which not be mistaken.
“I mean,” said Fagin, that he all was now useless, “not too for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and not too bold.”
Sikes no reply; but, open the door, of which Fagin had the lock, into the streets.
Without one pause, or moment’s consideration; without once his to the right or left, or his to the sky, or them to the ground, but looking him with resolution: his teeth so that the starting through his skin; the on his course, a word, a muscle, until he his own door. He opened it, softly, with a key; up the stairs; and entering his own room, double-locked the door, and a table against it, the of the bed.
The girl was lying, half-dressed, upon it. He had her from her sleep, for she herself with a and look.
“Get up!” said the man.
“It is you, Bill!” said the girl, with an of at his return.
“It is,” was the reply. “Get up.”
There was a burning, but the man it from the candlestick, and it under the grate. Seeing the light of early day without, the girl rose to the curtain.
“Let it be,” said Sikes, his hand her. “There’s light for I’ve got to do.”
“Bill,” said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, “why do you look like that at me!”
The sat her, for a seconds, with and breast; and then, her by the and throat, her into the middle of the room, and looking once the door, his hand upon her mouth.
“Bill, Bill!” the girl, with the of fear,—“I—I won’t or cry—not once—hear me—speak to me—tell me what I have done!”
“You know, you she devil!” returned the robber, his breath. “You were to-night; every word you said was heard.”
“Then my life for the love of Heaven, as I yours,” the girl, to him. “Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the to kill me. Oh! think of all I have up, only this one night, for you. You shall have time to think, and save this crime; I will not my hold, you cannot me off. Bill, Bill, for dear God’s sake, for your own, for mine, stop you my blood! I have been true to you, upon my I have!”
The man violently, to his arms; but those of the girl were his, and tear her as he would, he not tear them away.
“Bill,” the girl, to her upon his breast, “the and that dear lady, told me to-night of a home in some country where I end my days in and peace. Let me see them again, and them, on my knees, to the same and to you; and let us this place, and lead lives, and how we have lived, in prayers, and see each other more. It is too late to repent. They told me so—I it now—but we must have time—a little, little time!”
The one arm, and his pistol. The of if he fired, across his mind in the of his fury; and he it twice with all the he summon, upon the that almost touched his own.
She and fell: nearly with the blood that from a in her forehead; but herself, with difficulty, on her knees, from her a white handkerchief—Rose Maylie’s own—and it up, in her hands, as high Heaven as her would allow, one prayer for to her Maker.
It was a to look upon. The to the wall, and out the with his hand, a and her down.
