"Do what you like with me," said the girl, turning to the men again, "but do what I ask you first; and I ask you to give this message for God Almighty's sake." The soft-hearted cook added his intercession, and the result was that the man who had first appeared undertook its delivery. "What's it to be?" said the man, with one foot on the stairs. "That a young woman earnestly asks to speak to Miss Maylie alone,” said Nancy; and, that if the lady will only hear the first word she has to say, she will know whether to hear her business, or have her turned out of doors as an impostor." "I say," said the man, "you're coming it strong!" "You give the message," said the girl firmly, "and let me hear the answer.' 99 The man ran up stairs, and Nancy remained pale and almost breathless, listening with quivering lip to the very audible expressions of scorn, of which the chaste housemaids were very prolific; and became still more so when the man returned, and said the young woman was to walk up stairs. "It's no good being proper in this world," said the first housemaid. "Brass can do better than the gold what has stood the fire," said the second. The third contented herself with wondering "what ladies were made of;" and the fourth took the first in a quartette of 66 Shameful!" with which the Dianas concluded. Regardless of all this- for she had weightier matters at heart-Nancy followed the man with trembling limbs to a small ante-chamber, lighted by a lamp from the ceiling, in which he left her, and retired. The girl's life had been squandered in the streets, and the most noisome of the stews and dens of London, but there was something of the woman's original nature left in her still; and when she heard a light step approaching the door opposite to that by which she had entered, and thought of the wide contrast which the small room would in another moment contain, she felt burdened with the sense of her own deep shame, and shrunk as though she could scarcely bear the presence of her with whom she had sought this interview. But struggling with these better feelings was pride, the vice of the lowest and most debased creatures no less than of the high and self-assured. The misera ble companion of thieves and ruffians, the fallen outcast of low haunts, the associate of the scourings of the jails and hulks, living within the shadow of the gallows itself,-even this degraded being felt too proud to betray one feeble gleam of the womanly feeling which she thought a weakness, but which alone connected her with that humanity, of which her wasting life had obliterated all outward traces when a very child. She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the figure which presented itself was that of a slight and beautiful girl, and then bending them on the ground, tossed her head with affected carelessness as she said, "It's a hard matter to get to see you, lady. If I had taken offence, and gone away, as many would have done, you'd have been sorry for it one day, and not without reason either." "I am very sorry if any one has behaved harshly to you," replied Rose. "Do not think of it; but tell me why you wished to see me. I am the person you inquired for." The kind tone of this answer, the sweet voice, the gentle manner, the absence of any accent of haughtiness or displeasure, took the girl completely by surprise, and she burst into tears. "Oh, lady, lady!" she said, clasping her hands passionately before her face, "if there was more like you, there would be fewer like me,-there would-there would!" 66 Sit down," said Rose earnestly; "you distress me. If you are in poverty or affliction, I shall be truly happy to relieve you if I can,—I shall indeed. Sit down." "Let me stand, lady," said the girl, still weeping," and do not speak so kindly till you know me better. It is growing late. Is-is-that door shut?" "Yes," said Rose, recoiling a few steps, as if to be near assistance in case she should require it. "Why?" 66 "Because," said the girl, "I am about to put my life and the lives of others in your hands. I am the girl that dragged little Oliver back to old Fagin's, the Jew's, on the night he went out from the house in Pentonville." "You!" said Rose Maylie. "I, lady," replied the girl. "I am the infamous creature you have heard of, that lives among the thieves, and that never from the first moment I can recollect my eyes and senses opening on London streetu have known any better life, or kinder words than they have given me, so help me God! Do not mind shrinking openly from me, lady. I am younger than you would think, to look at me, but I am well used to it; the poorest women fall back as I make my way along the crowded pavement." "What dreadful things are these!" said Rose, involuntarily falling from her strange companion. "Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady," cried the girl, "that you had friends to care for and keep you in your childhood, and that you were never in the midst of cold and hunger, and riot and drunkenness, and-and something worse than all-as I have been from my cradle; I may use the word, for the alley and the gutter were mine, as they will be my death-bed." "I pity you!" said Rose in a broken voice. "It wrings my heart to hear you!" "God bless you for your goodness!" rejoined the girl. "If you knew what I am sometimes, you would pity me, indeed. But I have stolen away from those who would surely murder me if they knew I had been here to tell you what I have overheard. Do you know a man named Monks?" you out." 66 I never heard the name," said Rose. "Then he goes by some other amongst us," rejoined the girl, "which I more than thought before. Some time ago, and soon after Oliver was put in your house on the night of the robbery, 1-suspecting this man-listened to a conversation held between him and Fagin in the dark. I found out from what I heard that Monks the man I asked you about, you know-" 66 Yes," said Rose, "I understand." "That Monks," pursued the girl, "had seen him accidentally with two of our boys on the day we first lost him, and had known him directly to be the same child that he was watching for, though I couldn't make out why. A bargain was struck with Fagin, that if Oliver was got back he should have a certain sum; and he was to have more for making him a thief, which this Monks wanted for some purpose of his own." "For what purpose?" asked Rose. "He caught sight of my shadow on the wall as I listened in the hope of finding out," said the girl; "and there are not many people besides me that could have got out of their way in time to escape discovery. But I did; and I saw him no more till last night." 66 And what occurred then ?" "I'll tell you, lady. Last night he and I, wrapping myself up so that my came again. Again they went up stairs, shadow should not betray me, again listened at the door. The first words I heard Monks say were these. So, the only proofs of the boy's identity lie at the bottom of the river, and the old hag that received them from the mother is talked of his success in doing this; and rotting in her coffin.' They laughed and Monks, talking on about the boy, and getting very wild, said that though he had he'd rather have had it the other way; for, got the devil's money safely now, what a game it would have been to have brought down the boast of the father's will, by driving him through every jail in town, and then hauling him up for some capital felony, which Fagin could easily manage, after having made a good profit of him besides." young "What is all this!" said Rose. "The truth, lady, though it comes from said, with oaths common enough in my "Then he my lips," replied the girl. ears, but strangers to yours, that if he could gratify his hatred by taking the boy's life without bringing his own neck he'd be upon the watch to meet him at in danger, he would; but as he couldn't, every turn in life, and if he took advantage of his birth and history, he might harm him yet. In short, Fagin,' he says, 'Jew as you are, you never laid such snares as I'll contrive for my young brother, Oliver.'" "His brother!" exclaimed Rose, clasping her hands. "Those were his words," said Nancy, glancing uneasily round, as she had scarcely ceased to do since she began to speak, for a vision of Sikes haunted her perpetually. "And more. When he spoke of you and the other lady, and said it seemed contrived by heaven, or the devil, against him, that Oliver should come into your hands, he laughed, and said there was some comfort in that too, for how many thousands and hundreds of thousands of pounds would you not give, if you had them, to know who your twolegged spaniel was.” “You do not mean," said Rose, turning very pale, "to tell me that this was said in earnest." "He spoke in hard and angry earnest, if a man ever did," replied the girl, shaking her head. "He is an earnest man when his hatred is up. I know many who do worse things; but I'd rather listen to them all a dozen times than to that Monks once. It is growing late, and I have to reach home without suspicion of having been on such an errand as this. I must get back quickly." "But what can I do?" said Rose. "To what use can I turn this communication without you? Back! Why do you wish to return to companions you paint in such terrible colours? If you repeat this information to a gentleman whom I can summon in one instant from the next room, you can be consigned to some place of safety without half an hour's delay." 66 "I wish to go back," said the girl. "I wish to go back, because-how can I tell such things to an innocent lady like you? because among the men I have told you of, there is one the most desperate of them all that I can't leave; no- not even to be saved from the life I am leading now." Your having interfered in this dear boy's behalf before," said Rose; "your coming here at so great a risk to tell me what you have heard; your manner, which convinces me of the truth of what you say; your evident contrition, and sense of shame, all lead me to believe that you might yet be reclaimed. Oh!" said the earnest girl, folding her hands as the tears coursed down her face," do not turn a deaf ear to the entreaties of one of your own sex; the first—the first, I do believe, who ever appealed to you in the voice of pity and compassion. Do, hear my words, and let me save you yet for better things." "Lady," cried the girl, sinking on her knees, "dear, sweet, angel lady, you are the first that ever blessed me with such words as these, and if I had heard them years ago, they might have turned me from a life of sin and sorrow; but it is too late-it is too late." "It is never too late," said Rose, "for penitence and atonement.' "It is," cried the girl writhing in the agony of her mind; "I cannot leave him now 66 66 I could not be his death." Why should you be?" asked Rose. Nothing could save him," cried the girl. "If I told others what I have told you, and led to their being taken, he would be sure to die. He is the boldest, and has been so cruel." 66 Is it possible," cried Rose, "that for such a inan as this you can resign every future hope, and the certainty of immediate rescue? It is madness." "I don't know what it is," answered the girl; "I only know that it is so, and not with me alone, but with hundreds of others as bad and as wretched as myself. I must go back. Whether it is God's wrath for the wrong I have done, I do not know; but I am drawn back to him through every suffering and ill-usage, and should be I believe, if I knew that I was to die by his hand at last." 66 "What am I to do?" said Rosc. 66 I should not let you depart from me thus." You should, lady, and I know you will," rejoined the girl, rising. You will not stop my going because I have trusted in your goodness, and forced no promise from you as I might have done." "Of what use, then, is the communica tion you have made?" said Rose. "This mystery must be investigated, or how will its disclosure to me benefit Oliver, whom you are anxious to serve?" "You must have some kind gentleman about you that will hear it as a secret, and advise you what to do," rejoined the girl. "But where can I find you again when it is necessary?" asked Rose. "I do not seek to know where these dreadful people live, but where you will be walking or passing at any settled period from this time?" "Will you promise me that you will have my secret strictly kept, and come alone, or with the only other person that knows it, and that I shall not be watched or followed?" asked the girl. "I promise you solemnly," answered Rose. misery? Oh! is there no chord in your heart that I can touch is there nothing left to which I can appeal against this terrible infatuation?" "When ladies as young, and good, and beautiful as you are," replied the girl steadily, "give away your hearts, love will carry you all lengths - even such as you who have home, friends, other admirers, every thing to fill them. When such as me, who have no certain roof but the coffin-lid, and no friend in sickness or death but the hospital nurse, set our rotten hearts on any man, and let him fill the place that parents, home, and friends filled once, or that has been a blank through all our wretched lives, who can hope to cure us? Pity us, lady, -pity us for having only one feeling of the woman left, and for having that turned by a heavy judgment from a comfort and a pride into a new means of violence and suffering." "You will," said Rose, after a pause, "take some money from me, which may enable you to live without dishonesty. at all events until we meet again?" "Not a penny," replied the girl, waving her hand. "Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help you," said Rose, stepping gently forward. "I wish to serve you, indeed." "You would serve me best, lady," replied the girl, wringing her hands, "if you could take my life at once; for I have felt more grief to think of what I am tonight than I ever did before, and it would be something not to die in the same hell in which I have lived. God bless you, sweet lady, and send as much happiness on your head as I have brought shame on mine!" Thus speaking, and sobbing aloud, the unhappy creature turned away; while Rose Maylie, overpowered by this extraordinary interview, which bore more the semblance of a rapid dream than an actual occurrence, sank into a chair, and endeavoured to collect her wandering thoughts. CHAPTER THE FOURTH, Containing fresh discoveries, and showing that surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone. HER situation was indeed one of no common trial and difficulty, for while she felt the most eager and burning desire to penetrate the mystery in which Oliver's history was enveloped, she could not but hold sacred the confidence which the miserable woman with whom she had just conversed had reposed in her, as a young and guileless girl. Her words and manner had touched Rose Maylie's heart and mingled with her love for her young charge, and scarcely less intense in its truth and fervour was her fond wish to win the outcast back to repentance and hope. They only proposed remaining in Lon don three days, prior to departing for some weeks to a distant part of the coast. It was now midnight of the first day. What course of action could she determine upon which could be adopted in eight-and-forty hours? or how could she postpone the journey without exciting suspicion? Mr. Losberne was with them, and would be for the next two days; but Rose was too well acquainted with the excellent gentleman's impetuosity, and foresaw too clearly the wrath with which, in the first explosion of his indignation, he would regard the instrument of Oliver's recapture to trust him with the secret, when her representations in the girl's behalf could be seconded by no experienced person. These were all reasons for the greatest caution and the most circumspect behaviour in communicating it to Mrs. Maylie, whose first impulse would infal libly be to hold a conference with the worthy doctor on the subject. As to resorting to any legal adviser, even if she had known how to do so, it was scarcely to be thought of, for the same reasons. Once the thought occurred to her of seeking assistance from Harry; but this awakened the recollection of their last parting, and it seemed unworthy of her to call him back, when to her eyes as she pursued this train of reflection - he might have by this time learnt to forget her, and to be happier away. -the tears rose Disturbed by these different reflections, and inclining now to one course and then to another, and again recoiling from all as each successive consideration presented itself to her mind, Rose passed a sleepless and anxious night, and, after comm uning with herself next day, arrived at the desperate conclusion of consulting Harry Maylie. "If it be painful to him," she thought, "to come back here, how painful will it be to me! But perhaps he will not come; he may write, or he may come himself, and studiously abstain from meeting me ―he did when he went away. I hardly thought he would; but it was better for us both a great deal better." And here Rose dropped the pen and turned away, as though the very paper which was to be ler messenger should not see her weep. She had taken up the same pen and laid it down fifty times, and had considered and re-considered the very first line of her letter without writing the first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in the streets with Mr. Giles for a bodyguard, entered the room in such breathless haste and violent agitation, as seemed to betoken some new cause of alarm. "What makes you look so flurried?" asked Rose, advancing to meet him. "Speak to me, Oliver." "I hardly know how; I feel as if I should be choked," replied the boy. "Oh dear! to think that I should see him at last, and you should be able to know that I have told you all the truth!" 66 I never thought you had told us anything but the truth, dear," said Rose, nothing him. "But what is this? of whom do you speak?" "I have seen the gentleman," replied Oliver, scarcely able to articulate, "the gentleman who was so good to me-Mr. Brownlow, that we have so often talked about." "Where?" asked Rose. 66 Getting out of a coach," replied Oliver shedding tears of delight, "and going into a house. I didn't speak to him I couldn't speak to him, for he didn't see me, and I trembled so, that I was not able to go up to him. But Giles asked for me whether he lived there, and they said he did. Look here," said Oliver, opening a paper, "here it is; here's where he lives-I'm going there directly. Oh, dear me, dear me! what shall I do when I come to see him and hear him speak again!" With her attention not a little distracted by these and a great many other incoherent exclamations of joy, Rose read the address, which was Craven Street, in the Strand, and very soon determined upon turning the discovery to account. "Quick!" she said, "tell them to fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to go with me. I will take you there directly, without a minute's loss of time. I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for an hour, and be ready as soon as you are.' Oliver needed no prompting to despatch, and in a little more than five minutes they were on their way to Craven Street. When they arrived there, Rose left Oliver in the coach under pretence of preparing the old gentleman to receive him, and sending up her card by the servant, requested to see Mr. Brownlow on very pressing business. The servant soon returned to beg that she would walk up stairs, and, following him into an upper room, Miss Maylie was presented to an elderly gentleman of benevolent appearance, in a bottle-green coat; at no great distance from whom was seated another old gentleman, in nankeen breeches and gaiters, who did not look particularly benevolent, and was sitting with his hands clasped on the top of a thick stick, and his chin propped thereupon. "Dear me," said the gentleman in the bottle-green coat, hastily rising with great politeness, "I beg your pardon, young lady-I imagined it was some importunate person who I beg you will excuse me. Be seated, pray." "Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir?" said Rose, glancing from the other gentleman to the one who had spoken. "That is my name," said the old gentleman. "This is my friend, Mr. Grimwig. Grimwig, will you leave us for a few minutes ?" "I believe," interposed Miss Maylie, "that at this period of our interview I need not give that gentleman the trouble of going away. IfI am correctly informed, he is cognizant of the business on which I wish to speak to you." Mr. Brownlow inclined his head, and Mr. Grimwig, who had made one very stiff bow, and risen from his chair, made another very stiff bow, and dropped into it again. I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt," said Rose, naturally embarrassed; "but you once showed great benevolence and goodness to a very dear young friend of mine, and I am sure you will take an interest in hearing of him again." "Indeed!" said Mr. Brownlow. "May I ask his name?" "Oliver Twist you knew him as," replied Rose. The words no sooner escaped her lips than Mr. Grimwig, who had been affecting to dip into a large book that lay on the table, upset it with a great crash, and |