"She will be persuaded now," cried the young lady; "she hesitates, I am sure. 66 man. 66 I fear not, my dear," said the gentle No, sir, I do not," replied the girl after a short struggle. "I am chained to my old life, and loathe and hate it now, but I cannot leave it; I must have gone too far to turn back,-and yet I don't know, for if you had spoken to me so sometime ago, I should have laughed it off. But"-she said, looking hastily round -"this fear comes over me again. I must go home." "Home!" replied the young lady, with great stress upon the word. 66 Home, lady," rejoined the girl. "To such a home as I have raised for myself, with the work of my whole life. Let us part. I shall be watched, or seen. Go; go. If I have done you any service, all I ask is that you leave me, and let me go my way alone." "It is useless," said the gentleman, with a sigh. "We compromise her safety, perhaps, by staying here. We may have detained her longer than she expected, already." have." "What," cried the young lady, "can be the end of this poor creature's life!" "What!" repeated the girl. "Look before you, lady. Look at that dark water. How many times do you read of such as me who spring into the tide, and leave no living thing to care for or bewail them. It may be years hence, or it may be only months; but I shall come to that at last." "Do not speak thus, pray," returned the young lady, sobbing. "It will never reach your ears, dear lady, and God forbid such horrors should," replied the girl. "Good night, good night." The gentleman turned away. "This purse," cried the young lady, "take it for my sake, that you may have some resource in an hour of need and trouble." the apprehension of some discovery which would subject her to ill-usage and violence, seemed to determine the gentleman to leave her as she requested. The sound of retreating footsteps were audible, and the voices ceased. The two figures of the young lady and her companion soon afterwards appeared upon the bridge. They stopped at the summit of the stairs. "Hark!" cried the young lady, listening. "Did she call? I thought I heard her voice." "No, my love,” replied Mr. Brownlow, looking sadly back. "She has not moved, and will not till we are gone." Rose Maylie lingered, but the old gentleman drew her arm through his and led her with gentle force away. As they disappeared, the girl sunk down nearly at her full length upon one of the stone stairs, and vented the anguish of her heart in bitter tears. After a time she rose, and with feeble and tottering steps ascended to the street. The astonished listener remained motionless on his post for some minutes afterwards, and having ascertained with many cautious glances round him that he was again alone, crept slowly from his hidingplace and returned, stealthily and in the shade of the walk, in the same manner as he had descended. Peeping out more than once when he reached the top to make sure that he was unobserved, the spy darted away at his utmost speed, and made for the Jew's house as fast as his legs would carry him. CHAPTER THE NINTH. Fatal Consequences. It was nearly two hours before daybreak-that time, which in the autumn of the year, may be truly called the dead of night, when the streets are silent and deserted, when even sound appears to slumber, and profligacy and riot have staggered home to dream-it was at this still and silent hour that the Jew sat watching in his old lair with face so distorted and pale, and eyes so red and bloodshot, that he looked less like a man than like some hideous phantom, moist from the grave, and worried by an evil spirit. He sat crouching over a cold hearth wrapped in an old torn coverlet, with his face turned towards a wasting candle that stood upon a table by his side. His righ hand was raised to his lips, and as, absorbed in thought, he bit his long black nails, he disclosed among his toothless gums a few such fangs as should have been a dog's or rat's. Stretched upon a mattress on the floor lay Noah Claypole, fast asleep. Towards him the old man sometimes directed his eyes for an instant, then brought them back again to the candle, which, with long burnt wick drooping almost double, and hot grease falling down in clots upon the table, plainly showed that his thoughts were busy elsewhere. "Oh! you haven't, haven't you," said Sikes, looking sternly at him, and ostentatiously passing a pistol into a more convenient pocket. "That's lucky-for one of us. Which one that is don't matter." "I've got that to tell you, Bill," said the Jew, drawing his chair nearer," will make you worse than me." "Ay?" returned the robber, with an incredulous air. "Tell away. Look Indeed they were. Mortification at the overthrow of his notable scheme, hatred of the girl who had dared to palter with strangers, an utter distrust of the sincerity of her refusal to yield him up, bitter disappointment at the loss of his revenge on Sikes, the fear of detection and ruin and death, and a fierce and deadly rage kindled by all-these were the passionate considerations, that following upon each other with rapid and cease-ready." less whirl, shot through the brain of Fagin, as every evil thought and blackest purpose lay working at his heart. He sat without changing his attitude in the least, or appearing to take the smallest heed of time, until his quick ear seemed to be attracted by a footstep in the street. "At last," muttered the Jew, wiping his dry and fevered mouth. "At last.' The bell rang gently as he spoke. He crept up stairs to the door, and presently returned accompanied by a man muffled to the chin, who carried a bundle under one arm. Sitting down and throwing back his outer coat, the man displayed the burly frame of Sikes. sharp, or Nance will think I'm lost." Sikes looked with an aspect of great 66 66 'Suppose that lad that's lying there-" Fagin began. Šikes turned round to where Noah was sleeping, as if he had not previously observed him. "Well," he said, resuming his former position. 66 Suppose that lad," pursued the Jew, "There," he said, laying the bundle" was to beach-blow upon us all-first on the table. "Take care of that, and seeking out the right folks for the purdo the most you can with it. It's been pose, and then having a meeting with 'em trouble enough to get it; I thought I in the street to paint our likenesses, deshould have been here three hours ago." scribe every mark that they might know us by, and the crib where we might be most easily taken. Suppose he was to do all this, and besides, to blow upon a plant we've all been in, more or lessof his own fancy; not grabbed, trapped, tried, ear-wigged by the parson, and brought to it on bread and water, but of his own fancy, to please his own taste, stealing out at nights to find those most interested against us, and peaching to them. Do you hear me?" cried the Jew, his eyes flashing with rage. Suppose he did all this; what then?" "What then!" replied Sikes, with a tremendous oath. "If he were left alive Fagin laid his hand upon the bundle, and locking it in the cupboard, sat down again without speaking. But he did not take his eyes off the robber for an instant during this action, and now that they sat over against each other face to face, he looked fixedly at him, with his lips quivering so violently, and his face so altered by the emotions which had mastered him, that the house-breaker involuntarily drew back his chair and surveyed him with a look of real affright. "Wot now?" cried Sikes. "Wot do you look at a man so for? Speak, will vou?' 66 "A gentleman and a lady, that she had gone to of her own accord before, who asked her to give up all her pals, and Monks first, which she did-and to describe him, which she did-to tell her what house it was we meet at and go to, which she did-and where it would be best watched from, which she did-and what time the people went there, which she did. She did all this; she told it all, every word, without a threat, without a murmur-she did. Didn't she?" cried the Jew, half mad with fury. "All right," replied Noah, scratching his head. "That's just what it was. "What did they say about last Sunday?" demanded the Jew. "About last Sunday!" replied Noah, considering; "why I told you that be "You would?” "Would I!" said the housebreaker. fore." "Try me." "If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or "I don't care who," replied Sikes, impatiently. "Whoever it was, I'd serve them the same." Fagin again looked hard at the robber, and motioning him to be silent, stooped over the bed upon the floor, and shook the sleeper to rouse him. Sikes leant forward in his chair, looking on with his hands upon his knees, as if wondering much what all this questioning and preparation was to end in. "Bolter, Bolter. Poor lad!" said Fagin, looking up with an expression of devilish anticipation, and speaking slowly, and with marked emphasis. "He's tired-tired with watching for her so long -watching for her, Bill." "Wot d'ye mean?" asked Sikes, draw ing back. The Jew made no answer, but bending over the sleeper again, hauled him into a sitting position. When his assumed name had been repeated several times, Noah rubbed his eyes, and giving a heavy yawn, looked sleepily about him. "Tell me that again-once again; just for him to hear," said the Jew, pointing to Sikes as he spoke. "Tell yer what?" asked the sleepy Noah, shaking himself pettishly. "That about NANCY," said the Jew, clutching Sikes by the wrist, as if to prevent his leaving the house before he had heard enough. "You followed her?" "Yes." "To London Bridge?" "Yes." 66 Again-tell it again," cried Fagin, tightening his grasp on Siker, and brandishing his other hand aloft, as the foam flew from his lips. 66 They asked her," said Noah, who, as he grew more wakeful, seemed to have a dawning perception who Sikes was,— "they asked her why she didn't come last Sunday, as she promised? She said she couldn't." " 66 Why, why?" interrupted the Jew triumphantly. "Tell him that." "Because she was forcibly kept at home by Bill, the man she had told them of before," replied Noah. "What more of him?" cried the Jew. "What more of the man she had told them of before? Tell him that, tell him that." 66 Why, that she couldn't very easily get out of doors unless he knew where she was going to," said Noah; "and so the first time she went to see the lady, she-ha! ha! ha! it made me laugh when she said it-that it did-she gave him a drink of laudanum !" 66 Hell's fire!" cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from the Jew. "Let me go!" Flinging the old man from him, he rushed from the room, and darted wildly and furiously up the stairs. 66 Bill, Bill!" cried the Jew, following him hastily. "A word-only a word." The word would not have been exchanged, but that the housebreaker was unable to open the door, on which he was expending fruitless oaths and violence when the Jew came panting 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," rejoined the Jew, laying his hand upon the lock. with the strength of mortal fear, "1"You won't be 66 Well," replied the other. -won't scream or cry-not once-hear me-speak to me-tell me what I have "You won't be-too-violent, Bill?" done." whined the Jew. The day was breaking, and there was light enough for the men to see each 'other's faces. They exchanged one brief glance; there was a fire in the eyes of both which could not be mistaken. "I mean," said Fagin, showing that he felt all disguise was now useless-"not too violent for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and not too bold." Sikes made no reply; but, pulling open the door of which the Jew had turned the lock, dashed into the silent streets. Without one pause or moment's consideration, without once turning his head to the right or left, or raising his eyes to the sky, or lowering them to the ground, but looking straight before him with savage resolution, his teeth so tightly compressed, that the strained jaw seemed starting through his skin, the robber held on his headlong course, nor muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he reached his own door. He opened it softly with a key, strode lightly up the stairs, and entering his own room, doublelocked the door, and lifting a heavy table against it, drew back the curtain of the bed. The girl was lying half-dressed upon it. He had roused her from her sleep, for she raised herself with a hurried and startled look. "Get up," said the man. "It is you, Bill!" cried the girl, with an expression of pleasure at his re turn. "It is," was the reply. "Get up." There was a candle burning, but the man hastily drew it from the candlestick and hurled it under the grate. Seeing the faint light of early day without, the girl rose to undraw the curtain. "Let it be," said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. "There's light enough for what I've got to do." "Bill," said the girl, in the low voice of alarm. 66 Why do you look like that at me?" The robber sat regarding her for a few seconds with dilated nostrils and heaving breast, and then grasping her by the head and throat, dragged her into the middle of the room, and looking once towards the door, placed his heavy hand upon her mouth. 16 Bill, Bill," gasped the girl, wrestling "You know, you she-devil," returned the robber, suppressing his breath. "You were watched to-night; and every word you said was heard." "Then spare my life, for the love of Heaven, as I spared yours," rejoined the girl, clinging to him. Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the heart to kill me. Oh! think of all I have given up this one night for you. You shall have time to think and save yourself this crime; I will not loose my hold, you cannot throw me off. Bill, Bill, for dear God's sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my blood. I have been true to you, upon my guilty soul I have." The man struggled violently to release his arms, but those of the girl were clasped round his, and tear her as he would, he could not tear them away. 66 Bill," cried the girl, striving to lay her head upon his breast, "the gentleman and that dear lady told me to-night of a home in some foreign country, where I could end my days in solitude and peace. Let me see them again, and beg them on my knees to show the same mercy and goodness to you, and let us both leave this dreadful place, and, far apart, lead better lives, and forget how we have lived, except in prayers, and never see each other more. It is never too late to repent. They told me so; I feel it now; but we must have time-a little, little time!" The housebreaker freed one arm, and grasped his pistol. The certainty of immediate detection if he fired, flashed across his mind, even in the midst of his fury, and he beat it twice, with all the force he could summon, upon the upturned face that almost touched his own. She staggered and fell, nearly blinded with the blood that rained down from a deep gash in her forehead, but raising herself with difficulty on her knees, drew from her bosom a white handkerchiefRose Maylie's own-and holding it up in her folded hands as high towards heaven as her feeble strength would let her, breathed one prayer for mercy to her Maker. It was a ghastly figure to look upon. The murderer, staggering backward to the wall, and shutting out the sight with his hand, seized a heavy club and struck her down. CHAPTER THE TENTH. The flight of Sikes. Or all bad deeds that, under cover of the darkness, had been committed within wide London's bounds since night hung over it, that was the worst. Of all the horrors that rose with an ill scent upon the morning air, that was the foulest and most cruel. The sun-the bright sun, that brings back not light alone, but new life and hope and freshness to man,-burst upon the crowded city in clear and radiant glory. Through costly coloured glass and paper-mended window, through cathedral dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray. It lighted up the room where the murdered woman lay. It did. He tried to shut it out, but it would stream in. If the sight had been a ghastly one in the dull morning, what was it now in all that brilliant light? He had not moved: he had been afraid to stir. There had been a moan and motion of the hand; and, with terror added to hate, he had struck and struck again. Once he threw a rug over it—but it was worse to fancy the eyes and imagine them moving towards him, than to see them glaring upwards, as if watching the reflection of the pool of gore, that quivered and danced in the sunlight on the ceiling. He had plucked it off again. And there was the body-mere flesh and blood, no more-but such flesh and such blood! He struck a light, kindled a fire, and thrust the club into it. There was human hair upon the end which blazed, and shrunk into a light cinder, and, caught by the air, whirled up the chimney. Even that frightened him, sturdy as he was, but he held the weapon till it broke, and then piled it on the coals to burn away and smoulder into ashes. He washed himself and rubbed his clothes; there were spots that would not be removed, but he cut the pieces out and burnt them. How those stains were dispersed about the room! The very feet of the dog were bloody. All this time he had never once turned his back upon the corpse; no, not for a moment. Such preparations completed, he moved backwards towards the door, dragging the dog with him, lest he should carry out new evidences of the crime into the streets. He shut it softly, locked it, took the key, and left the house. He crossed over, and glanced up at the window, to be sure that nothing was visible from the outside. There was the cur tain still drawn which she would have opened to admit the light she never saw again. It lay nearly under there. He knew that. God! how the sun poured down upon the very spot! The glance was instantaneous. It was a relief to have got free of the room. He whistled on the dog, and walked rapidly away. He went through Islington, strode up the hill at Highgate, on which stands the stone in honour of Whittington; turned down to Highgate Hill, unsteady of purpose, and uncertain where to go; struck off to the right again almost as soon as he began to descend it, and taking the footpath across the fields, skirted Carn Wood, and came out on Hampstead Heath. Traversing the hollow by the Vale of Health, he mounted the opposite bank, and crossing the road which joins the villages of Hampstead and Highgate, made along the remaining portion of the Heath to the Fields at North End, in one of which he laid himself down under a hedge and slept. Soon he was up again and away,-not far into the country, but back towards London by the High Road-then back again-then over another part of the same ground as he had already traversed-then wandering up and down in fields, and lying on ditches' banks to rest, and starting up to make for some other spot and do the same, and ramble on again. Where could he go to, that was near, and not too public, to get some meat and drink? Hendon. That was a good place, not far off, and out of most people's way. Thither he directed his stepsrunning sometimes, and sometimes with a strange perversity loitering at a snail's pace, or stopping altogether, and idly breaking the hedges with his stick. But when he got there, all the people he met -the very children at the doors-seemed to view him with suspicion. Back he turned again, without the courage to purchase a bit or drop, though he had tasted no food for many hours; and once more he lingered on the heath uncertain where to go. He wandered over miles and miles of ground, and still came back to the old place; morning and noon had passed, and the day was on the wane, and still he rambled to and fro, and up and down, and round and round, and still lingered about the same spot. At last he got away, and shaped his course to Hatfield. It was nine o'clock at night when the man quite tired out, and the dog limping |