With many loquacious assurances that they would be agreeably
surprised in the aspect of the criminal, the doctor drew the young
lady’s arm through one of his; and offering his disengaged hand to
Mrs. Maylie, led them, with much ceremony and stateliness, upstairs.
‘Now,’ said the doctor, in a whisper, as he softly turned the handle
of a bedroom-door, ‘let us hear what you think of him. He has
not been shaved very recently, but he don’t look at all ferocious
notwithstanding. Stop, though! Let me first see that he is in
visiting order.’
Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning them to
advance, he closed the door when they had entered; and gently
drew back the curtains of the bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged,
black-visaged ruffian they had expected to behold, there lay a mere
child: worn with pain and exhaustion, and sunk into a deep sleep.
His wounded arm, bound and splintered up, was crossed upon his
breast; his head reclined upon the other arm, which was half hidden
by his long hair, as it streamed over the pillow.
The honest gentleman held the curtain in his hand, and looked on,
for a minute or so, in silence. Whilst he was watching the patient
thus, the younger lady glided softly past, and seating herself in a
chair by the bedside, gathered Oliver’s hair from his face. As she
stooped over him, her tears fell upon his forehead.
The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of
pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and
affection he had never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the
rippling of water in a silent place, or the odour of a flower, or
the mention of a familiar word, will sometimes call up sudden dim
remembrances of scenes that never were, in this life; which vanish
like a breath; which some brief memory of a happier existence, long
gone by, would seem to have awakened; which no voluntary exertion of
the mind can ever recall.
‘What can this mean?’ exclaimed the elder lady. ‘This poor child can
never have been the pupil of robbers!’
‘Vice,’ said the surgeon, replacing the curtain, ‘takes up her
abode in many temples; and who can say that a fair outside shell not
enshrine her?’
‘But at so early an age!’ urged Rose.
‘My dear young lady,’ rejoined the surgeon, mournfully shaking his
head; ‘crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered
alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims.’
‘But, can you--oh! can you really believe that this delicate boy has
been the voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society?’ said
Rose.
The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated that he
feared it was very possible; and observing that they might disturb
the patient, led the way into an adjoining apartment.
‘But even if he has been wicked,’ pursued Rose, ‘think how young
he is; think that he may never have known a mother’s love, or the
comfort of a home; that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread,
may have driven him to herd with men who have forced him to guilt.
Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy’s sake, think of this, before you let
them drag this sick child to a prison, which in any case must be the
grave of all his chances of amendment. Oh! as you love me, and know
that I have never felt the want of parents in your goodness and
affection, but that I might have done so, and might have been
equally helpless and unprotected with this poor child, have pity
upon him before it is too late!’
‘My dear love,’ said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping girl
to her bosom, ‘do you think I would harm a hair of his head?’
‘Oh, no!’ replied Rose, eagerly.
‘No, surely,’ said the old lady; ‘my days are drawing to their
close: and may mercy be shown to me as I show it to others! What can
I do to save him, sir?’
‘Let me think, ma’am,’ said the doctor; ‘let me think.’
Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took several
turns up and down the room; often stopping, and balancing himself
on his toes, and frowning frightfully. After various exclamations of
‘I’ve got it now’ and ‘no, I haven’t,’ and as many renewals of the
walking and frowning, he at length made a dead halt, and spoke as
follows:
‘I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully
Giles, and that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a
faithful fellow and an old servant, I know; but you can make it up
to him in a thousand ways, and reward him for being such a good shot
besides. You don’t object to that?’
‘Unless there is some other way of preserving the child,’ replied
Mrs. Maylie.
‘There is no other,’ said the doctor. ‘No other, take my word for
it.’
‘Then my aunt invests you with full power,’ said Rose, smiling
through her tears; ‘but pray don’t be harder upon the poor fellows
than is indispensably necessary.’
‘You seem to think,’ retorted the doctor, ‘that everybody is
disposed to be hard-hearted to-day, except yourself, Miss Rose. I
only hope, for the sake of the rising male sex generally, that you
may be found in as vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by the first
eligible young fellow who appeals to your compassion; and I wish I
were a young fellow, that I might avail myself, on the spot, of such
a favourable opportunity for doing so, as the present.’
‘You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,’ returned Rose,
blushing.
‘Well,’ said the doctor, laughing heartily, ‘that is no very
difficult matter. But to return to this boy. The great point of our
agreement is yet to come. He will wake in an hour or so, I dare
say; and although I have told that thick-headed constable-fellow
downstairs that he musn’t be moved or spoken to, on peril of his
life, I think we may converse with him without danger. Now I make
this stipulation--that I shall examine him in your presence,
and that, if, from what he says, we judge, and I can show to the
satisfaction of your cool reason, that he is a real and thorough
bad one (which is more than possible), he shall be left to his fate,
without any farther interference on my part, at all events.’
‘Oh no, aunt!’ entreated Rose.
‘Oh yes, aunt!’ said the doctor. ‘Is is a bargain?’
‘He cannot be hardened in vice,’ said Rose; ‘It is impossible.’
‘Very good,’ retorted the doctor; ‘then so much the more reason for
acceding to my proposition.’
Finally the treaty was entered into; and the parties thereunto sat
down to wait, with some impatience, until Oliver should awake.
The patience of the two ladies was destined to undergo a longer
trial than Mr. Losberne had led them to expect; for hour after
hour passed on, and still Oliver slumbered heavily. It was
evening, indeed, before the kind-hearted doctor brought them the
intelligence, that he was at length sufficiently restored to be
spoken to. The boy was very ill, he said, and weak from the loss
of blood; but his mind was so troubled with anxiety to disclose
something, that he deemed it better to give him the opportunity,
than to insist upon his remaining quiet until next morning: which he
should otherwise have done.
The conference was a long one. Oliver told them all his simple
history, and was often compelled to stop, by pain and want of
strength. It was a solemn thing, to hear, in the darkened room, the
feeble voice of the sick child recounting a weary catalogue of evils
and calamities which hard men had brought upon him. Oh! if when we
oppress and grind our fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought
on the dark evidences of human error, which, like dense and heavy
clouds, are rising, slowly it is true, but not less surely, to
Heaven, to pour their after-vengeance on our heads; if we heard
but one instant, in imagination, the deep testimony of dead men’s
voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride shut out; where
would be the injury and injustice, the suffering, misery, cruelty,
and wrong, that each day’s life brings with it!
Oliver’s pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that night; and
loveliness and virtue watched him as he slept. He felt calm and
happy, and could have died without a murmur.
The momentous interview was no sooner concluded, and Oliver
composed to rest again, than the doctor, after wiping his eyes,
and condemning them for being weak all at once, betook himself
downstairs to open upon Mr. Giles. And finding nobody about the
parlours, it occurred to him, that he could perhaps originate the
proceedings with better effect in the kitchen; so into the kitchen
he went.
There were assembled, in that lower house of the domestic
parliament, the women-servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, the tinker
(who had received a special invitation to regale himself for the
remainder of the day, in consideration of his services), and the
constable. The latter gentleman had a large staff, a large head,
large features, and large half-boots; and he looked as if he had
been taking a proportionate allowance of ale--as indeed he had.
The adventures of the previous night were still under discussion;
for Mr. Giles was expatiating upon his presence of mind, when the
doctor entered; Mr. Brittles, with a mug of ale in his hand, was
corroborating everything, before his superior said it.
‘Sit still!’ said the doctor, waving his hand.
‘Thank you, sir, said Mr. Giles. ‘Misses wished some ale to be given
out, sir; and as I felt no ways inclined for my own little room,
sir, and was disposed for company, I am taking mine among ‘em here.’
Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and gentlemen
generally were understood to express the gratification they derived
from Mr. Giles’s condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a
patronising air, as much as to say that so long as they behaved
properly, he would never desert them.
‘How is the patient to-night, sir?’ asked Giles.
‘So-so’; returned the doctor. ‘I am afraid you have got yourself
into a scrape there, Mr. Giles.’
‘I hope you don’t mean to say, sir,’ said Mr. Giles, trembling,
‘that he’s going to die. If I thought it, I should never be happy
again. I wouldn’t cut a boy off: no, not even Brittles here; not for
all the plate in the county, sir.’
‘That’s not the point,’ said the doctor, mysteriously. ‘Mr. Giles,
are you a Protestant?’
‘Yes, sir, I hope so,’ faltered Mr. Giles, who had turned very pale.
‘And what are _you_, boy?’ said the doctor, turning sharply upon
Brittles.
‘Lord bless me, sir!’ replied Brittles, starting violently; ‘I’m the
same as Mr. Giles, sir.’
‘Then tell me this,’ said the doctor, ‘both of you, both of you! Are
you going to take upon yourselves to swear, that that boy upstairs
is the boy that was put through the little window last night? Out
with it! Come! We are prepared for you!’
The doctor, who was universally considered one of the best-tempered
creatures on earth, made this demand in such a dreadful tone of
anger, that Giles and Brittles, who were considerably muddled by ale
and excitement, stared at each other in a state of stupefaction.
‘Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you?’ said the doctor,
shaking his forefinger with great solemnity of manner, and tapping
the bridge of his nose with it, to bespeak the exercise of that
worthy’s utmost acuteness. ‘Something may come of this before long.’
The constable looked as wise as he could, and took up his staff of
office: which had been reclining indolently in the chimney-corner.
‘It’s a simple question of identity, you will observe,’ said the
doctor.
‘That’s what it is, sir,’ replied the constable, coughing with great
violence; for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and some of it had
gone the wrong way.
‘Here’s the house broken into,’ said the doctor, ‘and a couple of
men catch one moment’s glimpse of a boy, in the midst of gunpowder
smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here’s
a boy comes to that very same house, next morning, and because he
happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon
him--by doing which, they place his life in great danger--and
swear he is the thief. Now, the question is, whether these men
are justified by the fact; if not, in what situation do they place
themselves?’
The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if that wasn’t law, he
would be glad to know what was.
‘I ask you again,’ thundered the doctor, ‘are you, on your solemn
oaths, able to identify that boy?’
Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles; Mr. Giles looked doubtfully
at Brittles; the constable put his hand behind his ear, to catch the
reply; the two women and the tinker leaned forward to listen; the
doctor glanced keenly round; when a ring was heard at the gate, and
at the same moment, the sound of wheels.
‘It’s the runners!’ cried Brittles, to all appearance much relieved.
‘The what?’ exclaimed the doctor, aghast in his turn.
‘The Bow Street officers, sir,’ replied Brittles, taking up a
candle; ‘me and Mr. Giles sent for ‘em this morning.’
‘What?’ cried the doctor.
‘Yes,’ replied Brittles; ‘I sent a message up by the coachman, and I
only wonder they weren’t here before, sir.’
‘You did, did you? Then confound your--slow coaches down here;
that’s all,’ said the doctor, walking away.