Chapter 1

WHEN Oliver awoke in the morning he was a good deal surprised to find
that a new pair of shoes with strong thick soles had been placed at
his bedside, and that his old ones had been removed. At first he was
pleased with the discovery, hoping that it might be the forerunner of
his release; but such thoughts were quickly dispelled on his sitting
down to breakfast alone with the Jew, who told him, in a tone and
manner which increased his alarm, that he was to be taken to the
residence of Bill Sikes that night.

“To—to—stop there, sir?” asked Oliver, anxiously.

“No, no, my dear, not to stop there,” replied the Jew. “We shouldn’t
like to lose you. Don’t be afraid, Oliver, you shall come back to us
again. Ha! ha! ha! We wont be so cruel as to send you away, my dear. Oh
no, no!”

The old man, who was stooping over the fire toasting a piece of bread,
looked round as he bantered Oliver thus, and chuckled as if to shew
that he knew he would still be very glad to get away if he could.

“I suppose,” said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oliver, “you want to know
what you’re going to Bill’s for—eh, my dear?”

Oliver coloured involuntarily to find that the old thief had been
reading his thoughts; but boldly said, “Yes, he did want to know.”

“Why, do you think?” inquired Fagin, parrying the question.

“Indeed I don’t know, sir,” replied Oliver.

“Bah!” said the Jew, turning away with a disappointed countenance from
a close perusal of the boy’s face. “Wait till Bill tells you, then.”

The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver’s not expressing any greater
curiosity on the subject; but the truth is, that, although he felt very
anxious, he was too much confused by the earnest cunning of Fagin’s
looks, and his own speculations, to make any further inquiries just
then. He had no other opportunity; for the Jew remained very surly and
silent till night, when he prepared to go abroad.

“You may burn a candle,” said the Jew, putting one upon the table; “and
here’s a book for you to read till they come to fetch you. Good night!”

“Good night, sir!” replied Oliver, softly.

The Jew walked to the door, looking over his shoulder at the boy as he
went, and, suddenly stopping, called him by his name.

Oliver looked up; the Jew, pointing to the candle, motioned him to
light it. He did so; and, as he placed the candlestick upon the table,
saw that the Jew was gazing fixedly at him with lowering and contracted
brows from the dark end of the room.

“Take heed, Oliver! take heed!” said the old man, shaking his right
hand before him in a warning manner. “He’s a rough man, and thinks
nothing of blood when his own is up. Whatever falls out, say nothing,
and do what he bids you. Mind!” Placing a strong emphasis on the last
word, he suffered his features gradually to resolve themselves into a
ghastly grin; and, nodding his head, left the room.

Oliver leant his head upon his hand when the old man disappeared, and
pondered with a trembling heart on the words he had just heard. The
more he thought of the Jew’s admonition, the more he was at a loss to
divine its real purpose and meaning. He could think of no bad object
to be attained by sending him to Sikes which would not be equally
well answered by his remaining with Fagin; and after meditating for
a long time, concluded that he had been selected to perform some
ordinary menial offices for the housebreaker, until another boy better
suited for his purpose could be engaged. He was too well accustomed
to suffering, and had suffered too much where he was, to bewail the
prospect of a change very severely. He remained lost in thought for
some minutes, and then with a heavy sigh snuffed the candle, and taking
up the book which the Jew had left with him, began to read.

He turned over the leaves carelessly at first, but, lighting on a
passage which attracted his attention, soon became intent upon the
volume. It was a history of the lives and trials of great criminals,
and the pages were soiled and thumbed with use. Here, he read of
dreadful crimes that make the blood run cold; of secret murders that
had been committed by the lonely wayside, and bodies hidden from the
eye of man in deep pits and wells, which would not keep them down, deep
as they were, but had yielded them up at last, after many years, and so
maddened the murderers with the sight, that in their horror they had
confessed their guilt, and yelled for the gibbet to end their agony.
Here, too, he read of men who, lying in their beds at dead of night,
had been tempted and led on by their own bad thoughts to such dreadful
bloodshed as it made the flesh creep and the limbs quail to think of.
The terrible descriptions were so real and vivid, that the sallow pages
seemed to turn red with gore, and the words upon them to be sounded in
his ears as if they were whispered in hollow murmurs by the spirits of
the dead.

In a paroxysm of fear the boy closed the book and thrust it from him.
Then, falling upon his knees, he prayed Heaven to spare him from such
deeds, and rather to will that he should die at once, than be reserved
for crimes so fearful and appalling. By degrees he grew more calm, and
besought in a low and broken voice that he might be rescued from his
present dangers, and that if any aid were to be raised up for a poor
outcast boy, who had never known the love of friends or kindred, it
might come to him now, when, desolate and deserted, he stood alone in
the midst of wickedness and guilt.

He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his head buried in
his hands, when a rustling noise aroused him.

“What’s that!” he cried, starting up, and catching sight of a figure
standing by the door. “Who’s there?”

“Me—only me,” replied a tremulous voice.

Oliver raised the candle above his head, and looked towards the door.
It was Nancy.

“Put down the light,” said the girl, turning away her head; “it hurts
my eyes.”

Oliver saw that she was very pale, and gently inquired if she were ill.
The girl threw herself into a chair, with her back towards him, and
wrung her hands; but made no reply.

“God forgive me!” she cried after a while, “I never thought of all
this.”

“Has anything happened?” asked Oliver, “Can I help you? I will if I
can; I will, indeed.”

She rocked herself to and fro, caught her throat, and, uttering a
gurgling sound, struggled and gasped for breath.

“Nancy!” cried Oliver, greatly alarmed, “What is it?”

The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her feet upon the ground,
and, suddenly stopping, drew her shawl close round her, and shivered
with cold.

Oliver stirred the fire. Drawing her chair close to it, she sat there
for a little time without speaking, but at length she raised her head,
and looked round.

“I don’t know what comes over me sometimes,” said the girl, affecting
to busy herself in arranging her dress; “it’s this damp, dirty room, I
think. Now, Nolly, dear, are you ready?”

“Am I to go with you?” asked Oliver.

“Yes; I have come from Bill,” replied the girl. “You are to go with me.”

“What for?” said Oliver, recoiling.

“What for!” echoed the girl, raising her eyes, and averting them again
the moment they encountered the boy’s face. “Oh! for no harm.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Oliver, who had watched her closely.

“Have it your own way,” rejoined the girl, affecting to laugh. “For no
good, then.”

Oliver could see that he had some power over the girl’s better
feelings, and for an instant thought of appealing to her compassion on
his helpless state. But then the thought darted across his mind that
it was barely eleven o’clock, and that many people were still in the
streets, of whom surely some might be found to give credence to his
tale. As the reflection occurred to him, he stepped forward, and said
somewhat hastily that he was ready.

Neither his brief consideration nor its purport were lost upon his
companion. She eyed him narrowly while he spoke, and cast upon him a
look of intelligence which sufficiently shewed that she guessed what
had been passing in his thoughts.

“Hush!” said the girl, stooping over him, and pointing to the door as
she looked cautiously round. “You can’t help yourself. I have tried
hard for you, but all to no purpose. You are hedged round and round,
and if ever you are to get loose from here, this is not the time.”

Struck by the energy of her manner, Oliver looked up in her face with
great surprise. She seemed to speak the truth; her countenance was
white and agitated, and she trembled with very earnestness.

“I have saved you from being ill-used once, and I will again, and I do
now,” continued the girl aloud; “for those who would have fetched you,
if I had not, would have been far more rough than me. I have promised
for your being quiet and silent; if you are not, you will only do harm
to yourself and me too, and perhaps be my death. See here! I have borne
all this for you already, as true as God sees me shew it.”

She pointed hastily to some livid bruises upon her neck and arms, and
continued with great rapidity.

“Remember this, and don’t let me suffer more for you just now. If I
could help you I would, but I have not the power. They don’t mean to
harm you, and whatever they make you do, is no fault of yours. Hush!
every word from you is a blow for me. Give me your hand—make haste,
your hand!”

She caught the hand which Oliver instinctively placed in hers, and,
blowing out the light, drew him after her up the stairs. The door was
opened quickly by some one shrouded in the darkness, and as quickly
closed when they had passed out. A hackney-cabriolet was in waiting;
and, with the same vehemence which she had exhibited in addressing
Oliver, the girl pulled him in with her, and drew the curtains close.
The driver wanted no directions, but lashed his horse into full speed
without the delay of an instant.

The girl still held Oliver fast by the hand, and continued to pour into
his ear the warnings and assurances she had already imparted. All was
so quick and hurried that he had scarcely time to recollect where he
was, or how he came there, when the carriage stopped at the same house
to which the Jew’s steps had been directed on the previous evening.

For one brief moment Oliver cast a hurried glance along the empty
street, and a cry for help hung upon his lips. But the girl’s voice
was in his ear, beseeching him in such tones of agony to remember
her, that he had not the heart to utter it; while he hesitated, the
opportunity was gone, for he was already in the house, and the door was
shut.

“This way,” said the girl, releasing her hold for the first time.
“Bill!”

“Hallo!” replied Sikes, appearing at the head of the stairs with a
candle. “Oh! that’s the time of day. Come on!”

This was a very strong expression of approbation, and an uncommonly
hearty welcome from a person of Mr. Sikes’s temperament. Nancy,
appearing much gratified thereby, saluted him cordially.

“Bullseye’s gone home with Tom,” observed Sikes, as he lighted them up.
“He’d have been in the way.”

“That’s right,” rejoined Nancy.

“So you’ve got the kid,” said Sikes, when they had all reached the
room: closing the door as he spoke.

“Yes, here he is,” replied Nancy.

“Did he come quiet?” inquired Sikes.

“Like a lamb,” rejoined Nancy.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Sikes, looking grimly at Oliver, “for the
sake of his young carcase, as would otherways have suffered for it.
Come here, young un, and let me read you a lectur’, which is as well
got over at once.”

Thus addressing his new _protégé_, Mr. Sikes pulled off his cap and
threw it into a corner; and then, taking him by the shoulder, sat
himself down by the table, and stood Oliver in front of him.

“Now first, do you know wot this is?” inquired Sikes, taking up a
pocket-pistol which lay on the table.

Oliver replied in the affirmative.

“Well then, look here,” continued Sikes. “This is powder, that ’ere’s a
bullet, and this is a little bit of a old hat for waddin’.”

Oliver murmured his comprehension of the different bodies referred
to, and Mr. Sikes proceeded to load the pistol with great nicety and
deliberation.

“Now it’s loaded,” said Mr. Sikes, when he had finished.

“Yes, I see it is, sir,” replied Oliver, trembling.

“Well,” said the robber, grasping Oliver’s wrist tightly, and putting
the barrel so close to his temple that they touched, at which moment
the boy could not repress a shriek; “if you speak a word when you’re
out o’doors with me, except when I speak to you, that loading will be
in your head without notice—so, if you _do_ make up your mind to speak
without leave, say your prayers first.”

Having bestowed a scowl upon the object of this warning, to increase
its effect, Mr. Sikes continued,—

“As near as I know, there is’nt anybody as would be asking very
partickler arter you, if you _was_ disposed of; so I needn’t take this
devil-and-all of trouble to explain matters to you if it warn’t for
your own good. D’ye hear me?”

“The short and the long of what you mean,” said Nancy, speaking very
emphatically, and slightly frowning at Oliver as if to bespeak his
serious attention to her words, “is, that if you’re crossed by him
in this job you have on hand, you’ll prevent his ever telling tales
afterwards by shooting him through the head, and take your chance of
swinging for it as you do for a great many other things in the way of
business every month of your life.”

“That’s it!” observed Mr. Sikes, approvingly; “women can always put
things in fewest words, except when it’s blowing up, and then they
lengthens it out. And now that he’s thoroughly up to it, let’s have
some supper, and get a snooze afore starting.”

In pursuance of this request, Nancy quickly laid the cloth, and,
disappearing for a few minutes, presently returned with a pot of
porter and a dish of sheep’s heads, which gave occasion to several
pleasant witticisms on the part of Mr. Sikes, founded upon the singular
coincidence of “jemmies” being a cant name common to them and an
ingenious implement much used in his profession. Indeed, the worthy
gentleman, stimulated perhaps by the immediate prospect of being in
active service, was in great spirits and good humour; in proof whereof
it may be here remarked that he humorously drank all the beer at a
draught, and did not utter, on a rough calculation, more than fourscore
oaths during the whole progress of the meal.

Supper being ended—it may be easily conceived that Oliver had no great
appetite for it—Mr. Sikes disposed of a couple of glasses of spirits
and water, and threw himself upon the bed, ordering Nancy, with many
imprecations in case of failure, to call him at five precisely. Oliver
stretched himself in his clothes, by command of the same authority, on
a mattress upon the floor; and the girl mending the fire, sat before
it, in readiness to rouse them at the appointed time.

For a long time Oliver lay awake, thinking it not impossible that Nancy
might seek that opportunity of whispering some further advice; but
the girl sat brooding over the fire without moving, save now and then
to trim the light. Weary with watching and anxiety, he at length fell
asleep.

When he awoke, the table was covered with tea-things, and Sikes was
thrusting various articles into the pockets of his great-coat, which
hung over the back of a chair, while Nancy was busily engaged in
preparing breakfast. It was not yet daylight, for the candle was still
burning, and it was quite dark outside. A sharp rain, too, was beating
against the window-panes, and the sky looked black and cloudy.

“Now, then!” growled Sikes, as Oliver started up; “half-past five! Look
sharp, or you’ll get no breakfast, for it’s late as it is.”

Oliver was not long in making his toilet; and, having taken some
breakfast, replied to a surly inquiry from Sikes, by saying that he was
quite ready.

Nancy, scarcely looking at the boy, threw him a handkerchief to tie
round his throat, and Sikes gave him a large rough cape to button over
his shoulders. Thus attired, he gave his hand to the robber, who,
merely pausing to shew him, with a menacing gesture, that he had the
pistol in a side pocket of his great-coat, clasped it firmly in his,
and, exchanging a farewell with Nancy, led him away.

Oliver turned for an instant when they reached the door, in the hope of
meeting a look from the girl. But she had resumed her old seat in front
of the fire, and sat perfectly motionless before it.