oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第110章

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as　you—you；　who　from　your　cradle　were　gall　and　bitterness　to　
your　own　father’s　heart；　and　in　whom　all　evil　passions；　vice；　and　
profligacy；　festered；　till　they　found　a　vent　in　a　hideous　disease　
which　has　made　your　face　an　index　even　to　your　mind—you；　
Edward　Leeford；　do　you　still　brave　me？”　

“No；　no；　no！”　returned　the　coward；　overwhelmed　by　these　
accumulated　charges。　

“Every　word！”　cried　the　old　gentleman—“every　word　that　has　
passed　between　you　and　this　detested　villain；　is　known　to　me。　
Shadows　on　the　wall　have　caught　your　whispers；　and　brought　
them　to　my　ear；　the　sight　of　the　persecuted　child　has　turned　vice　
itself；　and　given　it　the　courage　and　almost　the　attributes　of　virtue。　
Murder　has　been　done；　to　which　you　were　morally　if　not　really　a　
party。”　

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“No；　no；”　interposed　Monks。　“I—I　know　nothing　of　that；　I　was　
going　to　inquire　the　truth　of　the　story　when　you　overtook　me。　I　
didn’t　know　the　cause。　I　thought　it　was　a　common　quarrel。”　

“It　was　the　partial　disclosure　of　your　secrets；”　replied　Mr。　
Brownlow。　“Will　you　disclose　the　whole？”　

“Yes；　I　will。”　

“Set　your　hand　to　a　statement　of　truth　and　facts；　and　repeat　it　
before　witnesses？”　

“That　I　promise；　too。”　

“Remain　quietly　here；　until　such　a　document　is　drawn　up；　and　
proceed　with　me　to　such　a　place　as　I　may　deem　most　advisable；　for　
the　purpose　of　attesting　it？”　

“If　you　insist　upon　that；　I’ll　do　that　also；”　replied　Monks。　

“You　must　do　more　than　that；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow。　“Make　
restitution　to　an　innocent　and　unoffending　child；　for　such　he　is；　
although　the　offspring　of　a　guilty　and　most　miserable　love。　You　
have　not　forgotten　the　provisions　of　the　will。　Carry　them　into　
execution　so　far　as　your　brother　is　concerned；　and　then　go　where　
you　please。　In　this　world　you　need　meet　no　more。”　

While　Monks　was　pacing　up　and　down；　meditating　with　dark　
and　evil　looks　on　this　disposal　and　the　possibilities　of　evading　it；　
torn　by　his　fears　on　the　one　hand　and　his　hatred　on　the　other；　the　
door　was　hurriedly　unlocked；　and　a　gentleman　（Mr。　Losberne）　
entered　the　room　in　violent　agitation。　

“The　man　will　be　taken；”　he　cried。　“He　will　be　taken　tonight！”　

“The　murderer？”　asked　Mr。　Brownlow。　

“Yes；　yes；”　replied　the　other。　“His　dog　has　been　seen　lurking　
about　some　old　haunt；　and　there　seems　little　doubt　that　his　master　
either　is；　or　will　be；　there；　under　cover　of　darkness。　Spies　are　

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hovering　about　in　every　direction。　I　have　spoken　to　the　men　who　
are　charged　with　his　capture；　and　they　tell　me　he　can　never　
escape。　A　reward　of　a　hundred　pounds　is　proclaimed　by　
Government　tonight。”　

“I　will　give　fifty　more；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　“and　proclaim　it　
with　my　own　lips　upon　the　spot；　if　I　can　reach　it。　Where　is　Mr。　
Maylie？”　

“Harry？　As　soon　as　he　had　seen　your　friend　here；　safe　in　a　
coach　with　you；　he　hurried　off　to　where　he　heard　this；”　replied　the　
doctor；　“and；　mounting　his　horse；　sallied　forth　to　join　the　first　
party　at　some　place　in　the　outskirts　agreed　upon　between　them。”　

“Fagin；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　“what　of　him？”　

“When　I　last　heard；　he　had　not　been　taken；　but　he　will　be；　or　is；　
by　this　time。　They’re　sure　of　him。”　

“Have　you　made　up　your　mind？”　asked　Mr。　Brownlow；　in　a　low　
voice；　of　Monks。　

“Yes；”　he　replied。　“You—you—will　be　secret　with　me？”　

“I　will。　Remain　here　till　I　return。　It　is　your　only　hope　of　safety。”　

They　left　the　room；　and　the　door　was　again　locked。　

“What　have　you　done？”　asked　the　doctor；　in　a　whisper。　

“All　that　I　could　hope　to　do；　and　even　more。　Coupling　the　poor　
girl’s　intelligence　with　my　previous　knowledge；　and　the　result　of　
our　good　friend’s　inquiries　on　the　spot；　I　left　him　no　loophole　of　
escape；　and　laid　bare　the　whole　villainy　which　by　these　lights　
became　plain　as　day。　Write　and　appoint　the　evening　after　
tomorrow；　at　seven；　for　the　meeting。　We　shall　be　down　there；　a　few　
hours　before；　but　shall　require　rest；　especially　the　young　lady；　who　
may　have　greater　need　of　firmness　than　either　you　or　I　can　quite　
foresee　just　now。　But　my　blood　boils　to　avenge　this　poor　murdered　

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creature。　Which　way　have　they　taken？”　

“Drive　straight　to　the　office　and　you　will　be　in　time；”　replied　Mr。　
Losberne。　“I　will　remain　here。”　

The　two　gentlemen　hastily　separated；　each　in　a　fever　of　
excitement　wholly　uncontrollable。　

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Chapter　50　

The　Pursuit　And　Escape。　

Near　to　that　part　of　the　Thames　on　which　the　church　at　
Rotherhithe　abuts；　where　the　buildings　on　the　banks　are　
dirtiest　and　the　vessels　on　the　river　blackest　with　the　dust　
of　colliers　and　the　smoke　of　close…built；　low…roofed　houses；　there　
exists　the　filthiest；　the　strangest；　the　most　extraordinary　of　the　
many　localities　that　are　hidden　in　London；　wholly　unknown；　even　
by　name；　to　the　great　mass　of　its　inhabitants。　

To　reach　this　place；　the　visitor　has　to　penetrate　through　a　maze　
of　close；　narrow；　and　muddy　streets；　thronged　by　the　roughest　and　
poorest　of　waterside　people；　and　devoted　to　the　traffic　they　may　be　
supposed　to　occasion。　The　cheapest　and　least　delicate　provisions　
are　heaped　in　the　shops；　the　coarsest　and　commonest　articles　of　
wearing　apparel　dangle　at　the　salesman’s　door；　and　stream　from　
the　house…parapet　and　windows。　Jostling　with　unemployed　
labourers　of　the　lowest　class；　ballast…heavers；　coal…whippers；　
brazen　woman；　ragged　children；　and　the　raff　and　refuse　of　the　
river；　he　makes　his　way　with　difficulty　along；　assailed　by　offensive　
sights　and　smells　from　the　narrow　alleys　which　branch　off　on　the　
right　and　left；　and　deafened　by　the　clash　of　ponderous　wagons　that　
bear　great　piles　of　merchandise　from　the　stacks　of　warehouses　that　
rise　from　every　corner。　Arriving；　at　length；　in　streets　remoter　and　
less　frequented　than　those　through　which　he　has　passed；　he　walks　
beneath　tottering　house…fronts　projecting　over　the　pavement；　
dismantled　walls　that　seem　to　totter　as　he　passes；　chimneys　half…

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crushed；　half…hesitating　to　fall；　windows　guarded　by　rusty　iron　
bars　that　time　and　dirt　have　almost　eaten　away；　and　every　
imaginable　sign　of。　desolation　and　neglect。　

In　such　a　neighbourhood；　beyond　Dockhead　in　the　borough　of　
Southwark；　stands　Jacob’s　Island；　surrounded　by　a　muddy　ditch；　
six　or　eight　feet　deep　and　fifteen　or　twenty　wide　when　the　tide　is　
in；　once　called　Mill　Pond；　but　known　in　the　days　of　this　story　as　
Folly　Ditch。　It　is　a　creek　or　inlet　from　the　Thames；　and　can　always　
be　filled　at　high　water　by　opening　the　sluices　at　the　lead　mills　from　
which　it　took　its　old　name。　

At　such　times；　a　stranger；　looking　from　one　of　the　wooden　
bridges　thrown　across　it　at　Mill　Lane；　will　see　the　inhabitants　of　
the　houses　on　either　side　lowering　from　their　back　doors　and　
windows；　buckets；　pails；　and　domestic　utensils　of　all　kinds；　in　
which　to　haul　the　water　up；　and　when　his　eye　is　turned　from　these　
operations　to　the　houses　themselves；　his　utmost　astonishment　will　
be　excited　by　the　scene　before　him。　Crazy　wooden　galleries　
common　to　the　backs　of　half　a　dozen　houses；　with　holes　from　
which　to　look　upon　the　slime　beneath；　windows；　broken　and　
patched；　with　poles　thrust　out；　on　which　to　dry　the　linen　that　is　
never　there；　rooms　so　small；　so　filthy；　so　confined；　that　the　air　
would　seem　too　tainted　even　for　the　dirt　and　squalor　which　they　
shelter；　wooden　chambers　thrusting　themselves　out　above　the　
mud；　and　threatening　to　fall　into　it—as　some　have　done；　dirt…
besmeared　walls　and　decaying　foundations；　every　repulsive　
lineament　of　poverty；　every　loathsome　indication　of　filth；　rot；　and　
garbage；　all　these　ornament　the　banks　of　Folly　Ditch。　

In　Jacob’s　Island；　the　warehouses　are　roofless　and　empty；　the　
walls　are　crumbling　down；　the　windows　are　windows　no　more；　the　

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