Chapter XXXV

Oliver Twist

by Charles Dickens

Containing the Unsatisfactory Result of Oliver's Adventure; and a
Conversation of Some Importance Between Harry Maylie and Rose

When the inmates of the house, attracted by Oliver's cries,
hurried to the spot from which they proceeded, they found him, pale
and agitated, pointing in the direction of the meadows behind the
house, and scarcely able to articulate the words, 'The Jew! the
Jew!'

Mr. Giles was at a loss to comprehend what this outcry meant;
but Harry Maylie, whose perceptions were something quicker, and who
had heard Oliver's history from his mother, understood it at once.

'What direction did he take?' he asked, catching up a heavy
stick which was standing in a corner.

'That,' replied Oliver, pointing out the course the man had
taken; 'I missed them in an instant.'

'Then, they are in the ditch!' said Harry. 'Follow! And keep
as near me, as you can.' So saying, he sprang over the hedge, and
darted off with a speed which rendered it matter of exceeding
difficulty for the others to keep near him.

Giles followed as well as he could; and Oliver followed too; and
in the course of a minute or two, Mr. Losberne, who had been out
walking, and just then returned, tumbled over the hedge after them,
and picking himself up with more agility than he could have been
supposed to possess, struck into the same course at no contemptible
speed, shouting all the while, most prodigiously, to know what was
the matter.

On they all went; nor stopped they once to breathe, until the
leader, striking off into an angle of the field indicated by Oliver,
began to search, narrowly, the ditch and hedge adjoining; which
afforded time for the remainder of the party to come up; and for
Oliver to communicate to Mr. Losberne the circumstances that had led
to so vigorous a pursuit.

The search was all in vain. There were not even the traces of
recent footsteps, to be seen. They stood now, on the summit of a
little hill, commanding the open fields in every direction for three
or four miles. There was the village in the hollow on the left; but,
in order to gain that, after pursuing the track Oliver had pointed
out, the men must have made a circuit of open ground, which it was
impossible they could have accomplished in so short a time. A thick
wood skirted the meadow-land in another direction; but they could not
have gained that covert for the same reason.

'It must have been a dream, Oliver,' said Harry Maylie.

'Oh no, indeed, sir,' replied Oliver, shuddering at the very
recollection of the old wretch's countenance; 'I saw him too plainly
for that. I saw them both, as plainly as I see you now.'

'Who was the other?' inquired Harry and Mr. Losberne,
together.

'The very same man I told you of, who came so suddenly upon me
at the inn,' said Oliver. 'We had our eyes fixed full upon each
other; and I could swear to him.'

'They took this way?' demanded Harry: 'are you sure?'

'As I am that the men were at the window,' replied Oliver,
pointing down, as he spoke, to the hedge which divided the
cottage-garden from the meadow. 'The tall man leaped over, just
there; and the Jew, running a few paces to the right, crept through
that gap.'

The two gentlemen watched Oliver's earnest face, as he spoke,
and looking from him to each other, seemed to fell satisfied of the
accuracy of what he said. Still, in no direction were there any
appearances of the trampling of men in hurried flight. The grass was
long; but it was trodden down nowhere, save where their own feet had
crushed it. The sides and brinks of the ditches were of damp clay;
but in no one place could they discern the print of men's shoes, or
the slightest mark which would indicate that any feet had pressed the
ground for hours before.

'This is strange!' said Harry.

'Strange?' echoed the doctor. 'Blathers and Duff, themselves,
could make nothing of it.'

Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of their search,
they did not desist until the coming on of night rendered its further
prosecution hopeless; and even then, they gave it up with reluctance.
Giles was dispatched to the different ale-houses in the village,
furnished with the best description Oliver could give of the
appearance and dress of the strangers. Of these, the Jew was, at all
events, sufficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he had
been seen drinking, or loitering about; but Giles returned without
any intelligence, calculated to dispel or lessen the mystery.

On the next day, fresh search was made, and the inquiries
renewed; but with no better success. On the day following, Oliver
and Mr. Maylie repaired to the market-town, in the hope of seeing or
hearing something of the men there; but this effort was equally
fruitless. After a few days, the affair began to be forgotten, as
most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it,
dies away of itself.

Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering. She had left her room:
was able to go out; and mixing once more with the family, carried joy
into the hearts of all.

But, although this happy change had a visible effect on the
little circle; and although cheerful voices and merry laughter were
once more heard in the cottage; there was at times, an unwonted
restraint upon some there: even upon Rose herself: which Oliver
could not fail to remark. Mrs. Maylie and her son were often
closeted together for a long time; and more than once Rose appeared
with traces of tears upon her face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a
day for his departure to Chertsey, these symptoms increased; and it
became evident that something was in progress which affected the
peace of the young lady, and of somebody else besides.

At length, one morning, when Rose was alone in the
breakfast-parlour, Harry Maylie entered; and, with some hesitation,
begged permission to speak with her for a few moments.

'A few--a very few--will suffice, Rose,' said the young man,
drawing his chair towards her. 'What I shall have to say, has
already presented itself to your mind; the most cherished hopes of my
heart are not unknown to you, though from my lips you have not heard
them stated.'

Rose had been very pale from the moment of his entrance; but
that might have been the effect of her recent illness. She merely
bowed; and bending over some plants that stood near, waited in
silence for him to proceed.

'I--I--ought to have left here, before,' said Harry.

'You should, indeed,' replied Rose. 'Forgive me for saying so,
but I wish you had.'

'I was brought here, by the most dreadful and agonising of all
apprehensions,' said the young man; 'the fear of losing the one dear
being on whom my every wish and hope are fixed. You had been dying;
trembling between earth and heaven. We know that when the young, the
beautiful, and good, are visited with sickness, their pure spirits
insensibly turn towards their bright home of lasting rest; we know,
Heaven help us! that the best and fairest of our kind, too often fade
in blooming.'

There were tears in the eyes of the gentle girl, as these words
were spoken; and when one fell upon the flower over which she bent,
and glistened brightly in its cup, making it more beautiful, it
seemed as though the outpouring of her fresh young heart, claimed
kindred naturally, with the loveliest things in nature.

'A creature,' continued the young man, passionately, 'a creature
as fair and innocent of guile as one of God's own angels, fluttered
between life and death. Oh! who could hope, when the distant world
to which she was akin, half opened to her view, that she would return
to the sorrow and calamity of this! Rose, Rose, to know that you
were passing away like some soft shadow, which a light from above,
casts upon the earth; to have no hope that you would be spared to
those who linger here; hardly to know a reason why you should be; to
feel that you belonged to that bright sphere whither so many of the
fairest and the best have winged their early flight; and yet to pray,
amid all these consolations, that you might be restored to those who
loved you--these were distractions almost too great to bear. They
were mine, by day and night; and with them, came such a rushing
torrent of fears, and apprehensions, and selfish regrets, lest you
should die, and never know how devotedly I loved you, as almost bore
down sense and reason in its course. You recovered. Day by day, and
almost hour by hour, some drop of health came back, and mingling with
the spent and feeble stream of life which circulated languidly within
you, swelled it again to a high and rushing tide. I have watched you
change almost from death, to life, with eyes that turned blind with
their eagerness and deep affection. Do not tell me that you wish I
had lost this; for it has softened my heart to all mankind.'

'I did not mean that,' said Rose, weeping; 'I only wish you had
left here, that you might have turned to high and noble pursuits
again; to pursuits well worthy of you.'

'There is no pursuit more worthy of me: more worthy of the
highest nature that exists: than the struggle to win such a heart as
yours,' said the young man, taking her hand. 'Rose, my own dear Rose!
For years--for years--I have loved you; hoping to win my way to
fame, and then come proudly home and tell you it had been pursued
only for you to share; thinking, in my daydreams, how I would remind
you, in that happy moment, of the many silent tokens I had given of a
boy's attachment, and claim your hand, as in redemption of some old
mute contract that had been sealed between us! That time has not
arrived; but here, with not fame won, and no young vision realised, I
offer you the heart so long your own, and stake my all upon the words
with which you greet the offer.'

'Your behaviour has ever been kind and noble.' said Rose,
mastering the emotions by which she was agitated. 'As you believe
that I am not insensible or ungrateful, so hear my answer.'

'It is, that I may endeavour to deserve you; it is, dear
Rose?'

'It is,' replied Rose, 'that you must endeavour to forget me;
not as your old and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound
me deeply; but, as the object of your love. Look into the world;
think how many hearts you would be proud to gain, are there. Confide
some other passion to me, if you will; I will be the truest, warmest,
and most faithful friend you have.'

There was a pause, during which, Rose, who had covered her face
with one hand, gave free vent to her tears. Harry still retained the
other.

'And your reasons, Rose,' he said, at length, in a low voice;
'your reasons for this decision?'

'You have a right to know them,' rejoined Rose. 'You can say
nothing to alter my resolution. It is a duty that I must perform. I
owe it, alike to others, and to myself.'

'To yourself?'

'Yes, Harry. I owe it to myself, that I, a friendless,
portionless, girl, with a blight upon my name, should not give your
friends reason to suspect that I had sordidly yielded to your first
passion, and fastened myself, a clog, on all your hopes and projects.
I owe it to you and yours, to prevent you from opposing, in the
warmth of your generous nature, this great obstacle to your progress
in the world.'

'If your inclinations chime with your sense of duty--' Harry
began.

'They do not,' replied Rose, colouring deeply.

'Then you return my love?' said Harry. 'Say but that, dear
Rose; say but that; and soften the bitterness of this hard
disappointment!'

'If I could have done so, without doing heavy wrong to him I
loved,' rejoined Rose, 'I could have--'

'Have received this declaration very differently?' said Harry.
'Do not conceal that from me, at least, Rose.'

'I could,' said Rose. 'Stay!' she added, disengaging her hand,
'why should we prolong this painful interview? Most painful to me,
and yet productive of lasting happiness, notwithstanding; for it will
be happiness to know that I once held the high place in your regard
which I now occupy, and every triumph you achieve in life will
animate me with new fortitude and firmness. Farewell, Harry! As we
have met to-day, we meet no more; but in other relations than those
in which this conversation have placed us, we may be long and happily
entwined; and may every blessing that the prayers of a true and
earnest heart can call down from the source of all truth and
sincerity, cheer and prosper you!'

'Another word, Rose,' said Harry. 'Your reason in your own
words. From your own lips, let me hear it!'

'The prospect before you,' answered Rose, firmly, 'is a
brilliant one. All the honours to which great talents and powerful
connections can help men in public life, are in store for you. But
those connections are proud; and I will neither mingle with such as
may hold in scorn the mother who gave me life; nor bring disgrace or
failure on the son of her who has so well supplied that mother's
place. In a word,' said the young lady, turning away, as her
temporary firmness forsook her, 'there is a stain upon my name, which
the world visits on innocent heads. I will carry it into no blood
but my own; and the reproach shall rest alone on me.'

'One word more, Rose. Dearest Rose! one more!' cried Harry,
throwing himself before her. 'If I had been less--less fortunate,
the world would call it--if some obscure and peaceful life had been
my destiny--if I had been poor, sick, helpless--would you have turned
from me then? Or has my probable advancement to riches and honour,
given this scruple birth?'

'Do not press me to reply,' answered Rose. 'The question does
not arise, and never will. It is unfair, almost unkind, to urge
it.'

'If your answer be what I almost dare to hope it is,' retorted
Harry, 'it will shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely way, and
light the path before me. It is not an idle thing to do so much, by
the utterance of a few brief words, for one who loves you beyond all
else. Oh, Rose: in the name of my ardent and enduring attachment; in
the name of all I have suffered for you, and all you doom me to
undergo; answer me this one question!'

'Then, if your lot had been differently cast,' rejoined Rose;
'if you had been even a little, but not so far, above me; if I could
have been a help and comfort to you in any humble scene of peace and
retirement, and not a blot and drawback in ambitious and
distinguished crowds; I should have been spared this trial. I have
every reason to be happy, very happy, now; but then, Harry, I own I
should have been happier.'

Busy recollections of old hopes, cherished as a girl, long ago,
crowded into the mind of Rose, while making this avowal; but they
brought tears with them, as old hopes will when they come back
withered; and they relieved her.

'I cannot help this weakness, and it makes my purpose stronger,'
said Rose, extending her hand. 'I must leave you now, indeed.'

'I ask one promise,' said Harry. 'Once, and only once
more,--say within a year, but it may be much sooner,--I may speak to
you again on this subject, for the last time.'

'Not to press me to alter my right determination,' replied Rose,
with a melancholy smile; 'it will be useless.'

'No,' said Harry; 'to hear you repeat it, if you will--finally
repeat it! I will lay at your feet, whatever of station of fortune I
may possess; and if you still adhere to your present resolution, will
not seek, by word or act, to change it.'

'Then let it be so,' rejoined Rose; 'it is but one pang the
more, and by that time I may be enabled to bear it better.'

She extended her hand again. But the young man caught her to
his bosom; and imprinting one kiss on her beautiful forehead, hurried
from the room.