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oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第102章

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“This child;” said Mr。 Brownlow; drawing Oliver to him; and 
laying his hand upon his head; “is your half…brother; the 
illegitimate son of your father; my dear friend Edwin Leeford; by 
poor young Agnes Fleming; who died in giving him birth。” 

“Yes;” said Monks; scowling at the trembling boy; the beating of 
whose heart he might have heard。 “That is their bastard child。” 

“The term you use;” said Mr。 Brownlow sternly; “is a reproach 
to those who have long since passed beyond the feeble censure of 
the world。 It reflects disgrace on no one living; except you who use 
it。 Let that pass。 He was born in this town。” 

“In the workhouse of this town;” was the sullen reply。 “You 
have the story there。” He pointed impatiently to the papers as he 
spoke。 

“I must have it here; too;” said Mr。 Brownlow; looking round 
upon the listeners。 

“Listen then! You!” returned Monks。 “His father being taken ill 
at Rome; was joined by his wife; my mother; from whom he had 
been long separated; who went from Paris; and took me with her— 
to look after his property; for what I know; for she had no great 
affection for him; nor he for her。 He knew nothing of us; for his 
senses were gone; and he slumbered on till next day; when he 
died。 Among the papers in his desk; were two; dated on the night 
his illness first came on; directed to yourself;” he addressed 
himself to Mr。 Brownlow; “and inclosed in a few short lines to you; 

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with an intimation on the cover of the package that it was not to be 
forwarded till after he was dead。 One of these papers was a letter 
to this girl Agnes; the other a will。” 

“What of the letter?” asked Mr。 Brownlow。 

“The letter?—A sheet of paper crossed and crossed again; with 
a penitent confession; and prayers to God to help her。 He had 
palmed a tale on the girl that some secret mystery—to be 
explained one day—prevented his marrying her just then; and so 
she had gone on; trusting patiently in him; until she trusted too 
far; and lost what none could ever give her back。 She was; at that 
time; within a few months of her confinement。 He told her all he 
had meant to do; to hide her shame; if he had lived; and prayed 
her; if he died; not to curse his memory; or think the consequences 
of their sin would be visited on her or their young child; for all the 
guilt was his。 He reminded her of the day he had given her the 
little locket and the ring with her Christian name engraved upon 
it; and a blank left for that which he hoped one day to have 
bestowed upon her—prayed her yet to keep it; and wear it next 
her heart; as she had done before—and then ran on; wildly; in the 
same words; over and over again; as if he had gone distracted。 I 
believe he had。” 

“The will;” said Mr。 Brownlow; as Oliver’s tears fell fast。” 

Monks was silent。 

“The will;” said Mr。 Brownlow; speaking for him; “was in the 
same spirit as the letter。 He talked of miseries which his wife had 
brought upon him; of the rebellious disposition; vice; malice; and 
premature bad passions of you his only son; who had been trained 
to hate him; and left you; and your mother; each an annuity of 
eight hundred pounds。 The bulk of his property he divided into 

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two equal portions—one for Agnes Fleming; and the other for 
their child; if it should be born alive; and ever come of age。 If it 
were a girl; it was to inherit the money unconditionally; but if a 
boy; only on the stipulation that in his minority he should never 
have stained his name with any public act of dishonour; meanness; 
cowardice; or wrong。 He did this; he said; to mark his confidence 
in the mother; and his conviction—only strengthened by 
approaching death—that the child would share her gentle heart; 
and noble nature。 If he were disappointed in this expectation; then 
the money was to come to you; for then; and not till then; when 
both children were equal; would he recognise your prior claim 
upon his purse; who had none upon his heart; but had from an 
infant; repulsed him with coldness and aversion。” 

“My mother;” said Monks; in a louder tone; “did what a woman 
should have done。 She burned this will。 The letter never reached 
its destination; but that; and other proofs; she kept; in case they 
ever tried to lie away the blot。 The girl’s father had the truth from 
her with every aggravation that her violent hate—I love her for it 
now—could add。 Goaded by shame and dishonour he fled with his 
children into a remote corner of Wales; changing his very name 
that his friends might never know of his retreat; and here; no great 
while afterwards; he was found dead in his bed。 The girl had left 
her home; in secret; some weeks before; he had searched for her; 
on foot; in every town and village near; it was on the night when 
he returned home; assured that she had destroyed herself? to hide 
her shame and his; that his old heart broke。” 

There was a short silence here; until Mr。 Brownlow took up the 
thread of the narrative。 

“Years after this;” he said; “this man’s—Edward Leeford’s— 

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mother came to me。 He had left her; when only eighteen; robbed 
her of jewels and money; gambled; squandered; forged; and fled to 
London; where for two years he had associated with the lowest 
outcasts。 She was sinking under a painful and incurable disease; 
and wished to recover him before she died。 Inquiries were set on 
foot; and strict searches made。 They were unavailing for a long 
time; but ultimately successful; and he went back with her to 
France。” 

“There she died;” said Monks; “after a lingering illness; and; on 
her deathbed; she bequeathed these secrets to me; together with 
her unquenchable and deadly hatred of all whom they involved— 
though she need not have left me that; for I had inherited it long 
before。 She would not believe that the girl had destroyed herself; 
and the child too; but was filled with the impression that a male 
child had been born; and was alive。 I swore to her; if ever it 
crossed my path; to hunt it down; never to let it rest; to pursue it 
with the bitterest and most unrelenting animosity; to vent upon it 
the hatred that I deeply felt; and to spit upon the empty vaunt of 
that insulting will by dragging it; if I could; to the very gallows…
foot。 She was right。 He came in my way at last。 I began well; and; 
but for babbling drabs; I would have finished as I began!” 

As the villain folded his arms tight together; and muttered 
curses on himself in the impotence of baffled malice; Mr。 
Brownlow turned to the terrified group beside him; and explained 
that the Jew; who had been his old accomplice and confidant; had 
a large reward for keeping Oliver ensnared; of which some part 
was to be given up; in the event of his being rescued; and that a 
dispute on this head had led to their visit to the country houses for 
the purpose of identifying hum。 

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“The locket and ring?” said Mr。 Brownlow; turning to Monks。 

“I bought them from the man and woman I told you of; who 
stole them from the nurse; who stole them from the corpse;” 
answered Monks; without raising his eyes。 “You know what 
became of them。” 

Mr。 Brownlow merely nodded to Mr。 Grimwig; who 
disappearing with great alacrity; shortly returned; pushing in Mrs。 
Bumble; and dragging her unwilling consort after him。 

“Do my hi’s deceive me!” cried Mr。 Bumble; with ill…feigned 
enthusiasm; “or is that little Oliver? Oh; O…li…ver; if you know’d 
how I’ve been a…grieving for you—” 

“Hold your tongue; fool;” murmured Mrs。 Bumble。 

“Isn’t natur’; natur’; Mrs。 Bumble?” remonstrated the 
workhouse master。 “Can’t I be supposed to feel—I as brought him 
up porochially—when I see him a…setting here among ladies and 
gentlemen of the very affablest description! I always loved that 
boy as if he’d been my—my—my own grandfather;” said Mr。 
Bumble; halting for an appropriate comparison。 “Master Oliver; 
my dear; you remember the blessed gentleman in the white 
waistcoat? Ah! he went to heaven last week; in a oak coffin with 
plated handles; Oliver。” 

“Come; sir;” said Mr。 Grimwig tartly; “suppress your feelings。 

“I will do my endeavours; sir;” replied Mr。 Bumble。 “How do 
you do; sir? I hope you are very well” This salutation was 
addressed to Mr。 Brownlow; who had stepped up to within a short 
distance of the respectable couple。 He inquired; as he pointed to 
Monks: 

“Do you know that person?” 

“No;” replied Mrs。 Bumble flatly。 

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“Perhaps you don’t?” said Mr。 Brownlow; addressing her 
spouse。 

“I never saw him in all my life;” said Mr。 Bumble。 

“Nor sold him anything; perhaps?” 

“No;” replied Mr。 Bumble。 

“You never had; perhaps; a certain gold locket and ring?” said 
Mr。 Brownlow。 

“Certainly not;” replied the matro
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