“You shall give nothing at all,” said Miss Maylie, smiling; “for, as I told you before, we shall employ you in a hundred ways; and if you only take half the trouble to please us, that you promise now, you will make me very happy indeed.”
“Happy, ma’am!” cried Oliver; “how kind of you to say so!”
“You will make me happier than I can tell you,” replied the young lady. “To think that my dear good aunt should have been the means of rescuing any one from such sad misery as you have described to us, would be an unspeakable pleasure to me; but to know that the object of her goodness and compassion was sincerely grateful and attached, in consequence, would delight me, more than you can well imagine. Do you understand me?” she inquired watching Oliver’s thoughtful face.
“Oh yes, ma’am, yes!” replied Oliver eagerly; “but I was thinking that I am ungrateful now.”
“To whom?” inquired the young lady.
“To the kind gentleman, and the dear old nurse, who took so much care of me before,” rejoined Oliver. “If they knew how happy I am, they would be pleased, I am sure.”
“I am sure they would,” rejoined Oliver’s benefactress; “and Mr. Losberne has already been kind enough to promise that when you are well enough to bear the journey, he will carry you to see them.”
“Has he, ma’am?” cried Oliver, his face brightening with pleasure. “I don’t know what I shall do for joy when I see their kind faces once again!”
In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of this expedition. One morning he and Mr. Losberne set out, accordingly, in a little carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. When they came to Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a loud exclamation.
“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried the doctor, as usual, all in a bustle. “Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?”
“That, sir,” cried Oliver, pointing out of the carriage window. “That house!”
“Yes; well, what of it? Stop, coachman. Pull up here,” cried the doctor. “What of the house, my man; eh?”
“The thieves—the house they took me to!” whispered Oliver.
“The devil it is!” cried the doctor. “Hallo, there! let me out!”
But, before the coachman could dismount from his box, he had tumbled out of the coach, by some means or other; and, running down to the deserted tenement, began kicking at the door like a madman.
“Halloa?” said a little ugly hump-backed man: opening the door so suddenly, that the doctor, from the very impetus of his last kick, nearly fell forward into the passage. “What’s the matter here?”
“Matter!” exclaimed the other, collaring him, without a moment’s reflection. “A good deal. Robbery is the matter.”
“There’ll be Murder the matter, too,” replied the hump-backed man, coolly, “if you don’t take your hands off. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty shake. “Where’s—confound the fellow, what’s his rascally name—Sikes; that’s it. Where’s Sikes, you thief?”
The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amazement and indignation; then, twisting himself, dexterously, from the doctor’s grasp, growled forth a volley of horrid oaths, and retired into the house. Before he could shut the door, however, the doctor had passed into the parlour, without a word of parley. He looked anxiously round; not an article of furniture; not a vestige of anything, animate or inanimate; not even the position of the cupboards; answered Oliver’s description!
“Now!” said the hump-backed man, who had watched him keenly, “what do you mean by coming into my house, in this violent way? Do you want to rob me, or to murder me? Which is it?”
“Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a chariot and pair, you ridiculous old vampire?” said the irritable doctor.
“What do you want, then?” demanded the hunchback. “Will you take yourself off, before I do you a mischief? Curse you!”
“As soon as I think proper,” said Mr. Losberne, looking into the other parlour; which, like the first bore no resemblance whatever to Oliver’s account of it. “I shall find you out, some day, my friend.”