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 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, gasped for breath.
“Nancy!” cried Oliver, “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 she, 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?” asked 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 for 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, was lost on his companion. She eyed him narrowly, while he spoke; and cast upon him a look of intelligence which sufficiently showed 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. 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 show it.”