oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第102节

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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