CHAPTER XXI

Nancy Pays a Secret Visit

Sikes was too much occupied, the next day, eating and drinking with the money the girl had brought, to notice anything unusual in her behaviour. But as that day closed in, the girl's excitement increased and when night came on and she sat by, watching until the housebreaker should drink himself asleep, there was an unusual paleness in her cheek, and a fire in her eye, that even Sikes observed with astonishment.

"Why?" said the man, raising himself on his hands as he stared the girl in the face. "You look like a corpse come to life. What's the matter?"

"Matter?" replied the girl. "Nothing. What do you look at me so hard for?"

"What is it?" demanded Sikes, grasping her by the arm, and shaking her roughly. "What do you mean? What are you thinking of?"

"Of many things, Bill," replied the girl, shivering and pressing her hands upon her eyes.

"You've caught the fever," said Sikes. "Come and sit beside me and put on your own face or I'll alter it so that you won't know it again."

The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his, fell back upon the pillow, turning his eyes upon her face. They closed, opened again, then closed once more. He fell at last into a deep sleep.

"The drug has taken effect at last," murmured the girl as she rose from the bedside. "I may be too late even now."

She hastily put on her hat and shawl, looking fearfully round from time to time as if she expected every moment to feel the pressure of Sikes's heavy hand upon her shoulder. Then, bending softly over the bed, she kissed the robber's lips, and noiselessly left the house.

Many of the shops were already closing in the back lanes through which she walked on her way to the West End of London. The clock struck ten, increasing her impatience. She tore along the narrow pavement, elbowing the passengers from side to side. When she reached the more wealthy quarter of the town the streets were comparatively deserted. At last she reached her destination, a family hotel in a quiet but handsome street near Hyde Park. After standing for a few seconds as though making up her mind, she entered the hall.

"Now, young woman!" said a smartly-dressed maid, "whom do you want here?"

"Miss Maylie," said Nancy.

The young woman, who had by this time noted her appearance, called a man to answer her.

"Come," said the man, pushing her towards the door. "None of this! Take yourself off."

"You will have to carry me out by force," said the girl violently. "Isn't there anybody here that will carry a simple message from a poor wretch like me?"

"What is it to be?" said the man, softened at last.

"That a young woman earnestly asks to speak to Miss Maylie alone," said Nancy; "and that if the lady will only hear the first word she has to say, she will know whether to hear her or turn her out of doors."

The man ran upstairs and presently returned and told the woman to follow him. With trembling limbs she followed him to a small room, where he left her and retired.

The girl's life had been wasted in the streets, but there was something of the woman's original nature in her still. When she heard a light step approaching and thought of the wide contrast which the small room would in another moment contain, she felt burdened with the sense of her own deep shame.

She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the figure which presented itself was that of a slight and beautiful girl.

"I am the person you inquired for," said the young lady, in a sweet voice. "Tell me why you wished to see me."

The kind tone, the sweet voice, the gentle manner, the absence of any haughtiness, took the girl completely by surprise, and she burst into tears.

"Oh, lady, lady!" said the girl passionately, "if there were more like you, there would be fewer like me."

"Sit down," said Rose. "If you are in poverty or trouble I shall be truly glad to help you if I can. Sit down."

"Let me stand, lady," said the girl, still weeping, "and do not speak to me so kindly till you know me better. Is that door shut?"

"Yes," said Rose. "Why?"

"Because," said the girl, "I am about to put my life, and the lives of others, in your hands. I am the girl that dragged little Oliver back to old Fagin's on the night he went out from the house in Pentonville."

"You!" said Rose Maylie.

"I, lady!" replied the girl. "I am the infamous creature you have heard of, that lives among thieves and that has never known any better life. Do not mind shrinking openly from me. The poorest women fall back as I make my way along the crowded pavement."

"What dreadful things these are!" said Rose.

"Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady," cried the girl, "that you had friends to care for you in your childhood, and that you were never in the midst of cold and hunger and drunkenness as I have been from my cradle."

"I pity you!" said Rose in a broken voice. "It breaks my heart to hear you!"

"Heaven bless you for your goodness!" said the girl. "I have stolen away from those who would surely murder me, if they knew I had been here, to tell you what I have overheard. Do you know a man called Monks?"

"No," said Rose. "I never heard the name."

"He knows you," replied the girl, "and knew you were here, for it was by hearing him speak about the place that I found out where you are. Some time ago, and soon after Oliver was put into your house on the night of the robbery, I overheard a conversation between this man and Fagin in the dark. I found out that Monks had seen Oliver accidentally with two of our boys on the day we first lost him and had known him directly to be the same child that he was watching for, though I couldn't make out why. Monks promised Fagin a sum of money if Oliver was got back; and he was to have more for making him a thief."

"For what purpose?" asked Rose.

"I couldn't find out; I had to escape discovery, for he had caught sight of my shadow on the wall as I listened. I saw him no more till last night."

"And what happened then?"

"I'll tell you, lady. Last night he came again. Again they went upstairs, and I, wrapping myself up so that my shadow should not betray me, again listened at the door. The first words I heard Monks say were these: 'So the only proofs of the boy's identity lie at the bottom of the river, and the old woman that received them from his mother is rotting in her coffin.'"

"What is all this?" said Rose.

"The truth, lady, though it comes from my lips," replied the girl. "Then he said that if he could take the boy's life without bringing his own neck in danger, he would; but as he couldn't, he'd be upon the watch to meet him at every turn in life and harm him yet. 'In short, Fagin,' he says, 'Jew as you are, you never laid such snares as I'll lay for my young brother, Oliver.'"

"His brother!" exclaimed Rose.

"Those were his words," said Nancy, glancing uneasily round, haunted by a vision of Sikes. " And now it is growing late, and I have to reach home without suspicion of having been on such an errand as this. I must be back quickly."

"But what can I do?" said Rose. "To what use can I turn this information? Back! Why do you wish to return to companions you paint in such terrible colours? If you repeat this information to a gentleman whom I know, you can be put in some place of safety without delay."

"I wish to go back," said the girl. "I must go back because—how can I tell such things to an innocent lady like you—because among the men I have told you of, there is one I can't leave; no, not even to be saved from the life I am leading now."

"Oh!" said the girl, "do not turn a deaf ear to my request. Do hear my words and let me save you yet."

"Lady," cried the girl, sinking on her knees, "dear, sweet lady, you are the first that ever blessed me with such words as these, and if I had heard them years ago, they might have turned me from a life of sin and sorrow; but it is too late, too late!"

"It is never too late for repentance," said Rose.

"It is," cried the girl; "I cannot leave him now! I could not be his death. If I told others what I have told you, he would be sure to die. I must go back. Whether it is God's punishment for the wrong I have done, I do not know; but I am drawn back to him in spite of all my suffering and his cruelty and ill-treatment."

"What am I to do?" said Rose. "How can we save Oliver?"

"You must know some kind gentleman that will advise you what to do," answered the girl.

"But where can I find you again when it is necessary?"

"Will you promise me that you will keep my secret and come to meet me alone or with the only other person that knows it, and that I shall not be watched or followed?"

"I promise you solemnly," said Rose.

"Every Sunday night, from eleven until midnight," said the girl, "I will walk on London Bridge if I am alive."

"Stay another moment," said Rose as the girl moved hurriedly towards the door. "Will you return to this gang of robbers, and to this man, when a word can save you? I wish to serve you."

"You would serve me best, lady," replied the girl, "if you could take my life at once. I have felt more grief to think of what I am, tonight, than I ever did before, and it would be something not to die in the hell in which I have lived. God bless you, sweet lady, and send as much happiness on your head as I have brought shame on mine!"

Thus speaking and sobbing aloud, the unhappy creature turned away. Rose Maylie, overpowered by this extraordinary meeting, sank into a chair and tried to collect her wandering thoughts.