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cure you； I warrant you！”
She was bouncing away； when a cry from the two women； who
had turned towards the bed； caused her to look round。 The patient
had raised herself upright； and was stretching her arms towards
them。
“Who’s that？” she cried in a hollow voice。
“Hush； hush！” said one of the women； stooping over her。 “Lie
down； lie down！”
“I’ll never lie down again alive！” said the woman； struggling。 “I
will tell her！ Come here！ Nearer！ Let me whisper in your ear。”
She clutched the matron by the arm； and forcing her into a
chair by the bedside； was about to speak； when looking round； she
caught sight of the two old women bending forward in the attitude
of eager listeners。
“Turn them away；” said the woman drowsily； “make haste！
make haste！”
The two old crones； chiming in together； began pouring out
many piteous lamentations that the poor dear was too far gone to
know her best friends； and were uttering sundry protestations that
they would never leave her； when the superior pushed them from
the room； closed the door； and returned to the bedside。 On being
excluded； the old ladies changed their tone； and cried through the
keyhole that old Sally was drunk； which； indeed； was not unlikely；
since； in addition to a moderate dose of opium prescribed by the
apothecary； she was labouring under the effects of a final taste of
gin…and…water which had been privily administered； in the
openness of their hearts； by the worthy old ladies themselves。
“Now listen to me；” said the dying woman aloud； as if making a
great effort to revive one latent spark of energy。 “In this very
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room—in this very bed—I once nursed a pretty young creetur’；
that was brought into the house with her feet cut and bruised with
walking； and all soiled with dust and blood。 She gave birth to a
boy； and died。 Let me think—what was the year again！”
“Never mind the year；” said the impatient auditor； “what about
her？”
“Ay；” murmured the sick woman； relapsing into her former
drowsy state； “what about her？—what about—I know！” she cried；
jumping fiercely up； her face flushed； and her eyes starting from
her head—“I robbed her； so I did！ She wasn’t cold—I tell you she
wasn’t cold； when I stole it！”
“Stole what； for God’s sake？” cried the matron； with a gesture
as if she would call for help。
“It！” replied the woman； laying her hand over the other’s
mouth。 “The only thing she had。 She wanted clothes to keep her
warm； and food to eat； but she had kept it safe； and had it in her
bosom。 It was gold； I tell you！ Rich gold； that might have saved her
life！”
“Gold！” echoed the matron； bending eagerly over the woman as
she fell back。 “Go on； go on—yes—what of it？ Who was the
mother？ When was it？”
“She charged me to keep it safe；” replied the woman； with a
groan； “and trusted me as the only woman about her。 I stole it in
my heart when she first showed it me hanging round her neck；
and the child’s death； perhaps； is on me besides！ They would have
treated him better； if they had known it all！”
“Known what？” asked the other。 “Speak！”
“The boy grew so like his mother；” said the woman； rambling
on； and not heeding the question； “that I could never forget it
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when I saw his face。 Poor girl！ poor girl！ She was so young； too！
Such a gentle lamb！ Wait； there’s more to tell。 I have not told you
all； have I？”
“No； no；” replied the matron； inclining her head to catch the
words； as they came more faintly from the dying woman。 “Be
quick； or it may be too late！”
“The mother；” said the woman； making a more violent effort
than before—“the mother； when the pains of death first came
upon her； whispered in my ear that if her baby was born alive； and
thrived； the day might come when it would not feel so much
disgraced to hear its poor young mother named。 ‘And oh； kind
Heaven！’ she said； folding her thin hands together； ‘whether it be
boy or girl； raise up some friends for it in this troubled world； and
take pity upon a lonely； desolate child； abandoned to its mercy！’”
“The boy’s name？” demanded the matron。
“They called him Oliver；” replied the woman feebly。 “The gold I
stole was—”
“Yes； yes—what？” cried the other。
She was bending eagerly over the woman to hear her reply； but
drew back instinctively； as she once again rose； slowly and stiffly；
into a sitting posture； then； clutching the coverlid with both hands；
muttered some indistinct sounds in her throat and fell lifeless on
the bed。
*****
“Stone dead！” said one of the old women； hurrying in as soon as
the door was opened。
“And nothing to tell； after all；” rejoined the matron； walking
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carelessly away。
The two crones； to all appearances； too busily occupied in the
preparations for their dreadful duties to make any reply； were left
alone； hovering about the body。
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Chapter 25
Wherein This History Reverts To Mr。 Fagin And
Company。
While these things were passing in the country
workhouse； Mr。 Fagin sat in the old den—the same
from which Oliver had been removed by the girl—
brooding over a dull； smoky fire。 He held a pair of bellows upon
his knee； with which he had apparently been endeavouring to
rouse it into more cheerful action； but he had fallen into deep
thought； and with his arms folded on them； and his chin resting on
his thumbs； fixed his eyes； abstractedly； on the rusty bars。
At a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger； Master Charles
Bates； and Mr。 Chitling； all intent upon a game of whist； the Artful
taking dummy against Master Bates and Mr。 Chitling。 The
countenance of the first…named gentleman； peculiarly intelligent at
all times； acquired great additional interest from his close
observance of the game； and his attentive perusal of Mr。 Chitling’s
hand； upon which； from time to time； as occasion served； he
bestowed a variety of earnest glances； wisely regulating his own
play by the result of his observations upon his neighbour’s cards。
It being a cold night； the Dodger wore his hat； as； indeed； was
often his custom； within doors。 He also sustained a clay pipe
between his teeth； which he only removed for a brief space when
he deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a quart pot
upon the table； which stood ready filled with gin…and…water for the
accommodation of the company。
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Master Bates was also attentive to his play； but being of a more
excitable nature than his accomplished friend； it was observable
that he more frequently applied himself to the gin…and…water； and
moreover indulged in many jests and irrelevant remarks； all highly
unbecoming a scientific rubber。 Indeed； the Artful； presuming
upon their close attachment； more than once took occasion to
reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties； all of
which remonstrances Master Bates received in extremely good
part； merely requesting his friend to be “blowed；” or to insert his
head in a sack； or replying with some other neatly…turned
witticism of a similar kind； the happy application of which； excited
considerable admiration in the mind of Mr。 Chitling。 It was
remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably
lost； and that the circumstance； so far from angering Master Bates；
appeared to afford him the highest amusement； inasmuch as he
laughed most uproariously at the end of every deal； and protested
that he had never seen such a jolly game in all his born days。
“That’s two doubles and the rub；” said Mr。 Chitling； with a very
long face； as he drew half a crown from his waistcoat pocket。 “I
never see such a feller as you； Jack； you win everything。 Even
when we’ve good cards； Charley and I can’t make nothing of ’em。”
Either the