Олівер Твіст

Chapter 49

           ‘Hecametome,andleftwithme,amongsomeotherthings,apicture—aportraitpaintedbyhimself—alikenessofthispoorgirl—whichhedidnotwishtoleavebehind,andcouldnotcarryforwardonhishastyjourney.Hewaswornbyanxietyandremorsealmosttoashadow;talkedinawild,distractedway,ofruinanddishonourworkedbyhimself;confidedtomehisintentiontoconverthiswholeproperty,atanyloss,intomoney,and,havingsettledonhiswifeandyouaportionofhisrecentacquisition,toflythecountry—Iguessedtoowellhewouldnotflyalone—andneverseeitmore.Evenfromme,hisoldandearlyfriend,whosestrongattachmenthadtakenrootintheearththatcoveredonemostdeartoboth—evenfrommehewithheldanymoreparticularconfession,promisingtowriteandtellmeall,andafterthattoseemeonceagain,forthelasttimeonearth.Alas!THATwasthelasttime.Ihadnoletter,andIneversawhimmore.’

           ‘Iwent,’saidMr.Brownlow,afterashortpause,‘Iwent,whenallwasover,tothesceneofhis—Iwillusethetermtheworldwouldfreelyuse,forworldlyharshnessorfavourarenowaliketohim—ofhisguiltylove,resolvedthatifmyfearswererealisedthaterringchildshouldfindoneheartandhometoshelterandcompassionateher.Thefamilyhadleftthatpartaweekbefore;theyhadcalledinsuchtriflingdebtsaswereoutstanding,dischargedthem,andlefttheplacebynight.Why,orwhithter,nonecantell.’

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