oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第97部分

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but；　of　all　their　family；　happily　but　two　survived。　They　were　both　
daughters；　one　a　beautiful　creature　of　nineteen；　and　the　other　a　
mere　child　of　two　or　three　years　old。”　

“What’s　this　to　me？”　asked　Monks。　

“They　resided；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　without　seeming　to　hear　
the　interruption；　“in　a　part　of　the　country　to　which　your　father　in　
his　wanderings　had　repaired；　and　where　he　had　taken　up　his　
abode。　Acquaintance；　intimacy；　friendship；　fast　followed　on　each　
other。　Your　father　was　gifted　as　few　men　are。　He　had　his　sister’s　
soul　and　person。　As　the　old　officer　knew　him　more　and　more；　he　
grew　to　love　him。　I　would　that　it　had　ended　there。　His　daughter　did　
the　same。”　

The　old　gentleman　paused；　Monks　was　biting　his　lips；　with　his　
eyes　fixed　upon　the　floor；　seeing　this；　he　immediately　resumed：　

“The　end　of　a　year　found　him　contracted；　solemnly　contracted；　
to　that　daughter；　the　object　of　the　first；　true；　ardent；　only　passion　
of　a　guileless　girl。”　

“Your　tale　is　of　the　longest；”　observed　Monks；　moving　restlessly　
in　his　chair。　

“It　is　a　true　tale　of　grief；　and　trial；　and　sorrow；　young　man；”　
returned　Mr。　Brownlow；　“and　such　tales　usually　are；　if　it　were　one　
of　unmixed　joy　and　happiness；　it　would　be　very　brief。　At　length；　
one　of　those　rich　relations　to　strengthen　whose　interest　and　
importance　your　father　had　been　sacrificed；　as　others　are　often—it　
is　no　uncommon　case—died；　and　to　repair　the　misery　he　had　been　
instrumental　in　occasioning；　left　him　his　panacea　for　all　griefs—　
money。　It　was　necessary　that　he　should　immediately　repair　to　
Rome；　whither　this　man　had　sped　for　health；　and　where　he　had　

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died；　leaving　his　affairs　in　great　confusion。　He　went；　was　seized　
with　mortal　illness　there；　was　followed；　the　moment　the　
intelligence　reached　Paris；　by　your　mother；　who　carried　you　with　
her；　he　died　the　day　after　her　arrival；　leaving　no　will—no　will—so　
that　the　whole　property　fell　to　her　and　you。”　

At　this　part　of　the　recital；　Monks　held　his　breath；　and　listened　
with　a　face　of　intense　eagerness；　though　his　eyes　were　not　directed　
towards　the　speaker。　As　Mr。　Brownlow　paused；　he　changed　his　
position　with　the　air　of　one　who　has　experienced　a　sudden　relief；　
and　wiped　his　hot　face　and　hands。　

“Before　he　went　abroad；　and　as　he　passed　through　London　on　
his　way；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　slowly；　and　fixing　his　eyes　upon　the　
other’s　face；　“he　came　to　me。”　

“I　never　heard　of　that；”　interrupted　Monks；　in　a　tone　intended　
to　appear　incredulous；　but　savouring　more　of　disagreeable　
surprise。　

“He　came　to　me；　and　left　with　me；　among　some　other　things；　a　
picture—a　portrait　painted　by　himself—a　likeness　of　this　poor　
girl—which　he　did　not　wish　to　leave　behind；　and　could　not　carry　
forward　on　his　hasty　journey。　He　was　worn　by　anxiety　and　
remorse　almost　to　a　shadow；　talked　in　a　wild；　distracted　way；　of　
ruin　and　dishonour　worked　by　himself；　confided　in　me　his　
intention　to　convert　his　whole　property；　at　any　loss；　into　money；　
and；　having　settled　on　his　wife　and　you　a　portion　of　his　recent　
acquisition；　to　fly　the　country—I　guessed　too　well　he　would　not　fly　
alone—and　never　see　it　more。　Even　from　me；　his　old　and　early　
friend；　whose　strong　attachment　had　taken　root　in　the　earth　and　
covered　one　most　dear　to　both—even　from　me　he　withheld　any　
more　particular　confession；　promising　to　write　and　tell　me　all；　and　

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after　that　to　see　me　once　again；　for　the　last　time　on　earth。　Alas！　
That　was　the　last　time。　I　had　no　letter；　and　I　never　saw　him　more。　

“I　went；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow　after　a　short　pause—“I　went；　
when　all　was　over；　to　the　scene　of　his—I　will　use　the　term　the　
world　would　freely　use；　for　worldly　harshness　or　favour　are　now　
alike　to　him—of　his　guilty　love；　resolved　that　if　her　fears　were　
realised；　that　erring　child　should　find　one　heart　and　home　to　
shelter　and　compassionate　her。　The　family　had　left　that　part　a　
week　before；　they　had　called　in　such　trifling　debts　as　were　
outstanding；　discharged　them；　and　left　the　place　by　night。　Why；　or　
whither；　none　can　tell。”　

Monks　drew　his　breath　yet　more　freely；　and　looked　round　with　
a　smile　of　triumph。　

“When　your　brother；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow；　drawing　nearer　to　
the　other’s　chair—“when　your　brother—a　feeble；　ragged；　
neglected　child—was　cast　in　my　way　by　a　stronger　hand　than　
chance；　and　rescued　by　me　from　a　life　of　vice　and　infamy—”　

“What？”　cried　Monks。　

“By　me；”　said　Mr。　Brownlow。　“I　told　you　I　should　interest　you　
before　long。　I　say　by　me—I　see　that　your　cunning　associate　
suppressed　my　name；　although　for　aught　he　knew；　it　would　be　
quite　strange　to　your　ears。　When　he　was　rescued　by　me；　then；　and　
lay　recovering　from　sickness　in　my　house；　his　strong　resemblance　
to　this　picture　I　have　spoken　of；　struck　me　with　astonishment。　
Even　when　I　first　saw　him　in　all　his　dirt　and　misery；　there　was　a　
lingering　expression　in　his　face　that　came　upon　me　like　a　glimpse　
of　some　old　friend　flashing　on　one　in　a　vivid　dream。　I　need　not　tell　
you　he　was　snared　away　before　I　knew　his　history—”　

“Why　not？”　asked　Monks　hastily。　

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“Because　you　know　it　well。”　

“I！”　

“Denial　to　me　is　vain；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow。　“I　shall　show　you　
that　I　know　more　than　that。”　

“You—you—can’t　prove　anything　against　me；”　stammered　
Monks。　“I　defy　you　to　do　it！”　

“We　shall　see；”　returned　the　old　gentleman；　with　a　searching　
glance。　“I　lost　the　boy；　and　no　efforts　of　mine　could　recover　him。　
Your　mother　being　dead；　I　knew　that　you　alone　could　solve　the　
mystery　if　anybody　could；　and　as；　when　I　had　last　heard　of　you；　
you　were　on　your　own　estate　in　the　West　Indies—whither；　as　you　
well　know；　you　retired　upon　your　mother’s　death　to　escape　the　
consequences　of　vicious　courses　here—I　made　the　voyage。　You　
had　left　it；　months　before；　and　were　supposed　to　be　in　London；　but　
no　one　could　tell　where。　I　returned。　Your　agents　had　no　clue　to　
your　residence。　You　came　and　went；　they　said；　as　strangely　as　you　
had　ever　done；　sometimes　for　days　together　and　sometimes　not　for　
months；　keeping；　to　all　appearance；　the　same　low　haunts　and　
mingling　with　the　same　infamous　herd　who　had　been　your　
associates　when　a　fierce；　ungovernable　boy。　I　wearied　them　with　
new　applications。　I　paced　the　streets　by　night　and　day；　but　until　
two　hours　ago；　all　my　efforts　were　fruitless；　and　I　never　saw　you　
for　an　instant。”　

“And　now　you　do　see　me；”　said　Monks；　rising　boldly；　“what　
then？　Fraud　and　robbery　are　high…sounding　words—justified；　you　
think；　by　a　fancied　resemblance　in　some　young　imp　to　an　idle　daub　
of　a　dead　man’s。　Brother！　You　don’t　even　know　that　a　child　was　
born　of　this　maudlin　pair；　you　don’t　even　known　that。”　

“I　did　not；”　replied　Mr。　Brownlow；　rising　too；　“but　within　the　

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last　fortnight　I　have　learned　it　all。　You　have　a　brother；　you　know　it；　
and　him。　There　was　a　will；　which　your　mother　destroyed；　leaving　
the　secret　and　the　gain　to　you　at　her　own　death。　It　contained　a　
reference　to　some　child　likely　to　be　the　result　of　this　sad　
connection；　which　child　was　born；　and　accidentally　encountered　
by　you；　when　your　suspicions　were　first　awakened　by　his　
resemblance　to　his　father。　You　repaired　to　the　place　of　his　birth。　
There　existed　proofs—proofs　long　suppressed—of　his　birth　and　
parentage。　Those　proofs　were　destroyed　by　you；　and　now；　in　your　
own　words　to　your　accomplice　the　Jew；　‘the　only　proofs　of　the　boy’s　
identity　lie　at　the　bottom　of　the　river；　and　the　old　hag　that　received　
them　from　the　mother　is　rotting　in　her　coffin。’　Unworthy　son；　
coward；　liar—you；　who　hold　your　councils　with　thieves　and　
murderers　in　dark　rooms　at　night；　you；　whose　plots　and　wiles　have　
brought　a　violent　death　upon　the　head　of　one　worth　millions　such　
as　you—you；　who　from　your　cradle　were　gall　and　bitterness　to　
your　own　father’s　heart；　and　in　whom　all　evil　passions；　vice；　and　
profligacy；　festered；　till　they　found　a　vent　in　a　hideous　disease　
which　has　made　your　face　an　index　even　to　your　mind—you；　
Edward　Leeford；　do　you　still　brave　me？”　

“No；　no；　no！”　returned　the　coward；　overwhelmed　by　these　
accumulated　charges。　

“Every　word！”　cried　the　old　gentleman—“every　word　that　has　
passed　between　you　and　this　detested　villain；　is　known　to　me。　
Shadows　on　the　wall　have　caught　your　whispers；　and　brought　
them　to　my　ear；　the　sight　of　the　persecuted　child　has　turned　vice　
itself；　and　given　it　the　courage　and　almost　the　attributes　of　virtue。　
Murder　has　been　done；　to　which　you　were　morally　if　not　really　a　
party。”　

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“No；　no；”　interposed　Monks。　“I—I　know　nothing　of　that；　I　was　
going　to　inquire　the　truth　of　the　story　when　you　overtook　me。　I　
didn’t　know　the　cause。　I　thought　it　was　a　common　quarrel。”　

“It　was　the　partial　disclosure　of　your　secrets；”　replied　Mr。　
Brownlow。　“Will　you