Chapter 52 Chapter 51

(This chapter will unravel several mysteries and negotiate a marriage that does not mention the dowry.) About three o'clock in the afternoon, two days after the events described in the last chapter, Oliver boarded a carriage, and drove rapidly towards the town of his birth.With him was Mrs. Maylie.Ruth, Mrs. Bedwin, and the kind doctor.Mr. Brownlow and an anonymous person traveled in a post-coach behind. Along the way, they didn't talk much.Oliver was so excited that his heart was pounding, he couldn't believe it, he couldn't organize his thoughts, he couldn't even speak, and the influence on several people in the same company was obviously not less than his, at least the same.Mr. Brownlow had taken care to tell him and the two ladies the truth of the matter, after he had forced a confession from Monks.Although it was known that the purpose of the trip was to bring to a successful conclusion what had begun smoothly, the whole matter was still shrouded in a cloud of suspicion enough to keep them at ease.

This good friend, assisted by Mr. Rosbery, took great care to cut off all channels of news of the recent terrible events.He said: "It's true. They will know about it before long. It's better than now, but it won't be worse anyway." So they kept silent along the way, and each of them was thinking about getting everyone together. No one is willing to speak out the thoughts that linger in their hearts about this matter that came together. If Oliver could have remained silent under the influence of these thoughts as the carriage drove toward his birthplace along a road which Oliver had never seen, when they turned into the The road he passed—he was a poor waif at the time, with no roof, no home, and no friends to help him—how many past events flooded into his memory, and how many complicated feelings were in his chest Wake up.

"Look there, there!" cried Oliver, seizing Ruth's hand eagerly, and pointing out of the window. "I climbed the fence that kept the animals out. I walked behind those fences secretly, lest someone would jump at me and catch me back. Beyond that, there was a path through the fields, leading to the old village where I lived as a child. The house. Oh, Dick, Dick, dear old friend, I wish I could see him now!" "You'll see him soon," Ruth answered, taking his little hands together lightly. "You can tell him how happy and rich you have become, and tell him that, of all happiness, your greatest happiness is to come back and make him happy too."

"Yes, yes," said Oliver, "and we'll--we'll take him out of here, and give him new clothes, and teach him to read, and send him to some quiet place in the country, where he'll grow up." very strong—isn't it?" Ruth just nodded, and the child was weeping with happiness, and she was momentarily speechless. "You must be very good to him, for you are to everybody," said Oliver; "to hear him tell, I know, will make you cry. But never mind, never mind, It's all going to pass - I know that - and you'll laugh again at the thought of how much he's changed, and that's what you did to me. He said 'God bless you' to me when I ran away," said O. Liver cried out, and his inner feelings burst out, "Now, it's time for me to say 'God trusts you', and I'll tell him how much I love him because of those words."

When they were at last in the town, and the carriage was driving down the narrow streets, it was rather difficult to keep Oliver from getting too excited.Over there was Sowerberry's coffin shop, just as it had been before, only smaller and less imposing than he remembered it to be--the same shops and houses he knew so well, almost every one of which he knew. To run some little errands—it was Gamfield's cart, and there it was, parked in front of the old tavern—and there was the workhouse, the dreadful prison of his boyhood, whose dark windows seemed to be Looking morosely into the street--it was the same thin porter at the gate, Oliver drew back involuntarily at the sight of him, then laughed at himself for being so stupid, and wept for a while. , laughing again—there were many faces at the door and window that he knew so well—and almost everything was there, as if he had only left here yesterday and his whole new life was just a dream.

However, this is an entirely uncompromising and pleasant reality.They drove straight to the door of the number one hotel (which Oliver had looked up upon with awe, as a great palace, but which was somehow less grand and imposing than ever).Here, Mr. Greenwig made all the preparations for receiving them.They got out of the carriage, and he kissed Miss Ruth, and the old lady, as if he were everyone's grandfather.He was all smiles and geniality, and made no mention of eating his own head—yes, he never made that bet once, not even when arguing with a veteran postman about the shortest way to London. He didn't mention it, he insisted that he knew it best, even though he only walked that road once, and that time he fell into a deep sleep.Supper was served, the bedrooms were tidied up, everything was arranged like a magic trick.

Nevertheless, the fuss of the first half hour passed, when the silence and formality that had characterized their journey returned.Mr. Brownlow did not dine with them, but remained alone in a room.Two other gentlemen came in a hurry and left in a hurry. The two of them were also talking on the sidelines during that short interval, with very anxious expressions on their faces.Once, Mrs. Maylie was called out, and returned almost an hour later, with her eyes swollen from crying.The fact that Ruth and Oliver were already ignorant of the recent revelations made them nervous and uneasy.They sat silently in a daze.Even if they talked a few words occasionally, their voices were kept very low, as if they were afraid to hear their own voices.

At last nine o'clock, when they thought they would hear nothing more that night, Mr. Rothberleigh and Mr. Greenwig entered the room, followed by Mr. Brownlow and a man. People were taken aback and almost cried out.It turned out that this was the same man whom he had met in the market-place, and who he had seen looking in with Fagin through the window of his hut.They told him that this man was his brother.Monks cast his eyes on the astonished Oliver with a hatred which even now he could not conceal, and sat down by the door.Mr. Brownlow, with some papers in his hand, approached the table where Ruth and Oliver were already seated.

"It's a hard job," said he. "These declarations have been signed in London in the presence of many gentlemen, but the point must be reiterated here. I didn't mean to disgrace you, but , before everyone breaks up, I have to listen to you read it again, and you know the reason." "Go on," the person who was pointed turned his face away, and said, "Hurry up. I've probably done almost the same, so don't embarrass me anymore." "This boy," said Mr. Brownlow, drawing Oliver beside him, and laying his hand on his head, "is your half-brother. It is your father, my good friend Edwin Leigh. Ford's illegitimate son, pity his mother, Agnes Fleming Jr., who gave birth to him and died."

"Yes," Monks glared at the trembling Oliver, and perhaps he had heard the boy's heart beating. "That's their illegitimate child." "You use that word," said Mr. Brownlow sternly, "to insult those who have long since risen above the gossip of the world, and which would disgrace no living man but you. None of this Yes. Was he born in this town?" "In the workhouse in this town," replied the tone rather darkly, "isn't it written there." As he spoke, he pointed to the papers impatiently. "I want to prove it here," said Mr. Brownlow, looking around the room.

"Then listen! You!" Moncus replied, "the couple separated long after his father fell ill in Rome, and his wife, my mother, took me from Paris to take care of it. His property. As far as I know, she has no affection for him, and he has the same for my mother. He didn't recognize us at all. He was unconscious and comatose. He died the next day. His There are some papers in the desk, two of which were written on the night of his first illness, and addressed to you personally," he said, turning to Mr. Brownlow, "he wrote you a few lines and sealed Come on, there's a statement on the envelope that it won't be sent until after his death. Among those papers is a letter to that girl named Agnes, and the other is a will." "How was the letter written?" asked Mr. Brownlow. "Letter?—just a piece of paper, painted over and over again, with a confession of repentance, and a prayer to God to save her. He made up a lie to the girl, that he had a dark secret— It will be revealed one day—so I didn’t marry her at the time. She still believed in him as before, until she trusted him too much and lost something that no one could give back to her. At that time, she still had a few month to give birth. He told her all of his plans, and would not discredit her as long as he lived. And begged her not to curse his undead, or think that their sins would Bringing punishment on her or their young child, for all the sins were his. He reminded her not to forget the locket and the ring he gave her one day. Her name was engraved on the ring, and beside it was a The blank space below was to be engraved with the surname he hoped to dedicate to her one day—begging her to save the box and hang it next to her chest, just like it used to be—and there were those words, over and over again, crazily repeated, Like a derangement. There must be something wrong with his head." "About the will," said Mr. Brownlow, while Oliver was now in tears. Monks said nothing. "The will is to the same effect as the letter," said Mr. Brownlow for him, "in which it speaks of the misfortunes his wife has caused him, and of your perverse character, your wicked heart, and your premature evil desires. , you are his only son, but you have been trained to hate your father. He left you and your mother an annuity of eight hundred pounds each. He divided most of the property into two equal parts: one for Agnes Fleming, another for their child, as long as the child is born safely and reaches the age of majority. If it is a girl, the inheritance of that money is unconditional. But if it is a boy, there is a condition, that is to say, that he must not tarnish his surname with any dishonorable, indecent, cowardly or illegal conduct during his minor years. He said that such a will was made to show his respect for the child's mother and his own belief--a belief which only strengthened as death approached--that the child would inherit her nobility of heart and character. Should his hopes fail, the money would then go to him. You, because at that time, and only when the two sons have become all-rounders, he will admit that you have the right to apply for his property first, and you have never cared about anyone in the past. Come and hit him." "My mother," Monks raised his voice, "did what a woman should do. She burned the will. The letter never reached the recipient. She put the letter and other evidence Stayed, fearing that they both would try to get away with the scandal. The girl's father learned the truth from my mother, and with a deep hatred--and I still love her for it--exaggerate as much as possible, The father was so humiliated that he took his two daughters and hid in a remote corner of Wales, even changing his name so that his friends could never find out where he lived. , he was found dead on his bed not long after. The girl had quietly run away from home some weeks ago. The father had gone to her, and walked every village and town around. His old heart was broken that night when he decided that his daughter had committed suicide to cover up her own shame and that of her father." The room fell silent.After a pause, Mr. Brownlow picked up the thread of the story. "A few years later," he said, "the mother of this man—Edward Lefort—came to me. The son was only eighteen, and swept away her jewels and cash. He was a gambler. money, cheated and cheated, and fled to London. He spent two years among the lowest society dregs of London. The son was found. She sent people around and searched carefully, but there was no result for a long time, but at last he was found. He followed his mother to France." "She had a protracted illness and died in France," said Moncus, "with these secrets, and her irrepressible hatred of everyone involved in them, at the end of her life." , passed it down to me—although she couldn't do it, because I inherited it long ago. She didn't believe that the girl would kill herself and ruin the baby, but it always felt that a boy was born, and it was still alive. Alive. I swear to her that as soon as I meet the little guy, I will chase him down to the end, let him have no peace for a moment, and I will deal with him severely. God, if I can, I'll drag him all the way to the gallows, and spit on that insulting will, full of empty talk. She's right. I've got him at last. It started out pretty well, and if it wasn't for that babbling whore, I'd have done it." Folding his arms, the villain muttered curses at himself for his incompetence, with a resentment that had nowhere to vent.Mr. Brownlow, turning round, to the horror of every one present, explained that Fagin the Jew had always been his old partner and confidant of Munks, and had received a large reward on condition that Oliver be brought into The trap, in case he is rescued, part of the reward must be refunded. The two had a dispute on this issue, and they had their trip to the country house to find out whether it was Oliver or not. "And the locket and the ring?" asked Mr. Brownlow, turning to Moncus. "I bought it from the man and woman I told you about, and they stole it from the nurse, who stole it from the dead," replied Monks, without raising his eyes. , "You already know what happened later." Mr. Brownlow gave a slight nod to Mr. Greenwig, who went out with great agility, and presently returned with two persons, Mrs. Bumble pushing in front, and her disgruntled man behind. husband. "I mustn't be dazzled," cried Mr. Bumble, with a terribly poor performance of affective enthusiasm. "Isn't that little Oliver? Oh, O--- Oliver, you don't know how much I've done for you." sad--" "Shut up, fool!" muttered Mrs. Bumble. "It's human, human, Mrs. Bumble, isn't it?" said the Rector of the Workhouse, thinking otherwise. "I couldn't be happier—I brought him up on behalf of the parish—to see him and Can I not be pleased with these very agreeable ladies and gentlemen? I have always liked that boy as if he were my—my—my own grandfather,” Mr. Bumble paused, Just found such a suitable analogy, "Master Oliver, my dear, do you remember that lucky gentleman in white waistcoat? Oh, he ascended to heaven last week, in an oak coffin with a gilt handle , Oliver." "Come on, old man," said Mr. Greenwig sharply, "restrain your feelings." "I will do my best, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. "How are you, sir? I hope you are very well." This greeting was addressed to Mr. Brownlow, who had come very near to the venerable couple.He pointed to Meng Kesi and asked, "Do you know that person?" "No," Mrs. Bumble denied. "Perhaps you don't know either?" Mr. Brownlow asked her husband. "I never saw him in my life," said Mr. Bumble. "Perhaps, he never sold anything to him?" "No," replied Mrs. Bumble. "Perhaps you never had a locket and a ring at all?" "Never mind," replied the matron. "Why did you bring us here, to answer nonsense like that?" Mr. Brownlow nodded again to Mr. Greenwig, and once more the gentleman limped out, with extraordinary agility.This time, what he brought back was not a strong couple, but two old women with typhoon, who staggered in, trembling all over. "The night that Lao Sha died, you closed the door," said the one walking in front, raising a hand tremblingly, "but you couldn't shut out the noise, and you couldn't block the crack in the door either." "True, true," said the other, looking around, and poking at her toothless mouth, "True." "We heard old Sally trying desperately to tell you what she had done, and saw you take a piece of paper from her, and we followed you the next day, and saw you go into the pawn shop," said the first. "Yes," added the second, "it was 'a locket and a ring.' We all found out, and saw that it was delivered to you. We were there. Oh! Just by." "That's not all we know," went on the first, "she used to tell us a long time ago that the young mother had told her that she felt she couldn't get over it, that she was going to have a baby." I went to his father's grave, and I will die there, I never thought that I fell ill on the way." "Would you like to see the pawnbroker himself?" Mr. Greenwig asked, making a gesture to go to the door. "No," the matron replied, "since he—" she pointed to Monks—"coward, he actually admitted it, I think he recruited everything, and you asked all these ugly monsters again, and found I don't have much to say about these two fit witnesses. I did sell those two things; you'll never find them, so what?" "Not at all," replied Mr. Brownlow, "but there is one thing we need to inquire about. You two can no longer hold responsible positions. You may go." "I hope," said Mr. Bumble, looking around mournfully, as Mr. Greenwig went out with the two old ladies, "I hope I won't be dismissed from my parish office by this unfortunate little incident, yes. ?" "Dismissal is inevitable," replied Mr. Brownlow, "you'd better give up your mind, it's cheap enough for you." "It's all Mrs. Bumble's fault. She insisted on doing it." Mr. Bumble first looked back to make sure that his partner had left the room, and then he said he was wronged. "That is no reason," replied Mr. Brownlow, "that you were present when the two jewels were destroyed, and indeed you were the more culpable in the eyes of the law of the two. For the law held that you Your wife's behavior was ordered by you." "If the law thinks so," said Mr. Bumble, rubbing his hat vigorously between his hands, "the law is an ass--an idiot, and if that is what the law looks at, then the law must be a bachelor. I but May the worst be with the law, that it is only by experience, that eyes are opened, that a husband can dominate his wife—and that is by experience." Mr. Bumble, emphatically repeating the last words, put his hat on tight, and put his hands in his pockets, and followed his good wife downstairs. "Miss," said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Ruth, "give me your hand. Don't tremble. You needn't be afraid, and listen to the last words we have to say." "If what you say concerns me—I don't know how it's possible, but if—tell me some other time. I have neither the strength nor the spirit." "No," replied the old gentleman, taking her arm, "I believe you have more than that. Do you know this lady, sir?" "I know." Meng Kesi replied. "I've never seen you," Ruth replied feebly. "I see you often," Monks replied. "Unfortunate Agnes, her father has two daughters," said Mr. Brownlow. "What is the fate of the other—the little girl?" "That little girl," Meng Kesi replied, "her father died in a foreign land at that time, and she used an unfamiliar name. She didn't leave a letter, a notebook, or a piece of paper, and she didn't leave any clues. To find his friends or relatives—the child was taken by a poor peasant family, who adopted the child as their own." "Go on," said Mr. Brownlow, and with a wink to Mrs. Maylie, beckoning her to come forward, "go on." "The family moved away, and you couldn't find it if you looked for it," Moncus said. "However, where friendship can't help, hatred often thrives. My mother found it after a year of unannounced visits." That place—hey, and found the kid." "She took the baby away?" "No. The family were poor, and were beginning to get a little sick of their own kindness--at least the man. So my mother asked them to keep the kids, and gave them a little money, which didn't last very long. She promised to send some more money in the future, but she didn't intend to send any more. But she was still not at ease, for fear that their complaints and poverty would not make the child miserable enough, and my mother would shake off her sister's scandal. When talking about it, they can make it up as they like, and told them to be careful about that child, because she came from a humble background. They also said that she is an illegitimate child, and she will definitely go on a wrong path in the future. All these words are in line with the actual situation, They believed it. The child lived a miserable life there, and we were satisfied, until a rich widow who lived in Chester at that time saw the girl by chance, and thought she was very pitiful, and took her to the My own house. I always feel like there's some goddamn magic working against us. We've tried everything, but she's always there, and she's having a good time. I haven't seen her for two or three years. , didn't see her again until a few months ago." "Did you see her now?" "I see. It's on your shoulder." "It's just as good as my own," exclaimed Mrs. Maylie, embracing the girl Ruth, who was about to faint. Give it all to me, and I won't leave her behind, my lovely partner, my baby Niuniu." "You've been the only one I've ever had," cried Ruth, clinging to her. "The kindest, best friend. My heart is going to explode. I can't take it all." "You took more than that, you were always the kindest, most gentle girl, always giving happiness to everyone you knew," said Mrs. Maylie, holding her lovingly, "come, come here Ah, my darling, think who's waiting to take you in his arms, poor child. Look here—look, here he comes, my dear." "You're not aunt," cried Oliver, throwing his arms around Ruth's neck. "I'll never call her aunt—I'll call her sister, my dear good sister, something taught me in the first place that made my heart love so deeply. Ruth, sweet, sweet Ruth elder sister." Let us dedicate these tears and words to God as the two orphans hugged each other tightly for a long time, tears rolled down, and some incoherent words were spoken to each other.In an instant, they both knew who their father, sister, and mother were.Joy and sorrow meet in the cup of Fate, yet there are no bitter tears in it: for even the sorrow itself is watered down, and wrapped in such sweet, dear memories, that loses all bitterness and becomes a Solemn comfort. For a long, long time, it was just the two of them in the house.A soft knock on the door told them that someone was outside.Oliver opened the door and slipped out, letting Harry Maylie take his place. "I know it all," said he, sitting down beside the girl he loved. "My dear Ruth, I know it all." "I didn't come here by chance," he continued, after a long silence, "and I didn't hear about all this tonight, I found out yesterday--and only yesterday. You guessed it, I I'm here to make a promise to you again, right?" "Wait a minute," said Ruth, "you've got everything after all." "It's all clear. You promised me to bring up the last thing we talked about anytime within a year." "I promised." "I don't want to force you to change your mind," the young man urged, "but I want you to repeat it, if you will. I said that whatever status or property I may acquire, it will be yours." If you still stick to your previous decision, I swear with my own mouth that I will never use words or actions to change my mind." "The reasons that affected me then affect me now," said Ruth firmly, "if I had a duty to her , when have I ever felt as strongly as I did tonight? It's a struggle," Ruth said, "but one I'm proud of. It's a pain, but my heart is willing to bear." "The truth revealed tonight—" Harry tried to speak again. "The truth revealed tonight," Ruth took over the conversation softly, "I still haven't changed my previous position on your question." "You've been cruel to me, Ruth." Her sweetheart was anxious. "Oh, Harry, Harry," cried the young girl, "how I should like to bear this pain myself, but I cannot." "Why do you allow yourself to be tortured by pain?" said Harry, taking one of her hands. "Think about it, dear Ruth, think about what you've heard tonight." "What did I hear! What did I hear!" cried Ruth. "It's nothing more than that my real father shunned everybody because he couldn't stand the shame—well, we've said enough, ha Leigh, enough has been said." "No, not yet, not yet," said Ruth, standing up, when the young man stopped her, "my hopes, my ambitions, my prospects, my feelings—all my ideas about life have changed, and only I My love for you has not changed. Now, what I want to offer you is not a great reputation among the masses, nor a complicity with a world full of hatred and slander, where the righteous cannot hold their heads high, and it is often not For what a shameful thing they have really done. I have nothing but a home to offer you--a heart and a home--yes, dearest Ruth, that is all I can offer you, and only this .” "What do you mean?" she stammered. "What I mean is nothing more than - when I left you last time, I made an irreversible decision. I want to fill up all the gaps between you and me that I have imagined out of thin air. I have made up my mind that if my world cannot Be your world, make your world mine, and never let you be ridiculed by the concept of family status, because I will abandon it. I have done this. Those who are far away from me because of this are also People who are far from you, and that proves you right. The rich men, benefactors, and relatives of great power and high rank, who greeted me with a smile, now look at me coldly. But in one of the richest counties in England There are smiling fields and swaying woods, and a country church—that's my church, Ruth, my own—and there's an idyllic house there, and with you I'd know that I am a thousand times prouder than all the hopes I have thrown away. This is who I am and what I am, and I give it to you!" "It's a pain in the ass to wait for lovers to have dinner together," said Mr. Greenwig, waking from his doze, and pulling the handkerchief from his head. Seriously, dinner has been out for a long time, and the delay is unreasonably long.But neither Mrs. Maylie nor Harry and Ruth (the three of them walked in together) said a word of excusability. "I should like to eat my own head tonight," said Mr. Greenwig, "because I don't think I can eat anything else. If you don't object, I'll take the liberty of kissing the bride-to-be." Congratulations." Mr. Greenwig did not hesitate to put this warning into action, and kissed Miss Ruth, who was blushing.Inspired by this example, both the Doctor and Mr. Brownlow followed suit.Someone claimed to have seen Harry Maylie just now in the dark room next door to set a precedent.But the most authoritative people thought it was pure slander, because he was young and a priest. "Oliver, my boy," said Mrs. Maylie, "where have you been, and why do you look so sad? What's the matter, with the tears running down your face all this time?" It is a world of dashed hopes, and so often do the hopes that we hold dearest, the hopes that do our nature the highest honor. Poor Dick is dead.