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though he was something past thirty。
Encouraging each other with such converse as this； but；
keeping very close together； notwithstanding； and looking
furtively round； whenever a fresh gust rattled through the boughs；
the three men hurried back to a tree； behind which they had left
their lantern； lest its light should inform the thieves in what
direction to fire。 Catching up the light； they made the best of their
way home； at a good round trot； and long after their dusky forms
had ceased to be discernible； the light might have been seen
twinkling and dancing in the distance； like some exhalation of the
damp and gloomy atmosphere through which it was swiftly borne。
The air grew colder； as day came slowly on； and the mist rolled
along the ground like a dense cloud of smoke。 The grass was wet；
the pathways； and low places were all mire and water； and the
damp breath of an unwholesome wind went languidly by； with a
hollow moaning。 Still； Oliver lay motionless and insensible on the
spot where Sikes had left him。
Morning drew on apace。 The air became more sharp and
piercing； as its first dull hue—the death of night； rather than the
birth of day—glimmered faintly in the sky。 The objects which had
looked dim and terrible in the darkness； grew more and more
defined； and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes。 The
rain came down； thick and fast； and pattered noisily among the
leafless bushes。 But Oliver felt it not； as it beat against him； for he
still lay stretched； helpless and unconscious； on his bed of clay。
At length； a low cry of pain broke the stillness that prevailed；
and uttering it； the boy awoke。 His left arm； rudely bandaged in a
shawl； hung heavy and useless at his side； the bandage was
saturated with blood。 He was so weak； that he could scarcely raise
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himself into a sitting posture； when he had done so； he looked
feebly round for help； and groaned with pain。 Trembling in every
joint； from cold and exhaustion； he made an effort to stand
upright； but； shuddering from head to foot； fell prostrate on the
ground。
After a short return of the stupor in which he had been so long
plunged； Oliver； urged by a creeping sickness at his heart； which
seemed to warn him that if he lay there； he must surely die； got
upon his feet； and essayed to walk。 His head was dizzy； and he
staggered to and fro like a drunken man。 But he kept up；
nevertheless； and； with his head drooping languidly on his breast；
went stumbling onward； he knew not whither。
And now hosts of bewildering and confused ideas came
crowding on his mind。 He seemed to be still walking between
Sikes and Crackit； who were angrily disputing—for the very words
they said； sounded in his ears； and when he caught his own
attention； as it were； by making some violent effort to save himself
from falling； he found that he was talking to them。 Then； he was
alone with Sikes； plodding on as on the previous day； and as
shadowy people passed them； he felt the robber’s grasp upon his
wrist。 Suddenly； he started back at the report of firearms； there
rose in the air； loud cries and shouts； lights gleamed before his
eyes； all was noise and tumult； as some unseen hand bore him
hurriedly away。 Through all these rapid visions； there ran an
undefined； uneasy consciousness of pain； which wearied and
tormented him incessantly。
Thus he staggered on； creeping almost mechanically； between
the bars of gates； or through hedge…gaps as they came in his way；
until he reached a road。 Here the rain began to fall so heavily； that
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it roused him。
He looked about； and saw that at no great distance there was a
house； which perhaps he could reach。 Pitying his condition； they
might have compassion on him； and if they did not； it would be
better； he thought； to die near human beings； than in the lonely；
open fields。 He summoned up all his strength for one last trial； and
bent his faltering steps towards it。 As he drew nearer to this house；
a feeling came over him that he had seen it before。 He
remembered nothing of its details； but the shape and aspect of the
building seemed familiar to him。
That garden wall！ On the grass inside； he had fallen on his
knees last night； and prayed the two men’s mercy。 It was the very
house they had attempted to rob。
Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognised the
place； that； for the instant； he forgot the agony of his wound； and
thought only of flight。 Flight！ He could scarcely stand； and if he
were in full possession of all the best powers of his slight and
youthful frame； whither could he fly？ He pushed against the
garden gate； it was unlocked； and swung open on its hinges。 He
tottered across the lawn； climbed the steps； knocked faintly at the
door； and； his whole strength failing him； sank down against one
of the pillars of the little portico。
It happened that about this time； Mr。 Giles； Brittles； and the
tinker were recruiting themselves； after the fatigues and terrors of
the night； with tea and sundries； in the kitchen。 Not that it was Mr。
Giles’s habit to admit to too great familiarity the humbler servants；
towards whom it was rather his wont to deport himself with a lofty
affability； which； while it gratified； could not fail to remind them of
his superior position in society。 But death； fires； and burglary；
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make all men equals； so Mr。 Giles sat with his legs stretched out
before the kitchen fender； leaning his left arm on the table； while；
with his right； he illustrated a circumstantial and minute account
of the robbery； to which his hearers （but especially the cook and
housemaid； who were of the party） listened with breathless
interest。
“It was about half…past two；” said Mr。 Giles； “or I wouldn’t
swear that it mightn’t have been a little nearer three； when I woke
up； and； turning round in my bed； as it might be so （here Mr。 Giles
turned round in his chair； and pulled the corner of the table…cloth
over him to imitate bed…clothes）； I fancied I heerd a noise。”
At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale； and asked
the housemaid to shut the door； who asked Brittles； who asked the
tinker； who pretended not to hear。
“—Heerd a noise；” continued Mr。 Giles。 “I says； at first； ‘This is
illusion’； and was composing myself off to sleep； when I heerd the
noise again； distinct。”
“What sort of a noise？” asked the cook。
“A kind of a busting noise；” replied Mr。 Giles； looking round
him。
“More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a nutmeg…
grater；” suggested Brittles。
“It was； when you heerd it； sir；” rejoined Mr。 Giles； “but； at this
time； it had a busting sound。 I turned down the clothes；”
continued Giles； rolling back the tablecloth； “sat up in bed； and
listened。”
The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated； “Lor！” and
drew their chairs closer together。
“I heerd it now； quite