Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph.
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition.
Into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
But before we begin.
.
.
Let's take a moment.
To focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
And let it out.
With a long sigh.
That's it!
Now close your eyes.
And feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Happy listening Chapter 52 continued.
From early in the evening until nearly midnight,
Little groups of two and three presented themselves at the lodge gate.
And inquired with anxious faces whether any reprieve had been received.
These being answered in the negative communicated the welcome intelligence to clusters in the street.
We pointed out to one another the door from which Fagin must come out.
And showed where the scaffold would be built.
And walking with unwilling steps away turned back to conjure up the scene.
By degrees one by one they fell off.
Then there's space.
Before the prison was cleared.
And in the dead of night.
The street was left to solitude and darkness.
When Mr Brownlow and Oliver appeared at the wicket and presented an order of admission to the prisoner,
Signed by one of the sheriffs,
They were immediately admitted into the lodge.
"'Is the young gentleman to come too,
Sir?
' said the man,
Whose duty it was to conduct them.
"'It's not a sight for children,
Sir.
'" It is not indeed my friend,
Rejoined Mr Brownlow,
But my business with this man is intimately connected.
And this child has seen him in the full career of his success and villainy,
So I think it just as well,
Even at the cost of some pain and fear,
He should see him now.
These few words have been set apart so as to be inaudible to Oliver.
The man touched his hat and,
Glancing at Oliver with some curiosity,
Opened another gate opposite.
This,
" said the man,
Stooping in the gloomy passage,
Where a couple of workmen were making some preparations.
This is the place he passes through.
If you step this way you can see the door he goes out at.
He led them into a stone kitchen fitted with coppers for dressing the prison food and then pointed to a door.
There was an opening grate above it,
Through which came the sound of men's voices mingled with the noise of hammering and the throwing down of boards.
They were putting up the scaffold.
From this place Oliver passed through several strong gates opened by other turn keys from the inside and having entered an open yard ascended a flight of narrow steps and came into a passage with a row of strong doors on the left hand.
The man motioned them to remain where they were,
Mr Brownlow and Oliver.
Then the two attendants,
After a little whispering,
Came into the passage,
Stretching themselves as if glad of the temporary relief.
And motioned the visitors to follow the jailer into the cell.
Fagin was seated on his bed,
Rocking himself from side to side,
With a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the face of a man.
His mind was evidently wandering to his old life,
For he continued to mutter,
Without appearing conscious of their presence,
Otherwise than as a part of his vision.
Good boy Charlie,
Well done,
He mumbled.
Oliver too,
Quite the gentleman now,
Quite the gentleman.
Take that boy back to bed.
The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver and,
Whispering him not to be alarmed,
Looked on without speaking.
Take him away to bed,
You hear me?
He's been the cause of all this.
It's worth the money to bring him up to it.
Bill,
Never mind the girl.
Boat his throat as deep as you can cut Saw his head off.
Bye,
Ian.
Said the jailer.
That's me,
Cried the Jew,
Falling instantly into the attitude of listening he had assumed upon his trial.
An old man I am my lord,
A very old man.
The turnkey laid his hand upon his breast to keep him down.
Here's somebody who wants to see you,
To ask you some questions I suppose.
Fagin,
You're a man.
I shan't be one long,
" he replied,
Looking up with a face retaining no human expression but rage and terror.
Strike them all dead.
What right have they to butcher me?
As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr Browner.
Then shrinking to the furthest corner of the seat,
He demanded to know what they wanted with him.
Steady,
Said the turnkey holding him down.
Now,
Sir.
Tell him what you want.
Quick if you please,
For he grows worse as time gets on.
You have some papers,
" said Mr Brownlow,
Advancing,
Which were placed in your hands for better security by a man called Monks.
They should lie together.
He's all a lie,
Replied Fagin.
I haven't got one,
Not one.
For the love of God.
Said Mr Brownlow solemnly.
Do not say that now,
Upon the verge of death.
Tell me where they are.
You know Sykes is dead.
Monks has confessed.
There's no hope of any further gain.
Where are the papers?
Fagin turned to Oliver.
Here,
Let me whisper to you.
I'm not afraid.
Said Oliver in a low voice as he relinquished Mr Brownlow's hand.
The papers,
" said Figa,
Drawing Oliver towards him.
They're in a canvas bag and all,
A little way up the chimney.
I want to talk to you,
My dear.
I want to talk to you.
Yes?
We turned Oliver,
Let me say a prayer.
Let me say one last prayer.
Say only one upon your knees with me and we'll talk till the morning.
Outside,
Outside,
" replied Fagin,
Pushing the boy before him towards the door.
Say I've gone to sleep,
They'll believe you.
You can get me out,
If you take me so.
Do it now!
God forgive this Richard man,
Cried Oliver with a burst of tears.
That's right,
That's right,
Said Fagin,
That'll help us on.
Now this door first.
If I shake and treble as we pass the gallows,
Don't you mind,
But hurry on now.
Have you nothing else to ask him,
Sir?
And quiet the turn key.
No other question,
Replied Mr Brownlow.
If I hoped we could recall him to a sense of his position.
Nothing will do that sir replied the man shaking his head.
You had better leave him.
Then the door of the cell opened and the attendants returned.
Press on,
Press on,
Cried Fagin.
Softly,
But not so slow now.
Faster,
Faster.
The men laid their hands upon him and disengaging Oliver from his grasp.
They held him back.
Fagin struggled with the power of desperation for an instant.
Then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those massive walls.
It was some time before they left the prison.
Oliver nearly swooned after this frightful scene and was so weak that for an hour or more he had not the strength to walk.
They was dawning when they again emerged.
A great multitude had already assembled.
The windows were filled with people smoking and playing cards to beguile the time.
The crowd were pushing,
Quarrelling,
Joking.
Everything told of life and animation.
But one dark cluster of objects in the centre of it all,
The black stage,
The cross beams.
And all the hideous apparatus of death.
Lay still.
Chapter 53 And last.
The fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are nearly closed.
The little that remains to the historian to relate is told in few and simple words.
Before three months had passed,
Rose Fleming and Harry Mailey were married in the village church,
Which was henceforth to be the scene of the young clergyman's labours.
Mrs Mailey took up her abode with her son and daughter-in-law to enjoy during the tranquil remainder of her days the greatest felicity that age and worth can know.
The contemplation of the happiness of those on whom the warmest affections and tenderest cares of a well-spent life.
Have been unceasingly bestowed.
It appeared on full and careful investigation.
If the wreck of property remaining in the custody of monks was equally divided between himself and Oliver,
It would yield to each little more than £3,
000.
By the provisions of his father's will,
Oliver would have been entitled to the whole.
But Mr Brownlow,
Unwilling to deprive the elder son of the opportunity of retrieving his former vices and pursuing an honest career.
.
.
Proposed this mode of distribution to which his young charge joyfully acceded.
Monks still bearing that assumed name retired with his portion to a distant part of the New World.
And after quickly squandering it,
He once more fell into his old courses.
After undergoing a long confinement for some fresh act of fraud,
At length he sunk under an attack of his old disorder and died in prison.
As far from home died the chief remaining members of his friend Fagin's gang.
Mr Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son.
Removing with him and the old housekeeper to within a mile of the Parsonage house,
Where his dear friends resided,
He gratified the only remaining wish of Oliver's warm and earnest heart and thus linked together a little society whose condition approached as nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever be known in this changing world.
Soon after the marriage of the young people,
The worthy doctor returned to Chertsey.
Were bereft of the presence of his old friends,
He would have been discontented.
If his temperament had admitted of such a feeling.
And he would have turned quite peevish if he had known how.
For two or three months he contented himself with hinting he feared the air began to disagree with him.
He settled his business on his assistant,
Took a bachelor's cottage outside the village,
Of which his young friend was pastor,
And instantaneously recovered.
Here he talked to gardening,
Planting,
Fishing and carpeting.
Before his removal,
He'd managed to contract a strong friendship for Mr Grimwig.
Which that eccentric gentleman cordially reciprocated.
On some days they never failed to criticise the sermon to the young clergyman's face.
Always informing Mr.
Lozburn in strict confidence afterwards.
They consider it an excellent performance,
But deem it as well not to say so.
Mr Noah Claypole receiving a free pardon from the crown in consequence of being admitted approver against Fagin.
Was for some little time at a loss for the means of a livelihood.
After some consideration he went into business as an informer.
His plan was to walk out once a week during church time,
Attended by Charlotte in respectable attire.
Then the lady would fade away at the doors of the charitable publicans and the gentleman being accommodated with throttling worth of brandy to restore her.
Would lay an information the next day.
And pocket half the penalty.
Sometimes Mr Clearpaw fainted himself.
But the result was the same.
Mr and Mrs Bumble,
Deprived of their situations,
Were gradually reduced to great indignance and misery.
They finally became paupers in that very same workhouse in which they'd once lorded it over others.
As to Mr Giles and Brittles,
They still remain in their old posts,
Although the former is bald and the last named boy quite grey.
Master Charles Bates,
Appalled by Sykes' crime,
Fell into a train of reflection whether an honest life was not,
After all,
The best.
Arriving at the conclusion it certainly was,
He turned his back upon the scenes of the past and resolved to amend it in some new sphere of action.
He is now the merriest young grazier in all North Hamptonshire.
And now the hand that traces these words falters as it approaches the conclusion of its task.
And would we,
For a little longer space,
The thread of these adventures?
I would fain linger yet with a few of these,
Among whom I have so long moved,
And share their happiness by endeavouring to depict it.
I would show Rose Mailey in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood,
Shedding on her secluded path in life soft and gentle light.
Fell on all who trod it with her.
I would watch her in all her goodness and charity abroad,
And the smiling,
Untiring discharge of domestic duties at home.
I would paint her and her dead sister's child happy in their love for one another,
And passing whole hours together in picturing the friends whom they had so sadly lost.
How Mr Browner went on from day to day filling the mind of his adopted child with stores of knowledge and becoming attached to him more and more as his nature developed itself.
Showed the thriving seeds of all he wished him to become.
I have said they were truly happy.
And without strong affection and humanity of heart and gratitude to that being whose code is mercy.
And whose great attribute is benevolence to all things that breathe,
Happiness can never be attained.
Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble tablet which bears as yet but one word.
Agnes.
There is no coffin in that tomb,
And may it be many,
Many years before another name is placed above it.
But if the spirits of the dead ever come back to earth to visit spots hallowed by the love beyond the grave of those whom they knew in life.
I believe the shade of Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook.
I believe it nonetheless.
Because that nook is in a church.
And she.
Was weak and erring.
