From Bentley's Miscellany. OLIVER TWIST. (CONTINUED.) BOOK SECOND. CHAPTER THE TENTH. 'Not ill, my love?' interposed Mrs. Maylie. 'No, no! Oh, not ill!' replied Rose, shuddering as though some deadly chillness were passing over her while she spoke; at least, I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray.' Oliver hastened to comply with the request; and the young lady, making an effort to recover her cheerful Wherein the happiness of Oliver and his friends expe-ness, strove to play some livelier tune. But her fingers riences a sudden check. Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the village had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health, and, stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched out beyond. The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green, and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year, and all things were glad and flourishing. Still the same quiet life went on at the little cottage, and the same cheerful serenity prevailed among its inmates. Oliver had long since grown stout and healthy; but health or sickness made no difference in his warm feelings to those about him, (though they do in the feelings of a great many people,) and he was still the same gentle, attached, affectionate creature, that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength, and he was dependent for every slight attention and comfort on those who tended him. One beautiful night they had taken a longer walk than was customary with them, for the day had been unusually warm, and there was a brilliant moon, and a light wind had sprung up, which was unusually refreshing. Rose had been in high spirits too, and they had walked on in merry conversation until they had far exceeded their ordinary bounds. Mrs. Maylie was fatigued, and they returned more slowly home. The young lady, merely throwing off her simple bonnet, sat down to the piano as usual; after running abstractedly over the keys for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very solemn air, and as she played it they heard her sob as if she were weeping. 'Rose, my dear?' said the elder lady. Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the sound had roused her from some painful thoughts, 'Rose, my love!' cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over her. "What is this? Your face is bathed in tears. My dear child, what distresses you?' 'Nothing, aunt,-nothing,' replied the young lady. 'I don't know what it is; I can't describe it; but I feel so low to-night, and—' VOL. XXXIII.-AUGUST, 1838. 64 dropped powerless on the keys, and, covering her face with her hands, she sank upon a sofa, and gave vent to the tears which she was now unable to repress. 'My child!' said the elder lady, folding her arms about her, 'I never saw you thus before.' 'I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,' rejoined Rose; but indeed I have tried very hard, and cannot help this. I fear I am ill, aunt.' She was, indeed; for, when candles were brought, they saw that in the very short time which had elapsed since their return home, the hue of her countenance had changed to a marble whiteness. Its expression had lost nothing of its beauty, but yet it was changed, and there was an anxious haggard look about that gentle face which it had never worn before. Another minute, and it was suffused with a crimson flush, and a heavy wildness came over the soft blue eye; again this disappeared like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud, and she was once more deadly pale. Oliver, who watched the old lady anxiously, observed that she was alarmed by these appearances, and so, in truth, was he; but, seeing that she affected to make light of them, he endeavoured to do the same, and they so far succeeded that when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night, she was in better spirits, and appeared even in better health, and assured them that she felt certain she would wake in the morning quite well. 'I hope, ma'am,' said Oliver when Mrs. Maylie returned, that nothing serious is the matter. Miss Maylie doesn't look well to-night, but———' The old lady motioned him not to speak, and, sitting herself down in a dark corner of the room, remained silent for some time. At length she said, in a trembling voice, 'I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her for some years-too happy, perhaps, and it may be time that I should meet with some misfortune; but I hope it is not this.' 'What misfortune, ma'am?' inquired Oliver. "The heavy blow,' said the old lady almost inarticulately, 'of losing the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness.' 'Oh! God forbid!' exclaimed Oliver hastily. 'Amen to that, my child!' said the old lady, wringing her hands. 'Surely there is no danger of anything so dreadful!' said Oliver. Two hours ago she was quite well.' 'She is very ill now,' rejoined Mrs. Maylie, and will undertake to do this, and I can trust you to see it will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose! Oh, what should I do without her!" The lady sank beneath her desponding thoughts, and gave way to such great grief that Oliver, suppressing his own emotion, ventured to remonstrate with her, and to beg earnestly that for the sake of the dear young lady herself she would be more calm. 'And consider, ma'am,' said Oliver, as the tears forced themselves into his eyes despite his efforts to the contrary; 'oh! consider how young and good she is, and what pleasure and comfort she gives to all about her. I am sure-certain-quite certain—that for your sake, who are so good yourself, and for her own, and for the sake of all she makes so happy, she will not die. God will never let her die yet.' 'Hush!' said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver's head. You think like a child, poor boy; and although what you say may be natural, it is wrong. But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding. I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, and I hope I may be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen enough of illness and death to know the pain they leave to those behind. I have seen enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should give us comfort rather than sorrow, for Heaven is just, and such things teach us impressively that there is a far brighter world than this, and that the passage to it is speedy. God's will be done! but I love her, and He alone knows how well!' Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie said these words she checked her lamentations as though by one struggle, and, drawing herself up as she spoke, became quite composed and firm. He was still more astonished to find that this firmness lasted, and that under all the care and watching which ensued, Mrs. Maylie was ever ready and collected, performing all the duties which devolved upon her steadily, and, to all external appearance, even cheerfully. But he was young, and did not know what strong minds are capable of under trying circumstances. How should he, indeed, when their possessors so seldom know themselves? An anxious night ensued, and when morning came Mrs. Maylie's predictions were but too well verified. Rose was in the first state of a high and dangerous fever. 'We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless grief,' said Mrs. Maylie, laying her finger on her lip as she looked steadily into his face; "this letter must be sent with all possible expedition to Mr. Losberne. It must be carried to the market-town, which is not more than four miles off by the foot-path across the fields, and thence despatched by an express on horseback straight to Chertsey. The people at the inn done, I know.' Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at once. 'Here is another letter,' said Mrs. Maylie, pausing to reflect; 'but whether to send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes on, I scarcely know. I would not forward it unless I feared the worst." 'Is it for Chertsey, too, ma'am?' inquired Oliver, impatient to execute his commission, and holding out his trembling hand for the letter. 'No,' replied the old lady, giving it him mechanically. Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Harry Maylie, Esquire, at some lord's house in the country; where, he could not make out. 'Shall it go, ma'am?' asked Oliver, looking up impatiently. 'I think not,' replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back. 'I will wait till to-morrow.' With these words she gave Oliver her purse, and he started off without more delay at the greatest speed he could muster. Swiftly he ran across the fields, and down the little lanes which sometimes divided them, now almost hidden by the high corn on either side, and now emerging into an open field where the mowers and haymakers were busy at their work; nor did he stop once, save now and then for a few seconds to recover breath, until he emerged in a great heat, and covered with dust, on the little market-place of the market town. Here he paused, and looked about for the inn. There was a white bank, and a red brewery, and a yellow town-hall; and in one corner a large house with all the wood about it painted green, before which was the sign of 'The George,' to which he hastened directly it caught his eye. Oliver spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the gateway, and who, after hearing what he wanted, referred him to the hostler; who, after hearing all he had to say again, referred him to the landlord, who was a tall gentleman in a blue neckloth, a white hat, drab breeches, and boots with tops to match, and was leaning against a pump by the stable-door, picking his teeth with a silver tooth-pick. This gentleman walked with much deliberation to the bar to make out the bill, which took a long time making out, and after it was ready, and paid, a horse had to be saddled, and a man to be dressed, which took up ten good minutes more; meanwhile Oliver was in such a desperate state of impatience and anxiety that he felt as if he could have jumped upon the horse himself, and galloped away full tear to the next stage. At length all was ready, and the little parcel having been handed up, with many injunctions and entreaties for its speedy delivery, the man set spurs to |