you've got yourself into a
scrape there, Mr. Giles. Are you a Protestant? And what are _you_?"
turning sharply on Brittles.

"Yes, sir; I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, turning very pale, for the
doctor spoke with strange severity.

"I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir," said Brittles, starting violently.

"Then tell me this, both of you," said the doctor. "Are you going to
take upon yourselves to swear that that boy upstairs is the boy that was
put through the little window last night? Come, out with it! Pay
attention to the reply, constable. Here's a house broken into, and a
couple of men catch a moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of
gunpowder-smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness.
Here's a boy comes to that very same house next morning, and because he
happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him,
place his life in danger, and swear he is the thief. I ask you again,"
thundered the doctor, "are you, on your solemn oaths, able to identify
that boy?"

Of course, under these circumstances, as Mr. Giles and Brittles couldn't
identify the boy, the constable retired, and the attempted robbery was
followed by no arrests.

Oliver Twist grew up in the peaceful and happy home of Mrs. Maylie,
under the tender affection of two good women. Later on, Mr. Brownlow was
found, and Oliver's character restored. It was proved, too, that the
portrait Mr. Brownlow possessed was that of Oliver's mother, whom its
owner had once esteemed dearly. Betrayed by fate, the unhappy woman had
sought refuge in the workhouse, only to die in giving birth to her son.

In that same workhouse, where his authority had formerly been so
considerable, Mr. Bumble came--as a pauper--to die.

Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting
against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage
housebreaker murdered her.

But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.

For the Jew was taken and condemned to death, and in the condemned cell
came the recollection to him of all the men he had known who had died
upon the scaffold, some of them through his means.

Sikes, when the news of Nancy's murder got abroad, was hunted by a
furious crowd. He had taken refuge in an old, disreputable uninhabited
house, known to his accomplices, which stood right over the Thames, in
Jacob's Island, not far from Dockhead; but the pursuit was hot, and the
only chance of safety lay in getting to the river.

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