导读：WHEREINTHEHAPPINESSOFOLIVERANDHISFRIENDS,EXPERIENCESASUDDENCHECKSpringflewswiftl...

WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came. 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 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; 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 of a great many people. He was still the same gentle, attached, affectionate creature that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength, and when he was dependent for every slight attention, and comfort on those who tended him.

One beautiful night, when 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 being fatigued, 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 a sound as if she were weeping.

'Rose, my dear!' said the elder lady.

Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the words had roused her from some painful thoughts.

'Rose, my love!' cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over her. 'What is this? 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--'

'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; 'I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray!'

Oliver hastened to comply with her request. The young lady, making an effort to recover her cheerfulness, strove to play some livelier tune; but her fingers dropped powerless over the keys. 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 elderly lady, folding her arms about her, 'I never saw you so 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 it was changed; and there was an anxious haggard look about the 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: assuring them that she felt certain she should rise in the morning, quite well.

'I hope,' said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie returned, 'that nothing is the matter? She don't look well to-night, but--'

The old lady motioned to 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. It may be time that I should meet with some misfortune; but I hope it is not this.'

'What?' inquired Oliver.

'The heavy blow,' said the old lady, '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. Maylies; 'and will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose! Oh, what shall I do without her!'

She 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 of 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. Heaven will never let her die so young.'

'Hush!' said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver's head. 'You think like a child, poor boy. But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding. I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, but I hope I may be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen enough of illness and death to know the agony of separation from the objects of our love. 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 in our sorrow; for Heaven is just; and such things teach us, impressively, that there is a brighter world than this; and that the passage to it is speedy. God's will be done! I love her; and He knows how well!'

Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie said these words, she checked her lamentations as though by one effort; and drawing herself up as she spoke, became 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 every ready and collected: performing all the duties which had devolved upon her, steadily, and, to all external appearances, even cheerfully. But he was young, and did not know what strong minds are capable of, under trying circumstances. How should he, when their possessors so seldom know themselves?

An anxious night ensued. When morning came, Mrs. Maylie's predictions were but too well verified. Rose was in the first stage 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 footpath across the field: and thence dispatched, by an express on horseback, straight to Chertsey. The people at the inn will undertake to do this: and I can trust to you to see it 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 to him mechanically. Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Harry Maylie, Esquire, at some great 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 until 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 on 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 came, 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 were a white bank, and a red brewery, and a yellow town-hall; and in one corner there was a large house, with all the wood about it painted green: before which was the sign of 'The George.' To this he hastened, as soon as it caught his eye.

He spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the gateway; and who, after hearing what he wanted, referred him to the ostler; who after hearing all he had to say again, referred him to the landlord; who was a tall gentleman in a blue neckcloth, a white hat, drab breeches, and boots with tops to match, leaning against a pump by the stable-door, picking his teeth with a silver toothpick.

This gentleman walked with much deliberation into 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 his horse, and rattling over the uneven paving of the market-place, was out of the town, and galloping along the turnpike-road, in a couple of minutes.

As it was something to feel certain that assistance was sent for, and that no time had been lost, Oliver hurried up the inn-yard, with a somewhat lighter heart. He was turning out of the gateway when he accidently stumbled against a tall man wrapped in a cloak, who was at that moment coming out of the inn door.

'Hah!' cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver, and suddenly recoiling. 'What the devil's this?'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Oliver; 'I was in a great hurry to get home, and didn't see you were coming.'

'Death!' muttered the man to himself, glaring at the boy with his large dark eyes. 'Who would have thought it! Grind him to ashes! He'd start up from a stone coffin, to come in my way!'

'I am sorry,' stammered Oliver, confused by the strange man's wild look. 'I hope I have not hurt you!'

'Rot you!' murmured the man, in a horrible passion; between his clenched teeth; 'if I had only had the courage to say the word, I might have been free of you in a night. Curses on your head, and black death on your heart, you imp! What are you doing here?'

The man shook his fist, as he uttered these words incoherently. He advanced towards Oliver, as if with the intention of aiming a blow at him, but fell violently on the ground: writhing and foaming, in a fit.

Oliver gazed, for a moment, at the struggles of the madman (for such he supposed him to be); and then darted into the house for help. Having seen him safely carried into the hotel, he turned his face homewards, running as fast as he could, to make up for lost time: and recalling with a great deal of astonishment and some fear, the extraordinary behaviour of the person from whom he had just parted.

The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection long, however: for when he reached the cottage, there was enough to occupy his mind, and to drive all considerations of self completely from his memory.

Rose Maylie had rapidly grown worse; before mid-night she was delirious. A medical practitioner, who resided on the spot, was in constant attendance upon her; and after first seeing the patient, he had taken Mrs. Maylie aside, and pronounced her disorder to be one of a most alarming nature. 'In fact,' he said, 'it would be little short of a miracle, if she recovered.'

How often did Oliver start from his bed that night, and stealing out, with noiseless footstep, to the staircase, listen for the slightest sound from the sick chamber! How often did a tremble shake his frame, and cold drops of terror start upon his brow, when a sudden trampling of feet caused him to fear that something too dreadful to think of, had even then occurred! And what had been the fervency of all the prayers he had ever muttered, compared with those he poured forth, now, in the agony and passion of his supplication for the life and health of the gentle creature, who was tottering on the deep grave's verge!

Oh! the suspense, the fearful, acute suspense, of standing idly by while the life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the balance! Oh! the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the heart beat violently, and the breath come thick, by the force of the images they conjure up before it; the desparate anxiety _to be doing something_ to relieve the pain, or lessen the danger, which we have no power to alleviate; the sinking of soul and spirit, which the sad remembrance of our helplessness produces; what tortures can equal these; what reflections or endeavours can, in the full tide and fever of the time, allay them!

Morning came; and the little cottage was lonely and still. People spoke in whispers; anxious faces appeared at the gate, from time to time; women and children went away in tears. All the livelong day, and for hours after it had grown dark, Oliver paced softly up and down the garden, raising his eyes every instant to the sick chamber, and shuddering to see the darkened window, looking as if death lay stretched inside. Late that night, Mr. Losberne arrived. 'It is hard,' said the good doctor, turning away as he spoke; 'so young; so much beloved; but there is very little hope.'

Another morning. The sun shone brightly; as brightly as if it looked upon no misery or care; and, with every leaf and flower in full bloom about her; with life, and health, and sounds and sights of joy, surrounding her on every side: the fair young creature lay, wasting fast. Oliver crept away to the old churchyard, and sitting down on one of the green mounds, wept and prayed for her, in silence.

There was such peace and beauty in the scene; so much of brightness and mirth in the sunny landscape; such blithesome music in the songs of the summer birds; such freedom in the rapid flight of the rook, careering overhead; so much of life and joyousness in all; that, when the boy raised his aching eyes, and looked about, the thought instinctively occurred to him, that this was not a time for death; that Rose could surely never die when humbler things were all so glad and gay; that graves were for cold and cheerless winter: not for sunlight and fragrance. He almost thought that shrouds were for the old and shrunken; and that they never wrapped the young and graceful form in their ghastly folds.

A knell from the church bell broke harshly on these youthful thoughts. Another! Again! It was tolling for the funeral service. A group of humble mourners entered the gate: wearing white favours; for the corpse was young. They stood uncovered by a grave; and there was a mother--a mother once--among the weeping train. But the sun shone brightly, and the birds sang on.

Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received from the young lady, and wishing that the time could come again, that he might never cease showing her how grateful and attached he was. He had no cause for self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of thought, for he had been devoted to her service; and yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, on which he fancied he might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about us, when every death carries to some small circle of survivors, thoughts of so much omitted, and so little done--of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might have been repaired! There is no remorse so deep as that which is unavailing; if we would be spared its tortures, let us remember this, in time.

When he reached home Mrs. Maylie was sitting in the little parlour. Oliver's heart sank at sight of her; for she had never left the bedside of her niece; and he trembled to think what change could have driven her away. He learnt that she had fallen into a deep sleep, from which she would waken, either to recovery and life, or to bid them farewell, and die.

They sat, listening, and afraid to speak, for hours. The untasted meal was removed, with looks which showed that their thoughts were elsewhere, they watched the sun as he sank lower and lower, and, at length, cast over sky and earth those brilliant hues which herald his departure. Their quick ears caught the sound of an approaching footstep. They both involuntarily darted to the door, as Mr. Losberne entered.

'What of Rose?' cried the old lady. 'Tell me at once! I can bear it; anything but suspense! Oh, tell me! in the name of Heaven!'

'You must compose yourself,' said the doctor supporting her. 'Be calm, my dear ma'am, pray.'

'Let me go, in God's name! My dear child! She is dead! She is dying!'

'No!' cried the doctor, passionately. 'As He is good and merciful, she will live to bless us all, for years to come.'

The lady fell upon her knees, and tried to fold her hands together; but the energy which had supported her so long, fled up to Heaven with her first thanksgiving; and she sank into the friendly arms which were extended to receive her.

    春天飘然逝去，夏天来临了。如果说村子当初一度很漂亮的话，那么现在则充分展示了它的风采与繁盛。早几个月里显得畏畏缩缩，赤身露体的高大树木现在进发出充沛的活力，张开绿色的手臂，遮盖住干渴的土地，把一处处无遮无掩的地点变成无可挑剔的幽静去处。在浓密舒适的树阴下，人们可以看到，阳光沐浴下的广阔空间向远方伸展开去。大地披上了翠绿色的罩衣，散发着醇厚的芳香。这是一年中的全盛时期，万物欣欣向荣，一派欢快气象。

    小别墅里的恬静生活依然如故，别墅里的人照常过得愉快而安宁。奥立弗早已长得身强体壮。但不管是健康还是疾病，都没有改变他对身边的人的深厚感情，但也有许多人就不是这样了。他依然是当初那个被苦难榨干精力，处处要人照料的小不点儿《无为论》，后三论均佚，散见于《列子注》、《世说新语》等，那个依头顺脑、满心感激的孩子。

    一个皎好的夜晚，他们散步时比平素多走了一程，白天特别热，人夜皓月当空，不时有一阵异常凉爽的微风掠过。露丝开始也兴致勃勃，她们一边走，一边有说有笑地聊着，远远走出了平时的范围。梅莱太太觉得有点累了，她们才慢悠悠地回到家里。露丝和往常一样，扔下轻便的软帽，坐到钢琴前边。她茫然若失地弹了几分钟，手指急促地从琴键上滑过，随后她开始弹奏一支低沉而又凝重的曲子。就在她弹琴的时候，大家听到了一种声音，她好像在哭泣。

    “露丝，我亲爱的。”老太太说道。

    露丝没有回答，只是弹得略略快了一点，似乎这句话把她从痛苦的思考中唤醒了。

    “露丝，我的妞妞。”梅莱太太慌乱地站起来，俯下身去，喊道。“怎么回事？哭啦。我亲爱的孩子，是什么事情让你伤心？”

    “没什么，姑妈。没什么，”少女回答，“我不知道是怎么回事。我说不出来。可我觉得――”

    “该不是病了，妞妞？”梅莱太太插了一句。

    “不，不。噢，我没病。”露丝打了个寒颤，似乎说话时有一股冷森森的寒意流遍全身。“我很快就会好起来的。把窗户关上吧。”

    奥立弗赶紧上前，关上窗户。小姐很想恢复以往那种兴致，换了一支比较轻松的曲子，但她的指头软弱无力地在琴键上停下来。她双手捂住脸，瘫倒在沙发上，抑制不住的泪水夺眶而出。

    “我的孩子，”老太太搂住她的肩膀，说道，“我以前从没见过你像这样。”

    “能不惊动你，我也不想惊动你，”露丝回答，“我拼命忍住，可实在忍不住了。我恐怕真的病了，姑妈。”

    她确实病了，蜡烛拿过来以后，他们发现，就在回到家里这一段极短的时间里，她的脸色变得像大理石一样苍白。美丽的容颜丝毫没有改变，但表情变了。文静的脸上带着一种前所未见的焦急、疲惫的神色。过了一分钟，脸上腾起一片红晕，温柔的蓝眼睛里闪出狂乱的光芒。红晕又消失了，如同浮云掠过的影子，她再度显出死一般的苍白。

    奥立弗眼巴巴看着老太太，不禁党察到她叫这些症状吓坏了，他自己其实也一样。可一看老太太装出不当一回事的样子，他也尽力那样做，果然有些作用。露丝在她姑妈劝说下进去休息了，她的精神略有好转，甚至气色也好一些了，还保证说，她明天早上起来肯定就没事了。

    “没事吧？”梅莱太太回来了，奥立弗说道，“今天晚上她脸色不好，可――”

    老太太示意他别再说了，在一个昏暗的角落里坐下来，沉默了好一会儿。末了，她用颤抖的声音说道：

    “我相信不会，奥立弗。多少年来我跟她一块儿过得非常幸福――也许太幸福了。没准该是我遇上某种不幸的时候了。但我希望不是这样。”

    “什么？”奥立弗问。

    “失去这个好姑娘的沉重打击，”老太太说道，“很久以来她就是我的安慰与幸福。”

    “哦！上帝不会答应的！”奥立弗惊慌地叫了起来。

    “求主保佑吧，我的孩子。”老太太绞扭着双手说。

    “肯定不会有那么吓人的事情吧？”奥立弗说道，“两个小时以前，她还好好的呢。”

    “她现在病得很厉害，”梅莱太太回答，“还会更糟糕的，我相信。我可亲可爱的露丝。噢，没有她我可怎么办啊！”

    巨大的悲痛压倒了她，奥立弗不得不克制住自己的感情，好言相劝，苦苦哀求，看在亲爱的小姐本人的分上，她应该镇定一些。

    “想一想吧，夫人，”奥立弗说话时，泪水径自涌进了他的眼睛。“噢！你想想，她那么年轻，心那么好，又给身边所有的人带来那么多的欢乐和安慰。我保证――是的――确确实实的――为了你，你的心也那么好，为了她自个儿，为了所有从她那里得到幸福的人，她不会死的。上帝决不会让她那么年轻就死的。”

    “小点声。”梅莱太太把一只手放在奥立弗头上，说道。“你想得太天真了，可怜的孩子。不管怎么说吧，你教我懂得了自己的职责。我一下子给忘了，奥立弗，可我相信我会得到宽恕的，我老了，见到的病痛、死亡够多的了，我知道，与我们心爱的人分别是多么痛苦。我见过的事多了，最年轻、最善良的人也不一定总是能够从那些爱他们的人那里得到宽恕，但这一点可以在我们悲哀时带来安慰，上天是公正的。这样的事情印象深刻啊，提醒我们知道，有一个世界比这个要光明一些，并已到那里去也用不了多少时间。上帝自有安排。我爱她，反正上帝知道我爱她有多深。”

    梅莱太大倾吐着这些话语，奥立弗惊奇地看到，梅莱太太似乎一咬牙将悲伤压了下去，说话间她挺起了腰板，变得沉着而坚定。接下来，他越发感到诧异，这种坚定始终不变，尽管照料病人的担子都落在她肩上，梅莱太太却始终有条不紊，泰然自若，履行这些职责的时候一丝不苟，从整个外表上看还挺轻松。但他毕竟年纪还小，不懂得坚强的心灵在危难之时能有多么坚强。这也难怪他不懂，又有多少坚强的人了解他们自己呢？

    一个焦虑不安的夜晚过去了。清晨来临，梅莱太太的预言完全验证了。露丝正处于一种非常危险的热症初期。

    “我们一定得主动才行，奥立弗，不能光是发些个干事无补的哀叹。”梅莱太太把一根手指放在唇边，眼睛直视着他的脸，说道。“这封信必须尽快交给罗斯伯力先生。必须送到集镇上去，你抄小路穿过田野，走不到四英里，到那儿再派专差骑马直接送到杰茨。那个客栈里的人会把这事办妥的。我要你去看着他们发出去，我信得过你。”

    奥立弗说不出一句话，只是巴不得马上就走。

    “这里还有一封信，”梅莱太太说着又停下来，沉思了一会。“但究竟是现在就发出去，还是等我看看露丝的病情再说，我简直拿不定主意。我不能发出去，除非真的出现最糟糕的事情。”

    “也是送到杰茨去吗，太太？”奥立弗急在心头，一边问，一边将颤抖着的手朝那封信伸过去。

    “是的。”老太太回答，木然地把信交给了他。奥立弗扫了一眼信封，信是寄到某某尊贵的勋爵的庄园去的，哈利梅莱先生收，到底是什么地方，他也搞不清楚。

    “要送去吗，太太？”奥立弗急不可待地抬起头来，问道。

    “我想不用了，”梅莱太太把信收了回去。“明天再说。”

    梅莱太太说罢，把钱包交给奥立弗，他不再耽搁，鼓起全身的劲头，以最快速度出发了。

    他飞快地穿过田野，顺着小路跑过去，有时穿过田间小道，时而几乎被两旁高高的庄稼遮盖起来，时而又从一块空地里冒出来，几个农人正在那里忙着收割、堆垛。他一次也没有停留，只是偶尔歇几秒钟，喘喘气，一直跑到镇里的小集市，跑得满头大汗，一身尘土。

    他停住脚步，四下找寻那家客栈。白色的房子是银行，红房子是啤酒作坊，黄色的是镇公所，在一个街角上有一所大房子，凡是木头的部分都漆成绿色，前面有一块“乔治”字样的招牌。这所房子刚一映入他的眼帘，他便奔了过去。

    他对一个正在门廊下边打瞌睡的邮差说明了来意，邮差听懂了他要办的事之后，叫他去向店里的马夫打听，马夫又要他从头再说一遍，然后让他跟老板说去。老板是一位高个子绅士，围一条蓝色围巾，戴一顶白色的帽子，浅褐色厚呢马裤配一双翻口长统靴，正靠在马厩门旁边的卿筒上，用一根银质牙签剔牙。

    这位绅士慢条斯理地走进柜台，开始开发票，费了好长时间。钱付了，还要给马套上鞍子，邮差也得穿上制服，这足足花了十多分钟。奥立弗急得像热锅上的蚂蚁，恨不得自己纵身跳上马背，向下一站飞驰而去。好容易才万事齐备，那封信也递了过去，他对邮差叮咛了又叮咛，求他尽快送到。邮差策马启程了，穿过集市上坑坑洼洼的石子路，两分钟后已经驰上了大道。

    看到告急情已经发出，没有白费功夫，奥立弗这才放下心来，怀着多少轻松了一点的心情，匆匆忙忙穿过客栈的院子，正要在大门口转身，不想却跟一个身披斗篷的大高个子撞上了，那人当时正从客栈里走出来。

    “喝！”那人死死盯住奥立弗，猛一后退，嚷道。“这他妈的什么东西？”

    “对不起，先生，”奥立弗说，“我赶着回家，没看见你走过来。”

    “该死的！”那人自言自语地嘟哝道，两只又大又黑的眼睛烁烁地瞅着奥立弗。“谁想得到啊。真该把他碾成灰。他会从石头棺材里跳起来挡我的道。”

    “很抱歉，”奥立弗叫这个怪人狂乱的神色吓慌了，结结巴巴地说，“但愿我没有碰痛你。”

    “混账东西！”那人狂怒不止，从牙缝里咕哝着，“我要是有胆子说那句话，只要一个晚上就甩掉你了。你这个天杀的东西，叫黑死病钻到你心里去吧，你这个小混蛋。你在这儿干什么？”

    那人一边挥动着拳头，一边语无论次地说。他朝奥立弗走过去，像是打算给他一拳，却又猛然跌倒在地，浑身痉挛，口吐白沫。

    有一瞬间，奥立弗（他以为自己遇上了一个疯子）只顾呆呆地望着他在地上打滚，接着便冲进客店找人帮忙去了。他看着那人给架起来，太太平平地进了客店，这才转身回家。他铆足了劲一路飞跑，以弥补耽误的时间，同时怀着十分惊诧并有几分恐惧的心惰，回想起自己刚刚离开的那个人举动真是怪极了。

    不过，这种情况并没有在他的脑海里驻留多久，他回来以后，别墅里有的是事情占据他的心，将一切有关自身的考虑统统从记忆中挤了出去。

    露丝梅莱的病情急剧恶化，午夜前她开始说胡话。一个住在当地的医生时刻守候着她。医生初步对病人作了检查，随后把梅莱太太引到一边，宣布她的病属于一种极其危险的类型。“说实在的，”他说道，“她能不能痊愈，只有靠奇迹了。”

    当天夜里，奥立弗有多少次从床上跳起来，蹑手蹑脚地溜到楼梯口，凝神谛听病房里有没有发出哪怕是最细微的响声。有多少次，每当杂乱的脚步声突然响起，他不由得担心，又有什么令人不敢想像的事情到底还是发生了，他吓得浑身发抖，额上直冒冷汗。他声泪俱下，为那位正在深深的墓穴边缘摇摇欲坠的好姑娘的生命苦苦祈祷，这种热情远远不是他过去所作的一切能够比得上的。

    哦！这种牵挂，当一个为我们深切爱慕的人的生命在天平上摇摆不定的时候，我们却无能为力，这种牵挂是多么可怕，多么令人痛苦。哦！撕心裂胆的思绪涌进心灵，凭借着它们所唤起的幻象的魔力，心脏剧烈地跳动，呼吸愈发急促――一种不顾一切的冲动油然而生：做一点什么事情，减轻这种我们无力缓解的痛苦，缩小这种我们无力消减的危险。我们痛苦地想到自己是那样束手无策，我们的心直往下沉，气不停地泄，有什么刑罚拷问能与此相比？有什么想法或者作法能够在焦虑达到登峰造极之时缓解这种痛苦？

    早晨到来了。小小的别墅里一片寂静。人们低声耳语，焦灼的面孔不时出现在门口，女人和孩子噙着泪水走到一边。整个漫长的白天，以及天黑之后的几个小时，奥立弗都在花园里轻轻地走来走去，每过一会都要抬起头来，看一眼病人的房间，他战战兢兢地看着黑沉沉的窗口，看他那副样子，好像死神已经捷足先登。深夜，罗斯伯力先生到了。“难啊，”好心的大夫一边说，一边背过脸去。“那么年轻，又那么可爱。但希望很渺茫。”

    又一个早晨到来了。阳光是那样明媚，仿佛看不到人世间有一点点苦难或者忧愁。园中枝繁叶茂，百花争艳，一切都显得生机盎然，精力充沛，周围的声音和景象无不充满喜悦――可爱的姑娘却躺在病床上，急剧地变得衰弱。奥立弗偷偷走进那片古老的教堂墓地，在一个长满青草的坟茔上坐下来，无声地为她哭泣，祈祷。

    这一幅画面是那样宁静。优美，阳光明媚的景色中包容着那么多希望与快乐：夏天的鸟儿唱出了那么欢快的乐曲；振翅飞翔的白嘴鸦从头上一掠而过，是那样的*；万物是那样生气勃勃，兴高采烈；孩子抬起阵阵发痛的眼睛，向周围望去，心中油然涌起这样一个念头，这不是死亡的时节，小东西尚且还那么欢乐逍遥，露丝是断断不会死的。坟墓喜欢的是寒冷萧瑟的冬天，不喜欢阳光与花香。他几乎认定，寿衣只是用来裹住老朽干瘪的躯体，从来不把年轻娇嫩的形体拉进它们那可怕的怀抱。

    教堂那边传来一声报丧的钟声，粗暴地打断了这些幼稚的想法。又是一声！又是一声！这是宣布葬礼开始的丧钟。一群送葬的寻常百姓走进墓园大门，他们佩戴着白色花结，因为死者还很年轻。他们脱帽站在一座坟前，哭泣的行列里有一位是母亲――一位失去孩子的母亲。可阳光依然灿烂，鸟儿照样歌唱。

    奥立弗朝家里走去，回想起小姐给予他的百般照顾，盼望着机会能再一次到来，好让他一刻不停地表明自己对她是多么感激、多么依恋。他没有理由责备自己有多少次粗枝大叶，或者是没动脑筋，因为他是诚心诚意为她效劳的。尽管如此，仍有许许多多细小的事情浮现在他的面前，他幻想看自己当时本来可以干得更卖力、更认真一些，可惜没有那样做。每一次死亡都会给为数不多的幸存者带来这样的想法：有那么多事情受到忽视，办到的事情又是那样少――有那么多事情被遗忘，还有更多的事情已无法挽回――因而我们必须留心，平时如何去对待我们周围的人！没有什么比悔之莫及更令人懊恼的了。如果我们希望免受懊悔的责问，就让我们趁早记住这一点吧。

    奥立弗到家了，这时梅莱太太正坐在小客厅里。一看见她，奥立弗的心立刻沉了下去，因为她从来没有离开过侄女的病床。他战战兢兢地思忖着，一定是发生了什么变故才促使她走到一边。他了解到，小姐陷入了沉睡，她这次醒来，不是康复与再生，便是诀别与死亡。

    他们坐下来凝神谛听，几个小时连话也不敢说。没有动过的饭菜撤了下去。他们心不在焉地望着逐渐下沉的太阳，最后又看着太阳将宣告离去的绚丽色彩撒满天空和大地。他们敏锐的耳朵猛然听到一阵越来越近的脚步声。罗斯伯力先生刚一进屋，他俩便情不自禁地向门口冲去。

    “露丝怎么样？”老太太嚷道，“快告诉我，我能经受得住，别再让我牵挂了！噢，快告诉我！看在老天爷的分上！”

    “你一定得沉住气，”大夫扶住她说道，“请保持镇定，我亲爱的夫人”

    “让我去死吧，凭上帝的名义。我亲爱的孩子。她死啦。她就要死啦。”

    “不！”大夫感情冲动地嚷起来，“上帝是仁慈而宽大的，所以她还会活好多年好多年，为我们大家造福。”

    老太太跪下来，尽力想把双手合在一块儿，然而支撑了她那么久的毅力已经随着第一声感恩祈祷一起飞向天国。她倒在了伸开双臂接住她的朋友怀抱里。