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Updated: June 6, 2025
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.
Maylie, 'it is because I think so much of warm and sensitive hearts, that I would spare them from being wounded. But we have said enough, and more than enough, on this matter, just now. 'Let it rest with Rose, then, interposed Harry. 'You will not press these overstrained opinions of yours, so far, as to throw any obstacle in my way? 'I will not, rejoined Mrs.
'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.
I am the girl that dragged little Oliver back to old Fagin's on the night he went out from the house in Pentonville. 'You! said Rose Maylie. 'I, lady! replied the girl.
Pending these observations, the days were flying by; and Rose was rapidly recovering. Nor did Oliver's time hang heavy on his hands, although the young lady had not yet left her chamber, and there were no evening walks, save now and then, for a short distance, with Mrs. Maylie.
Maylie repaired to the market-town, in the hope of seeing or hearing something of the men there; but this effort was equally fruitless. After a few days, the affair began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself. Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering.
From some details of his confession it was also discovered that Rose Maylie, who was only an adopted niece of Mrs. Maylie, had been the sister of Oliver's mother, and was therefore the boy's aunt, the first blood relation, except Monks, that he had ever possessed. "Not aunt," cried Oliver, throwing his arms about her neck, "I'll never call her aunt.
Nancy was such a ragged object that she found it difficult to have her name carried up to Rose Maylie, but at length she succeeded, and was ushered into the sweet young lady's presence, where she quickly related what she had come to tell.
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.
Missing his aim, he fell into the ditch, turning completely over as he went; and striking his head against a stone, dashed out his brains. The events narrated in the last chapter were yet but two days old, when Oliver found himself, at three o'clock in the afternoon, in a travelling-carriage rolling fast towards his native town. Mrs. Maylie, and Rose, and Mrs.
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