--'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 pointed to a door. There was an open grating above
it, through which came the sound of men's voices, mingled with the
noise of hammering, and the throwing down of boards. There were
putting up the scaffold.

From this place, they passed through several strong gates, opened by
other turnkeys from the inner side; 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. Motioning them to remain where they
were, the turnkey knocked at one of these with his bunch of keys. The
two attendants, after a little whispering, came out into the passage,
stretching themselves as if glad of the temporary relief, and motioned
the visitors to follow the jailer into the cell. They did so.

The condemned criminal 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, Charley--well done--' he mumbled. 'Oliver, too, ha! ha! ha!
Oliver too--quite the gentleman now--quite the--take that boy away 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!' cried Fagin. 'Do you hear me, some of you? He
has been the--the--somehow the cause of all this. It's worth the money
to bring him up to it--Bolter's throat, Bill; never mind the
girl--Bolter's throat as deep as you can cut. Saw his head off!'

'Fagin,' 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, my Lord; a very
old, old man!'

'Here,' said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep him
down. 'Here's somebody wants to see you, to ask you some questions, I
suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you 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. Brownlow. Shrinking to
the furthest corner of the