With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate grief, Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew’s feet; and beat his hands together, in perfect desperation.

“The boy’s right,” remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting his shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. “You’re right, Oliver, you’re right; they will think you have stolen ’em. Ha! ha!” chuckled the Jew, rubbing his hands, “it couldn’t have happened better, if we had chosen our time!”

“Of course it couldn’t,” replied Sikes; “I know’d that, directly I see him coming through Clerkenwell, with the books under his arm. It’s all right enough. They’re softhearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn’t have taken him in at all; and they’ll ask no questions after him, fear they should be obliged to prosecute, and so get him lagged. He’s safe enough.”