As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes, which had been staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver’s face; the boy’s eyes were fixed on his in mute curiosity; and although the recognition was only for an instant—for the briefest space of time that can possibly be conceived—it was enough to show the old man that he had been observed.
He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash; and, laying his hand on a bread knife which was on the table, started furiously up. He trembled very much though; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that the knife quivered in the air.
“What’s that?” said the Jew. “What do you watch me for? Why are you awake? What have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick—quick! for your life.”
“I wasn’t able to sleep any longer, sir,” replied Oliver, meekly. “I am very sorry if I have disturbed you, sir.”
“You were not awake an hour ago?” said the Jew, scowling fiercely on the boy.
“No! No, indeed!” replied Oliver.
“Are you sure?” cried the Jew: with a still fiercer look than before: and a threatening attitude.
“Upon my word I was not, sir,” replied Oliver, earnestly. “I was not, indeed, sir.”
“Tush, tush, my dear!” said the Jew, abruptly resuming his old manner, and playing with the knife a little, before he laid it down; as if to induce the belief that he had caught it up, in mere sport. “Of course I know that, my dear. I only tried to frighten you. You’re a brave boy. Ha! ha! you’re a brave boy, Oliver.” The Jew rubbed his hands with a chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwithstanding.