conscious of my own past follies. I hope he may repent of all the wickedness and sin to which he has been a party.”
I observed that several gentlemen were shading their eyes, each, with one hand, as if they had just come into church.
“This does you credit, Twenty-Eight,” returned the questioner. “I should have expected it of you. Is there anything else?”
“Sir,” returned Mr. Littimer, slightly lifting up his eyebrows, but not his eyes, “there was a young woman who fell into dissolute courses, that I endeavoured to save, Sir, but could not rescue. I beg that gentleman, if he has it in his power, to inform that young woman from me that I forgive her her bad conduct towards myself; and that I call her to repentance—if he will be so good.”
“I have no doubt, Twenty-Eight,” returned the questioner, “that the gentleman you refer to feels very strongly—as we all must—what you have so properly said. We will not detain you.”
“I thank you, Sir,” said Mr. Littimer. “Gentlemen, I wish you a good-day, and hoping you and your families will also see your wickedness, and amend!”
With this, Number Twenty-Eight retired, after a glance between him and Uriah; as if they were not altogether unknown to each other, through some medium of communication; and a murmur went round the group, as his door shut upon him, that he was a most respectable man, and a beautiful case.
“Now, Twenty-Seven,” said Mr. Creakle, entering on a clear stage with his man, “is there anything that any one can do for you? If so, mention it.”
“I would umbly ask, Sir,” returned Uriah, with a jerk of his malevolent head, “for leave to write again to mother.”
“It shall certainly be granted,” said Mr. Creakle.
“Thank you, Sir! I am anxious about mother. I am afraid she ain’t safe.”
Somebody incautiously asked, what from. But there was a scandalised whisper of “Hush!”
“Immortally safe, Sir,” returned Uriah, writhing in the direction of the voice. “I should wish mother to be got into my state. I never should have been got into my present state if I hadn’t come here. I wish mother had come here. It would be better for everybody if they got took up, and was brought here.”
This sentiment gave unbounded satisfaction—greater satisfaction, I think, than anything that had passed yet.
“Before I come here,” said Uriah, stealing a look at us, as if he would have blighted the outer world to which we belonged, if he could, “I was given to follies; but now I am sensible of my follies. There’s a deal of sin outside. There’s a deal of sin in mother. There’s nothing but sin everywhere—except here.”
“You are quite changed?” said Mr. Creakle.
“Oh dear yes, Sir!” cried the hopeful penitent.
“You wouldn’t relapse, if you were going out?” asked somebody else.
“Oh de-ar no, Sir!”