Brittles capitulated on these terms; and the party being somewhat reassured by the discovery (made on throwing open the shutters) that it was now broad day, took their way up stairs, with the dogs in front, and the two women, who were afraid to stop below, bringing up the rear. By the advice of Mr. Giles, they all talked very loud, to warn any evil-disposed person outside that they were strong in numbers; and by a master-stroke of policy, originating in the brain of the same ingenious gentleman, the dogs’ tails were well pinched in the hall to make them bark savagely. These precautions having been taken, Mr. Giles held on fast by the tinker’s arm (to prevent his running away, as he pleasantly said), and gave the word of command to open the door. Brittles obeyed, and the group, peeping timorously over each other’s shoulders, beheld no more formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, who raised his heavy eyes, and mutely solicited their compassion. “A boy!” exclaimed Mr. Giles, valiantly pushing the tinker into the background. “What’s the matter with the—eh?—Why—Brittles—look here—don’t you know?” Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it, no sooner saw Oliver, than he uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and one arm—fortunately not the broken limb—lugged him straight into the hall, and deposited him at full length on the ground thereof. “Here he is!” bawled Giles, calling, in a great state of excitement, up the staircase; “here’s one of the thieves, ma’am! Here’s a thief, miss—wounded, miss! I shot him, miss; and Brittles held the light.” “In a lantern, miss,” cried Brittles, applying one hand to the side of his mouth, so that his voice might travel the better. The two women-servants ran up stairs to carry the intelligence that Mr. Giles had captured a robber; and the tinker busied himself in endeavouring to restore Oliver, lest he should die before he could be hung. In the midst of all this noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet female voice, which quelled it in an instant. “Giles!” whispered the voice from the stair-head. “I’m here, miss,” replied Mr. Giles. “Don’t be frightened, miss; I ain’t much injured. He didn’t make a very desperate resistance, miss; I was soon too many for him.” “Hush!” replied the young lady; “you frighten my aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?” “Wounded desperate, miss,” replied Giles, with indescribable complacency. “He looks as if he was a-going, miss,” bawled Brittles, in the same manner as before. “Wouldn’t you like to come and look at him, miss, in case he should—?” “Hush, pray, there’s a good man!” rejoined the young lady. “Wait quietly one instant, while I speak to aunt.”