"God bless him," said the child, softly kissing his placid cheek. "I see
too well now that they would indeed part us if they found us out, and
shut him up from the light of the sun and sky. He has only me. God
bless us both!"
Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently as she had come, and
gaining her own room once more, sat up during the remainder of that
long, long miserable night. Upon searching her pocket on the following
morning she found her money was all gone--not a sixpence remained.
"Grandfather," she said in a tremulous voice, after they had walked
about a mile on their road in silence, "Do you think they are honest
people at the house yonder? I ask because I lost some money last
night--out of my bedroom, I am sure. Unless it was taken by some one in
jest--only in jest, dear grandfather, which would make me laugh heartily
if I could but know it--"
"Who would take money in jest?" returned the old man in a hurried
manner. "Those who take money, take it to keep. Don't talk of jest."
"Then it was stolen out of my room, dear," said the child, whose last
hope was destroyed by the manner of this reply.
"But is there no more, Nell," said the old man--"no more anywhere? Was
it all taken--was there nothing left?"
"Nothing," replied the child.
"We must get more," said the old man, "we must earn it, Nell--hoard it
up, scrape it together, come by it somehow. Never mind this loss.
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