She stole to the room where the money
was, and looked in. God be praised! he was not there, and Mrs. Jarley
was sleeping soundly. She went back to her own room, and tried to
prepare herself for bed, but who could sleep--sleep! distracted by such
terrors? They came upon her more and more strongly yet. Half-undressed,
and with her hair in wild disorder, she flew to the old man's bedside,
and roused him from his sleep.
"What's this?" he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes upon
her spectral face.
"I have had a dreadful dream," said the child. "A dreadful, horrible
dream! I have had it once before. It is a dream of gray-haired men like
you, in darkened rooms by night, robbing the sleepers of their gold. Up,
up!" The old man shook in every joint, and folded his hands like one
who prays.
"Not to me," said the child, "Not to me--to heaven, to save us from such
deeds! This dream is too real. I cannot sleep--I cannot stay here--I
cannot leave you alone under the roof where such dreams come. We must
fly. There is no time to lose;" said the child. "Up! and away with me!"
"To-night?" murmured the old man.
"Yes, to-night," replied the child. "To-morrow night will be too late.
Nothing but flight can save us. Up!"
The old man arose, his forehead bedewed with the cold sweat of fear, and
bending before the child, as if she had been an angel messenger sent to
lead him where she would, made ready to follow her.
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