No prospect of relief appearing, they
retraced their steps to the wharf, hoping to be allowed to sleep on
board the boat that night. But here again they were disappointed, for
the gate was closed.
"Why did you bring me here?" asked the old man fiercely, "I cannot bear
these close eternal streets. We came from a quiet part. Why did you
force me to leave it?"
"Because I must have that dream I told you of, no more," said the child,
"and we must live among poor people or it will come again. Dear
grandfather, you are old and weak, I know; but look at me. I never will
complain if you will not, but I have some suffering indeed."
"Ah! Poor, houseless, wandering, motherless child!" cried the old man,
gazing as if for the first time upon her anxious face, her
travel-stained dress, and bruised and swollen feet. "Has all my agony of
care brought her to this at last? Was I a happy man once, and have I
lost happiness and all I had, for this?"
Wandering on, they took shelter in an old doorway from which the figure
of a man came forth, who, touched with the misery of their situation,
and with Nell's drenched condition, offered them such lodging as he had
at his command, in the great foundry where he was employed. He led them
through the bewildering sights and deafening sounds of the huge
building, to his furnace, and there spread Nell's little cloak upon a
heap of ashes, and showing her where to hang her outer clothes to dry,
signed to her and the old man to lie down and sleep.
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