recoil from,
and be the more afraid of, because it bore a likeness to him, and kept
close about her, as he did. She could scarcely connect her own
affectionate companion, save by his loss, with this old man, so like
yet so unlike him. She had wept to see him dull and quiet. How much
greater cause she had for weeping now!

The child sat watching and thinking of these things, until the phantom
in her mind so increased in gloom and terror, that she felt it would be
a relief to hear the old man's voice, or, if he were asleep, even to
see him, and banish some of the fears that clustered round his image.
She stole down the stairs and passage again. The door was still ajar
as she had left it, and the candle burning as before.

She had her own candle in her hand, prepared to say, if he were waking,
that she was uneasy and could not rest, and had come to see if his were
still alight. Looking into the room, she saw him lying calmly on his
bed, and so took courage to enter.

Fast asleep. No passion in the face, no avarice, no anxiety, no wild
desire; all gentle, tranquil, and at peace. This was not the gambler,
or the shadow in her room; this was not even the worn and jaded man
whose face had so often met her own in the grey morning light; this was
her dear old friend, her harmless fellow-traveller, her good, kind
grandfather.

She had no fear as she looked upon his slumbering features, but she had
a deep and weighty sorrow, and it found its relief in tears.

'God bless him!' said the child, stooping softly to kiss 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 to help him. 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.

At last the day turned her waning candle pale, and she fell asleep.
She was quickly roused by the girl who had shown her up to bed; and, as
soon as she was dressed, prepared to go down to her grandfather. But
first she searched her pocket and found that her money was all
gone--not a sixpence remained.

The old man was ready, and in a few seconds they were on their road.
The child thought he rather avoided her eye, and appeared to expect
that she would tell him of her loss. She felt she must do that, or he
might suspect the truth.

'Grandfather,