myself, as I was after he died,
and made me wish to bring you to the fire. I thought of those old
times again, when I saw you sleeping by it. You should be sleeping
now. Lie down again, poor child, lie down again!'

With that, he led her to her rude couch, and covering her with the
clothes with which she had found herself enveloped when she woke,
returned to his seat, whence he moved no more unless to feed the
furnace, but remained motionless as a statue. The child continued to
watch him for a little time, but soon yielded to the drowsiness that
came upon her, and, in the dark strange place and on the heap of ashes,
slept as peacefully as if the room had been a palace chamber, and the
bed, a bed of down.

When she awoke again, broad day was shining through the lofty openings
in the walls, and, stealing in slanting rays but midway down, seemed to
make the building darker than it had been at night. The clang and
tumult were still going on, and the remorseless fires were burning
fiercely as before; for few changes of night and day brought rest or
quiet there.

Her friend parted his breakfast--a scanty mess of coffee and some
coarse bread--with the child and her grandfather, and inquired whither
they were going. She told him that they sought some distant country
place remote from towns or even other villages, and with a faltering
tongue inquired what road they would do best to take.

'I know little of the country,' he said, shaking his head, 'for such as
I, pass all our lives before our furnace doors, and seldom go forth to
breathe. But there are such places yonder.'

'And far from here?' said Nell.

'Aye surely. How could they be near us, and be green and fresh? The
road lies, too, through miles and miles, all lighted up by fires like
ours--a strange black road, and one that would frighten you by night.'

'We are here and must go on,' said the child boldly; for she saw that
the old man listened with anxious ears to this account.

'Rough people--paths never made for little feet like yours--a dismal
blighted way--is there no turning back, my child!'

'There is none,' cried Nell, pressing forward. 'If you can direct us,
do. If not, pray do not seek to turn us from our purpose. Indeed you
do not know the danger that we shun, and how right and true we are in
flying from it, or you would not try to stop us, I am sure you would
not.'

'God forbid, if it is so!' said their uncouth protector, glancing from