re 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. She took him by the
hand and led him on. She took him to her own chamber, and, still holding
him by the hand, as if she feared to lose him for an instant, gathered
together the little stock she had, and hung her basket on her arm. The
old man took his wallet from her hands, his staff too, and then she led
him forth.

Through the streets their trembling feet passed quickly, and at last the
child looked back upon the sleeping town, on the far-off river, on the
distant hills; and as she did so, she clasped the hand she held less
firmly, and bursting into tears, fell upon the old man's neck. Her
momentary weakness passed, she again summoned the resolution to keep
steadily in view the one idea that they were flying from disgrace and
crime, and that her grandfather's preservation depended solely on her
firmness. While he, subdued and abashed, seemed to shrink and cower down
before her, the child herself was sensible of a new feeling within her
which elevated her nature, and inspired her with an energy and
confidence she had never known. "I have saved him," she thought, "in all
distresses and dangers I will remember that."

At any other time the recollection of having deserted the friend who had
shown them so much homely kindness, without a word of justification,
would have filled her with sorrow and regret. But now, all other
considerations were lost in the new uncertainties and anxieties, and in
the desperation of their condition.

In the pale moonlight, which lent a wanness of its own to the delicate
face where thoughtful care already mingled with a winning grace and
loveliness of youth, the too bright eye, the spiritual head, the lips
that pressed each other with such high resolve and courage of the heart,
the slight figure, firm in its bearing, and yet so very weak, told their
silent tale; but told it only to the wind that rustled by. The night
crept on apace, the moon went down and when the sun had climbed into the
sky, and there was warmth in its cheerful beams, they laid them down to
sleep upon a bank hard by some