spitable like,
your going away at the dead of night thus. But I understand you don't
like crying, sir, we men don't; and your sweet little girl I dare say
would sob ready to break her heart if she knew. Fine moonlight night,
sir,--straight on. And I say, don't fret about her: wife loves children
dearly,--so do I. Good-night."

On went Waife,--lamely, slowly,--Sir Isaac's white coat gleaming in the
moon, ghostlike. On he went, his bundle strapped across his shoulder,
leaning on his staff, along by the folded sheep and the sleeping cattle.
But when he got into the high road, Gatesboro' full before him, with all
its roofs and spires, he turned his back on the town, and tramped once
more along the desert thoroughfare,--more slowly and more, more lamely
and more, till several milestones were passed; and then he crept through
the gap of a hedgerow to the sheltering eaves of a haystack; and under
that roof-tree he and Sir Isaac lay down to rest.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Laugh at forebodings of evil, but tremble after day-dreams of
happiness.

Waife left behind him at the cottage two letters,--one entrusted to the
bailiff, with a sealed bag, for Mr. Hartopp; one for Sophy, placed on a
chair beside her bed.

The first letter was as follows:--

"I trust, dear and honoured sir, that I shall come back safely; and when
I do, I may have found perhaps a home for her, and some way of life such
as you would not blame. But, in case of accident, I have left with Mr.
Gooch, sealed up, the money we made at Gatesboro', after paying the inn
bill, doctor, etc., and retaining the mere trifle I need in case I and
Sir Isaac fail to support ourselves. You will kindly take care of it. I
should not feel safe with more money about me, an old man.

"I might be robbed; besides, I am careless. I never can keep money; it
slips out of my hands like an eel. Heaven bless you, sir; your kindness
seems like a miracle vouchsafed to me for that child's dear sake. No
evil can chance to her with you; and if I should fall ill and die, even
then you, who would have aided the tricksome vagrant, will not grudge
the saving hand to the harmless child."

The letter to Sophy ran thus:--

"Darling, forgive me; I have stolen away from you, but only for a few
days, and only in order to see if we cannot gain the magic home where I
am to be the Genius, and you the Princess. I go forth with such a light
heart, Sophy dear, I shall be walking thirty miles a day, an