e remembered that
Lord L'Estrange, when he pressed his loan on Mr. Digby, and subsequently
told that gentleman to address him at Mr. Egerton's, had, from a natural
delicacy, sent the child on, that she might not witness the charity
bestowed on the father; and Helen said truly that Mr. Digby had sunk
latterly into an habitual silence on all his affairs. She might have
heard her father mention the name, but she had not treasured it up; all
she could say was, that she should know the stranger again if she met
him, and his dog too. Seeing that the child had grown calm, Leonard was
then going to leave the room, in order to confer with the hostess, when
she rose suddenly, though noiselessly, and put her little hand in his,
as if to detain him. She did not say a word; the action said all,--said,
"Do not desert me." And Leonard's heart rushed to his lips, and he
answered to the action, as he bent down, and kissed her cheek, "Orphan,
will you go with me? We have one Father yet to both of us, and He will
guide us on earth. I am fatherless like you." She raised her eyes to
his, looked at him long, and then leaned her head confidingly on his
strong young shoulder.

CHAPTER VII.

At noon that same day the young man and the child were on their road to
London. The host had at first a little demurred at trusting Helen to so
young a companion; but Leonard, in his happy ignorance, had talked so
sanguinely of finding out this lord, or some adequate protectors for the
child; and in so grand a strain, though with all sincerity, had spoken
of his own great prospects in the metropolis (he did not say what they
were!) that had he been the craftiest impostor he could not more have
taken in the rustic host. And while the landlady still cherished the
illusive fancy that all gentlefolks must know each other in London, as
they did in a county, the landlord believed, at least, that a young man
so respectably dressed, although but a foot-traveller, who talked in
so confident a tone, and who was so willing to undertake what might
be rather a burdensome charge, unless he saw how to rid himself of it,
would be sure to have friends older and wiser than himself, who would
judge what could best be done for the orphan.

And what was the host to do with her? Better this volunteered escort,
at least, than vaguely passing her on from parish to parish, and leaving
her friendless at last in the streets of London. Helen, too, smiled
for the first time on