fantastic carvings brought from
monkish cloisters, rusty weapons of various kinds, distorted figures in
china and wood and iron and ivory: tapestry and strange furniture that
might have been designed in dreams. The haggard aspect of the little
old man was wonderfully suited to the place; he might have groped among
old churches and tombs and deserted houses and gathered all the spoils
with his own hands. There was nothing in the whole collection but was
in keeping with himself nothing that looked older or more worn than he.

As he turned the key in the lock, he surveyed me with some astonishment
which was not diminished when he looked from me to my companion. The
door being opened, the child addressed him as grandfather, and told him
the little story of our companionship.

'Why, bless thee, child,' said the old man, patting her on the head,
'how couldst thou miss thy way? What if I had lost thee, Nell!'

'I would have found my way back to YOU, grandfather,' said the child
boldly; 'never fear.'

The old man kissed her, then turning to me and begging me to walk in, I
did so. The door was closed and locked. Preceding me with the light, he
led me through the place I had already seen from without, into a small
sitting-room behind, in which was another door opening into a kind of
closet, where I saw a little bed that a fairy might have slept in, it
looked so very small and was so prettily arranged. The child took a
candle and tripped into this little room, leaving the old man and me
together.

'You must be tired, sir,' said he as he placed a chair near the fire,
'how can I thank you?'

'By taking more care of your grandchild another time, my good friend,'
I replied.

'More care!' said the old man in a shrill voice, 'more care of Nelly!
Why, who ever loved a child as I love Nell?'

He said this with such evident surprise that I was perplexed what
answer to make, and the more so because coupled with something feeble
and wandering in his manner, there were in his face marks of deep and
anxious thought which convinced me that he could not be, as I had been
at first inclined to suppose, in a state of dotage or imbecility.

'I don't think you consider--' I began.

'I don't consider!' cried the old man interrupting me, 'I don't
consider her! Ah, how little you know of the truth! Little Nelly,
little Nelly!'

It would be impossible for any man, I care not what his form of speech
might be, to express more affection than t