Miss Nell, do try. The little front room up stairs is very
pleasant. You can see a piece of the church-clock, through the
chimneys, and almost tell the time; mother says it would be just the
thing for you, and so it would, and you'd have her to wait upon you
both, and me to run of errands. We don't mean money, bless you; you're
not to think of that! Will you try him, Miss Nell? Only say you'll
try him. Do try to make old master come, and ask him first what I have
done. Will you only promise that, Miss Nell?'

Before the child could reply to this earnest solicitation, the
street-door opened, and Mr Brass thrusting out his night-capped head
called in a surly voice, 'Who's there!' Kit immediately glided away,
and Nell, closing the window softly, drew back into the room.

Before Mr Brass had repeated his inquiry many times, Mr Quilp, also
embellished with a night-cap, emerged from the same door and looked
carefully up and down the street, and up at all the windows of the
house, from the opposite side. Finding that there was nobody in sight,
he presently returned into the house with his legal friend, protesting
(as the child heard from the staircase), that there was a league and
plot against him; that he was in danger of being robbed and plundered
by a band of conspirators who prowled about the house at all seasons;
and that he would delay no longer but take immediate steps for
disposing of the property and returning to his own peaceful roof.
Having growled forth these, and a great many other threats of the same
nature, he coiled himself once more in the child's little bed, and Nell
crept softly up the stairs.

It was natural enough that her short and unfinished dialogue with Kit
should leave a strong impression on her mind, and influence her dreams
that night and her recollections for a long, long time. Surrounded by
unfeeling creditors, and mercenary attendants upon the sick, and
meeting in the height of her anxiety and sorrow with little regard or
sympathy even from the women about her, it is not surprising that the
affectionate heart of the child should have been touched to the quick
by one kind and generous spirit, however uncouth the temple in which it
dwelt. Thank Heaven that the temples of such spirits are not made with
hands, and that they may be even more worthily hung with poor
patch-work than with purple and fine linen!

CHAPTER 12

At length, the crisis of the old man's disorder was past,