r own little room too, where she had so often knelt down and prayed
at night--prayed for the time which she hoped was dawning now--the
little room where she had slept so peacefully, and dreamed such
pleasant dreams! It was hard not to be able to glance round it once
more, and to be forced to leave it without one kind look or grateful
tear. There were some trifles there--poor useless things--that she
would have liked to take away; but that was impossible.

This brought to mind her bird, her poor bird, who hung there yet. She
wept bitterly for the loss of this little creature--until the idea
occurred to her--she did not know how, or why, it came into her
head--that it might, by some means, fall into the hands of Kit who
would keep it for her sake, and think, perhaps, that she had left it
behind in the hope that he might have it, and as an assurance that she
was grateful to him. She was calmed and comforted by the thought, and
went to rest with a lighter heart.

From many dreams of rambling through light and sunny places, but with
some vague object unattained which ran indistinctly through them all,
she awoke to find that it was yet night, and that the stars were
shining brightly in the sky. At length, the day began to glimmer, and
the stars to grow pale and dim. As soon as she was sure of this, she
arose, and dressed herself for the journey.

The old man was yet asleep, and as she was unwilling to disturb him,
she left him to slumber on, until the sun rose. He was anxious that
they should leave the house without a minute's loss of time, and was
soon ready.

The child then took him by the hand, and they trod lightly and
cautiously down the stairs, trembling whenever a board creaked, and
often stopping to listen. The old man had forgotten a kind of wallet
which contained the light burden he had to carry; and the going back a
few steps to fetch it seemed an interminable delay.

At last they reached the passage on the ground floor, where the snoring
of Mr Quilp and his legal friend sounded more terrible in their ears
than the roars of lions. The bolts of the door were rusty, and
difficult to unfasten without noise. When they were all drawn back, it
was found to be locked, and worst of all, the key was gone. Then the
child remembered, for the first time, one of the nurses having told her
that Quilp always locked both the house-doors at night, and kept the
keys on the table in his bedroom.

It was not without