| 88 | 89 | 90 | 91 | 92 |
| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
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'
Yes, let us go,' said the child earnestly. 'Let us begone from this place,
and never turn back or think of it again. Let us wander barefoot
through the world, rather than linger here.'
'
We will,' answered the old man, 'we will travel afoot through the fields
and woods, and by the side of rivers, and trust ourselves to God in the
places where He dwells. It is far better to lie down at night beneath an
open sky like that yonder - see how bright it is - than to rest in close
rooms which are always full of care and weary dreams. Thou and I
together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to forget this
time, as if it had never been.'
'
'
We will be happy,' cried the child. 'We never can be here.'
No, we never can again - never again - that's truly said,' rejoined the
old man. 'Let us steal away to-morrow morning - early and softly, that
we may not be seen or heard - and leave no trace or track for them to
follow by. Poor Nell! Thy cheek is pale, and thy eyes are heavy with
watching and weeping for me - I know - for me; but thou wilt be well
again, and merry too, when we are far away. To-morrow morning,
dear, we'll turn our faces from this scene of sorrow, and be as free and
happy as the birds.'
And then the old man clasped his hands above her head, and said, in
a few broken words, that from that time forth they would wander up
and down together, and never part more until Death took one or other
of the twain.
The child's heart beat high with hope and confidence. She had no
thought of hunger, or cold, or thirst, or suffering. She saw in this, but
a return of the simple pleasures they had once enjoyed, a relief from
the gloomy solitude in which she had lived, an escape from the
heartless people by whom she had been surrounded in her late time of
trial, the restoration of the old man's health and peace, and a life of
tranquil happiness. Sun, and stream, and meadow, and summer
days, shone brightly in her view, and there was no dark tint in all the
sparkling picture.
The old man had slept, for some hours, soundly in his bed, and she
was yet busily engaged in preparing for their flight. There were a few
articles of clothing for herself to carry, and a few for him; old
garments, such as became their fallen fortunes, laid out to wear; and
a staff to support his feeble steps, put ready for his use. But this was
not all her task; for now she must visit the old rooms for the last time.
And how different the parting with them was, from any she had
expected, and most of all from that which she had oftenest pictured to
herself. How could she ever have thought of bidding them farewell in
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