"Just what I have told you, dear grandfather, indeed."
"True," said the old man faintly. "Yes. But tell me again, Nell. My head fails me. What was it that he told thee? Nothing more than that he would see me to-morrow or next day? That was in the note."
"Nothing more," said the child. "Shall I go to him again to-morrow, dear grandfather? Very early. I will be there and back before breakfast."
The old man shook his head, and drew her towards him.
"'Twould be of no use, my dear. But if he deserts me, Nell, at this moment, if he deserts me now, I am ruined; and worse—far worse than that—have ruined thee. If we are beggars—"
"What if we are?" cried the child boldly. "Let us be beggars, and be happy."
"Beggars—and happy!" said the old man. "Poor child!"
"Dear grandfather," cried the girl, with flushed face and trembling voice, "I am not a child, I think; but even if I am, oh, hear me pray that we may beg, or work in open roads or fields, to earn a scanty living, rather than live as we do now."
"Nelly!" said the old man.
"Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now," said the child. "If you are sad, let me know why, and be sad too; if you waste away, and are paler and weaker every day, let me be your nurse and try to comfort you. If you are poor, let us be poor together; but let me be with you, do let me be with you. Do not let me see such change and not know why, or I shall break my heart and die. Dear grandfather, let us leave this sad place to-morrow, and beg our way from door to door."