"Oh, Maurice! don't talk, darling, 'tis because Lord Jesus the guide is in the room, and I think He must be asleep, for I have prayed a lot to Him, and He has not answered. Don't let's disturb Him, Maurice; a guide must be so tired when he drops asleep."
"Where is He?" asked Maurice; "may I light a candle and look for Him?"
"No, no, you mustn't; He only comes to people in the dark, so Jane says. You lie down and shut your eyes."
"If you don't want your cake, may I eat it then?"
"Yes, you may eat it. And, Toby, come into my arms, dear dog."
Maurice was soon in that pleasant land of a little child's dreams, and Toby, full of most earnest sympathy, was petting and soothing Cecile in dog fashion.
Meanwhile, Jane Parsons downstairs was not idle.
Cecile's story, told after Cecile's fashion, had fired her honest heart with such sympathy and indignation that she was ready both to dare and suffer in her cause.
Jane Parsons had been brought up at Warren's Grove from the time she was a little child. Her mother had been cook before her, and when her mother got too old, Jane, as a matter of course, stepped into her shoes. Active, honest, quiet, and sober, she was a valuable servant. She was essentially a good girl, guided by principle and religion in all she did.
Jane had never known any other home but Warren's Grove, and long as Lydia Purcell had been there, Jane was there as long.