Even Bartley was moved. "Your child!" said he, with some little feeling. This slight encouragement was enough for a father. His love gushed forth. "A little golden-haired, blue-eyed angel, who is all the world to me. We have walked here from Liverpool, where I had just buried her mother. God help me! God help us both! Many a weary mile, sir, and never sure of supper or bed. The birds of the air have nests, the beasts of the field a shelter, the fox a hole, but my beautiful and fragile girl, only four years old, sir, is houseless and homeless. Her mother died of consumption, sir, and I live in mortal fear; for now she is beginning to cough, and I can not give her proper nourishment. Often on this fatal journey I have felt her shiver, and then I have taken off my coat and wrapped it round her, and her beautiful eyes have looked up in mine, and seemed to plead for the warmth and food I'd sell my soul to give her." "Poor fellow," said Bartley; "I suppose I ought to pity you. But how can I? Man--man--your child is alive, and while there is life there is hope; but mine is dead--dead!" he almost shrieked. "Dead!" said Hope, horrified. "Dead," cried Bartley. "Cut off at four years old, the very age of yours. There--go and judge for yourself. You are a father. I can't look upon my blasted hopes, and my withered flower. Go and see _my_ blue-eyed, fair-haired darling--clay, hastening to the tomb; and you will trouble me no more with your imaginary griefs." He flung himself down with his head on his desk. Hope, following the direction of his hand, opened the door of the house, and went softly forward till he met the nurse. He told her Mr. Bartley wished him to see the deceased. The nurse hesitated, but looked at him. His sad face inspired confidence, and she ushered him into the chamber of mourning. There, laid out in state, was a little figure that, seen in the dim light, drew a cry of dismay from Hope. He had left his own girl sleeping, and looking like tinted wax. Here lay a little face the very image of hers, only this was pale wax. Had he looked more closely, the chin was unlike his own girl's, and there were other differences. But the first glance revealed a thrilling resemblance. Hope hurried away from the room, and entered the office pale and disturbed. "Oh, sir! the very image of my own. It fills me with forebodings. I pity you, sir, with all my heart. That sad sight reconciles me to my lot. God help you!" and he was going away; for now he felt an unreasoning terror lest his own child should have turned from colored wax to pale. Mr. Bartley stopped him. "Are they so very like?" said he. "Wonderfully like." And again he was going, but Bartley, who had received him so coldly, seemed now unwilling to part with him.