"Helen," said he, very sadly, "you can not continue here. I must find out some proper home for you. This man has served me when all London was friendless, and he tells me that he has nowhere else to go--that the bailiffs are after him.--He has now fallen asleep. I will go and find you some lodging close at hand--for I can not expel him who has protected me; and yet you can not be under the same roof with him. My own good angel, I must lose you." He did not wait for her answer, but hurried down the stairs. The morning looked through the shutterless panes in Leonard's garret, and the birds began to chirp from the elm-tree, when Burley rose, and shook himself, and stared round. He could not quite make out where he was. He got hold of the water-jug which he emptied at three draughts, and felt greatly refreshed. He then began to reconnoitre the chamber--looked at Leonard's MSS.--peeped into the drawers--wondered where the devil Leonard himself had gone to--and finally amused himself by throwing down the fire-irons, ringing the bell, and making all the noise he could, in the hopes of attracting the attention of somebody or other, and procuring himself his morning dram. In the midst of this _charivari_ the door opened softly, but as if with a resolute hand, and the small quiet form of Helen stood before the threshold. Burley turned round, and the two looked at each other for some moments with silent scrutiny. Burley (composing his features into their most friendly expression).--"Come hither, my dear. So you are the little girl whom I saw with Leonard on the banks of the Brent, and you have come back to live with him--and I have come to live with him too. You shall be our little housekeeper, and I will tell you the story of Prince Prettyman, and a great many others not to be found in _Mother Goose_. Meanwhile, my dear little girl, here's sixpence--just run out and change this for its worth in rum." Helen (coming slowly up to Mr. Burley, and still gazing earnestly into his face).--"Ah, sir, Leonard says you have a kind heart, and that you have served him--he can not ask you to leave the house: and so I, who have never served him, am to go hence and live alone." Burley (moved).--"You go, my little lady?--and why? Can we not all live together?" Helen. "No sir. I left every thing to come to Leonard, for we had met first at my father's grave. But you rob me of him, and I have no other friend on earth." Burley (discomposed).--"Explain yourself. Why must you leave him because I come?" Helen looks at Mr. Burley again, long and wistfully, but makes no answer. Burley (with a gulp).--"Is it because he thinks I am not fit company for you?" Helen bowed her head. Burley winced, and after a moment's pause said--"He is right."