"You see, Isaac," said his friend, growing more eager, and drawing himself closer to the old man—"you see, Isaac, strangers are going in and out every hour of the day; nothing would be more likely than for one of these strangers to get under the good lady’s bed, or lock himself in the cupboard. I’d give him his revenge to the last farthing he brought, whatever the sum was." "Ah," cried Isaac; "the pleasures of winning! The delight of picking up the money—the bright, shining yellow-boys—and sweeping ’em into one’s pocket! The—but you’re not going, old gentleman?" "I’ll do it," said the old man, who had risen and taken two or three steps away, and now quickly came back. "I’ll have it, every penny." "God be merciful to us!" cried the child within herself, "and help us in this trying hour. What shall I do to save him?" She crept slowly away, keeping in the shadow of the hedges until she could come out upon the road at a point where she would not be seen. Then she fled homeward as quickly as she could, and threw herself upon her bed, almost wild with grief. The first idea that flashed upon her was flight. She would drag the old man from that place, and rather die of want upon the roadside than let him stay near such danger. Then she was torn with a fear that he might be at that moment robbing Mrs. Jarley; with a dread of cries in the silence of the night; with fearful thoughts of what he might do if he were detected in the act. She stole to the room where the money was, opened the door, and looked in. He was not there, and Mrs. Jarley was sleeping soundly. She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for bed. But how could she hope to rest? Half undressed, she flew to the old man’s bedside, took him by the wrist, and roused him from his sleep. "What’s this?" he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes upon her white face. "I have had a dreadful dream," said the child. "I have had it once before. It is a dream of gray-haired men like you robbing sleepers of their gold. Up, up!" The old man shook in every joint, and folded his hands like one who prays. "Not to me," said the child, "do not pray to me—to our Father in heaven to save us from such deeds. This dream is too real. I cannot sleep, I cannot stay here, I cannot leave you alone under the roof where such dreams come. Up! We must fly." He looked at her as if she were a spirit—she might have been one for all the look of earth she had—and shook more and more. "There is no time to lose; I will not lose one minute," said the child. "Up, and away with me!" "To-night?" cried the old man. "Yes, to-night," replied the child. "To-morrow night will be too late. The dream will have come again. Nothing but flight can save us. Up!" The old man rose from his bed, his brow bedewed with the cold sweat of fear, and, bending before the child as if she had been an angel sent to lead him where she would, made ready to follow her.