It was raining heavily. The child and her grandfather passed through a dirty lane into a crowded street, where they stood for a few moments. The throng of people hurried by, while the two poor strangers, stunned by the bustle and noise, looked sadly on. Evening came on; they were still wandering up and down. The lights in the streets and shops made them feel yet more lonely. Shivering with the cold and damp, and sick at heart, the child found it very hard to creep along at all. *Chapter X.* *A BED OF ASHES.* "We must sleep in the open air to-night, dear," said Nell, in a weak voice, "and to-morrow we will beg our way to some quiet part of the country and try to earn our bread in very humble work." "Ah! poor, houseless, motherless child," cried the old man, clasping his hands, and gazing as if for the first time upon her white face, her torn dress, and swollen feet; "has all my care brought her to this at last? Was I a happy man once, and have I lost happiness and all I had for this?" "If we were in the country now," said the child, as cheerfully as she could, "we should find some good old tree, stretching out his green arms as if he loved us, and nodding as if he would have us fall asleep; thinking of him while he watched. "Please God," she went on, "we shall be there soon—to-morrow, or the next day at the farthest; and in the meantime let us think, dear, that it was a good thing we came here; for we are lost in the crowd and hurry of this place, and if any cruel people should pursue us, they could surely never trace us farther. There’s comfort in that. And here’s a deep old doorway—very dark, but quite dry, and warm too, for the wind does not blow in here. What’s that?" Uttering a half shriek, she fell back before a black figure which came out of the door-way where they were about to take refuge, and stood still, looking at them. "Speak again," it said; "do I know that voice?" "No," replied the child; "we are strangers, and having no money for a night’s lodging, we were going to rest here." There was a lamp at no great distance—the only one in the place, which was a kind of square yard, but sufficient to show how poor and mean it was. To this the man beckoned them, and soon they stood looking at each other in the light of its rays. The stranger was poorly clad and very dirty. His voice was harsh, but though his face was half hidden with long, dark hair, it was neither unkind nor bad. "How came you to think of resting here?" he said. "Or how," he added, looking closely at the child, "do you come to want a place of rest at this time of night?" "Our misfortunes," the old man said, "are the cause." "Do you know," said the man, looking still more closely at Nell, "how wet she is, and that the damp streets are not a place for her?" "I know it well, God help me," he replied. "What can I do?"