He was as good as his word. Before long he had taken up his abode in the parlour, where he plainly meant to stay; and the old man was in his bed raving with fever. Nell nursed her grandfather with tender care, and after a weary time saw him come slowly back to life again; but his mind was now very weak, and he spent each day in moody thought brooding over his troubles. The dwarf was not slow to hint that he would be glad to see the last of Nell and her grandfather, and at length the old man said he would move out in a couple of days. "Very good," said Quilp; "but mind, I can’t go beyond that time." When the dwarf had left them to themselves the old man’s tears fell fast, and making as though he would fall upon his knees, he begged his tender little nurse to forgive him. "Forgive you—what?" said Nell. "O grandfather, what should I forgive?" "All that is past, all that has come upon thee, Nell; all that was done in that uneasy dream," returned the old man. "Do not talk so," said the child. "Pray do not. Let us speak of something else." "Yes, yes, we will," he said. "And it shall be of what we talked of long ago—many months—months is it, or weeks, or days? Which is it, Nell?" "I do not understand you," said the child. "It has come back upon me to-day; it has all come back since we have been sitting here. I bless thee for it, Nell." "For what, dear grandfather?" "For what you said when we were first made beggars, Nell. Let us speak softly. Hush! for if they knew downstairs they would say that I was mad, and take thee away from me. We will not stop here another day. We will go far away from here." "Yes, let us go," said the child. "Let us be gone from this place, and never turn back or think of it again. Let us wander barefoot through the world rather than linger here." "We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the woods and fields, and by the side of rivers, and trust ourselves to God in the places where He dwells. It is far better to lie down at night beneath an open sky like that yonder—see how bright it is!—than to rest in close rooms, which are always full of care and weary dreams. Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to forget this time as if it had never been." "We will be happy!" cried the child, "We never can be here." "No, we never can again—never again—that’s truly said," replied the old man. "Let us steal away to-morrow morning, early and softly, that we may not be seen or heard, and leave no trace or track for them to follow by. Poor Nell! Thy cheek is pale, and thy eyes are heavy with watching and weeping for me—I know—for me; but thou wilt be well again, and merry too, when we are far away. To-morrow morning, dear, we’ll turn our faces from this scene of sorrow, and be as free and happy as the birds."