And then the old man clasped his hands above her head and said, in a few broken words, that from that time forth they would wander up and down together, and never part again. The child’s heart beat high with hope and joy. She had no thought of hunger, or cold, or thirst. They would be happy together as they had been before. This was all she cared for. While the old man slept soundly in his bed, she set herself to prepare for their flight. There were a few articles of clothing for herself to carry, as well as a few for him; and a staff to support his feeble steps was put ready for his use. When she had finished the old man was yet asleep, and as she was unwilling to disturb him, she left him to slumber on until the sun rose. He was then very anxious that they should leave the house without a minute’s loss of time, and was soon ready. The child took him by the hand, and they trod lightly down the stairs, trembling whenever a board creaked, and often stopping to listen. At last they reached the passage on the ground floor, where the snoring of Quilp sounded more terrible in their ears than the roaring of lions. They opened the door without noise, and passing into the street, stood still. "Which way?" said the child. The old man looked first at her, then to the right and left, then at her again, and shook his head. It was plain that she was now his guide. The child knew it, and putting her hand in his, led him gently away. It was the beginning of a day in June, the deep blue sky unbroken by a cloud, and full of brilliant light. The streets were, as yet, almost empty. The houses and shops were closed, and the sweet air of morning fell like breath from angels on the sleeping town. Forth from the city, while it yet slept, went the two poor wanderers, they knew not whither. *Chapter III.* *IN THE OPEN COUNTRY.* The two pilgrims, often pressing each other’s hands, or looking at each other with a smile, went on their way in silence. After walking a long, long way they left the city behind, and came in sight of fields, tiny cottages, and large mansions with lawns and porters’ lodges. Then came a turnpike, then fields again with trees and haystacks, then a hill; and on top of that the traveller might stop, and looking back at old St. Paul’s looming through the smoke, might feel at last that he was clear of London. Near such a spot as this, and in a pleasant field, the old man and his little guide sat down to rest. Nell had brought in her basket some slices of bread and meat, and here they made their simple breakfast.