“Nelly!” said the old man.

“Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now,” the child repeated, “do not let me see such change in you, and not know why, or I shall break my heart and die.  Dear grandfather, let us leave this sad place to-morrow, and beg our way from door to door.”

The old man covered his face with his hands, as the child added, “Let us be beggars.  I have no fear but we shall have enough:  I’m sure we shall.  Let us walk through country places, and never think of money again, or anything that can make you sad, but rest at nights, and have the sun and wind on our faces in the day, and thank God together!  Let us never set foot in dark rooms or melancholy houses any more, but wander up and down wherever we like to go, and when you are tired, you shall stop to rest in the pleasantest places we can find, and I will go and beg for both.”

The child’s voice was lost in sobs as she dropped upon the old man’s neck; nor did she weep alone.

That very day news came that the Old Curiosity Shop and its contents would at once pass into Quilp’s hands, in payment of the old man’s debts.  In vain he pleaded for one more chance to redeem himself—­for one more loan—­Quilp was firm in his refusal of further help, and little Nell found the old man, overcome by the news, lying upon the floor of his room, alarmingly ill.  For weeks he lay raving in the delirium of fever, little Nell alone beside him, nursing him with a single-hearted devotion.  The house was no longer theirs; even the sick chamber they retained by special favor until such time as the old man could be removed.  Meanwhile, Mr. Quilp had taken formal possession of the premises, and to make sure that no more business was transacted in the shop, was encamped in the back parlor.  So keen was Nell’s dread of even the sound of the dwarfs voice, that she lived in continual apprehension of meeting him on the stairs, or in the passage, and seldom stirred from her grandfather’s room.

At length the old man began to mend—­he was patient and quiet, easily amused, and made no complaint, but his mind was forever weakened, and he seemed to have only a dazed recollection of what had happened.  Even when Quilp told him that in two days he must be moved out of the shop, he seemed not to take it to heart, wandering around the house, a very child in act and thought.  But a change came over him on the second evening; as he and little Nell sat silently together.  He was moved—­shed tears—­begged Nell’s forgiveness for what he had made her suffer—­seemed like one coming out of a dream—­and urged her to help him in acting upon what they had talked of doing long before.

“We will not stop here another day,” he said, “we will go far away from here.  We will travel afoot through the fields and woods, 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 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.”