What could the child do, with the knowledge she had, but give him every penny that came into her hands, lest he should be tempted on to rob their benefactress?  If she told the truth (so thought the child) he would be treated as a madman; if she did not supply him with money, he would supply himself; supplying him, she fed the fire that burned him, and put him perhaps beyond recovery.  Distracted by these thoughts, tortured by a crowd of apprehensions whenever he was absent, and dreading alike his stay and his return, the color forsook her cheek, her eyes grew dim, and her heart was oppressed and heavy.

One evening, wandering alone not far from home, the child came suddenly upon a gypsy camp, and looking at the group of men around the fire saw to her horror and dismay that one was her grandfather.  The others she recognized as the card-players at the public-house on the eventful night of the storm.  Drawing near, where she could listen unseen, she heard their conversation; heard them obtain her grandfather’s promise to rob Mrs. Jarley of the tin box in which she kept her savings—­and to play a game of cards with them, with its contents for stakes.

“God be merciful to us!” cried the child, “and help us in this trying hour!  What shall I do to save him?”

The remainder of the conversation related merely to the execution of their project, after which the old man shook hands with his tempters, and withdrew.  Then Nell crept away, fled home as quickly as she could, and threw herself upon her bed, distracted.  The first idea that flashed upon her mind was instant flight.  Then she remembered that the crime was not to be committed until next night, and there was time for resolving what to do.  Then she was distracted with a horrible fear that he might be committing it at that moment.  She stole to the room where the money was, and looked in.  God be praised! 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 who could sleep—­sleep! distracted by such terrors?  They came upon her more and more strongly yet.  Half-undressed, and with her hair in wild disorder, she flew to the old man’s bedside, and roused him from his sleep.

“What’s this?” he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes upon her spectral face.

“I have had a dreadful dream,” said the child.  “A dreadful, horrible dream!  I have had it once before.  It is a dream of gray-haired men like you, in darkened rooms by night, robbing the 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, “Not to me—­to 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.  We must fly.  There is no time to lose;” said the child.  “Up! and away with me!”

“To-night?” murmured the old man.