“Did you tell me just now, that your master hadn’t gone out to-night?” inquired Mrs. Nubbles.

“Yes,” said Kit, “worse luck!”

“You should say better luck, I think,” returned his mother, “because Miss Nelly won’t have been left alone.”

“Ah!” said Kit, “I forgot that.  I said worse luck, because I’ve been watching ever since eight o’clock, and seen nothing of her.  Hark, what’s that?”

“It’s only somebody outside.”

“It’s somebody crossing over here,” said Kit, standing up to listen, “and coming very fast too.  He can’t have gone out after I left, and the house caught fire, mother!”

The boy stood for a moment, really bereft, by the apprehension he had conjured up, of the power to move.  The footsteps drew nearer, the door was opened with a hasty hand, and the child herself, pale and breathless, hurried into the room.

“Miss Nelly!  What is the matter?” cried mother and son together.

“I must not stay a moment,” she returned, “grandfather has been taken very ill.  I found him in a fit upon the floor.”

“I’ll run for a doctor——­” said Kit, seizing his brimless hat.  “I’ll be there directly, I’ll——­”

“No, no,” cried Nell, “there is one there, you’re not wanted, you—­you—­must never come near us any more!”

“What!” roared Kit.

“Never again,” said the child.  “Don’t ask me why, for I don’t know.  Pray don’t ask me why, pray don’t be sorry, pray don’t be vexed with me!  I have nothing to do with it indeed!

“He complains of you and raves of you,” added the child, “I don’t know what you have done, but I hope it’s nothing very bad.”

“I done!” roared Kit.

“He cries that you’re the cause of all his misery,” returned the child, with tearful eyes.  “He screamed and called for you; they say you must not come near him, or he will die.  You must not return to us any more.  I came to tell you.  I thought it would be better that I should.  Oh, Kit, what have you done?  You, in whom I trusted so much, and who were almost the only friend I had!”

The unfortunate Kit looked at his young mistress harder and harder, and with eyes growing wider and wider, but was perfectly motionless and still.

“I have brought his money for the week,” said the child, looking to the woman, and laying it on the table,—­“and—­and—­a little more, for he was always good and kind to me.  I hope he will be sorry and do well somewhere else and not take this to heart too much.  It grieves me very much to part with him like this, but there is no help.  It must be done.  Good-night!”

With the tears streaming down her face, and her slight figure trembling with intense agitation, the child hastened to the door, and disappeared as rapidly as she had come.

The poor woman, who had no cause to doubt her son, but every reason for relying on his honesty and truth, was staggered, notwithstanding, by his not having advanced one word in his own defence.