“Would it ease it to unburden?” said Poppy.  “Sometimes it’s a wonderful soother to speak out about what worries one.  At Aunt Flint’s I used to let fly my worries to the walls for want of a better confidant.  You think over about unburdening to me, Miss Daisy.  I’ll promise to be a safe receptacle.”

Daisy shook her head mournfully.

“It would be no use,” she said; “even telling now would be no manner of use.  Oh, Poppy, I wish I had been strong enough, and I wish so dreadfully I had not minded about the dungeon.  If the Prince was here he would say I ought not to live any longer in the Palace Beautiful, and I don’t think the rooms do look like the rooms of a palace to-day.  Please, Poppy, look round you, and see if you can see any goodness shining on the walls, and if you can see through Love’s glass into the street.”

“Oh lor! no, Miss Daisy; I’m not so fanciful.  The walls is just fairly neat, and the windows, they’re just like any other attic windows.  Now, missy, you’re just fairly worn out, and you shall shut your eyes and go to sleep.”

Poor little Daisy was so weary and weak that she absolutely did close her eyes, and comforted and soothed by Poppy’s presence, she fell into a short and uneasy doze.  She awoke in about an hour, and lay quite still, with her eyes wide open.  Poppy said something to her, but she replied, in an imploring tone.

“Please let me think.  I had a dream when I was asleep.  I did something in the dream, and I think I’ll do it now really—­only you must let me think Poppy.”

“Think, away, pretty little miss,” said Poppy:  “and while you are worriting your poor little brain over thoughts I’ll take it upon me to prepare a bit of dinner for you.”

Poppy made some tea, and boiled an egg, and toasted some bread to a light and tempting brown.  When the meal was prepared she brought it to Daisy, who said wistfully—­

“If I do what I want I must be strong, so I’ll eat up that egg, and I’ll take some toast, and you must take something too, Poppy.”

“Seeing as I can’t get no meal till to-morrow morning I’m not inclined to refuse a good offer,” said Poppy.  “You don’t know, missy, as I’m going back to my native ’ome to-night.”

“Poppy,” said Daisy, suddenly, taking no notice of this remark, “do you know if Mrs. Ellsworthy is a very rich woman?”

“Mrs. Ellsworthy of Shortlands?” said Poppy; “why, in course; ever since I can remember, my mother has said to me, ’Poppy, child, them there Ellsworthys is made of money.’”

“Made of money,” repeated Daisy, a little shadowy smile coming to her face; “then they must be really rich.  Do you think, Poppy, that Mrs. Ellsworthy is rich enough to give away L17 10_s._ to buy the daily bread, and to help a little girl who could not help being selfish out of a dreadful dark dungeon?  Mrs. Ellsworthy has always been very kind, and I used to love her when I lived at home, but if I thought she was not really very, very rich, I would not ask her, for that might be putting her to great trouble.  Losing money makes one’s heart ache terrible, Poppy, and I would rather bear my own heartache than give it to another person.”