Chapter II.
DRIVEN FROM HOME.
The Old Gentleman lingered about the street for two long hours; for he could not tear himself away from the place. Nor could he help thinking of all the harm that might come to the child shut up alone in the old gloomy shop; and he wondered what it was that took the old man from his home so late at night.
The child had told him that she always stayed there quite alone; so that it was clearly the usual thing for the old man to spend the night away from his home.
At last, quite tired out with watching and thinking, the Old Gentleman hired a coach and drove to his own home. A week later, however, he paid a second visit to the Old Curiosity Shop to learn something more of the strange old man and his beautiful grandchild.
He found that the old dealer had a visitor, a young man of about twenty-one, with a bold but handsome face and a careless, impudent manner. “I tell you again,” the young fellow was saying as the Old Gentleman entered, “that I want to see Nell my sister.”
The old man gave an angry reply, and the visitor soon gathered that what the young fellow really wanted was not so much to see Little Nell as to wring from her grandfather some of his money, which he said was being hoarded to no purpose.
While the quarrel was at its height the door opened, and Little Nell herself came in. She was followed by an elderly man with a hard, forbidding face, and so small that he was quite a dwarf. His black eyes were restless, sly, and cunning; his upper lip and chin were bristly with a coarse, hard beard; and his face bore a smile in which there was neither mirth nor pleasure.
For a few moments he stood listening to the angry voices of the two men; and when Nell’s brother had flung himself out of the house in a fierce rage, the dwarf, whose name was Quilp, came forward, put his hand into his breast, and took out a bag of money. This he handed to the old man with the words, “I brought it myself, as, being in gold, it was too heavy for Nell to carry in her bag. She ought to get used to such loads though, for she will have gold enough when you are dead.”
“I hope so,” said the old man, with something like a frown.
“Hope so!” echoed the dwarf. “Neighbour, I wish I knew in what safe place you have placed all I have given you from time to time. But you keep your secret very close.”
“My secret!” said the other, with a haggard look. “Yes, you are right. I—I—keep it close—very close.”
The old man said no more, but taking the bag in his hand, turned away with a slow, uncertain step. The dwarf then took his leave, wondering as he went what the old man did with the money he had borrowed. After some days, however, he was able by means best known to himself to find out the truth of the matter.
Nell’s grandfather was a gambler. The money Quilp lent him was gambled away night after night in the vain hope of winning a fortune for his grandchild. When the dwarf learnt the truth, he refused to give the old man any more money.
This made Nell’s grandfather very unhappy, and the girl, seeing his misery, begged him to let her go and ask for the dwarf’s help once more. He gave her leave, and the child brought a note in reply, to the effect that Quilp would visit the old man shortly.
One night, the third after Nell’s visit to Quilp’s house, the old man, who had been weak and ill all day, said he should not leave home. The child’s eyes sparkled at the news, but her joy departed when she looked at his worn and sickly face.
“Two days,” he said, “two whole clear days have passed, and there is no reply. What did he tell thee, Nell?”
“Just what I have told you, dear grandfather, indeed.”
“True,” said the old man faintly. “Yes. But tell me again, Nell. My head fails me. What was it that he told thee? Nothing more than that he would see me to-morrow or next day? That was in the note.”
“Nothing more,” said the child. “Shall I go to him again to-morrow, dear grandfather? Very early. I will be there and back before breakfast.”
The old man shook his head, and drew her towards him.
“‘Twould be of no use, my dear. But if he deserts me, Nell, at this moment, if he deserts me now, I am ruined; and worse—far worse than that—have ruined thee. If we are beggars—”
“What if we are?” cried the child boldly. “Let us be beggars, and be happy.”
“Beggars—and happy!” said the old man. “Poor child!”
“Dear grandfather,” cried the girl, with flushed face and trembling voice, “I am not a child, I think; but even if I am, oh, hear me pray that we may beg, or work in open roads or fields, to earn a scanty living, rather than live as we do now.”
“Nelly!” said the old man.
“Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now,” said the child. “If you are sad, let me know why, and be sad too; if you waste away, and are paler and weaker every day, let me be your nurse and try to comfort you. If you are poor, let us be poor together; but let me be with you, do let me be with you. Do not let me see such change 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, and hid it in the pillow of the couch on which he lay.
“Let us be beggars,” said the child, passing an arm round his neck. “I have no fear but we shall have enough. I am sure we shall. Let us walk through country places, and sleep in fields and under trees, and never think of money again, or anything that can make you sad, but rest at nights, and have the sun and wind upon our faces in the day, and thank God together. Let us never set foot in dark rooms or houses any more, but wander up and down wherever we like to go; and when you are tired you shall stop and rest in the pleasantest place that 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.
Meanwhile Quilp had entered the room unseen, and skipping upon a chair, placed himself upon the back with his feet on the seat. Then he looked at the two with a leer upon his face. Turning, the old man saw him, and asked how he came there.
“Through the door,” said the dwarf. “I wish to have some words with you alone.”
Nell looked at her grandfather, who nodded, and she left the room.
“Have you brought me any money?” asked the old man.
“No,” said Quilp; “and, neighbour, you have no secret from me now. To think that I should have been blinded by a mere gambler!”
“I am no gambler,” said the old man. “I played to win a fortune for Nell. Do not desert me. I only need a few pounds to make good my losses and to win wealth in plenty.”
But the dwarf would not listen to the old man’s pleading. He had come, he said, to claim his own. The shop and its contents were his, and he meant to take them over at once.
He was as good as his word. Before long he had taken up his abode in the parlour, where he plainly meant to stay; and the old man was in his bed raving with fever.
Nell nursed her grandfather with tender care, and after a weary time saw him come slowly back to life again; but his mind was now very weak, and he spent each day in moody thought brooding over his troubles.
The dwarf was not slow to hint that he would be glad to see the last of Nell and her grandfather, and at length the old man said he would move out in a couple of days. “Very good,” said Quilp; “but mind, I can’t go beyond that time.”
When the dwarf had left them to themselves the old man’s tears fell fast, and making as though he would fall upon his knees, he begged his tender little nurse to forgive him.
“Forgive you—what?” said Nell. “O grandfather, what should I forgive?”
“All that is past, all that has come upon thee, Nell; all that was done in that uneasy dream,” returned the old man.
“Do not talk so,” said the child. “Pray do not. Let us speak of something else.”
“Yes, yes, we will,” he said. “And it shall be of what we talked of long ago—many months—months is it, or weeks, or days? Which is it, Nell?”
“I do not understand you,” said the child.
“It has come back upon me to-day; it has all come back since we have been sitting here. I bless thee for it, Nell.”
“For what, dear grandfather?”
“For what you said when we were first made beggars, Nell. Let us speak softly. Hush! for if they knew downstairs they would say that I was mad, and take thee away from me. We will not stop here another day. We will go far away from here.”
“Yes, let us go,” said the child. “Let us be gone from this place, and never turn back or think of it again. Let us wander barefoot through the world rather than linger here.”
“We will,” answered the old man. “We will travel afoot through the woods and fields, 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 like that yonder—see how bright it is!—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.”
“We will be happy!” cried the child, “We never can be here.”
“No, we never can again—never again—that’s truly said,” replied the old man. “Let us steal away to-morrow morning, early and softly, that we may not be seen or heard, and leave no trace or track for them to follow by. Poor Nell! Thy cheek is pale, and thy eyes are heavy with watching and weeping for me—I know—for me; but thou wilt be well again, and merry too, when we are far away. To-morrow morning, dear, we’ll turn our faces from this scene of sorrow, and be as free and happy as the birds.”
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.