present dangers; and that if any aid were to be raised up for a poor outcast boy who had never known the love of friends or kindred, it might come to him now, when, desolate and deserted, he stood alone in the midst of wickedness and guilt.
He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his head buried in his hands, when a rustling noise aroused him.
“What’s that!” he cried, starting up, and catching sight of a figure standing by the door. “Who’s there?”
“Me. Only me,” replied a tremulous voice.
Oliver raised the candle above his head: and looked towards the door. It was Nancy.
“Put down the light,” said the girl, turning away her head. “It hurts my eyes.”
Oliver saw that she was very pale, and gently inquired if she were ill. The girl threw herself into a chair, with her back towards him: and wrung her hands; but made no reply.
“God forgive me!” she cried after a while, “I never thought of this.”
“Has anything happened?” asked Oliver. “Can I help you? I will if I can. I will, indeed.”
She rocked herself to and fro; caught her throat; and, uttering a gurgling sound, gasped for breath.
“Nancy!” cried Oliver, “What is it?”
The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her feet upon the ground; and, suddenly stopping, drew her shawl close round her: and shivered with cold.