it was still quite the middle of the night when a strong light was flashed into cecile d'albert's eyes, and she was aroused from a rather disturbed sleep by jane, who held up the russia-leather purse in triumph.
"here it is, cecile," she said, "here it is. i guess jesus christ heard your bit of a prayer real wonderful quick, my lamb."
"oh, jane! he did not answer me once," said cecile, starting up and too surprised and bewildered to understand yet that her lost purse was really hers again. "he never heard me, jane; i suppose he was asleep, for i did ask him so often to let me have my purse back."
"there wasn't much sleep about him," said jane; "the lord don't never slumber nor sleep; and as to not answering, what answer could be plainer than yer purse, cecile? here, you don't seem to believe it, take it in yer hand and count."
"my own purse; lovedy's own purse," said cecile, in rather a slow, glad voice. the sense of touch had brought to her belief. she opened her eyes wide and looked hard at jane. then a great light of beauty, hope, and rapture filled the lovely eyes, and the little arms were flung tight round the servant's honest neck.
"dear, dear jane, i do love you. oh! did aunt lydia really give the purse back?"
"you have got the purse, cecile, and you don't ask no questions. well, there, i don't mind telling you. she had it in her hand when she dropped asleep; she wor sleeping very sound, it was easy to take the purse away."
"my own and lovedy's purse," repeated cecile. "oh, jane! it seems too good of jesus to give it back to me again."
"aye, darling, he'll give you more than that if you ask him, for you're one o' those as he loves. but now, cecile, we ha' a deal to do before morning. you open the purse, and see that all the money is safe."
cecile did as she was bid, and out fell the fifteen sovereigns and the four bank of england notes.
"'tis all there, jane," she said, "even to the little bit of paper under the lining."
"what's that, child?"
"i don't know, there's some writing on it, but i can't read writing."
"well, but i can, let me read it, darling."
cecile handed the paper to her, and jane read aloud the following words:
"'this purse contains fifty-five pounds. forty pounds in bank of england ten-pound notes, for my dear and only child, lovedy joy; fifteen pounds in gold for my stepdaughter, cecile d'albert. to be spent by her in looking for my daughter, and for no other use whatever.
"'signed by me, grace d'albert, on this ninth day of september, 18—'
"cecile," said jane suddenly, "you must let me keep this paper. i will send it back to you if i can, but you must let me keep it for the present. what i did to-night might have got me into trouble. but this will save me, if you let me keep it for a bit."
"yes, jane, you must keep it; it only gives directions; i know all about them down deep in my heart."
"and now, little one, i'm sorry to say there's no more sleep for you this night. you've got to get up; you and maurice and toby have all three of you to get up and be many, many miles away from here before the morning, for if lydia found you in the house in the morning, you would not have that purse five minutes, child, and i don't promise as i could ever get it back again."
"i always meant to go away," said cecile quietly. "i did not know it would come so soon as to-night, but i'm quite ready. me and maurice and toby, we'll walk to london. i have got half a sovereign that mr. preston gave to maurice. we'll go to london first, and then to france. yes, jane, i'm quite ready. shall i wake maurice, and will you open the door to let us out?"
"i'll do more than that, my little lamb; and ain't it enough to break one's heart to hear the poor innocent, and she taking it so calm and collected-like? now, cecile, tell me have you any friends in london?"
"i once met a girl who sat on a doorstep and sang," answered cecile. "i think she would be my friend, but i don't know where she lives."
"then she ain't no manner of good, deary. jane parsons can do better for you than that. now listen to what i has got to say. you get up and dress, and wake maurice and get him dressed, and then you, maurice, and toby slip downstairs as soft as little mice; make no noise, for ef she woke it 'ud be all up with us. you three come down to the kitchen, and i'll have something hot for you to drink, and then i'll have the pony harnessed to the light cart, and drive you over to f—- in time to catch the three o'clock mail train. the guard'll be good to you for he's a friend of mine, and i'll have a bit of a note writ, and when you get to london the guard'll put you in a cab, and you'll drive to the address written on the note. the note is to my cousin, annie west, what was jones. she's married in london and have one baby, and her heart is as good and sweet and soft as honey. she'll keep you for a week or two, till 'tis time for you to start into france. now be quick up, deary, and hide that purse in yer dress, werry safe."
"oh, jane, what a beautiful, beautiful plan! and will maurice's half-sovereign help us all that much?"
"the half-sovereign won't have nothing to say to it; 'tis jane parsons' own work, and her own money shall pay it. you keep that half-sovereign for a rainy day, cecile."
"that's what mr. preston said when he gave it," echoed cecile. and then the kind-hearted servant hurried downstairs to complete her arrangements.
"maurice," said cecile, stooping down and waking her little brother. "get up, maurice, darling; 'tis time for us to commence our journey."
"oh, cecile!" said the little fellow, "in the very middle of the night, and i'm so sleepy."
"for toby's sake, maurice, dear."
"toby shall have no yard of rope, wicked aunt lydia," said maurice at these words, starting up and rubbing his brown eyes to try and open them. ten minutes later the three little pilgrims were in the kitchen being regaled with cake and hot coffee, which even toby partook of with considerable relish.
then jane, taking a hand of each little child, led them quietly out, and without any noise they all—even toby—got into the light cart, and were off, numberless twinkling stars looking down on them. lydia purcell, believing she had the purse in her hand, was sleeping the sleep of the sin-laden and unhappy. she thought that broken and miserable rest worth the money treasure she believed she had secured. she little guessed that already it had taken to itself wings, and was lying against the calm and trustful heart of a little child; but the stars knew, and they smiled on the children as they drove away.
jane, when they got to the railway station, saw the guard, with whom, indeed, she was great friends, and he very gladly undertook to see to the children, and even to wink at the rule about dogs, and allow toby to travel up to london with them. what is more, he put them into a first-class carriage which was empty, and bade them lie down and never give anything a thought till they found themselves in london.
"do you think jesus the guide is doing all this for us?" asked cecile in a whisper, with her arms very tight around jane's neck.
"yes, darling, 'tis all along his doing."
"oh! how easy he is making the first bit of our pilgrimage!" said cecile.
the whistle sounded. the train was off, and jane found herself standing on the platform with tears in her eyes. she turned, once more got into the light cart, and drove quickly back to warren's grove.
