"No, no, you mustn't; He only comes to people in the dark, so Jane
says. You lie down and shut your eyes."

"If you don't want your cake, may I eat it then?"

"Yes, you may eat it. And, Toby, come into my arms, dear dog."

Maurice was soon in that pleasant land of a little child's dreams,
and Toby, full of most earnest sympathy, was petting and soothing
Cecile in dog fashion.

Meanwhile, Jane Parsons downstairs was not idle.

Cecile's story, told after Cecile's fashion, had fired her honest
heart with such sympathy and indignation that she was ready both to
dare and suffer in her cause.

Jane Parsons had been brought up at Warren's Grove from the time she
was a little child. Her mother had been cook before her, and when her
mother got too old, Jane, as a matter of course, stepped into her
shoes. Active, honest, quiet, and sober, she was a valuable servant.
She was essentially a good girl, guided by principle and religion in
all she did.

Jane had never known any other home but Warren's Grove, and long as
Lydia Purcell had been there, Jane was there as long.

Now she was prepared--prepared, if necessary--to give up her home.
She meant, as I said, to run a risk, for it never even occurred to
her not to help Cecile in her need. Let Lydia Purcell quietly pocket