did not say a word; the action said all,--said, "Do not desert me." And
Leonard's heart rushed to his lips, and he answered to the action, as he
bent down, and kissed her cheek, "Orphan, will you go with me? We have
one Father yet to both of us, and He will guide us on earth. I am
fatherless like you." She raised her eyes to his, looked at him long,
and then leaned her head confidingly on his strong young shoulder.




CHAPTER VII.

At noon that same day the young man and the child were on their road to
London. The host had at first a little demurred at trusting Helen to so
young a companion; but Leonard, in his happy ignorance, had talked so
sanguinely of finding out this lord, or some adequate protectors for the
child; and in so grand a strain, though with all sincerity, had spoken of
his own great prospects in the metropolis (he did not say what they
were!) that had he been the craftiest impostor he could not more have
taken in the rustic host. And while the landlady still cherished the
illusive fancy that all gentlefolks must know each other in London, as
they did in a county, the landlord believed, at least, that a young man
so respectably dressed, although but a foot-traveller, who talked in so
confident a tone, and who was so willing to undertake what might be
rather a burdensome charge, unless he saw how to rid himself of it, would
be sure to have friends older and wiser than himself, who would judge
what could best be done for the orphan.

And what was the host to do with her? Better this volunteered escort, at
least, than vaguely passing her on from parish to parish, and leaving her