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 I glanced at the key, and glanced at her ; but, she took it for granted that I knew what to do with it. As it could only be intended for the children's door, I came out, without asking any more questions, and led the way up the dark stairs. We went as quetly as we could ; but, four of us made some noise on the aged boards ; and, when we came to the second story, we found we had disturbed a man who was standing there, looking out of his room.

" Is it Gridley that's wanted ? " he said, fixing his eyes on me with an angry stare.

" No, sir," said I, "I am going higher up."

He looked at Ada, and at Mr. Jarndyce, and at Mr. Skimpole : fixing the same angry stare on each in succession, as they passed and followed me. Mr. Jarndyce gave him good day. " Good day ! " he said, abruptly, and fiercely. He was a tall sallow man, with a care-worn head, on which but little hair remained, a deeply-lined face, and prominent eyes. He had a combative look ; and a chafing, irritable manner, which, associated with his figure—still large and powerful, though evidently in its decline—rather alarmed me. He had a pen in his hand, and, in the glimpse I caught of his room in passing, I saw that it was covered with a litter of papers.

Leaving him standing there, we went up to the top room. I tapped at the door, and a little shrill voice inside said, " We are locked in. Mrs. Blinder's got the key!"

I applied the key on hearing this, and opened the door. In a poor room with a sloping ceiling, and containing very little furniture, was a mite of a boy, some five or six years old, nursing and hushing a heavy child of eighteen months. There was no fire, though the weather was cold ; both children were wrapped in some poor shawls and tippets, as a substitute. Their clothing was not so warm, however, but that their noses looked red and pinched, and their small figures shrunken, as the boy walked up and down, nursing and hushing the child with its head on his shoulder.

" Who has locked you up here alone ? " we naturally asked.

" Charley," said the boy, standing still to gaze at us.

" Is Charley your brother ? "

"No. She's my sister, Charlotte. Father called her Charley."

" Are there any more of you besides Charley ? "

" Me," said the boy, " and Emma," patting the limp bonnet of the child he was nursing. " And Charley."

" Where is Charley now ? "

" Out a washing," said the boy, beginning to walk up and down again, and taking the nankeen bonnet much too near the bedstead, by trying to gaze at us at the same time.

We were looking at one another, and at these two children, when there came into the room a very little girl, childish in figure but shrewd and older-looking in the face—pretty-faced too—wearing a womanly sort of bonnet much too large for her, and drying her bare arms on a womanly sort of apron. Her fingers were white and wrinkled with washing, and the soap-suds were yet smoking which she wiped off her arms. But for this, she might have been a child, playing at washing, and imitating a poor working woman with a quick observation of the truth.

She had come running from some place in the neighbourhood, and had