Cecile felt that it was a very little sum to take them to France,
but there was no help for it. She and Maurice and Toby must manage on
this sum to walk to Dover. She knew enough of geography now to be
sure that Dover was the right place to go to.
She slipped the change from the half sovereign into a sixpenny purse
which Moseley had given her on Christmas Day. The precious Russia-
leather purse was restored to its old hiding place in the bosom of
her frock. Then, giving a mournful glance round the little chamber
which she was about to quit, she returned to Maurice.
"Don't take off your hat, Maurice, darling; we have got to go."
"To go!" said Maurice, opening his brown eyes wide. "Are we to leave
our nice night's lodging? Is that what you mean? No, Cecile," said
the little boy, seating himself firmly on the floor. "I don't intend
to go. Mammie Moseley said I was to be here when she came back, and I
mean to be here."
"But, oh! Maurice, Maurice, I must go south, Will you let me go
alone? Can you live without me, Maurice, darling?"
"No, Cecile, you shall not go. You shall stay here too. We need
neither of us go south. It's much, much nicer here."
Cecile considered a moment. This opposition from Maurice puzzled
her. She had counted on many obstacles, but this came from an
unlooked-for quarter.
Moments were precious. Each instant she expected to hear the step
she dreaded on the attic stairs. Without Maurice, however, she could
not stir.
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