It is a dream of grey-haired men like you, in darkened rooms by night, robbing sleepers of their gold.
Up, up!' The old man shook in every joint, and folded his hands like one who prays.
'Not to me,' said the child, 'not to me--to Heaven, to save us from such deeds! This dream is too real.

I cannot sleep, I cannot stay here, I cannot leave you alone under the roof where such dreams come.
Up! We must fly.' He looked at her as if she were a spirit--she might have been for all the look of earth she had--and trembled more and more.
'There is no time to lose; I will not lose one minute,' said the child.
'Up! and away with me!' 'To-night ?' murmured the old man.
'Yes, to-night,' replied the child.

'To-morrow night will be too late.
The dream will have come again.

Nothing but flight can save us.

Up!' The old man rose from his bed: his forehead bedewed with the cold sweat of fear: and, bending before the child as if she had been an angel messenger sent to lead him where she would, made ready to follow her.
She took him by the hand and led him on.