Kit, the single gentleman, and Mr. Garland go down to the place where
the child is, and arrive there at night. There has been a fall of snow.
Kit, leaving them behind, runs to the old house, and, with a lanthorn in
one hand and the bird in its cage in the other, stops for a moment at a
little distance with a natural hesitation before he goes up to make his
presence known. In a window--supposed to be that of the child's little
room--a light is burning, and in that room the child (unknown, of
course, to her visitors, who are full of hope) lies dead.
If you have any difficulty about Kit, never mind about putting him in.
The two others to-morrow.
Faithfully always.
[Sidenote: Mr. George Cattermole.]