Then the child remembered, for the first time, one of the nurses having told her that Quilp always locked both the house-doors at night, and kept the keys on the table in his bedroom.
It was not without great fear and trepidation that little Nell slipped off her shoes and gliding through the store-room of old curiosities, where Mr Brass--the ugliest piece of goods in all the stock--lay sleeping on a mattress, passed into her own little chamber.
Here she stood, for a few moments, quite transfixed with terror at the sight of Mr Quilp, who was hanging so far out of bed that he almost seemed to be standing on his head, and who, either from the uneasiness of this posture, or in one of his agreeable habits, was gasping and growling with his mouth wide open, and the whites (or rather the dirty yellows) of his eyes distinctly visible.

It was no time, however, to ask whether anything ailed him; so, possessing herself of the key after one hasty glance about the room, and repassing the prostrate Mr Brass, she rejoined the old man in safety.

They got the door open without noise, and passing into the street, stood still.
'Which way ?' said the child.
The old man looked, irresolutely and helplessly, first at her, then to the right and left, then at her again, and shook his head.

It was plain that she was thenceforth his guide and leader.

The child felt it, but had no doubts or misgiving, and putting her hand in his, led him gently away.
It was the beginning of a day in June; the deep blue sky unsullied by a cloud, and teeming with brilliant light.