His joy had fled, and his unmingled gladness had faded quite away.

He was a very poor, very old man; and the little child was very, very young.

What would become of them both, alone in London?
He did not know whether it was a voice speaking within himself in his own heart, or words whispered very softly into his ear; but he heard a low, quiet, still, small voice, which said, "Even to your old age I am he, and even to hoar hairs I will carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you." And old Oliver answered, with a sob, "Yes, Lord, yes!".