Overcome by this ardent testimonial to her innocence, Sybil burst into tears, and took the rough hand that had been held out to her, and wept over it, and pressed it warmly to her lips, and then to her heart.
“Yes, that I will. I’ll die before a hair of your head shall be hurt,” exclaimed the farmer, utterly overwhelmed and blubbering.
Meanwhile Lyon Berners was explaining to Robert Munson that they had found a friend and helper in Farmer Nye; but advising Munson to try to infuse enough of discretion into the impetuous mind of Nye to modify his reckless actions.
“And now, dear boy,” added Mr. Berners, “I will not speak to you of reward for this great service; but this I will say, that henceforth you shall be to me as a younger brother, and I shall take charge of your future fortunes even as though you were the son of my mother.”
“You are too generous, sir; and indeed I want no recompense whatever,” answered Robert Munson, sincerely.
Then Mr. Berners went over to his wife and lifted her into her saddle; and when he had settled her comfortably in her seat, he mounted his own horse, and once more called Robert Munson to him.
“Good-bye, and God bless you, Robert,” he said, warmly shaking hands with the young man.
“And you too, sir! and you too, sir!” feelingly responded Munson.
And then Sybil called him.
“Good-bye, dear Bob. I will remember you and love you as long as I live for this,” she said.