"Oh, you poor child!" said Sybil, tenderly raising him in her arms and pressing him to her bosom, while her tears fell fast upon his head. "You poor, poor child! If I had done what they said, could I ever have looked in your sweet eyes again?"
"Don't cry, poor lady, don't cry," said the child, lifting up his little apron and trying to wipe her eyes.
"Ah, you poor baby! But you shall never want a mother while I live," continued Sybil, still weeping for pity.
"Don't cry, Cro' will be a good, good boy," coaxed the child; softly stroking her face with his little hand.
"Cro' will give you his mudic box, and all his p'ay things. Don't cry," begged the child, and as a last resort, he put his arms around her neck, and added, "Cro' will love you."
"Come, my dear Sybil! come into the house," said Mr. Berners, who, having paid and discharged the hired carriage, now turned to offer his arm to his wife.
But Sybil covered the child in her arms with kisses, and pressed him warmly to her bosom, before she relinquished him to the care of Miss Tabby.
Then she turned to her husband, who still held out his arm to her.
"Poor Lyon!" she said. "You are scarcely able to stand, yet you wish to escort me in. Joseph!"—she called to their faithful servant—"come here. Don't you see your master's state?"
Joe came and looked upon his "sovereign lord," and his eyes and mouth gradually opened in a growing consternation, as he gazed upon the bandaged head.