“Oh, my darling boy! my darling boy! He has killed him—he has killed him!”
She dropped upon her knees by where Sam lay, apparently insensible; but uttered a cry of pain and sprang up again, for the broken china was full of awkward corners.
“Oh, James! James! look what that wicked wretch has done!”
“Look, woman! Do you think I’m blind? That vase was worth fifty pounds, if it was worth a penny.”
“I—I wasn’t thinking about the ch-ch-ch-china,” sobbed Mrs Brandon, “but about my darling Sam. Oh, my boy! my boy! don’t say you’re dead!”
“Don’t you make an exhibition of yourself before the servants,” cried her husband angrily. “Here you, sir: I always knew that you’d make me repent. How came you to break that vase?”
“I didn’t, sir,” said Tom quietly; “Sam caught hold of it as he was falling.”
Sam was lying insensible the moment before, but this was reviving.
“I didn’t, father; he knocked me down, and then seized the vase and dashed it at me.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Mrs Brandon, as Sam lapsed into insensibility once more. “The wretch has had a spite against his cousin ever since he has been here. Oh, my darling, darling boy!”