"'Our darling! three years old to-day.'
"It was a lovely, angelic face. The boy was fascinated, spellbound by it. Long he gazed. He grew very uneasy. His bosom heaved convulsively. There were signs of violent emotion, and then burst forth the words:
"'I have not stolen it. Who says so? I found it!'
"Again he looks almost wildly at the picture; then whispers hoarsely:
"'She says, "Thou shall not steal!" Can this be stealing? No—no, it is not. It is luck. I am growing nervous from long fasting. Oh, Heavens, how hungry I am! Bread, bread! I must have bread or die!'
"Taking out a few small coins, he closed the pocketbook, putting the little miniature in his bosom; then walked as swiftly as his failing strength would allow; reached, and was about to enter, an eating-house. At the door, he hesitated; and, drawing forth the little picture, looked again at the baby-face. Now, to his eye, she has grown older; and the face is so sad, with such an appealing look, which speaks to his inmost heart.
"The blue eyes were no longer the laughing ones of childhood; but, oh! yes, it was really so—his mother's lovely, sad face was before him! The same sweet, quivering lips, which seemed whispering so earnestly:
"'Thou shalt not steal!'
"Thrusting the picture back to its hiding-place, he sank exhausted from violent emotion and extreme weakness down on the stone steps.
"Oh, the terrible struggle that was going on in that young breast!