Chapter Nine.
Sorrow is not Repentance.
Norman had intended to run away and hide himself should he find that he really had killed the little bird. He was sure that Fanny and everybody else would be ready to beat him, but her gentle, though reproachful, tone greatly calmed his fears.
“If she is not angry, I suppose that others will not be,” he thought, as he stood by her side, with his eyes still fixed on the dead bird. “I wish I had not done it; if I had frightened her by merely letting the book drop near the bird, it would have been enough. Oh dear! oh dear! I wish I could bring it to life again! Can it really be dead?”
As these expressions were uttered in a very low voice, they did not reach Fanny’s ears. For some minutes she did not move. He could not longer endure to watch her silent grief.
“Fanny,” he said, in a gentle voice, very unusual for him, “is little Pecksy really dead? Do look and see; perhaps you can make it come to life again. I wish you could; I am so sorry I hit it so hard.”
Fanny lifted her head from her hands, and turned her eyes towards the little bird. She got up from her chair, and examined it carefully.
“Give it something to eat, perhaps that will make it move about,” suggested Norman.