He almost feared to speak, dreading the severe frown with which he expected to be received.

Suspense, however, was more painful than condemnation, and he brought his resolution up to the point.
"Mr.Bayard," said he, in faltering tones.
"Bobby!" exclaimed the bookseller, dropping his paper upon the floor, and jumping upon his feet as though an electric current had passed through his frame.
Grasping our hero's hand, he shook it with so much energy that, under any other circumstances, Bobby would have thought it hurt him.

He did not think so now.
"My poor Bobby! I am delighted to see you!" continued Mr.Bayard.
Bobby burst into tears, and sobbed like a child, as he was.

The unexpected kindness of this reception completely overwhelmed him.
"Don't cry, Bobby; I know all about it;" and the tender-hearted bookseller wiped away his tears.

"It was a stroke of misfortune; but it is all right now." But Bobby could not help crying, and the more Mr.Bayard attempted to console him, the more he wept.
"I am innocent, Mr.Bayard," he sobbed.
"I know you are, Bobby; and all the world knows you are." "I am ruined now; I shall never dare to hold my head up again." "Nonsense, Bobby; you will hold your head the higher.