e in the past? He could bring
nothing to establish his innocence but his previous character. Would
not Mr. Bayard frown upon him? Would not even Ellen be tempted to
forget the service he had rendered her?

Bobby had thought of all these things before--on his cold, damp bed in
the forest, in the watches of the tempestuous night onboard the
schooner. But now, when he was almost in the presence of those he
loved and respected, they had more force, and they nearly overwhelmed
him.

"I am innocent," he repeated to himself, "and why need I fear? My good
Father in heaven will not let me be wronged."

Yet he could not overcome his anxiety; and when he reached the store of
Mr. Bayard, he passed by, dreading to face the friend who had been so
kind to him. He could not bear even to be suspected of a crime by him.

"Now or never," said he, as he turned round. "I will know my fate at
once, and then make the best of it."

Mustering all his courage, he entered the store. Mr. Timmins was not
there; so he was spared the infliction of any ill-natured remark from
him.

"Hallo, Bobby!" exclaimed the gentlemanly salesman, whose acquaintance
he had made on his first visit.

"Good morning, Mr. Bigelow," replied Bobby with as much boldness as he
could command.

"I didn't know as I should ever see you again. You have been gone a
long while."

"Longer than usual," answered Bobby, with a blush; for he considered
the remark of the salesman as an allusion to his imprisonment. "Is Mr.
Bayard in?"

"He is--in his office."

Bobby's feet would hardly obey the mandate of his will, and with a
faltering step he entered the private room of the bookseller. Mr.
Bayard was absorbed in the perusal of the morning paper, and did not
observe his entrance. With his heart up in his throat, and almost
choking him, he stood for several minutes upon the threshold. 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 d