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 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.”