'
"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.
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