Presently, he pronounced, in a low
voice, yet which was distinctly audible to the deaf man's ears, two
words, the effect of which was to make the other start up in his seat,
and stare about him in amazement and alarm.
The boy met his glance with great calmness and gentleness, and held out
his hand as if to grasp Bressant's.
"Was it you?" exclaimed the latter, bewildered. "How did you know that
name, and who are you?" As he spoke, he mechanically took the extended
hand in his own.
"Why, don't you know me?" answered the boy, smiling, and, at the same
time, drawing him, by a slight but decided traction, to sit down by him.
"Me--your best friend?"
Something in the voice, something in the manner, and in the expression
of the eyes, but, most of all, the smile, seemed strangely familiar to
Bressant. The touch of the hand, too, he thought be recognized--it
soothed and yet controlled him. Still, he was unable to recall exactly
who the boy was, or where he had seen him before.
"I've had so much to think of lately," murmured he, partly to himself,
partly by way of excusing his forgetfulness, passing his hand over his
forehead.
"Yes, indeed!" returned the latter, in a tone of tender sympathy, that
vibrated gratefully along Bressant's nerves.
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