CHAPTER IX.
"Per Bacco!" said Dr.Riccabocca, putting his hand on Lenny's shoulder, and bending down to look into his face,--"per Bacco! my young friend, do you sit here from choice or necessity ?" Lenny slightly shuddered, and winced under the touch of one whom he had hitherto regarded with a sort of superstitious abhorrence.
"I fear," resumed Riccabocca, after waiting in vain for an answer to his question, "that though the situation is charming, you did not select it yourself.

What is this ?"--and the irony of the tone vanished--"what is this, my poor boy?
You have been bleeding, and I see that those tears which you try to check come from a deep well.

Tell me, povero fanciullo mio" (the sweet Italian vowels, though Lenny did not understand them, sounded softly and soothingly),--"tell me, my child, how all this happened.

Perhaps I can help you; we have all erred,--we should all help each other." Lenny's heart, that just before had seemed bound in brass, found itself a way as the Italian spoke thus kindly, and the tears rushed down; but he again stopped them, and gulped out sturdily,-- "I have not done no wrong; it ben't my fault,--and 't is that which kills me!" concluded Lenny, with a burst of energy.
"You have not done wrong?
Then," said the philosopher, drawing out his pocket-handkerchief with great composure, and spreading it on the ground,--"then I may sit beside you.

I could only stoop pityingly over sin, but I can lie down on equal terms with misfortune." Lenny Fairfield did not quite comprehend the words, but enough of their general meaning was apparent to make him cast a grateful glance on the Italian.