On learning that a wounded
thief was lying in the house, the voice directed that he be instantly
carried up-stairs to the room of Mr. Giles, and a doctor be summoned; and
so for the second time in his short, tragic existence, Oliver fell into
kind hands at a moment when all hope had left his breast. He was now in
the home of Mrs. Maylie, a finely preserved, bright-eyed, elderly lady,
and her fair young adopted niece, Rose.
The attempted burglary had greatly shocked them both, and the fact that
one of the robbers was in the house added to their nervousness. So when
Dr. Losberne came, and begged them to accompany him to the patient's room,
they dreaded to comply with the request, but finally yielded to his
demand. What was their astonishment when the bed-curtains were drawn
aside, instead of a black-visaged ruffian, to see a mere child, worn with
pain, and sunk into a deep sleep. His wounded arm bound and splintered up,
was crossed upon his breast. His head reclined upon the other arm, which
was half hidden by his long hair, as it streamed over the pillow. The boy
smiled in his sleep as at a pleasant dream, when Rose bent tenderly over
him, while the older lady and the Doctor discussed the probability of the
child's having been the tool of robbers.
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