by a sudden hope, and said to him in a tone which was almost that of joy,—
“Courage, courage, daddy; you will get well, we will go away from here, we will go home to mamma; courage, for a little while longer!”
It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and just as the boy had abandoned himself to one of these outbursts of tenderness and hope, that a sound of footsteps was heard outside the nearest door in the ward, and then a strong voice uttering two words only,—“Farewell, sister!”—which made him spring to his feet, with a stifled cry in his throat.
At that moment a man with a bundle in his hand entered the ward, followed by a sister.
The boy uttered a sharp cry, and stood rooted to the spot.
The man turned round, looked at him for a moment, and cried in his turn,—“Cicillo!”—and darted towards him.
The boy fell into his father's arms, choking with emotion.
The sister, the nurse, and the assistant ran up, and stood there in amazement.
The boy could not recover his voice.
“Oh, my Cicillo!” exclaimed the father, after casting a searching glance on the sick man, as he kissed the boy repeatedly. “Cicillo, my son, how is this? They took you to the bedside of another man. And there was I, in despair at not seeing you after mamma had written, ‘I have sent him.’ Poor Cicillo! How many days have you been here? How did this mistake occur? I have come out of it easily! I have a
