Sir Tancred put his hands in among them gently, and drew out a tiny
child; his peaked little face was black, his thin little arms and legs
were black, he was clothed in filthy rags; and his yellowish hair was a
tangled mat. The child struggled like a very feeble little wild beast,
clawing and scratching, but silent with a terrible silence which showed
how he had learned to dread drawing attention to himself.
"Quiet! quiet! I'm not going to hurt you," said Sir Tancred in a
gentle voice, a little husky with a piercing emotion which had invaded
him; and something in its tones really did quiet the child, for he
struggled no more, though his breath came in a quick, faint, terrified
panting.
Sir Tancred took him through the house, and felt a quivering throb run
through him at the sight of the brutes who had fallen back into their
drunken slumbers. He brought him out to the cab, and said hoarsely to
Selina, "Is this the child?"
"That's him, sir! That's him!" said Selina, holding out her hands for
him; and the tears of joy trickled down her rugged cheeks.
Sir Tancred gave him to her, bade the cab-man drive to the Hotel Cecil,
and got into the cab.
Selina had untied the brown-paper parcel, and was putting a little coat
on the child.
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