CHAPTER XIX.

The Golden city.

Tony lay there in the dark, overwhelmed by his unusual terror and sorrow, until he heard the voice of old Oliver calling his name feebly.  He hurried to him, and found him still beside the bed where Dolly was lying.  He had taken off most of her clothes, and put her white nightgown over the rest, that she might sleep warmly in them all the night, for her little hands and feet felt very chilly to his touch.  The fire had gone out while they were away, and the grate looked very black and cheerless.  The room was in great disorder, just as they had left it, and the gas, which was burning high, cast a cruel glare upon it all.  But Tony saw nothing except the dear face of Dolly, resting on one check upon the pillow, with her curly hair tossed about it in confusion, and her open eyes gathering a strange film.  Beppo had made his way to her side, and pushed his head under her lifeless little hand, which tried to pat it now and then.  Old Oliver was sitting on the bedstead, his eyes fastened upon her, and his whole body trembled violently.  Tony sank down upon his knees, and flung his arm over Dolly, as if to save her from the unseen power which threatened to take her away from them.

“Don’t ky, gan-pa,” she said, softly; “don’t ky more than a minute.  Nor Tony.  Are I going to die, gan-pa?”

“Yes, my little love,” cried old Oliver, moaning as he said it.

“Where are I going to?” asked Dolly, very faintly.

“You’re going to see my Lord and Master,” he said; “him as loves little children so, and carries them in his arms, and never lets them be sorrowful or ill or die again.”

“Does he live in a bootiful place?” she asked, again.

“It’s a more beautiful place than I can tell,” answered old Oliver.  “The Lord Jesus gives them light brighter than the sun; and the streets are all of gold, and there are many little children there, who always see the face of their Father.”

“Dolly’s going rere,” said the little child, solemnly.

She smiled for a minute or two, holding Beppo’s ear between her failing fingers, and playing with it.  Tony’s eyes were dim with tears, yet he could see her clear face clearly through them.  What could he do?  Was there no one to help?

“Master, master!” he cried.  “If the Lord Jesus is here he can save her.  Ask him, master.”

But old Oliver paid no heed to him.  For the child who was passing away from him he was all eye and ear, watching and listening as keenly as in his best and strongest days; but he was blind and deaf to everything else around him.  Tony’s voice could not reach his brain.

“Will gan-pa come rere?” whispered the failing and faltering voice of Dolly.

“Very soon,” he answered; a radiant smile coming to his face, which made her smile as her eyes caught the glory of it.  “Very, very soon, my little love.  You’ll be there to meet me when I come.”