"
"Leave it all to us," said Mr. Ross, leading him back to his chair. "But
have you no neighbour you can go and stay with for to-night? You are an
old man, and you must not lose your night's sleep."
"No," he answered, shaking his head; "I'd rather stay here in my own
place, if I'd a hundred other places to go to. I'm not afraid of my
little love,--no, no! When everything is done as ought to be done,
I'll lie in my own bed and watch her. It won't be lonesome, as long as
she's here."
In an hour's time all was settled for that night. A little resting-place
had been made for the dead child in a corner of the room, where she lay
covered with a coarse white sheet, which was the last one left of those
which old Oliver's wife had spun in her girlhood. The old man had given
his promise to go to bed when Mr. Ross and the doctor were gone; and he
slept lightly, his face turned towards the place where his little love
was sleeping. A faint light burnt all night in the room, and Tony, who
could not fall asleep, sat in the chimney-corner, with Beppo upon his
knees. There was an unutterable, quiet sorrow within him, mingled with a
strange awe.
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