"A what? what does the child say?" cried the doctor in evident distress.—"Yes, she was like thee; and I will tell thee why: Because she was one of the sweetest little maidens in the world;" and with a sudden tenderness he stroked back Violet's hair and kissed her on the forehead. "She was one of the Lord Jesus' own little lambs; and when she was very tired and very sad she told him all her trouble, and he loved her and comforted her."
"Yes," said Violet with a little trembling sigh, and enormous tears rising up and clouding her eyes.
"And now," he said, sitting down by the bedside and taking the child's hand, "we must feel Violet's pulse with this new watch and make it useful."
What a burning little hand it was, and how the poor heart was beating! There was no need to look at the minute hand, for the thread of life leaped on at a countless speed, and the doctor closed the cover with a snap.
"Violet is a good girl; she will take the medicine I shall send her presently."
She nodded her head, and as she did so the tears fell out of her eyes upon the linen sheet. She looked up swiftly, deprecatingly at her aunt.
"She has been such a good girl all the morning," said Aunt Lizzie; "she has been so brave, our Violet. She would not shed a tear to fret her father or make his heart ache. I think now we may let her cry a little; is it not so, sir?"
"Certainly; it will do her good to cry." The doctor's voice was husky, and he dropped his glasses quickly, so that they clicked against the buttons of his coat. "I shall send her up now at once a little draught, very small, and without a bad taste; let her take it the moment it comes; and try and keep the room and the house quiet. We must get her over this day and night somehow," he added as he reached the door. "Of all the patients I shall have to see this afternoon there is not one for whom my heart aches as it does for the little maiden yonder. The sorrows of this world will not trouble her long. Good-evening;" and going down the stairs, the doctor blew his nose sonorously and went out into the street.
The thoroughfare was almost deserted now. The women had gone back into their houses to weep and pray; and the men, what able-bodied men there were left, had resumed their daily toil. It seemed as if a great fire had died out of the heart of the town and left nothing but ashes behind it. Only the clank of the policeman's sword could be heard resounding through the empty street, clinking slowly against the stones of the pavement.