"You are my papa, are you not ?" she asked, a deeper flush crossing her forehead and cheeks.

I made no answer--I only kissed the small hot hand I held.

Assunta shook her head.
"Ah, poverinetta! The time is near--she sees her father.

And why not?
He loved her well--he would come to fetch her for certain if the saints would let him." And she fell on her knees and began to tell over her rosary with great devotion.

Meanwhile Stella threw one little arm round my neck--her eyes were half shut--she spoke and breathed with increasing difficulty.
"My throat aches so, papa!" she said, pitifully.