tched dogs," said Rupert.

"But nobody in the world that loved Christ was ever that," Dolly said,
smiling.

There was in her smile something so tender and triumphant at once, that
it silenced Rupert. It was a testimony quite beyond words. For that
instant Dolly's spirit looked out of the transparent features, and the
light went to Rupert's heart like an arrow. Dolly moved on, and he
followed, not looking at the gladiators' shields or Greek armour.

"Then, Miss Dolly," he burst out, after his thoughts had been seething
a little while,--"if this world is so little count, what's the use of
anything that men do? what's the good of studying--or of working--or of
coming to look at these old things?--or of doing anything else, but
just religion?"

Dolly's eyes sparkled, but she laughed a little.

"You cannot 'do' religion that way, Rupert," she said. "The old monks
made a mistake. What is the use? Why, if you are going to be a servant
of Christ and spend your life in working for Him, won't you be the very
best and most beautiful servant you can? Do you think a savage has as
much power or influence in the world as an educated, accomplished,
refined man? Would he do as much, or do it as well? If you are going to
give yourself to Christ, won't you make the offering as valuable and as
honourable as you can? That is what you would do if you were giving
yourself to a woman, Rupert. I know you would."

Rupert had no chance to answer, for strangers drew near, and Dolly and
he passed on. Perhaps he did not wish to answer.

There were other times when Dolly visited the museum with her father.
Then she studied the frescoes from Pompeii, the marble sculptures, or
sat before some few of the pictures in the collections of the old
masters. Mr. Copley was patient, admiring her if he admired nothing
else; but even he did admire and enjoy some of the works of art in
which the museum is so rich; and one day he and Dolly had a rare bit of
talk over the collection of ancient glass. Such hours made Dolly only
the more grieved and distressed when she afterwards perceived that her
father had been solacing himself with other and very much lower
pleasures.

CHAPTER XXVII.

SORRENTO.

It was not till the end of May that they got away from Naples. Mrs.
Copley was long tired of her stay there, and even, she said, tired of
the bay! Dolly was glad to have her father at a distance from hotels
and acquaintances, even though but for a time; an