so much for her. She had longed for death many
a time; but now that it seemed imminent, her very soul grew frightened
because of one thought: she would have to leave Jack behind her. It
seemed to her that though she should be buried fathoms deep, her soul
would cling to earth--and Jack. What if, in time to come, he should
forget her! Ah! that was the bitterest stroke of all; and she realized
that, no matter how deeply a person may love, when the object of that
affection dies, time brings balm to his woe, and mellows it into
forgetfulness or to a shadowy memory.

If she were to die, would he ever love another, and stand with that
other before the altar?

In her day-dreams, in times gone by, Jessie had pictured to herself--as
girls will in those rosy moments--how she would stand at the altar, and
listen with whirling brain and beating heart to those sweet, solemn
words that would bind her forever to the man she loved with more than a
passing love. She pictured how she would walk down the aisle, leaning on
his arm--that great, strong arm that would be her support for
evermore--a great mist of happy tears in her eyes as she clung to him.

She even pictured to herself how he would help her into the coach, and
how they would drive away out into the great wide world together, to be
separated never again.

Instead of all this, now she would be lying in her grave, with blue
forget-me-nots and pale primroses on her breast.

Jack would be going through that scene with another as his bride; and as
the years rolled by he would forget her, or think of her only now and
then at times--not with keen regret, but with faint, vague indifference.

Oh, God! if it had been _he_ who was destined to die, she would have
shut herself up from the world, and would have lived only for his
memory.

Her last prayer would have been, when death's dew gathered on her brow,
to be buried beside him.

But men are more fickle than women. How few of them remain true to a
dead love!

As she tossed to and fro on her pillow, these thoughts tortured her more
than tongue could tell.

Then a strange fancy took possession of her.

The more she thought of it, the more her heart longed to accomplish it,
until she could not restrain the longing that seemed to take entire
possession of her.

And one day, when she seemed even more ill than usual, she could no
longer restrain the impulse to send for Jack.

He came quickly at her bidding, sat down by her