f the thing forced
itself into her mind. There, separated from her only by a few inches of
lath and plaster and some four or five feet of space, was the man for
whom she mourned thus, and yet he was as ignorant of it as though he
were thousands of miles away. Sometimes at such acute crises in our
lives the limitations of our physical nature do strike us after this
fashion. It is strange to be so near and yet so far, and it brings the
absolute and utter loneliness of every created being home to the mind
in a manner that is forcible and at times almost terrible. John Niel
sinking composedly to sleep, his mind happy with the recollection of
those two right and left shots, and Jess, lying on her bed, six feet
away, and sobbing out her stormy heart over him, are indeed but types of
what is continually happening in this remarkable world. How often do we
understand one another's grief? And, when we do, by what standard can
we measure it? More especially is comprehension rare, if we chance to
be the original cause of the trouble. Do we think of the feelings of the
beetles it is our painful duty to crush into nothingness? Not at all. If
we have any compunctions, they are quickly absorbed in the pride of our
capture. And more often still, as in the present case, we set our foot
upon the poor victim by pure accident or venial carelessness.

Presently John was fast asleep, and Jess, her paroxysm past, was
walking up and down, down and up, her little room, her bare feet
falling noiselessly on the carpeting as she strove to wear out the first
bitterness of her woe. Oh that it lay in her power to recall the past
few days! Oh that she had never seen his face, which must now be ever
before her eyes! But for her there was no such possibility, and she felt
it. She knew her own nature well. Her heart had spoken, and the word it
said must roll on continually through the spaces of her mind. Who can
recall the spoken word, and who can set a limit on its echoes? It is not
so with most women, but here and there may be found a nature where it is
so. Spirits like this poor girl's are too deep, and partake too much
of a divine immutability, to shift and suit themselves to the changing
circumstances of a fickle world. They have no middle course; they cannot
halt half-way; they set all their fortune on a throw. And when the throw
is lost their hearts are broken, and their happiness passes away like a
swallow.

For in such a nature love rises like t