ever.

"Nellie is coming home in a few weeks," he said at length, with his
usual precipitancy.

'Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the night when her
mother-in-law had rang it in her ears, and now she started so quickly,
that the offending cough could not be forced back, and the coughing fit
which followed was so violent that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her
quivering lips, saw that what she had raised was streaked with blood.
But he was unused to sickness, and he gave it no farther thought,
resuming the conversation as soon as she became quiet.

"To be plain, Meb," said he, "I want you to hurry and get well before
Nellie comes--for if you are sick she'll feel in duty bound to visit
you, and I'd rather face a loaded cannon than her."

Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and she lay so long
with her eyes closed that John Jr., growing impatient, said, "Are you
asleep, Meb?"

"No, no," said she, at the same time requesting him to take the vacant
chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him.

John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt that
she had much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and as she
proceeded, his heart melted toward her in a manner which he had never
thought possible. Very gently she spoke of her approaching end as sure.

"You ask me to make haste and be well," said she, "but it cannot be. I
shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, never join you in
the parlor below, and before the cold winds of winter are blowing, I
shall be dead. I hope I shall live until Nellie comes, for I must see
her, I must make it right between her and you. I must tell her to
forgive you for marrying me when you loved only her; and she will
listen--she won't refuse me, and when I am gone you'll be happy
together."

John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously moved
toward him was met more than half-way, and thus strengthened, Mabel
continued: "You must sometimes think and speak of Mabel when she is
dead. I do not ask you to call me wife. I do not wish it, but you
must forget how wretched I have made you, for oh, I did not mean it,
and had I sooner known what I do now, I would have died ere I had
caused you one pang of sorrow."

Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given worlds to
recall that moment, that he might tell the broken-hearted girl how
bitterly he, too, repented of all the wrong he had done her; b