g, and the face that
Isabel thus found again was marked by none of the dreadful writing of
death. His eyes were brighter, his brow more hollow, his cheeks
thinner,--that was all; and he was to be of those of whom we have
spoken, whose flame of life burns brightly to the end. No heavy mists of
Lethe hung about his bed. Till his last heartbeat, he was to be
conscious of the nearness of Isabel. For a fortnight he was thus to lie
within sight and touch of her. How good life is! Think of it, a whole
fortnight! How extravagantly blessed!

Isabel was living in the same house with him day after day. She was no
visitor, but went in and out of the room with the step of one who is at
home. If he grew weary and dozed a moment, she would still be sitting
there when he awoke. She was wearing home things. One morning when she
had been busied in the kitchen preparing some little delicacy for him,
she had left her task for a moment to see if he needed anything; and as
she had bent over him, she had worn a household apron,--a wife's apron.
Yes, she was at home, she would never leave him again, never leave
him--till he died.

"Oh, Isabel--to die!" he moaned one night as she sat by his side.

"But think, dear," she answered, with her head turned away, "think of
Jenny."

"Perhaps there _is_ no Jenny."

No Jenny! Isabel's heart gave a little cry. No Jenny! Then there could
be no harm ...

"Theophil," she said, after a silence, "have you forgotten something we
said to each other that day,--something we promised?"

For answer he looked at her with awed and suddenly enlightened eyes.

"Do you mean that?" he asked. "You mustn't mean that."

"Do you think I could care any more for life?" she asked. "Would you?"

"No," he answered simply.

"May I, then?"

His eyes could alone answer. He knew her love too well to affect that
there would be any loss to her in the life she would thus be leaving.

"But Jenny?"

"If Jenny is there, she will understand now."

I can conceive no happier, completer moment than that which followed for
these two, no more unassailable peace. If their lives were to be quite
put out, they would be extinguished together; if they were to begin anew
elsewhere, they would begin anew together; and meanwhile nothing that
could happen could harm them, could rob them of the desire of their
hearts. At the worst, they would attain their best; at the very least,
they would win their most: they would die together.

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