“‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!’” Queenie did not seek her boudoir until a late hour, feeling sure that Jess would not be there by that time, a surmise which proved to be quite correct. The poor child had gone slowly to her own apartment, feeling wretched beyond words, and yet the morrow would usher in her wedding day. She threw herself upon her couch, just as she was, and thus she passed the dreariest hours she had ever known. She wished that the morrow would never dawn, and then, worn out with intense grief, she finally fell into a deep and troubled sleep. She dreamed she was roaming through the meadows fragrant with odorous blossoms, by the side of him whom she loved; she stepped across a tiny thread of a purling brook to gather blossoms which grew upon the other side of it, when suddenly the little stream widened between them, becoming a mighty cataract of water, a roaring river, which no one could ford; and they were driven farther and farther asunder by the oncoming waters, until they were lost to each other’s sight in the darkness of the night which fell about them. And, holding out her arms, and calling upon his name with mighty, piercing cries, which should have rent the very vault of heaven which bent above her, Jess awoke, to find the maid standing beside her couch, with uplifted hands and an expression of horror on her face. “What! seek your couch like this!” the girl was exclaiming, in amazement. “Oh, miss, why did you not call me to aid you, if you were too tired to disrobe? And this your wedding day! Why, you look worn out! Let me fetch you a cup of coffee, and help you to arrange your toilet. Why, your hands are as cold as the snow outside! Are you ill?” Jess looked up at her with her great, dark, troubled eyes. “Yes--no!” she muttered, incoherently. “Do let me help you, miss!” entreated the maid. “Do not send me from you; you actually look as though you were going to have a spell of sickness. It is time to dress for the ceremony--that is the message of my mistress sent me to tell you. You will have barely time to eat your breakfast and get into your wedding gown ere the bridegroom and the coach will be at the door.” “I wish it were for the grave that I am about to robe myself,” thought Jess; but she said no more to the maid, who insisted on remaining with her and assisting her. Jess pushed away the tempting little repast of bird on toast, fresh rolls, fruit and fragrant coffee which was set before her; she could not eat a morsel, or swallow a drop had her very life depended upon it. “Take it away, Marie,” she said. “It seems as though I could never eat anything again.”