“Don’t, Jess, little girl!” he whispered, in a choking voice. “I am not ill, as you think, believe me; and I thank you for your sweet sympathy. Surely, you are the only being on the wide earth who has the least interest in me, whether I am sick or well, or whether I live or die.” And with those words, a strange resolve came to him to marry Jess, that she might have the fortune, and then make away with himself at once and end it all! CHAPTER XXV. “WILL YOU MARRY ME, LITTLE JESS?” “Ne’er with laurel wreath around me, Have I wreathed my weary brow, Since to serve thy fame I bound me-- Bound me with a solemn vow. Evermore in grief I languish-- All my youth in tears is spent; And, with thoughts of bitter anguish My too-feeling heart is rent. “Joyous those about are playing, All around are blest and glad, In the paths of pleasure straying-- My poor heart alone is sad. Spring in vain unfolds each treasure, Filling all the earth with bliss; Who in life can e’er take pleasure, When is seen its dark abyss?” Although Mr. Moore had schooled himself to meet the blow that some day, sooner or later, he should hear of the marriage of Queenie Trevalyn, when that day arrived the shock almost killed him; he was dazed, bewildered, stunned by it. All of a sudden his splendid courage and pride gave way, as did his self-control, and lying there in the long grass where he had fallen, he sobbed like a child--and it was thus that Jess had found him. He did not try to rise as the girl bent over him; indeed, all his strength seemed suddenly to have left him. Jess’ sweet pity and sympathy, as she stroked his face with her little hands, soft and cool as rose leaves, were very acceptable to him just then, in the first throb of his bitter woe. “I am very sure you are ill, and will not let any one know,” she declared. “Do let me help you to this bench, where you can sit down until you are able to come to the house. In the meantime, I will go and fetch you a glass of cold water from the old well; that will revive you very quickly.” “No,” he said, clutching at her hands, “never mind going for the water. See, I--I am better now,” and as he spoke he struggled to his feet, staggered over to the garden bench and sank down upon it. “I should like you to sit down here beside me, little Jess,” he whispered, hoarsely; “I have something to say to you.” For some moments he sits in utter silence, looking across the tops of the waving trees--looking, yet seeing nothing, for he is busy with his own conflicting thoughts. Jess watches him wonderingly, trying to read the thoughts that cause his handsome, grave face to grow graver still and his lips to twitch.