Hidden away in a little rosewood box, which Jessie had given her, was a blurred and blotted letter, which she had written at intervals, as her failing strength would permit. It was her farewell to William, and she would trust it to no messenger but Jessie. "Tell them all to go out," she said, as the shadows stretched farther and farther across the floor, and she knew it was growing late. "Tell them to leave us together once more, just as we used to be." Her request was granted, and then laying her hand upon her pillow, she said: "Lie down beside me, Jessie, and put your arms around my neck while I tell you how I love you. It wasn’t my way to talk much, Jessie, and when you used to say so often that I was very dear to you, I only kissed you back, and did not tell you how full my heart was of love. Dear Jessie, don’t cry. What makes you? Are you sorry I am going to die?" A passionate hug was Jessie’s answer, and Ellen continued: "It’s right, darling, that I should go, for neither of us could be quite happy in knowing that another shared the love we coveted for ourselves. Forgive me, Jessie, I never meant to interfere, and when I’m dead, you won’t let it cast a shadow between you that he loved me a little, too." "I do not understand you," said Jessie, "I love nobody but father,—no man, I mean. "Oh, Jessie, don’t profess to be ignorant of my meaning," said Ellen. "It may be wrong for me to speak of it, but at the very last, I cannot forbear telling you how willingly I gave William up to you." "_William!_" Jessie exclaimed. "I never loved William Bellenger,—never _could_ love him. What do you mean!" There was no color in Ellen’s face, and she trembled in every limb, as she answered, faintly: "You wouldn’t tell me a lie when I am dying?" "No, darling, no," and passing her arm around the sick girl, Jessie raised her up, and continued, "explain to me, will you? for I do not comprehend." Then as briefly as possible Nellie told the story of her love, and how William had said that Jessie stood between them. "If it is not so," she gasped, "if he has deceived me, don’t tell me. I could not endure losing faith in him. Don’t, don’t," she continued, entreatingly, as Jessie cried indignantly: "It is false,—false as his own black heart! There is no understanding between our parents. I never thought of loving him. I hate him now, the monster. And you are dying for me, Nellie, but he killed you, the wretch!" Jessie paused, for there was something in Nellie’s face which awed her into silence. It was as white as ashes, and Jessie never forgot its grieved, heart-broken expression, or the spasmodic quivering of the lips, which uttered no complaint against the perfidious man, but whispered faintly: "Bring me my little box, and bring the candle, too." Both were brought, and taking out the letter so deeply freighted with her love, the sick girl held it in the blaze, watching it as it blackened and charred, and dropped upon the floor.