“‘Do take it, Jamie,’ I said; ‘it is as pure as I once was. Ah, but then you loved me, Jamie, and your love was pure, too, was it not? Tell me, Jamie, tell me, oh, even if you hate me now, tell me in that same soft voice that I know so well, that you loved me then. The memory of that love will make me pure again, Jamie, if you will only speak to me again. Jamie, take this rose; take it, Jamie, for the sake of the memory of that love which I had for you. I know, Jamie, it’s all my fault; it’s not your will that I am here; I wronged you cruelly. Don’t you think, Jamie, that I have suffered enough, or do you still insist on making my life death?’ All my supplication to him was in vain. He stood with that firm, determined air which I knew so well, with his hand extended with palm toward me, as if to push me away as he would some vile, loathsome creature. He did not speak to me; he seemed to know that he would find me here. When I had ceased pleading with him he handed me a large white envelope. With feverish delight I clutched it. As I did so I saw an inscription upon it. Forgetting my pain, misery and degradation, with a wild cry I ran to a position near a light. What was it I read? ‘To be opened after I am gone.’ “What, I thought, Jamie going? No! he must not. Then, turning to go back to Jamie, I was just in time to see him place a pistol to his heart and fire. He died without a word. The spot over which you see the urn full of roses is the exact location where Jamie fell. The other girls had left me. There, bending over him, frantically tearing his garments to see if I might render him some assistance, the white rose dropped from my dress where I had carelessly replaced it and became stained with Jamie’s life blood, making a fitting semblance to the tragedy which had been enacted in this same house a few months prior, where the spotless character of an innocent girl had been transformed from pure white to a charred remnant. “They took him away. I saw him once more at the morgue; then the officers took me to a cell; then there was a trial. I was accused of murdering Jamie and almost convicted, when the thought struck me to send for the packet which he had placed in my hand. It contained, besides this letter, which you may read, other things which the letter will make plain: “‘My Poor Dear Lillian: As I write this letter I know not what your fate is, but I fear that something terrible has befallen you. I start out to find you, if on earth. Since leaving your old home I have come into a large inheritance, which will afford me ample means with which to pursue my aim. May God grant that I may find you pure and unstained, and that I shall be able to take you to my bosom; that we may be allowed to enjoy the fruits which have fallen to us as two lovers should enjoy life. “‘Yours lovingly, ‘JAMIE.’