"No," she whispered, "happy." And before I realized my own feelings or the passion with which I drew her to my breast, she had nestled her head against my heart, smiled and died. The shock of the dog's onslaught had killed her. I would not believe it at first, but when I was quite sure, I took out the pistol I carried in my breast and shot the cowering brute midway between the eyes. When this was done, I turned back to her. There was no light but the moon, and I needed no other. The clear beams falling on her face made her look pure and stainless and sweet. I could almost have loved her again as I marked the tender smile which lingered from that passing moment on her lips. "Happy," she had said. What did she mean by that "Happy"? As I asked myself I heard a cry. The companion who had been with her had rushed in at the doorway, and was gazing in sorrow and amazement at the white form lying outstretched and senseless against that farther wall. "Oh," she cried, in a tone that assured me she had not seen the dog lying in his blood at my back; "dead already? dead at the first glance? at the first word? Ah, she knew better than I, poor lamb. I thought she would get well if she once got home. She wearied so for you, sir, and for Homewood!" I thought myself quite mad; past understanding aright the words addressed to me. "She wearied--" I began. "With all her soul for you and Homewood," the young woman repeated. "That is, since her illness developed." "Her illness?" "Yes, she has been ill ever since she went away. The cold of that first journey was too much for her. But she kept up for several weeks--doing what no other woman ever did before with so little strength and so little hope. Danced at night and--" "And--and--what by day, what?" I could hardly get the words out of my mouth. "Studied. Learned what she thought you would like--French--music--politics. It was to have been a surprise. Poor soul! it took her very life. She did not sleep-- Oh, sir, what is it?" I was standing over her, probably a terrifying figure. Lights were playing before my eyes, strange sounds were in my ears, everything about me seemed resolving itself into chaos. "What do you mean?" I finally gasped. "She studied--to please _me_? Why did she come back, then, so soon--" I paused, choked. I had been about to give away my secret. "I mean, why did she come thus suddenly, without warning me of what I might expect? I would have gone--" "I told her so; but she was very determined to come to you herself--to this very pavilion. She had set the time later, but this morning the doctor told her that her symptoms were alarming, and without consulting him or heeding the advice of any of us, she started for home. She was buoyant on the way, and more than once I heard her softly repeating your name. Her heart was very loving-- Oh, sir, you are ill!"