There lay her joy.

Soon they must part and she would be left desolate; but whilst he lay there he was hers.

It was passing sweet to her woman's nature to place her hand upon him and see him sleep, for this desire to watch the sleep of a beloved object is one of the highest and strangest manifestations of passion.

Truly, and with a keen insight into the human heart, has the poet said that there is no joy like the joy of a woman watching what she loves asleep.

As Jess sat and gazed those beautiful and tender lines came floating to her mind, and she thought how true they were: For there it lies, so tranquil, so beloved, All that it hath of life with us is living; So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved, And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving; All it hath felt, inflicted, passed and proved, Hushed into depths beyond the watcher's diving; There lies the thing we love with all its errors And all its charms, like death without its terrors.
Ay! there lay the thing she loved.
The time went on, and the artery broke out no more.