How good life is! Think of it, a whole fortnight! How extravagantly blessed! Isabel was living in the same house with him day after day.

She was no visitor, but went in and out of the room with the step of one who is at home.

If he grew weary and dozed a moment, she would still be sitting there when he awoke.

She was wearing home things.

One morning when she had been busied in the kitchen preparing some little delicacy for him, she had left her task for a moment to see if he needed anything; and as she had bent over him, she had worn a household apron,--a wife's apron.
Yes, she was at home, she would never leave him again, never leave him--till he died.
"Oh, Isabel--to die!" he moaned one night as she sat by his side.
"But think, dear," she answered, with her head turned away, "think of Jenny." "Perhaps there _is_ no Jenny." No Jenny! Isabel's heart gave a little cry.