The glory of her blond hair was still left: it was finer, more silken and ethereal, yet it failed even in its plenitude to cover the hollows of the blue-veined temples.
"Clara!" said Jack reproachfully.
"Oh, forgive me, Jack!" she said, falling into a chair, but still clinging to his hand--"forgive me, dear; but I could not wait longer.

I should have died, Jack--died before another night.

Bear with me a little longer (it will not be long), but let me stay.

I may not see her, I know; I shall not speak to her: but it's so sweet to feel that I am at last near her, that I breathe the same air with my darling.

I am better already, Jack, I am indeed.