Alas, poor Jill, though! It is sad to record how we were parted at last. We who thought the same thoughts, dreamt the same dreams, and were seldom separate by night or by day. We who had come through so many wild and stormy adventures hand in hand, I might say, to be parted so strangely.
We had come off a long voyage to the Arctic ice, and were together in London. We left each other but for an hour, it was agreed. I was back in time at the appointed place, but poor Jill never appeared. I never saw my brother again. No one could find out, though all search was made, whither he had gone, or been taken!
Long years have passed away since then. I have fallen heir to our long lost estates. Mother and aunt live with me in our noble home.
Mattie is my wife.
They say I look a sadder man.
This may be so. Yet I live in hope that poor Jill and I are sure to meet again some day—somewhere. And when lying awake at night, thinking about the past, I sometimes seem to hear a voice which I know to be my brother’s, saying—
“Come to me, Jack; come to me, for I cannot come to you.”