"Hold my hand, I have such frightful dreams, and I want you near."
He took the little fevered hand in his own and for hours sat by her side.
Morning came and went, came and went again, and she grew worse.
John never left her save to bring cold water to slake her burning thirst, or prepare some remedy to check the ravages of the fever.
"Oh, God! to be left alone--to be left all alone! Can I endure it?" he sighed. When he was at her side, he said:
"It was the journey to Snow-Top. It was too much for you, Blanche, I am to blame for this."
"No, no, blame not yourself. I it was who insisted on going."
She rapidly grew worse, and John Stevens saw that she must die. Occasionally she fell asleep, and then he thought how beautiful she was. Once she murmured his name and sweetly smiled. She awoke and was very weak. Raising her eyes, she saw him at her side, and with that same happy smile on her face, she said:
"Oh, I had such a delightful dream. It may be wicked; but it was delightful. I dreamed that I was she."
"Who?"