"No; I want to talk to you, Jack," she said, with a little quiver in her voice.
"Have you ever thought how near it is to—to our wedding-day, Jack," she whispered, faintly.
"Yes," said Jack, with never a thought of what was coming.
"What—what would you do if I were still ill when it dawned?"
"The ceremony could be performed just the same," he answered, promptly. "There would be no wedding at the church, no invited guests; that would be all the difference."
"Would you wish to marry me if—if you knew that I would never be well again, and that perhaps death would be hovering very, very near to claim me, and to part me from you?"
"I will keep to my part of the compact, Jessie," he said, huskily.
"But what if I should die before it, Jack?" she questioned, faintly.
"I do not know what you mean, Jessie," he said, gravely—"what you are trying to get at."
"Oh, Jack! I mean this: I—I want to belong to you in life and in death. I do not want you to have any other love but me, even if I should be taken from you. I want you to be true to me forever. I could not rest in my grave, though they burled me fathoms deep, if you ever called another—wife! If I am to die, Jack, you must promise me one thing—that you will never wed—another!"