"Yes! I know!"
That shut his mouth, and rid her of his presence.
The day was warm for the season—so sultry that the cirrus clouds swimming in the blue ether, looked soft to April tearfulness. How still it was, as Jessie stood in the open oriel-window, and let her eyes roam through garden and church-yard,—ever returning, without volition of hers, to the gap in the long lines of gravestones next her mother's tomb! Had Nature swooned all over the broad earth? Was there nothing real left in creation save the fact of her great woe?
"My father is dying!" she said, aloud and distinctly.
And, again—"I suppose this is what people mean when they talk of not realizing a sorrow!"
As if aught but overwhelming appreciation of the might of a present calamity could crush the heart into deadness.
She was picking the faded leaves from the creepers, and crumbling them into dust, when Eunice came in. Jessie's protracted absence after the conference with the doctor had excited her apprehensions, and she stole down, while her father slept, to inquire into the cause. Immeasurably relieved at sight of her sister's attitude and occupation, she smiled as she aroused her from her reverie.
"I could not think what had become of you, dear! What does Dr. Winters think of father?"
"Sit down, Eunice, and I will tell you!" said Jessie, dreamy pity in her eyes, but no change in her hard, hollow voice.
Eunice sank into the nearest chair, laying her hand quickly upon her heart.