There was no color in Ellen's face, and she trembled in every limb, as she answered, faintly:
"You wouldn't tell me a lie when I am dying?"
"No, darling, no," and passing her arm around the sick girl, Jessie raised her up, and continued, "explain to me, will you? for I do not comprehend."
Then as briefly as possible Nellie told the story of her love, and how William had said that Jessie stood between them.
"If it is not so," she gasped, "if he has deceived me, don't tell me. I could not endure losing faith in him. Don't, don't," she continued, entreatingly, as Jessie cried indignantly:
"It is false,—false as his own black heart! There is no understanding between our parents. I never thought of loving him. I hate him now, the monster. And you are dying for me, Nellie, but he killed you, the wretch!"
Jessie paused, for there was something in Nellie's face which awed her into silence. It was as white as ashes, and Jessie never forgot its grieved, heart-broken expression, or the spasmodic quivering of the lips, which uttered no complaint against the perfidious man, but whispered faintly:
"Bring me my little box, and bring the candle, too."
Both were brought, and taking out the letter so deeply freighted with her love, the sick girl held it in the blaze, watching it as it blackened and charred, and dropped upon the floor.
"With that I burned up my very heart," she said, and a cold smile curled her lips. "The pain is over now. I do not feel it any more."