He pitied the rash girl so much that he could not refuse her anything in her dying hour. He obeyed her wish, and held his arm around her with her bright head on his bosom, expecting every moment to be her last.
But the minutes flew, and Roma showed not a sign of dying. Instead, her breathing was very strong and regular, and she tightened her arms about him, exclaiming:
"Oh, my husband, would you be glad if life could be granted to me now, that I might live, your happy bride?"
"Do not let us dwell on the impossible, Roma," he answered kindly.
"But why impossible, Jesse, dearest? I am not really certain of dying. I do not feel like it now, at all, and perhaps the dose I took was not really sufficient to kill me! Now that I am your wife, it seems as if a new elixir of life is coursing through my veins, and I long to live for your precious sake! Oh, surely you do not wish me to die!"
Here was a dilemma, certainly. Jesse Devereaux, holding the warm, palpitating figure in his arms, did not know how to answer her piteous appeal, and he was saved the necessity, for at the moment the door opened, admitting Lyde, followed by Edmund Clarke, with granny, who had forced herself in, bringing up the rear.
Lyde had told him hurriedly what had happened, and he had asked to see Roma; hence the intrusion.
The bride still clung fondly to her husband, and when they entered, she exclaimed, in strong, natural accents:
"Papa, dear, congratulate us. We are married."
"So I have heard," he replied, with keen sarcasm, adding: "I was told that you were dying, but you do not look much like it. Your cheeks are red, your eyes bright and clear, and your voice does not falter."