do now; and kissed her, as thus—and felt that she loved me, and trusted she would not leave me."
"Which I never will, sir, from this day."
"Never will, says the vision? But I always woke and found it an empty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned—my life dark, lonely, hopeless—my soul athirst and forbidden to drink—my heart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too; as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go—embrace me, Jane."
"There, sir—and there!"
I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes—I swept his hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly seemed to rouse himself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him.
"It is you—is it Jane? You are come back to me then?"
"I am."
"And you do not lie dead in some ditch, under some stream? And you are not a pining outcast amongst strangers?"
"No, sir; I am an independent woman now."
"Independent! What do you mean, Jane?"
