“Nonsense, child,” said he. “My dear little Jessie is incapable of an act which is beyond the pale of forgiveness.” And he gently kissed her forehead.
“Stanley, you musn't do it—indeed you musn't.”
“No, you musn't do it, Muster Gay,” said Zorah.
“Why, confound you, what do you mean by interfering?” said Stanley in a rage.
“Ah, it's all very fine, I dare say, but I don't know what you're a-talking about.”
And Stanley, recollecting her infirmity, explained in pantomime the process of confounding a person, and intimated that it would be put into operation upon her if she presumed to cut in with impertinent remarks.
“Stanley—Mr. Gay—” said Jessie.
“Mr. Gay!” ejaculated Stanley.
“I musn't call you Stanley any more.”
“Great Heaven, why not?”
“I'll tell you all about it if you promise not to be violent.”
And Gay, prepared for some terrible news, hid his head in his hands, and sobbed audibly.
“I loved you—oh so, so much—you were my life—my heart,” said the poor little woman. “By day and by night my thoughts were with you, and the love came from my heart as the water from a well!”
Stanley groaned.
“When I rose in the morning it was to work for your happiness, and when I lay down in my bed at night it was to dream of the love that was to weave itself through my life.
He kept his head between his hands and moved not.
“My life was for your life—my soul for yours! I
