"Jenny dear, it will make you so ill; lie down, little girl"-- and Jenny fell back on her pillow exhausted and coughing, and with eyes unearthly bright.
"Theophil," she said suddenly, in that startling way sick people have, "you know that I am going to die!" He could not answer, his voice would have choked in sobs.

He leaned his head close to Jenny and pressed her hand, and in spite of himself two great tears fell upon Jenny's cheek.
But Jenny was curiously calm.

There was almost a note of scolding in her voice, as she said, "It's no use crying, Theophil--it's got to be borne." She was already growing strangely wise, and a little removed from earth.
The first fears of her dark journey were passing, as she was more and more sinking among the shadows.

In moments there seemed to be something almost trivial in earthly grief.

But there was still one earthly joy, one earthly pride, of which her soul began to conceive the desire.