She had to stay at home, and bed was perhaps the best place for her.

So Jenny went to bed, and looked very pretty there, and was quite merry of an evening when Theophil, bringing her flowers,--he was already bringing her flowers,--would draw up the arm-chair by her side, and read to her.

Those were very sweet hours, perhaps the sweetest their love had ever known, so cosy and homelike, and yet without fear.
But one evening, when Jenny had been coughing, there was blood on the bosom of her nightdress, and as Theophil saw it, his heart stood still with terror.

Jenny grew very white, too, as she saw it, though the awful thought which was behind the still look they gave each other was not quite new to her.

Sometimes she might have been heard softly saying over to herself,-- "I am lost, I am changed, I must go farther, where The change shall take me worse, and no one dare Look in my face and see." Yet although Death's voice calling us from afar may seem all sweetness, his voice coming nearer has a note of dread in it that appals the most death-desirous heart.