And in that silence those poor lovers both heard him singing, it seemed not many streets away.
"I must be very ill, dear," said Jenny.

"O my love, O my love...!" Theophil strove with himself to say words with a real ring of the future in them, when this cloud should have passed away; and for his sake Jenny pretended to believe them.

Yes, this very week he would take her away to bright skies and healing air,--though Jenny felt a little tired at the thought of rising any more from the bed to which she was growing curiously accustomed.
Then there came a new doctor to see Jenny.

He was a very clever specialist from a distant town; but for him the business of death had not yet obscured its tragedy,--though words like "tragedy" were not often on his tongue.

Consumption was a strong enough word for him.
His heart went out to that little household; and when he saw Jenny, it ached for that young man downstairs.