“Come, uncle, you are lazy,” cried Nell, a touch of her old roguishness making playful her voice.

Mr. Wells lay still, and smiled up at them.

“You are not ill?” cried Nell, seeing for the first time how pallid was his face.

“Dear Nellie, I am not ill.  I do not suffer, but I am dying,” he answered, again with that strange, sweet smile.

“Oh-h-h!” breathed Nell, falling on her knees.

“No, no, Mr. Wells, you are only weak; you will be all right again soon,” cried Jim.

“Jim, Nellie, I have known all night.  I have lain here wakeful.  My heart never was strong.  It gave out yesterday, and now it is slowly growing weaker.  Put your hand on my breast.  Feel.  Ah! you see!  My life is flickering.  God’s will be done.  I am content.  My work is finished.  My only regret is that I brought you out to this terrible borderland.  But I did not know.  If only I could see you safe from the peril of this wilderness, at home, happy, married.”

Nell bent over him blinded by her tears, unable to see or speak, crushed by this last overwhelming blow.  Jim sat on the other side of the old missionary, holding his hand.  For many moments neither spoke.  They glanced at the pale face, watching with eager, wistful eyes for a smile, or listening for a word.

“Come,” said the Indian.

Nell silently pointed toward her uncle.

“He is dying,” whispered Jim to the Indian.

“Go, leave me,” murmured Mr. Wells.  “You are still in danger.”

“We’ll not leave you,” cried Jim.

“No, no, no,” sobbed Nell, bending over to kiss him.

“Nellie, may I marry you to Jim?” whispered Mr. Wells into her ear.  “He has told me how it is with him.  He loves you, Nellie.  I’d die happier knowing I’d left you with him.”

Even at that moment, with her heart almost breaking, Nell’s fair face flushed.

“Nell, will you marry me?” asked Jim, softly.  Low though it was, he had heard Mr. Wells’ whisper.

Nell stretched a little trembling hand over her uncle to Jim, who inclosed it in his own.  Her eyes met his.  Through her tears shone faintly a light, which, but for the agony that made it dim, would have beamed radiant.

“Find the place,” said Mr. Wells, handing Jim a Bible.  It was the one he always carried in his pocket.

With trembling hand Jim turned the leaves.  At last he found the lines, and handed the book back to the old man.

Simple, sweet and sad was that marriage service.  Nell and Jim knelt with hands clasped over Mr. Wells.  The old missionary’s voice was faint; Nell’s responses were low, and Jim answered with deep and tender feeling.  Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificent figure.

“There!  May God bless you!” murmured Mr. Wells, with a happy smile, closing the Bible.

“Nell, my wife!” whispered Jim, kissing her hand.

“Come!” broke in Wingenund’s voice, deep, strong, like that of a bell.