“But you cannot be in earnest,” she said; “you surely will not leave Mabel now.”

“And why not?” he asked.  “She doesn’t grow any worse, and won’t until spring, and this close confinement is absolutely killing me!  Why, I’ve lost six pounds in six months, and you’ll see to her, I know you will.  You’re a good girl, and I like you, if I did get angry with you, weeks ago when I went a hunting.”

’Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to convince him of the fact, telling him how much pleasure she had felt in observing his improved manner toward Mabel, and that he must not spoil it now.

“It’s no use talking,” said he, “I’m bent on going somewhere.  I’ve tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I can’t stay put.  It isn’t my nature.  I shan’t tell Meb till just before I start, for I hate scenes.”

“And suppose she dies while you are gone?” asked ’Lena.

John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was wrong, and rather tartly he answered, as he left the room, “Give her a decent burial, and present the bill to mother!”

“The next morning, as ’Lena sat alone with Mabel, John Jr. entered, dressed and ready for his journey.  But he found it harder telling his wife than he had anticipated.  She looked unusually pale this morning.  The sallowness of her complexion was all gone, and on either cheek there burned a round, bright spot.  ’Lena had just been arranging her thick, glossy hair, and now, wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her pillows, while her large black eyes, unnaturally bright, sparkled with joy at the sight of her husband.  But they quickly filled with tears when told that he was going away, and had come to say good-bye.

“It’s only to New Orleans and back,” he said, as he saw her changing face.  “I shan’t be gone long, and ’Lena will take care of you a heap better than I can.”

“It isn’t that,” answered Mabel, wiping her tears away.  “Don’t go, John.  Wait a little while.  I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“You are nervous,” said he, playfully lapping her white cheek.  “You’re not going to die.  You’ll live to be grandmother yet, who knows?  But I must be off or lose the train.  Good bye, little Meb,” grasping her hand, “Good-bye, ’Lena.  I’ll bring you both something nice—­good-bye.”

When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked him to come back to her bedside just for one moment.  He could not refuse, and winding her long, emaciated arms around his neck, she whispered, “Kiss me once before you go.  I shall never ask it again, and ’twill make me happier when you are gone.”

“A dozen times, if you like,” said he, giving her the only husband’s kiss she had ever received.