“Yes, you are Neil.  I have waited for you, I am so glad you have come.”

Still holding the feverish hand which clung to his, Grey hesitated a moment, and then said: 

“I am not Neil; he will be here soon.  I am Grey Jerrold; don’t you remember I spent a Christmas with you once?”

Again she regarded him fixedly a moment, and then she said: 

“Yes, I remember Grey Jerrold, the American:  he was to have had my room, but said he preferred the cold and the rats!  Ugh!” and she shivered a little, as she continued, “Where is he, Neil?  He was with me when father died, and was so very kind.  Thank him for me, when you see him, and now I am so tired.  I cannot talk any more, but stay by me, Neil, and hold my hand I am better with you here.”

She persisted in thinking him Neil, and Grey humored the fancy.  He had never heard of her engagement, for Jack had not betrayed her confidence; but he knew that she and Neil were greatly attached to each other, and were, as he thought, more like brother and sister than cousins, and, believing as he did with the world in general, that Neil was pledged to Blanche Trevellian, he had no suspicion of the real state of affairs, though he wondered that all Bessie’s thoughts should be concentrated upon her absent cousin.  How sick she was, and how high the fever ran, and how strangely she talked, as he sat there watching her with a terrible fear in his heart, and a constant prayer for the dear life which seemed balancing so evenly in the scale for the next two or three days, during which he was with her all the time he could spare from his Aunt Lucy, who never suspected why he seemed so abstracted and sad, or that the fever was in the hotel where he was staying.  He knew how much afraid she was of it, and how anxious she would be for him if she knew where he spent the hours not given to her.  So he did not tell her of poor little Bessie, who grew weaker and weaker every day, until at last the old doctor shook his head, and between the pinches of snuff which he blew about vigorously, said there was one chance in a hundred for her, and if she had any friends who wished to see her, they should be sent for at once.  But there was no one save Neil, whom Daisy expected every day, and Grey filled his place altogether with Bessie.  She always called him Neil, and once, with a most grieved expression on her face, she said to him: 

“Why don’t you kiss me, Neil?  You have not since you came.”

Daisy and Flossie had gone to dinner, and the nurse was resting a few moments in the adjoining room, while Grey sat by her patient; thus he was alone with Bessie, when she startled him with the question, “Why don’t you kiss me, Neil?”

Bending over her, he said: 

“Would you like me to kiss you Bessie?”

“Ye-es,” she answered, faintly, and then Grey pressed his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss, with no thought that there was danger and possible death in the hot breath which he felt upon his cheek as he laid it against hers.