at once with Joan’s, while in words from which all strength of tone seemed to die away Jerrem whispered, “Reuben, if ever it could come to pass that when I’m gone you and she might find it some day in your minds to stand together—­one—­say ’twas the thing he wished for most before he went.”  Then, with a feeble effort to push her into Reuben’s arms, he caught her back, and straining her close to his heart again cried out, “Oh, Joan, but death comes bitter when it means good-bye to such as you!” Another cry, a closer strain, then Jerrem’s arms relax; his hold gives way, and Joan falls staggering back; the door is opened—­shut; the struggle is past, and ere their sad voices can come echoing back Jerrem and Joan have looked their last in life.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

When Reuben found that to be a witness of Jerrem’s death Joan must take her stand among the lawless mob who made holiday of such sad scenes as this, his decision was that the idea was untenable.  Jerrem too had a strong desire that Joan should not see him die; and although his avoidance of anything that directly touched upon that dreaded moment had kept him from openly naming his wishes, the hints dropped satisfied Reuben that the knowledge of her absence would be a matter of relief to him.  But how get Joan to listen to his scruples when her whole mind was set on keeping by Jerrem’s side until hope was past and life was over?

“Couldn’t ’ee get her to take sommat that her wouldn’t sleep off till ’twas late?” Jerrem had said after Reuben had told him that the next morning he must come alone; and the suggestion made was seized on at once by Reuben, who, under pretence of getting something to steady her shaken nerves, procured from the apothecary near a simple draught, which Joan in good faith swallowed.  And then, Reuben having promised in case she fell asleep to awaken her at the appointed hour, the poor soul, worn out by sorrow and fatigue, threw herself down, dressed as she was, upon the bed, and soon was in a heavy sleep, from which she did not rouse until well into the following day, when some one moving in the room made her start up.  For a moment she seemed dazed:  then, rubbing her eyes as if to clear away those happy visions which had come to her in sleep, she gazed about until Reuben, who had at first drawn back, came forward to speak to her.  “Why, Reuben,” she cried, “how’s this?  Have I been dreamin’, or what?  The daylight’s come, and, see, the sun!”

And here she stopped, her parched mouth half unclosed, as fears came crowding thick upon her mind, choking her further utterance.  One look at Reuben’s face had told the tale; and though she did not speak again, the ashen hue that overspread and drove all color from her cheeks proclaimed to him that she had guessed the truth.

“’Twas best, my dear,” he said, “that you should sleep while he went to his rest.”

But the unlooked-for shock had been too great a strain on body and mind, alike overtaxed and weak, and, falling back, Joan lay for hours as one unconscious and devoid of life.  And Reuben sat silent by her side, paying no heed as hour by hour went by, till night had come and all around was dark:  then some one came softly up the stairs and crept into the room, and Eve’s whispered “Reuben!” broke the spell.