Why did nothing warn her? I waited and watched for some sign that would show that instinct felt the approaching end. There was no sign.
The last night, I leaned on my elbow and watched her sleep. She looked so perfect! Her soft, dimpled arms thrown above her head, her pretty face in a nest of golden hair, her straight black brows, her long, black lashes resting lightly on her pink cheeks, and all to become nothing—nothing. To-morrow night it would be over; this was her last night. Impulsively I leaned over her and whispered "Lucille! Lucille!" but she merely opened her great blue eyes, and giving me a little smile, as innocent and sweet as a babies, moved with a sigh of perfect content close to my arm, which rested on the pillow, and so went to sleep again.
I lay down and tried to still the heavy,
