Leslie Noble reels backward, stunned by the shuddering horror of that one word--"_Dead_!" The stiff, girlish characters of the open letter in his hand waver up and down before his dazed vision, so that he can scarcely read the pathetic words, _so_ pathetic now when the little hand that penned them lies cold in death. "Dear Leslie," it says, "when you come to bid me good-bye in the morning I shall be dead. That is best. You see, I did not know till to-night my sad story, and that you did not love me. Poor mamma was wrong to bind you so. I am very sorry, Leslie. There is nothing I can do but _die_."…
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