man whom any woman might love, and be proud of loving."

In another minute she was in her room, and there her composure left her,
for she was but a loving woman after all. She flung herself upon her
bed, and, hiding her face in the pillow, burst into a paroxysm of
weeping--a very different thing from Bessie's gentle tears. Her grief
absolutely convulsed her, and she pushed the bedclothes against her
mouth to prevent the sound of it penetrating the partition wall and
reaching John Niel's ears, for his room was next to hers. Even in the
midst of her suffering the thought of the irony of the thing forced
itself into her mind. There, separated from her only by a few inches of
lath and plaster and some four or five feet of space, was the man for
whom she mourned thus, and yet he was as ignorant of it as though he
were thousands of miles away. Sometimes at such acute crises in our
lives the limitations of our physical nature do strike us after this
fashion. It is strange to be so near and yet so far, and it brings the
absolute and utter loneliness of every created being home to the mind
in a manner that is forcible and at times almost terrible. John Niel
sinking composedly to sleep, his mind happy with the recollection of
those two right and left shots, and Jess, lying on her bed, six feet
away, and sobbing out her stormy heart over him, are indeed but types of
what is continually happening in this remarkable world. How often do we
understand one another's grief? And, when we do, by what standard can
we measure it? More especially is comprehension rare, if we chance to
be the original cause of the trouble. Do we think of the feelings of the
beetles it is our painful duty to crush into nothingness? Not at all. If
we have any compunctions, they are quickly absorbed in the pride of our
capture. And more often still, as in the present case, we set our foot
upon the poor victim by pure accident or venial carelessness.