Paul Rushleigh came, he told Mr. Gartney, because, although Faith had not authorized him to appeal to her father to ratify any consent of hers, he thought it right to let him know what he had already said to his daughter. He did not wish to hurry Faith. He only wished to stand openly with Mr. Gartney in the matter, and would wait, then, till she should be quite ready to give him her own answer. He explained the prospect his father offered him, and the likelihood of his making a permanent home at Kinnicutt. "That is," he added, "if I am to be so happy as to have a home, anywhere, of my own." Mr. Gartney was delighted with the young man's unaffected warmth of heart and noble candor. "I could not wish better for my daughter, Mr. Rushleigh," he replied. "And she is a daughter whom I may fairly wish the best for, too." Mr. Gartney rose. "I will send Faith," said he. "I do not _ask_ for her," answered Paul, a flush of feeling showing in his cheek. "I did not come, expecting it--my errand was one I owed to yourself--but Faith knows quite well how glad I shall be if she chooses to see me." As Mr. Gartney crossed the hall from parlor to sitting room, a light step came over the front staircase. Faith passed her father, with a downcast look, as he motioned with his hand toward the room where Paul stood, waiting. The bright color spread to her temples as she glided in. She held, but did not wear, the little turquoise ring. Paul saw it, as he came forward, eagerly. A thrill of hope, or dread--he scarce knew which--quivered suddenly at his heart. Was he to take it back, or place it on her finger as a pledge? "I have been thinking, Paul," said she, tremulously, and with eyes that fell again away from his, after the first glance and greeting, "almost ever since. And I do not think I ought to keep you waiting to know the little I can tell you. I do not think I understand myself. I cannot tell, certainly, how I ought--how I do feel. I have liked you very much. And it was very pleasant to me before all this. I know you deserve to be made very happy. And if it depends on me, I do not dare to say I will not try to do it. If you think, yourself, that this is enough--that I shall do the truest thing so--I will try." And the timid little fingers laid the ring into his hand, to do with as he would. What else could Paul have done? With the strong arm that should henceforth uphold and guard her, he drew her close; and with the other hand slipped the simply jeweled round upon her finger. For all word of answer, he lifted it, so encircled, to his lips. Faith shrank and trembled. Hendie's voice sounded, jubilant, along the upper floor, toward the staircase. "I will go, now, if you wish. Perhaps I ought," said Paul. "And yet, I would so gladly stay. May I come again, by and by?"