Though he was glad Ashurst would see the last of this objectionable young man, Lois's grief turned his gladness into pain, and there was no hope for himself in his relief at Dick's departure. Miss Deborah, with the best intentions in the world, had made that impossible. The day after Dr. Howe had told Mr. Denner that he must die, Gifford had come home for a few minutes. He had met the little ladies walking arm in arm up and down one of the shady paths of their walled garden. Miss Ruth still held her trowel in her hand, and her shabby gloves were stained by the weeds she had pulled up. "Oh, there you are, dear Giff," she cried; "we were just looking for you. Pray, how is Mr. Denner?" Gifford's serious face answered her without words, and none of the group spoke for a moment. Then Gifford said, "It cannot last much longer. You see, he suffers very much at night; it doesn't seem as though he could live through another." "Oh, dear me," said Miss Ruth, wiping her eyes with the frankest grief, "you don't say so!" "Haven't you just heard him say so, sister?" asked Miss Deborah, trying to conceal an unsteady lip by a show of irritation. "Do pay attention." "I did, dear Deborah," returned Miss Ruth, "but I cannot bear to believe it." "Your believing it, or not, doesn't alter the case unfortunately. Did he like the syllabub yesterday, Gifford?" "He couldn't eat it," her nephew answered, "but Willie seemed to enjoy it." "Poor child," cried Miss Deborah, full of sympathy, "I'm glad he had anything to comfort him. But Gifford, do you really feel sure Mr. Denner cannot recover?" "Too sure," replied the young man, with a sigh. "There's no doubt about it,--no doubt whatever?" Miss Ruth inquired anxiously. Her nephew looked at her in surprise. "I wish there were." "Well, then, sister?" said Miss Ruth. Miss Deborah nodded and sighed. "I--I think so," she answered, and the two sisters turned to go into the house, importance and grief on both their faces; but Miss Deborah suddenly recollected something she wished to say. "Do you know, Gifford," she said, letting Miss Ruth get a little ahead of her, "I really think that that young Forsythe is without proper feeling; and I am surprised at dear Lois, too. I cannot say--I am not at liberty to say anything more, but at such a time"-- Gifford gave her a quick look. "What do you mean, aunt Deborah?" But his aunt seemed reluctant to speak, and looked after Miss Ruth, who was walking slowly up the mossy path, flecked here and there by patches of sunshine that fell through the flickering leaves above her. When she was quite out of hearing, Miss Deborah said mysteriously,-- "Well, perhaps; I might tell you; you are not like any one else. Ruth thinks I cannot keep a secret, but then you know your dear aunt Ruth does not discriminate. You are quite different from the public." "Well, and what is it?" he said impatiently, and with a horrible foreboding.