When Gifford had gone back to the lawyer's house, he found the little gentleman somewhat brighter. Mary had put a clean white counterpane on the bed, and buttoned a fresh valance around it; and on the small table at his side Willie had placed a big bunch of gillyflowers and lupins, with perhaps less thought of beauty than of love. "Gifford," he said, "I am glad to see you. And how, if you please, did you leave your aunt? I hope you conveyed to her my thanks for her thoughtfulness, and my apologies for detaining you as well?" "Yes, sir," the young man answered, "I did. They are both rejoiced that I can be of any service." Gifford had come to the side of the bed, and, slipping his strong young arm under Mr. Denner's head, lifted him that he might take with greater ease the medicine he held in a little slender-stemmed glass. "Ah," said Mr. Denner, between a sigh and a groan, as Gifford laid him down again, "how gentle you are! There is a look in your face, sometimes, of one of your aunts, sir; not, I think, Miss Deborah. I have thought much, since I--I knew my condition, Gifford, of my wish that your aunt Deborah should have the miniature of my little sister. I still wish it. It is not easy for me to decide a momentous question, but, having decided, I am apt to be firm. Perhaps--unreasonably firm. I would not have you imagine I had, in any way, changed my mind, as it were--yet I have recurred, occasionally, in my thoughts, to Miss Ruth. I should not wish to seem to slight Miss Ruth, Gifford?" "She could not feel it so, I know," the young man answered. But Mr. Denner's thoughts apparently dwelt upon it, for twice again, in intervals of those waking dreams, or snatches of sleep, he said, quite to himself, "It is decided; yet it would seem marked to pass over Miss Ruth." And again he murmured, "I should not wish to slight Miss Deborah's sister." Later in the afternoon he wakened, with a bright, clear look in his face. "It occurs to me," he said, "that I have another portrait, of no value at all compared with the miniature (and of course it is becoming that the miniature should go to Miss Deborah), which I might give to Miss Ruth. Because she is the sister of Miss Deborah, you understand, Gifford. Perhaps you will be so good as to hand me the square package from that same little drawer? Here is the key." Gifford brought it: it was a daguerreotype case, much worn and frayed along the leather back, and without the little brass hooks which used to fasten it; instead, a bit of ribbon had been tied about it to keep it closed. Mr. Denner did not open it; he patted the faded green bow with his little thin fingers. "It is a portrait of myself," he said. "It belonged to my mother. I had it taken for her when I was but a boy; yes, I was only thirty. She tied the ribbon; it has never been opened since." He put it down on the stand, by the miniature, under the gillies and lupins.