So it happened that when Miss Ruth Woodhouse came to inquire for him, she had been in Mr. Denner's thoughts all the afternoon. "Not," he kept assuring himself, "not that I have changed my mind,--not at all,--but she is Miss Deborah's sister." It was after five when Mary pushed the library door open softly, and looked in, and then beckoned mysteriously to Gifford. "It is your aunt; she wants to know how he is. You'd better come and tell her." Mr. Denner heard her, and turned his head feebly towards the door. "Miss Woodhouse, did you say, Mary? Which Miss Woodhouse, if you please?" "It's the young one," said Mary, who spoke relatively. "Miss Ruth?" Mr. Denner said, with an eager quaver in his voice. "Gifford, do you think--would you have any objection, Gifford, to permitting me to see your aunt? That is, if she would be so obliging and kind as to step in for a moment?" "She will be glad to, I know," Gifford answered. "Let me go and bring her." Miss Ruth was in a flutter of grief and excitement. "I'll come, of course. I--I had rather hoped I might see him; but what will Deborah say? Yet I can't but think it's better for him not to see two people at once." Mr. Denner greeted her by a feeble flourish of his hand. "Oh, dear me, Mr. Denner," said she, half crying, in spite of Gifford's whispered caution, "I'm so distressed to see you so ill, indeed I am." "Oh, not at all," responded Mr. Denner, but his voice had a strange, far-away sound in his ears, and he tried to speak louder and more confidently,--"not at all. You are very good to come, ma'am;" and then he stopped to remember what it was he had wished to say. Miss Ruth was awed into silence, and there was a growing anxiety in Gifford's face. "Ah--yes"--Mr. Denner began again, with a flash of strength in his tone, "I wished to ask you if you would accept--accept"--he reached towards the little table, but he could not find the leather case until Gifford put it into his hand--"if you would be so good as to accept this; and will you open it, if you please, Miss Ruth?" She did so, with trembling fingers. It was a daguerreotype of Mr. Denner; the high neckcloth and the short-waisted, brass-buttoned coat and waistcoat showed its age, as well as the dimness of the glass and the fresh boyish face of the young man of thirty. "What--what was I speaking of, Gifford?" said Mr. Denner. "You gave my aunt Ruth the picture, sir." "Oh, yes, just so, just so. I merely wished to add that I desired to present it to Miss Deborah's sister,--though it is of no value, not the least value; but I should be honored by its acceptance. And perhaps you will be good enough to--to convey the assurance of my esteem to Miss Deborah. And Gifford--my friend Gifford is to give her the miniature of my little sister." "Yes," said Miss Ruth, who was crying softly.