“All her work; she did it all herself--every bit. Nothing here that hasn't felt the touch of her hand. Now you would think--But I mustn't talk so much.” By this time I was wiping my hands and glancing from detail to detail of the room's belongings, as one is apt to do when he is in a new place, where everything he sees is a comfort to his eye and his spirit; and I became conscious, in one of those unaccountable ways, you know, that there was something there somewhere that the man wanted me to discover for myself. I knew it perfectly, and I knew he was trying to help me by furtive indications with his eye, so I tried hard to get on the right track, being eager to gratify him. I failed several times, as I could see out of the corner of my eye without being told; but at last I knew I must be looking straight at the thing--knew it from the pleasure issuing in invisible waves from him. He broke into a happy laugh, and rubbed his hands together, and cried out: “That's it! You've found it. I knew you would. It's her picture.” I went to the little black-walnut bracket on the farther wall, and did find there what I had not yet noticed--a daguerreotype-case. It contained the sweetest girlish face, and the most beautiful, as it seemed to me, that I had ever seen. The man drank the admiration from my face, and was fully satisfied. “Nineteen her last birthday,” he said, as he put the picture back; “and that was the day we were married. When you see her--ah, just wait till you see her!” “Where is she? When will she be in?” “Oh, she's away now. She's gone to see her people. They live forty or fifty miles from here. She's been gone two weeks today.” “When do you expect her back?” “This is Wednesday. She'll be back Saturday, in the evening--about nine o'clock, likely.” I felt a sharp sense of disappointment. “I'm sorry, because I'll be gone then,” I said, regretfully. “Gone? No--why should you go? Don't go. She'll be disappointed.” She would be disappointed--that beautiful creature! If she had said the words herself they could hardly have blessed me more. I was feeling a deep, strong longing to see her--a longing so supplicating, so insistent, that it made me afraid. I said to myself: “I will go straight away from this place, for my peace of mind's sake.” “You see, she likes to have people come and stop with us--people who know things, and can talk--people like you. She delights in it; for she knows--oh, she knows nearly everything herself, and can talk, oh, like a bird--and the books she reads, why, you would be astonished. Don't go; it's only a little while, you know, and she'll be so disappointed.” I heard the words, but hardly noticed them, I was so deep in my thinkings and strugglings. He left me, but I didn't know. Presently he was back, with the picture case in his hand, and he held it open before me and said: “There, now, tell her to her face you could have stayed to see her, and you wouldn't.”