"He expressed himself very doubtfully and timidly, and asked me if I thought you would mind coming to say good-bye." "There could be no harm in it, Ralph?" "Not a bit. He has been like an elder brother to us both." "Yes--yes." And she rose from the table at once, and went upstairs to get her hat and jacket. "What, ready so soon?" he questioned, when she appeared again. "I may be too late as it is," she answered, in a voice that she scarcely recognised as her own. "I will go with you," he said, "for it will be dark when you return." For awhile they walked rapidly and in silence, but when the village came in sight they slackened their pace a little. "It is hard to give up hope," Ralph said, as if speaking to himself. "He was so healthy and so strong, and he has lived a life so temperate and so clean that he ought to pull through anything." "Does the doctor say there is no hope?" "He has none himself." William was listening with every sense alert. He knew by some subtle instinct, some spiritual telepathy, that Ruth was near. He caught her whisper in the hall, he knew her footstep when she came quickly up the stairs, and the beating of his heart seemed to get beyond all bounds. He was too weak to raise himself in bed, but his eyes were strained toward the door. "You will leave me when she comes," he said to the nurse as soon as he heard Ruth's voice in the hall, and directly the door was pushed open the nurse disappeared. Ruth walked straight up to the bedside without faltering. William feebly raised his wasted hand, and she took it in both hers. She was very composed. She wondered at herself, and was barely conscious of the effort she was making. He was the first to break the silence, and he spoke with a great effort, and with many pauses. "Will you not sit there, where I can see you?" he said, indicating a chair close to the bedside. "It is very good of you to come. I thought you would, for you have always been kind to me." The tears came very near her eyes, but she resolutely raised her hand to hide them from William. "You and your brother have been my dearest friends," he went on. "Ralph is a noble fellow, and I do not wonder that you are proud of him. It has been a great joy to me to know him--to know you both." "That feeling has been mutual," Ruth struggled to say; but William scarcely waited to hear her out. Perhaps he felt that what he had to say must be said quickly. "I thought I would like to tell you how much I have valued your friendship--there can be no harm in that, can there?" "Why, no," she interposed. "But that is not all," he went on. "I want to say something more, and there surely can be no harm in saying it now. I am nearing the end, the doctor says." "Say anything you like," she interrupted, in a great sob of emotion.