ll Aunt Faith? I suppose I am very weak, but,
knowing that I must go, and not knowing what may be the end, I feel
as if I could not bear to resist her entreaties just at last. Will
you tell her, sir, while I go to Leonard?"

Silently he consented, and the two rose up and came forth, calm and
serene. And calmly and gently did Ruth tell her boy of her purpose;
not daring even to use any unaccustomed tenderness of voice or
gesture, lest, by so doing, she should alarm him unnecessarily as to
the result. She spoke hopefully, and bade him be of good courage; and
he caught her bravery, though his, poor boy, had root rather in his
ignorance of the actual imminent danger than in her deep faith.

When he had gone down, Ruth began to arrange her dress. When she
came downstairs she went into the old familiar garden and gathered
a nosegay of the last lingering autumn flowers--a few roses and the
like.

Mr Benson had tutored his sister well; and although Miss Faith's
face was swollen with crying, she spoke with almost exaggerated
cheerfulness to Ruth. Indeed, as they all stood at the front door,
making-believe to have careless nothings to say, just as at an
ordinary leave-taking, you would not have guessed the strained chords
of feeling there were in each heart. They lingered on, the last rays
of the setting sun falling on the group. Ruth once or twice had
roused herself to the pitch of saying "Good-bye," but when her eye
fell on Leonard she was forced to hide the quivering of her lips, and
conceal her trembling mouth amid the bunch of roses.

"They won't let you have your flowers, I'm afraid," said Miss Benson.
"Doctors so often object to the smell."

"No; perhaps not," said Ruth, hurriedly. "I did not think of it. I
will only keep this one rose. Here, Leonard, darling!" She gave the
rest to him. It was her farewell; for having now no veil to hide her
emotion, she summoned all her bravery for one parting smile, and,
smiling, turned away. But she gave one look back from the street,
just from the last point at which the door could be seen, and
catching a glimpse of Leonard standing foremost on the step, she ran
back, and he met her half-way, and mother and child spoke never a
word in that close embrace.

"Now, Leonard," said Miss Faith, "be a brave boy. I feel sure she
will come back to us before very long."

But she was very near crying herself; and she would have given way, I
believe, if she had not found the wholesome outl