at upon the step, and this brought his face
on a level with Miss Ruth's.

"Oh, that is nice," the little lady said, with gentle enthusiasm. "I
shall have your eyes to look at. I have not been able to get the little
sister's eyes just to suit me."

It made no difference to Miss Ruth that Gifford's eyes were gray and full
of trouble. "Aunt Deborah," he said abruptly, "Helen Ward is not going
back to Lockhaven for the present. Indeed, I do not know when she will
go."

Miss Deborah forgot her gooseberries, in her surprise. "Not going back!"
she cried, while her sister said, "Is Mr. Ward coming here?"

Then Gifford told them the story as briefly as he could, interrupted by
small cries of amazement and dismay. "Well," exclaimed Miss Deborah, her
delicate hands uplifted, "well! I never heard of such a thing! How
shocking, how ill-bred! And she is going to be at the rectory? Ruth, my
dear, you must never go there without me, do you hear? It is not proper.
A wife separated from her husband! Dear me, dear me!"

"How can she leave him?" gasped Miss Ruth. "Married people ought to love
each other so that they could not be parted."

"You have never been in a position to judge how they ought to love each
other," said Miss Deborah sharply. "But this is what comes of youthful
marriages, Gifford. A person should have reached years of maturity before
thinking of marriage. Such things do not happen when people are
reasonably old"--

"But not too old, sister," Miss Ruth interrupted, a little color creeping
into her faded cheek.

Miss Deborah did not notice the amendment; she was anxious to hear the
practical side of the matter, and had questions to ask about Helen's
money, and whether Gifford supposed that that man would do anything for
her; but except their grave disapproval that Helen should differ from her
husband, nothing was said of theology. As they talked, the sisters grew
full of sympathy, which waxed and waned as they thought of Helen's
sorrow, or the impropriety of her action.

"I shall make her some jelly directly," said Miss Deborah, "and put in
plenty of Madeira; the poor thing needs strength."

"This must be the reason," Miss Ruth said,--she had put her brushes down
some time ago,--"that she was in such distress that day at her mother's
grave. Oh, how trying this is for her! Indeed, I am sure death is easier
to bear, when one--loves--than a parting like this."

"Really, dear Ruth," returned her sister, holding her