produced his bunch of keys, which jingled as he held them unsteadily
out,--"and unlock the little lower drawer in the left-hand side of my
writing-desk?"

Gifford took the ring over to the candle, which made the shadow of his
head loom up on the opposite wall, as he bent to find the little brass
key among a dozen others of all shapes and sizes.

"I have unlocked it, sir," he said, a moment later.

"Take the candle, if you please," responded Mr. Denner, "and you will
see, I think, in the right-hand corner, back, under a small roll, a flat,
square parcel."

"Yes, sir," Gifford answered, holding the candle in his left hand, and
carefully lifting the parcel.

"Under that," proceeded Mr. Denner, "is an oval package. If you will be
good enough to hand me that, Gifford. Stay,--will you lock the drawer
first, if you please, and the desk?"

Gifford did so, and then put the package into Mr. Denner's hands. He held
it a moment before he gently removed the soft, worn tissue paper in which
it was wrapped; his very touch was a caress.

"I was desirous," he said, "of having this by me. It is a miniature of my
little sister, sir. She--perhaps you scarcely remember her? She died when
I was twenty. That is forty-one years ago. A long time, Gifford, a long
time to have missed her. She is the only thing of--of that nature that I
have loved--since I was twenty."

He stopped, and held the miniature up to look at it; but the light had
faded, and the ivory only gleamed faintly.

"I look at this every day when I am in health, and I like it by me now.
No, not the candle, I thank you, Gifford. I called for it now (how
tarnished these pearls are in the frame! If--if I should not recover, it
must be reset. Perhaps you will see to that for me, Gifford?),--I called
for it now, because I wished to say, in the event of my--demise, I should
wish this given to one of your aunts, sir."

Gifford came out from the shadow at the foot of the bed, and took Mr.
Denner's hand. He did not speak; he had only the man's way of showing
sympathy, and one weaker than Gifford could not have resisted the piteous
longing for life in Mr. Denner's tone, and would have hastened to
reassure him. But Gifford only held his hand in a firm, gentle grasp,
and was silent.

"I should wish one of them to have it," he continued. "I have not
provided for its welfare in my will; I had thought there was no one for
whom I had enough--enough regard, to intrust them with it. I