“And so you have come at last. O brother, brother! how I have wanted you!” said Louis, drawing his guest to a sofa, and shaking hands with him over and over again. “You have no idea how very, very much I have wanted you!”
A shade of trouble came over his face as he spoke, and instantly that of his brother darkened with the same shadow, as if the pain which one felt must have a mutual vibration.
“And I,” said George, with a sudden overshadowing of all cheerfulness, “I have a great many things to say to you. Since we parted, Louis, I have suffered as you will hardly think me capable of suffering.”
“And I,” answered Louis, sorrowfully,—“and I.”
George sat down by his brother, and threw one arm over his shoulder with a slight caress.
“What is it, my brother? I was in hopes that, save our one great cause of annoyance, you had escaped any serious trouble.”
Louis shook his head and a mist crept over his eyes.
“It is a hard thing, George, for a fellow no older than I am, and disposed to be happy, as you and I both are. It is hard, I say, to carry about a secret, that one feels forever heavy upon the heart, but dares not talk about.”
“What is this secret, my brother?”
Louis turned suddenly and seized his brother’s hand; tears sprung to his fine eyes, and he choked down a sob that struggled hard with his manliness.