There was Alured, almost exactly what Trevor had been when last she saw him, with his bright sweet honest face over the rose, running up the stairs, knocking, and coming in with his boyish, "Good morning, Hester, I do hope you are better;" and bending down with his fresh brotherly kiss on her poor hot forehead, "I've got this rose for you, the bud will be out in a day or two."
If ever there was a modern version of St. Dorothy's roses it was there.
That boy's kiss and his gift touched the place in her heart. She caught him passionately in her arms, and held him till he almost lost breath, and then she held him off from her as vehemently.
"Boy—Trevorsham—what do you come to me for?"
"He told me," said Alured, half dismayed. "Besides, you are my sister."
"Sister, indeed! Don't you know we would have killed you?"
"Never mind that," said Alured, with an odd sort of readiness. "You are my sister all the same, and oh—if you would let me try to be a little bit of Trevor to you, though I know I can't—"
"You—who must hate me?"
"No," said he, "I always did like you, Hester; and I've been thinking about you all the half—whenever I thought of him."
And as the tears came into the boy's eyes, the blessed weeping came at last to Hester.