"Never, Miss Grace; an' never want to. I would I could take your trouble on my own shoulders."
"Your grandmother never weeps?"
"Not she. A granite wall sweats more moisture than her eyes fall tears. But you—— The young gentleman, your brother, died like a hero. 'Tis a great and noble thing to be a hero."
"How can a word stand for his dear beautiful face and bright eyes and kind voice? Never a maid had such a brother as Noel. Hero! Hero!" She lifted her voice bitterly. "An empty-handed, senseless sound to take the place of a dear brother. Not one pang does it lessen—no, not even in my father's heart, though he says the syllables over and over again, like a parrot. Our hope and our glory gone—that is what his death means."
"I can't say nothing—I wish I could. I'd go and die to-morrow if 'twould bring him back," declared John earnestly. "You'll think 'tis easy to tell such things, but God's my Judge, I mean it."
"You are not unlike him in a way, John. He had your manner of holding up his neck, and your mouth and your neat ears."
"I'm an awful fuzz-poll—like they curly-haired coloured men at the War Prison."
She did not answer for a moment, then spoke again of her sorrows.
"My heart's an empty nest now—all my plans to live with Noel for ever and love his children are broken down. And I had a secret hope that he"—she stopped, then decided to finish the sentence—"that he might soften my father."
"Your father be stern enough, but not to you—sure never to you."