But his voice was dead. It had no meaning.
"It may all be for the best," she ran on, anxious to revive him. "We'll go back to New York, Peter—you and I. Perhaps you'll let me stay with you there. We'll get a little apartment together, so that I can care for you. I 'll do that all the days of my life, if you 'll let me."
"I want a better fate than that for you, little sister," he answered.
Rising, he helped her to her feet. He smoothed back her hair from her forehead and kissed her there.
"It won't do to look ahead very far, or backwards either just now," he said. "But if I can believe there is something still left in life for me, I must believe there is a great deal more left for you. Only we must get away from here as soon as possible."
"You have your eyes, Peter," she exclaimed exultingly. "She can't take those away from you again!"
"Hush," he warned. "You must never blame her for anything."
"You mean you still—"
"Still and forever, little sister," he answered. "But we must not talk of that."
"Poor Peter," she trembled.