“Fred, you must.”
“Say that to some poor creature who is smitten with a terrible mental complaint; tell him he must be ill no longer, but cast off the ailment. What will he reply?”
He paused for an answer, but his sister stood gazing at him without a word.
“He will tell you that he would do so gladly, but that it is impossible.”
“But this is not impossible, Fred,” cried Laura; “and you are again treating me like a child. Yes, I have begun to think like a woman, and though it may sound shameless I will speak out. Do you think that we do not know that all this is wicked dissipation?”
He laughed bitterly, as he pressed his hand to his weary head.
“You do not know—you do not know.”
“Yes,” cried Laura, embracing him again; “I know that my poor brother has yielded to some temptation, but I know, too, that it only needs a strong, brave, manly effort to throw it all off; and then we might be happy once more.”
He took her face between his hands and looked down at her lovingly for a few minutes, then kissed her brow tenderly.
“No,” he said; “you do not understand, my child. I am not master of my actions now.”