"'Yes, I can—sometimes.'
"'But never quite. And still less can they be sisters to you. Surely you know enough to understand that.'
"'No!'
"'But you should know. Oh, think! With some men, perhaps, they might be as sister and brother—but not with you. You, with your dark eyes—I have always feared them. They beckon and call … to evil and disaster.'
"'Sister—what must you think of me!' And I hide my head in her lap, as I used to do in mother's.
"'I am only sorry—bitterly sorry for you. And I can't help being fond of you, for I know your heart is good and pure—but you are weak; very, very weak.' And she strokes my forehead, as mother used to do.
"'Yes, I am weak, I know it. But I promise you….'
"'Don't promise!' she says almost sternly, and lifts a finger warningly. 'How many times have you promised, with tears in your eyes, and done the same again? Don't promise—but try to be stronger.'
"'I will try, sister—dear, dear sister.' And I take her hands and kiss them gratefully again and again…."
"Ho! so that's the way you talk together, is it?" said the gloom. "Well, I'm not sure it might not be a good thing if your sister were alive. Then, perhaps, if she talked like that to you occasionally, you might be a different man altogether."