Only the soul itself the grief may know,
And silently endure.
“The strength of all regret is lost in sighs,
In murmuring sorrow’s fiercest flame expires;
But silence is the close where memories
Burn with undying fires.”
There was silence for a little while. Floy was fighting down the ache in her heart so that her voice would not betray her when she spoke.
Then she breathed, timidly:
“This illness of—your brother’s—its cause?”
“His trouble, of course. He was in love with a beautiful girl, but he loved his parents well also; and he was his mother’s pride and idol. She would have thought a princess unworthy of him.”