I am so much older than my sister that I have learned to feel
toward her more as a father than as a brother. All my life, all
my dearest hopes, all my highest expectations, have centered in
her. I was past the period of my boyhood when my mother put my
little child sister's hand in mine, and said to me on her
death-bed: 'Louis, be all to her that I have been, for she has no
one left to look to but you.' Since then the loves and ambitions
of other men have not been my loves or my ambitions. Sister
Rose--as we all used to call her in those past days, as I love to
call her still--Sister Rose has been the one aim, the one
happiness, the one precious trust, the one treasured reward, of
all my life. I have lived in this poor house, in this dull
retirement, as in a paradise, because Sister Rose--my innocent,
happy, bright-faced Eve--has lived here with me. Even if the
husband of her choice had been the husband of mine, the necessity
of parting with her would have been the hardest, the bitterest of
trials. As it is, thinking what I think, dreading what I dread,
judge what my feelings must be on the eve of her marriage; and
know why, and with what object, I made the appeal which surprised
you a moment since, but which cannot surprise you now. Speak if
you will--I can say no more." He sighed bitterly; his head
dropped on his breast, and the hand which he had extended to
Lomaque trembled as he withdrew it and let it fall at his side.
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