She bent her face to her knees and began to cry simply and passionately. At that Pete found it easy to forget himself. He put his arm very carefully about her, laying one of his hands on her bent head and stroking her hair. “You have a brother,” he said. “Right here.” The dark small silken head shook. “No. You don’t like me.” “I do--I do. Please tell me everything you feel like telling; I’d like awfully to help you, to understand, to listen to you. You see, you’ve been so much with Hugh, I haven’t had a chance to know you as he does. And I guess--well--maybe I’m sort of shy.” She lifted her head at that, took his stroking hand and held it in both of hers under her chin, as a little girl holds her pet kitten for the pleasure of its warmth. “You must get over being shy with me, Pete. We both love Hugh; we both admire him so. I’d so love to talk to you about him--” “Then do, Sylvie.” “I’ve never seen him,” she sighed, “and you can see him all day long, Pete; will you try your best now to describe Hugh to me--every bit of him? Tell me the color of his eyes and the shape of his face and--everything. Tell me all you remember about him always.” “I--I’m no good at that, Sylvie. A fellow you see all day long--why, you don’t know what he looks like, ‘specially if he’s your own brother.” “Well, you certainly know the color of his eyes.” “He has hazel eyes--I think you’d call them--” “Yes?” she drank in his words eagerly, pressing his hand tighter in her excitement. “Go on. If only you were a girl, now, you’d do this so much better.” “I--I--but I don’t know what else to say, Sylvie. He is very strong.” “Of course. I know that. Didn’t he pick me up out of the snow and carry me home? He moved as though he had a feather on his arm. You are very strong too, Pete--_very_ strong. Are _your_ eyes hazel?” “No; blue.” “I always liked blue eyes. I like to imagine that Hugh is just the Viking sort of man I dreamed about when I was a little girl. You think I’m a silly goose, don’t you?” “Yes, rather.” “Don’t keep trying to pull your hand away, dear; you can’t guess how it comforts me. I’m awfully alone here, and strange. I don’t suppose you know how queer and frightening it’s been--this getting lost and being brought here in the dark, and then--living on in the dark, just trusting my instincts, my intuitions, instead of my eyes. Voices tell a lot about people, don’t they?--more than I ever dreamed they could. Pete, there is nothing in that--that splendid, generous thing Hugh did, the thing I am not to talk about, nothing to keep Hugh now from going back to the world--some place--that is, far away from where it happened--and beginning again, is there?” “I hope not, Sylvie.” She sighed. “Of course it was wonderful. If he hadn’t told me of it, I never should have known half of his greatness; yet I can’t help wishing he were free. It’s sad to think there will always be the memory of that dreadful suffering and danger in his life.”