to be strongly taken by the hot hand of power and burnt in a heart of passion and fire."
"No," Hugh said coldly; "for fear it might break and die, reverence should gather the rose, and love be its slave."
Ernest fixed his eyes upon the face of the girl.
"Better burn than decay. Ask the rose, Hugh; ask the rose."
The girl felt compelled to meet his gaze; his eyes seemed to pierce into her soul. She opened her lips and spoke without her will.
"The rose would like the strong hand best, I think," she murmured. "Better the leaping fire than to wither and fall to dust."
Ernest laughed; his eyes turned from her face; he resumed his conversation with her father, as though satisfied with her answer. Hugh smiled, as though he had suffered no defeat.
"Shall we ask the roses?" he said, and put out his hand to her to raise her from her seat. They strolled towards the garden of roses, whose breath was in the air around them.
When the brothers were at home that evening, the silence for the first time was broken
