44
THE BROTHER'S HAND.
She saw it: "Ah, you have a scar," she said.
"How strange it is—and how much like a hand."
It is a hand," he answered. "See how red
It threatens now. It cut the gentle band
Between us while we yet were children." "Who ?"
"We twins that called each other Fred and Hugh,
And played beside a river in the sand."
"How strange it is—and how much like a hand."
It is a hand," he answered. "See how red
It threatens now. It cut the gentle band
Between us while we yet were children." "Who ?"
"We twins that called each other Fred and Hugh,
And played beside a river in the sand."
A troubled paleness fell upon her face.
She looked at him an instant. "If I may?"
She said, and, bird-like, fluttered from her place,
And flushed and doubted, and—I must not say
She kissed the scar. But I can say it grew
Yet deeper scarlet, and looked darker too,
And seemed to move—motioning her away.
She looked at him an instant. "If I may?"
She said, and, bird-like, fluttered from her place,
And flushed and doubted, and—I must not say
She kissed the scar. But I can say it grew
Yet deeper scarlet, and looked darker too,
And seemed to move—motioning her away.
. . . The leaf-bloom of the Autumn lit the woods—
(The next day was to be their wedding-day).
A cruel rain whirled down in pitiless floods
And fretted the poor leaves that tried to stay
And wear their splendour for a little yet.
The butterflies were faded out and wet,
Or else the wind had blown them all away.
(The next day was to be their wedding-day).
A cruel rain whirled down in pitiless floods
And fretted the poor leaves that tried to stay
And wear their splendour for a little yet.
The butterflies were faded out and wet,
Or else the wind had blown them all away.
