So Rose came up, after receiving the customary caution not to stay too
long and avoid everything that might be unpleasant or exciting.

She stood for a moment in the doorway, hesitating. Her face was almost
as white as her linen gown, but her eyes were shining with strange
fires.

"White Rose," he said, wearily, "I have been through hell."

"I know," she answered, softly, drawing up a chair beside him. "Aunt
Francesca and I have wished that we might divide it with you and help
you bear it."

He stretched a trembling hand toward her and she took it in both her
own. They were soft and cool, and soothing.

"Thank you for wanting to share it," he said. "Thank you for coming, for
playing--for everything."

"Either of us would have come whenever you wanted us, night or day."

"Suppose it was night, and I'd wanted you to come and play to me. Would
you have come?"

"Why, yes. Of course I would!"

"I didn't know," he stammered, "that there was so much kindness in the
world. I have been very lonely since--"

Her eyes filled and she held his hand more closely. "You won't be lonely