MY SISTER
Friday, 24th.
Why, Enrico, after father had already reproved you for behaving badly to Coretti, were you so unkind to me? You cannot imagine the pain that you caused me. Do you not know that when you were a baby, I stood for hours and hours beside your cradle, instead of playing with my companions, and that when you were ill, I got out of bed every night to feel whether your forehead was burning? Do you not know, you who grieve your sister, that if a dreadful misfortune should overtake us, I should be a mother to you and love you like my son? Do you not know that when our father and mother are no longer here, I shall be your best friend, the only person with whom you can talk about our dead and your childhood, and that, should it be necessary, I shall work for you, Enrico, to earn your bread and to pay for your studies, and that I shall always love you when you are grown up; that I shall follow you in thought when you go far away, always because we grew up together and have the same blood? Enrico, be sure of this when you are a man, that if misfortune happens to you, if you are alone, be very sure that you will seek me, that you will come to me and say: “Sylvia, sister, let me stay with you; let us talk of the days when we were happy—do you remember? Let us talk of our mother, of our home, of those beautiful days that are so far away.” O Enrico, you will always find your sister with her arms wide open. Yes, dear Enrico; and you must forgive me for the reproof I am giving now. I shall never recall any wrong of yours; and if you should give me other sorrows, what matters it? You will always be my brother, the same brother; I shall never recall you
