"
Then this old woman, Lydia Anderson, who remembered Luella Miller,
would go on to relate the story of Lily Miller. It seemed that on
the removal of Lily Miller to the house of her dead brother, to
live with his widow, the village people first began to talk. This
Lily Miller had been hardly past her first youth, and a most robust
and blooming woman, rosy-cheeked, with curls of strong, black hair
overshadowing round, candid temples and bright dark eyes. It was
not six months after she had taken up her residence with her
sister-in-law that her rosy colour faded and her pretty curves
became wan hollows. White shadows began to show in the black rings
of her hair, and the light died out of her eyes, her features
sharpened, and there were pathetic lines at her mouth, which yet
wore always an expression of utter sweetness and even happiness.
She was devoted to her sister; there was no doubt that she loved
her with her whole heart, and was perfectly content in her service.
It was her sole anxiety lest she should die and leave her alone.
"The way Lily Miller used to talk about Luella was enough to make
you mad and enough to make you cry," said Lydia Anderson.
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