As we passed a great Venice glass, I remember being struck with the difference in our looks, for I was ever a true Corbet, with the great dark eyes, level black brows, and crisp hair of my race—a regular black Corby, as poor Randall used to call me.
The twins led me up the staircase and into a room furnished with blue, where were two little beds and a truckle for a servant. Out of this opened a large light closet, where I found my mails. As soon as we were alone, the girls found their tongues.
"We are glad you have come to live with us!" said Avice, who was always the first speaker, and indeed took the lead in every thing, as I found out afterward.
"Yes, we are very glad, because it will be like having our sister again!" said Katherine.
"A little like it!" said Avice. And then, seeming to feel she had hurt my feelings, she added—
"You know nobody can be quite like one's own sister, but I am sure we shall love you, Cousin Loveday!"
"And I am sure I shall love you!" I returned warmly. And then I ventured to ask: "Did you have another sister, and is she dead?"
"Yes!" said Avice, with a quivering lip. "She was a beautiful little girl, and she looked a little like you, for she had dark hair and eyes. But she fell into the chincough, and then into a long waste, and died in spite of all that could be done."
"But she has gone to paradise—I am sure she has, and we shall see her again some day," added Katherine, her eyes shining with a kind of steadfast light. "I could not bear it, only for thinking of that."
There was a little silence, and then Avice asked me how old I was.