The Sisters

Oh, how Edith yearned to take that sweet young creature to her
bosom, and concentrate in one wild, passionate hug the love of so
many wasted years; but Nina must not be unduly startled if she
would make her comprehend what she had to tell, and conquering her
own agitation with a wondrous effort she sat down upon the bed,
and said, "How is my darling? Is her head all in a twist?"

Nina smiled, a rational, knowing smile, and answered, "There wasn't the least bit of a twist in it till Arthur told me about that in the graveyard, and then it began to thump so loud,
but with you sitting here, I'm better. You do me so much good,
Miggie. Your eyes keep me quiet. Where do you suppose she is--the
other Miggie; and how did she get out of the coffin?"

"Nina," said Edith, "can you understand me if I tell you a story
about a little girl who resembled your sister Miggie?"

Nina liked stories and though she would rather have talked of the
real Miggie, she expressed a willingness to listen, and by the dim
candle light Edith saw that the blue eyes, fixed so intently upon
her, still retained the comparatively rational expression she had
observed when she first came in. Moving a little nearer to her,
she began, "A great many years ago, nearly eighteen, we will say, a beautiful
little girl, eight years old, I guess, with curls like yours,
waited one night in just such a house as this, for her father, who
had been long in Europe, and who was to bring her a new mother,
and a dear baby sister, two years old or thereabouts."