'You would not have thought they were twins, Edmund was
so much the tallest and strongest. It seemed so odd that Gilbert
should have got over it, when he did not. Should you like to hear
all about it, mamma?'
It was Albinia's great wish to lift that dark veil, and Lucy began,
with as much seriousness and sadness as could co-exist with the
satisfaction and importance of having to give such a narration, and
exciting emotion and pity. It was remarkable how she managed to make
herself the heroine of the story, though she had been sent out of the
house, and had escaped the infection. She spoke in phrases that
showed that she had so often told the story as to have a set form,
caught from her elders, but still it had a deep and intrinsic
interest for the bride, that made her sit gazing into the fire,
pressing Lucy's hand, and now and then sighing and shuddering
slightly as she heard how there had been a bad fever prevailing in
that lower part of the town, and how the two boys were both unwell
one damp, hot autumn morning, and Lucy dwelt on the escape it had
been that she had not kissed them before going to school. Sophy had
sickened the same day, and after the tedious three weeks, when father
and mother were spent with attendance on the three, Edmund, after
long delirium, had suddenly sunk, just as they had hopes of him; and
the same message that told Lucy of her brother's death, told her of
the severe illness of both parents.
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