It was a novel sight, those two young girls watching each other so
intently, both so beautiful and yet so unlike--the one, tall,
stately, and almost queen-like in her proportions, with dark,
brilliant complexion; eyes of midnight blackness, and masses of
raven hair, bound around her head in many a heavy braid--the
other, fairy-like in size, with golden curls and soft blue eyes,
which filled with tears at last as some undefinable emotion swept
over her. In the rich, dark beauty of Edith's face there was a
wonderful fascination, which riveted the crazy girl to the spot
where she had stopped when first she crossed the threshold, and
when at last, sinking upon the sofa, Edith extended her arms, as a
mother to her child, poor little Nina went forward, and with a
low, gasping sob, fell upon her bosom, weeping passionately, her
whole frame trembling and her sobs so violent that Edith became
alarmed, and tried by kisses and soft endearing words to soothe
her grief and check the tears raining in torrents from her eyes.
"It's nice to cry.
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