The past she could scarcely deem other than happy, though a stranger would have thought it sad enough.  Her mother she well remembered—­a face pale and sweet, like Thyrza’s:  the eyes that have their sad beauty from foresight of death.  Her father lived only a year longer, then she and the little one passed into the charge of Mr. Boddy, who was paid a certain small sum by Trent’s employers, in consideration of the death by accident.  Then came the commencement of Mr. Boddy’s misfortunes; his shop and house were burnt down, he lost his limb in an endeavour to save his property, he lost his wife in consequence of the shock.  Dreary things for the memory, yet they did not weigh upon Lydia; she was so happily endowed that her mind selected and dwelt on sunny hours, on kind looks and words which her strong heart cherished unassailably, on the mutual charities which sorrow had begotten rather than on the sorrow itself.  Above all, the growing love of her dear one, of her to whom she was both mother and sister, had strengthened her against every trouble.  Yet of late this strongest passion of her life had become a source of grave anxieties, as often as circumstance caused her to look beyond her contentment.  Thyrza was so beautiful, and, it seemed to her, so weak; always dreaming of something beyond and above the life which was her lot; so deficient in the practical qualities which that life demanded.  At moments Lydia saw her responsibility in a light which alarmed her.

They worked at a felt-hat factory, as ‘trimmers;’ that is to say, they finished hats by sewing in the lining, putting on the bands, and the like.  In the busy season they could average together wages of about a pound a week; at dull times they earned less, and very occasionally had to support themselves for a week or two without employment.  Since the age of fourteen Lydia herself had received help from no one; from sixteen she had lived in lodgings with Thyrza, independent.  Mr. Boddy was then no longer able to do more than supply his own needs, for things had grown worse with him from year to year.  Lydia occasionally found jobs for her free hours, and she had never yet wanted.  She was strong, her health had scarcely ever given her a day’s uneasiness; there never came to her a fear lest bread should fail.  But Thyrza could not take life as she did.  It was not enough for that imaginative nature to toil drearily day after day, and year after year, just for the sake of earning a livelihood.  In a month she would be seventeen; it was too true, as she had said to-night, that she was no longer a child.  What might happen if the elder sister’s influence came to an end?  Thyrza loved her:  how Lydia would have laughed at anyone who hinted that the love could ever weaken!  But it was not a guard against every danger.