Summary

Portrait of Honoré Willsie Honoré Willsie Lydia of the Pines — The Ravished Nest (1917)

All the rest of the winter afternoon, Lydia slept. The sun dipped low beyond the white hills, filling the living-room with scarlet for one breathless moment, before a blanket of twilight hid all save the red eyes of the base burner. Amos came home at seven and he and Lizzie ate supper in silence except for the old lady's story of Kent's visit.
"Poor young one," muttered Amos, looking slowly toward the quiet blond head on the faded brown cushion. "I'm glad she's a child and 'll forget it soon."
Lizzie gave Amos a curious glance. "You don't know Lydia, Amos," she said.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Honoré Willsie Honoré Willsie Lydia of the Pines — The Ravished Nest (1917)

John Levine, with Lydia and Florence Dombey on his lap, Amos with the drowsy little Patience in his arms, and Lizzie, her tired hands folded across her comfortable stomach, sat round the base burner while the wind rose outside and the boom of the ice-locked lake filled the room from time to time.
"Fearful cold when the ice cracks that way," said Amos.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Honoré Willsie Honoré Willsie Lydia of the Pines — The Ravished Nest (1917)

Kent ate hugely and talked without cessation. About what, Lydia did not know, for the sleep that had been long denied her was claiming her. She did not know that she almost buried her head in her second cup of cocoa, nor that Kent helped carry her to the couch behind the living-room base burner.
"Is she sick? Shall I get the doctor?" he whispered as old Lizzie tucked a shawl over her.
"Sick! No! No! She's just dead for sleep. She's neither cried nor eat nor had a decent hour of sleep since it happened. And now, thanks to you, she's done all three. You are a good boy, Kent Moulton."
Source: Wikisource

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