When the account of Milly's life was made up, there must be put into
the record long, wordless stretches of uncomplaining and prayerful
patience, hidden from the eyes of all mankind. The capabilities of
women of this sort for quiet suffering are as infinitely pathetic as
they are measureless; and, although she was silent, the dark rings
under her eyes and the lagging step told how her sorrow was wearing
upon her. She went on faithfully with her work; she held still to the
faith that somehow help was sure to come; and as only such
women can be, she was patient with the patience of a god.
Milly was surprised one afternoon by a visit from Orin Stanton, the
half brother of John. The sculptor had never before come to see her,
and, although Milly was little given to censoriousness, she could not
avoid the too-obvious reflection that, in one known to be so
consistently self-seeking as was Orin, the probability was that some
selfish motive lay behind the call. Orin had never been especially fond
of Milly, and since his return from Europe, where he had been
maintained by the liberality of an old lady, who, in a summer visit to
Feltonville, had been attracted by his talent for modelling in clay, he
had avoided as far as possible all intercourse with his townspeople.
The old lady, who took much innocent pleasure in imagining herself the
patroness of a future Phidias, died suddenly one day, leaving the will
by which provision was made for young Stanton's future unhappily
without signature; a fact which ever after furnished him with definite
grounds upon which to found his accusations against society and fate.
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