Somehow, it seemed impossible to think of lovers in connection
with Miss Emily. She was short and stout and pudgy, with a face
so round and fat and red that it seemed quite featureless; and
her hair was scanty and gray. She walked with a waddle, just
like Mrs. Rachel Lynde, and she was always rather short of
breath. It was hard to believe Miss Emily had ever been young;
yet old Mr. Murray, who lived next door to the Leiths, not only
expected us to believe it, but assured us that she had been very
pretty.
"THAT, at least, is impossible," said Diana to me.
And then, one day, Miss Emily died. I'm afraid no one was very
sorry. It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the
world and leave not one person behind to be sorry because you
have gone. Miss Emily was dead and buried before Diana and I
heard of it at all. The first I knew of it was when I came home
from Orchard Slope one day and found a queer, shabby little black
horsehair trunk, all studded with brass nails, on the floor of my
room at Green Gables. Marilla told me that Jack Leith had
brought it over, and said that it had belonged to Miss Emily and
that, when she was dying, she asked them to send it to me.
"But what is in it? And what am I to do with it?" I asked in
bewilderment.
"There was nothing said about what you were to do with it. Jack
said they didn't know what was in it, and hadn't looked into it,
seeing that it was your property.
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