Hannah's heart ached for her sister.
"This will never do," she said; "suspense is killing her. I must end
it."
So one morning while they were at work as usual, and Nora's hand was
pausing on her spindle, and her eyes were fixed upon the narrow path
leading through the Forest Valley, Hannah spoke: "It will not do, dear; he is not coming! he will never come again; and
since he cannot be anything to you, he ought not to come!"
"Oh, Hannah, I know it; but it is killing me!"
These words were surprised from the poor girl; for the very next instant
her waxen cheeks, brow, neck, and very ears kindled up into fiery
blushes, and hiding her face in her hands she sank down in her chair
overwhelmed.
Hannah watched, and then went to her, and began to caress her, saying: "Nora, Nora, dear; Nora, love; Nora, my own darling, look up!"
"Don't speak to me; I am glad he does not come; never mention his name
to me again, Hannah," said the stricken girl, in a low, peremptory
whisper.
Hannah felt that this order must be obeyed, and so she went back to her
loom and worked on in silence.
After a few minutes Nora arose and resumed her spinning, and for some
time the wheel whirled briskly and merrily around. But towards the
middle of the day it began to turn slowly and still more slowly.
At length it stopped entirely, and the spinner said: "Hannah, I feel very tired; would you mind if I should lay down a little
while?"
"No, certainly not, my darling. Are you poorly, Nora?"
"No, I am quite well, only tired," replied the girl, as she threw
herself upon the bed.
Perhaps Hannah had made a fatal mistake in saying to her sister, "He
will never come again," and so depriving her of the last frail plank of
hope, and letting her sink in the waves of despair. Perhaps, after all,
suspense is not the worst of all things to bear; for in suspense there
is hope, and in hope, life! Certain it is that a prop seemed withdrawn
from Nora, and from this day she rapidly sunk. She would not take to her
bed. Every morning she would insist upon rising and dressing, though
daily the effort was more difficult. Every day she would go to her wheel
and spin slowly and feebly, until by fatigue she was obliged to stop and
throw herself upon the bed. To all Hannah's anxious questions she
answered: "I am very well! indeed there is nothing ails me; only I am so tired!"