After the conversation yesterday afternoon, I was obliged to own to myself that I had been too hasty in my conclusions; and I determined to be very careful of what I said to sister. I _walked_ over to the cottage, therefore, instead of running, as I felt inclined, and found mother alone in the parlor completing a dress for Emily. "Where is sister?" I asked. "She is in her room, packing. I wish you would persuade her to give up this journey, or at least to postpone it. She really is not well." "That is just my errand. Frank is decided against it." "Well then, go and talk with the child, and I wish you success." I peeped into the room, and saw her on her knees at the trunk, while Ruth was passing articles to her young mistress from the drawers, closets, etc. I said, "Ruth, I will take your place," and she went below. Now I had prepared a kind of speech for the occasion; but at the time I couldn't think of a word of it. "Emily," said I, sitting down instead of assisting her, "I have come to ask a great favor of you. Will you grant it?" "Certainly, my love, why should you doubt it?" "Well then, Frank, mother and I, are very unhappy to have you leave in your present state of health, and we ask you to please defer your visit to C---- until another time." Emily looked much troubled, as she rose and stood before me. "You mean kindly; but believe me, dear sister, it would be far better and easier for me to be away. My head-ache is better, and is only occasioned by the heat." "Well, darling, will you, to please me, postpone it for one week?" She stood a full minute, as if calculating her own strength to endure; and then said, "I will, from such a motive, and for so short a time." "Then," said I, joyfully, "one subject is disposed of. You've granted me one favor,--I want another." "You're fortunate," she replied, smiling, "in finding me in good humor. However, you're not very troublesome in that way. I think I can venture to promise." "Well," said I, casting down my eyes, (I could not for my life meet hers,) "I want that beautiful bride's cake." "Why, Cora," she replied, as I glanced up and met a very mischievous look, "I didn't know you were so fond of cake. I'll make you half a dozen loaves." "No, but I want _that_ one." "Why?" "Because," I answered, my heart leaping into my mouth, "there will be no bride there to need it." Emily started, and then said calmly, "that makes no difference." "But," said I, eagerly, "he has no bride. Mr. Benson is _not_ married. The report was false." Poor girl! she fairly shook with emotion, and her face turned deadly pale. She gazed at me for one instant, and then threw herself down by the side of the bed. "My God, I thank thee for removing the awful load of guilt from my heart," was all that I could hear, though she continued a long time in that attitude. When she arose, I put my arm around her, as she sat shading her face with her hand. "Sister, you will be happier now."