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 Certain it is that a prop seemed withdrawn from Nora, and from this day she rapidly sunk.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!" One day about this time Reuben Gray called to see Hannah. Reuben was one of the most discreet of lovers, never venturing to visit his beloved more than once in each month. "Look at Nora!" said Hannah, in a heart-broken tone, as she pointed to her sister, who was sitting at her wheel, not spinning, but gazing from the window down the narrow footpath, and apparently lost in mournful reverie. "I'll go and fetch a medical man," said Reuben, and he left the hut for that purpose.