ent to bed to weep in silent sorrow.

All other sorrows may be shared and lightened by sympathy except that of
a young girl's disappointment in love. With that no one intermeddles
with impunity. To notice it is to distress her; to speak of it is to
insult her; even her sister must in silence respect it; as the expiring
dove folds her wing over her mortal wound, so does the maiden jealously
conceal her grief and die. Days grew into weeks, and Herman did not
come. And still Nora watched and listened as she spun--every nerve
strained to its utmost tension in vigilance and expectancy. Human
nature--especially a girl's nature--cannot bear such a trial for any
long time together. Nora's health began to fail; first she lost her
spirits, and then her appetite, and finally her sleep. She grew pale,
thin, and nervous.

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 say