intense suffering; and
sometimes, early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and not
appear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these occasions
Agnes followed her, as she had observed the deadly paleness of her
countenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her room. As
Emily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as of one in
extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the outside;
and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished.

"Cousin Emily," Agnes called, "dear cousin Emily, may I come in?"

There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a
plaintive moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her
knees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying
to pray, and Agnes caught the words, "Oh, for strength, for strength to
endure this agony, and not to murmur."

Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: "What is it, cousin Emily? Can
you not tell _me_?"

Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said:

"Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is
you: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes."

Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads of
perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her,
holding her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said:

"Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; but
I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times,
more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitude
of my own room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled to
keep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty's
anxious interrogatories; for, in her present state of health, I would
not for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble which the knowledge
of my sufferings would bring upon her."

Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes _all_.

"And now," said she, "dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes like
this; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can you,
do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful
operation? I _can_ endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but as
accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a
comfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time."

"I _think_ I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could