r
gently, but tell her the truth.' No! Your aunt was too fond of you. She
daunted me with dreadful fits of crying, when I tried to persuade her.
And that wasn't the worst of it. She bade me remember what an excitable
man your father was--she reminded me that the misery of your mother's
death laid him low with brain fever--she said, 'Emily takes after her
father; I have heard you say it yourself; she has his constitution, and
his sensitive nerves. Don't you know how she loved him--how she talks
of him to this day? Who can tell (if we are not careful) what dreadful
mischief we may do?' That was how my mistress worked on me. I got
infected with her fears; it was as if I had caught an infection of
disease. Oh, my dear, blame me if it must be; but don't forget how I
have suffered for it since! I was driven away from my dying mistress, in
terror of what she might say, while you were watching at her bedside. I
have lived in fear of what you might ask me--and have longed to go back
to you--and have not had the courage to do it. Look at me now!"

The poor woman tried to take out her handkerchief; her quivering hand
helplessly entangled itself in her dress. "I can't even dry my eyes,"
she said faintly. "Try to forgive me, miss!"

Emily put her arms round the old nurse's neck. "It is _you_," she said
sadly, "who must forgive me."

For a while they were silent. Through the window that was open to
the little garden, came the one sound that could be heard--the gentle
trembling of leaves in the evening wind.

The silence was harshly broken by the bell at the cottage door. They
both started.

Emily's heart beat fast. "Who can it be?" she said.

Mrs. Ellmother rose. "Shall I say you can't see anybody?" she asked,
before leaving the room.

"Yes! yes!"

Emily heard the door opened--heard low voices in the passage. There was
a momentary interval. Then, Mrs. Ellmother returned. She said nothing.
Emily spoke to her.

"Is it a visitor?"

"Yes."

"Have you said I can't see anybody?"

"I couldn't say it."

"Why not?"

"Don't be hard on him, my dear. It's Mr. Alban Morris."

CHAPTER L. MISS LADD ADVISES.

Mrs. Ellmother sat by the dying embers of the kitchen fire; thinking
over the events of the day in perplexity and distress.

She had waited at the cottage door for a friendly word with Alban, after
he had left Emily. The stern despair in his face warned her to let him
go in silence. She had looked into the parlor n