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: