And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from the village every morning at a certain hour, and attend to the education of little Lewie Elwyn.  It was soon observed, that as the young clergyman rode from the Hemlocks back to the village, it seemed a difficult matter for him to pass Mr. Wharton’s lane, but he often, and then oftener, and at length every day, turned his horse’s head up the lane, and stopped to make a call.  And the children (than whom there are no quicker observers in matters of this kind) soon made up their minds that the object of Mr. Malcolm’s frequent and prolonged visits was sweet cousin Emily.  And they thought too, judging by the bright blush that came up in cousin Emily’s usually pale cheek when he was announced, and by the look of interest with which she listened to his conversations with her uncle, or replied to him when he addressed a remark to herself, that cousin Emily was by no means indifferent to the young minister.

Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watching with much interest, as children always do the progress of a love affair, they were surprised and disappointed when they found that as Mr. Malcolm’s attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin Emily gradually withdrew from his society, and often declined altogether to come into the sitting room when he was there.  Yet they were certain she liked him, for they often found her watching from her window his retreating figure; and sometimes before she knew that she was observed, she would be seen to wipe away the tears which were stealing unbidden down her cheek.

At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of the front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was pale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him were at stake.  And he asked for Emily.  There was no bright blush in her cheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble.  The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted his horse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, but the look of suspense and expectation had passed away, and in its place was that of settled and fixed despair.  Emily went to her room, and to her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again appeared in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more pensive.

And the young minister came no more.  That was all.

He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or from the Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned his head towards Mr. Wharton’s lane, he was not permitted to follow his inclinations, but was speedily hurried by.

And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a contraction about the brow which told of 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.