Presently Nora saw a young girl coming up the hill-side towards the house.  Could it be Emma?  Nora saw with amazement how she came springing up the steep path without once pausing to take breath.  It was inconceivable!  She would surely fall from sheer exhaustion!  But the next moment there was a knock at the door, and in came Emma with bright red cheeks, and in her hand a bunch of red and blue wild-flowers, which she held out to the pale little invalid, displaying by the gesture a brown, well-rounded arm.  Mrs. Stanhope greeted her kindly and gave her a seat near Nora, who took the flowers with grateful thanks.  No two girls could have offered a greater contrast to each other than these two, as they sat side by side.  Emma, glowing, active, hearty, her every movement speaking of healthy energy; and Nora, pale, languid, like a broken lily, that would be wafted away by the next passing breeze.  Mrs. Stanhope looked at them for a few moments, and then, as the tears rose to her eyes, she hastened away into the other room.

“Where did you find those beautiful flowers?” asked Nora.

“In the meadow, as I came along; it is full of them; red and white marguerites and forget-me-nots, such a quantity! you ought to see them!  As soon as you are well enough, we will go and pick forget-me-nots, and later will come strawberries and then bilberries.”

Nora shook her head.  “I should not enjoy it.”

Emma did not know what to make of this, for she could think of nothing more delightful, but immediately she bethought herself.

“Oh, of course you don’t know how pleasant it is, because you don’t have such flowers where you live, and strawberries don’t grow wild there; but you will enjoy going out to pick them; you can’t help it, it seems as if you could never pick enough; it’s such fun that you hate to have it time to go home.”

“Yes, I always think it must be beautiful to be out-of-doors,” said Nora thoughtfully.  “But when I go it tires me terribly, and there’s not a bit of fun when I’m all tired out.”

Emma looked at her companion as puzzled as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue.  “Tired” was a word unknown to Emma’s vocabulary.  Her greatest sorrow when evening came, was that the day was done and she must go to bed.  No day was long enough to tire her nimble feet, and her only regret was that she ever had to stop walking and running and climbing.  She stared at Nora a moment, not knowing what to say, and then the very face at which she was gazing put a thought into her head, and she said cheerfully:—­

“I see now what you mean, but that is only because you are not strong and well; pretty soon you will be well, and then you will feel very differently; you will be like me, and I am never tired.”

Nora shook her head.  “I shall never be like you.  I was always so, always tired.  I can’t bear even to think about running; the very thought tires me.  I shall never enjoy it.”