She flung herself desperately by the bedside, throwing out her arms in the effort to free her chest from its anguishing constraint.
In an hour she went down.

Her mother was sitting miserably in the kitchen, and Emily, dreading to have to talk again, kept apart in the parlour.

When it began to dusk, Hood descended, and supper was prepared for in the usual way.

There was small pretence of conversation, and, as soon as possible, Emily bade her parents good-night.

It was long before she heard them go to their room; they whispered together in passing her door.
And now the solemn hours shed about her guardian silence, and she could listen to the voice of her soul.