Emma was nonplussed. She knew that it was beautiful in heaven, to be
sure; but she did not want to go there now; the earth too was beautiful
and she was happy enough here; she had not half exhausted the pleasures
and delights of her life. Nora seemed waiting for an answer, and Emma
stammered out:--

"I never thought about it at all!"

Nora looked disappointed.

"Oh! that is too bad that we cannot talk about heaven. There is no one
but Clarissa whom I can speak to about it, and she did not come with us;
I don't mention it to mamma, because she begins to cry directly. I
thought when you came you would like it; I'm sorry you don't."

Emma did not answer. She was trying to think of something which Nora
would like to talk about instead of heaven. A gleam of hope came to her.

"I know one thing you will enjoy," she said; "very soon they will begin
to cut the grass on the meadow, and they will pile it into beautiful
soft hay-cocks, and we will go and lie down upon them all day long; it
cannot tire you to lie in the hay, and it's perfectly lovely."

But Nora only shook her head again, and said nothing; she had no belief
in the power of hay to make her well again, and the prospect was not to
be compared to the pleasures of a heavenly garden. Emma thought it time
for her to say good-bye. Mrs. Stanhope came in, and begged her to stay a
while longer; her mother knew where she was, and there was no reason for
her hurrying away. Nora, however, did not second her mother's efforts,
and Emma was anxious to go. It was getting late, she said, confusedly.