“You,” said Jane, “have been guilty of a great sin.”

“So they said, and that I brought myself to shame too.  But William will take away that if I could find him.”

“You told an indirect falsehood to your father—­you concealed the truth—­and now the hand of God is upon you.  There is nothing for you now but death.”

“I don’t like death—­it took away my baby—­if they would give me back my baby I would not care—–­except John—­I would hide from him.”

“William’s married to another and dying, so that you may become a queen of sorrow too—­would you like that—­sorrow is a sweet thing.”

“How could he marry another, and be promised to me?”

“Is your heart cold?” inquired Jane.

“No,” replied the other smiling, “indeed I am to be married to-morrow?”

“Let me see you early in the morning,” said Jane—­“if you do, perhaps I may give you this,” showing the letter.  “Your heart cannot be cold if you keep it—­I carry it here,” said she, putting her hand to her bosom—­“but I need not, for mine will be warm enough soon.”

“Mine’s warm enough too,” said the other.

“If William comes, you will find poison on his lips,” said Jane, “and that will kill you—­the poison of polluted lips would kill a thousand faithful hearts—­it, would—­and there is nothing for treachery but sorrow.  Be sorrowful—­be sorrowful—­it is the only thing to ease a deserted heart—­it eases mine.”

“But then they say you’re crazed with love.”

“No, no—­with sorrow; but listen, never violate truth—­never be guilty of falsehood; if you do, you will become unhappy; and if you do not, the light of God’s countenance will shine upon you.”

“Indeed it is no lie, for as sure as you stand there to-morrow is the day.”

“I think I love you,” said the gentle and affectionate Jane.  “Will you kiss me? my sister Agnes does when I ask her.”

“Why shouldn’t I, my bonnie, bonnie lady?  Why shouldn’t I?  Oh! indeed, but you are bonnie, and yet be crazed with love!  Well, well, he will never comb a gray head that deserted the bonnie Fawn of Spring-vale.”

Jane, who was much the taller, stooped, and with a smile of melancholy, but unconscious sympathy, kissed the forlorn creature’s lips, and after beckoning Agnes to follow her, passed on.

That embrace!  Who could describe its character?  Oh! man, man, and woman, woman, think of this!

Agnes, after Jane and she had returned home, found that a search had been instigated during their absence for the letter which Charles had written to his father.  Mr. Sinclair, anxious to return it, had missed it from among his papers, and felt seriously concerned at its disappearance.

“I only got it to read to the family,” said he, “and what am I to say, or what can I say, when Mr. Osborne asks me, as he will, to return it?  Agnes, do you know anything of it?”