The Doctor then departed, having promised to see Jane on the next day but one.  This gentleman’s opinion, however, with respect to his beautiful patient, was not literally correct; still, although she lingered longer than could naturally be anticipated from her excessive weakness, yet he was right in saying that her thread of life resembled, that of the gossamer.

In the course of the same evening, she gave the first symptom of a lucid interval; still in point of fact her mind was never wholly restored to sanity.  She had slept long and soundly, and after awaking rang the bell for some one to come to her.  This was unusual, and in a moment she was attended by Agnes and her mother.

“I am very weak, my dear mamma,” said she, “and although I cannot say that I feel any particular complaint—­I speak of a bodily one—­yet I feel that my strength is gone, and that you will not be troubled with your poor Jane much longer.”

“Do not think so, dear love, do not think so,” replied her mother; “bear up, my darling, bear up, and all may yet be well.”

“Agnes,” said she, “come to me.  I know not—­perhaps—­dear Agnes——­”

She could utter no more.  Agnes flew to her, and they wept in each other’s arms for many minutes.

“I would be glad to see my papa,” she said, “and my dear Maria and William.  Oh mamma, mamma, I suspect that I have occasioned you all much sorrow.”

“No, no, no—­but more joy now, my heart’s own treasure, a thousand times more joy than you ever occasioned us of sorrow.  Do not think it, oh, do not think it.”

Her father, who had just returned from visiting Charles Osborne, now entered her bedroom, accompanied by William and his two daughters—­for Agnes had flown to inform them of the happy turn which had taken place in Jane’s malady.  When he entered, she put her white but wasted hand out, and raised her head to kiss him.

“My dear papa,” said she, “it is so long, I think, since I have seen you; and Maria, too.  Oh, dear Maria, come to me—­but you must not weep, dear sister.  Alas, Maria,”—­for the poor girl wept bitterly—­“Oh, my I sister, but your heart is good and loving.  William”—­she kissed him, and looking tenderly into his face, said,

“Why, oh, why are you all in tears?  Imitate my papa, dear William.  I am so glad to see you!  Papa, I have been—­I fear I have been—­but, indeed, I remember when I dreaded as much.  My heart, my heart is heavy when I think of all the grief and affliction I must have occasioned you; but you will all forgive your poor Jane, for you know she would not do so if she could avoid it.  Papa, how pale and careworn you look! as, indeed, you all do.  Oh, God help me.  I see, I see—­I read on your sorrowful faces the history of all you have suffered on my account.”

They all cherished, and petted, and soothed the sweet creature; and, indeed, rejoiced over her as if she had been restored to them from the dead.