They knew by experience that any attempt at comfort would then produce more evil than good.  For near two hours she uttered to herself in a low chant, “I am the star of sorrow, etc.,” after which she sank as before into a profound slumber.

Her intervals of reason, as death approached, were mercifully extended.  Whilst they lasted, nothing could surpass the noble standard of Christian duty by which her feelings and moral sentiments were regulated.  For a fortnight after this, she sank with such a certain but imperceptible approximation towards death that the eyes even of affection could, scarcely notice the gradations of its approach.

During this melancholy period, her father was summoned upon an occasion which was strongly calculated to try the sincerity of his Christian professions.  Not a day passed that he did not forget his own sorrows, and the reader knows how heavily they pressed upon him—­in order to prepare the mind of his daughter’s destroyer for the awful change which death was about to open upon his soul.  He reasoned—­he prayed—­he wept—­he triumphed—­yes, he triumphed, nor did he ever leave the death-bed of Charles Osborne, until he had succeeded in fixing his heart upon that God “who willeth not the death of a sinner.”

A far heavier trial upon the Christian’s fortitude, however, was soon to come upon him.  Jane, as the reader knows, was now at the very portals of heaven.  For hours in the day—­she was perfectly rational; but again she would wander into her chant of sorrow,—­as much from weakness as from the original cause of her malady; for upon this it is difficult if not impossible to determine.

On the last evening, however, that her father ever attended Charles Osborne, he came home as usual, and was about to inquire how Jane felt, when Maria come to him with eyes which weeping had made red, and said—­

“Oh papa—­I fear—­we all fear, that—­I cannot utter it—­I cannot—­I cannot—­Oh papa, at last the hour we fear is come.”

“Remember, my child, that you are speaking,” said this heroic Christian, “remember that you are speaking to a Christian father, who will not set up his affections, nor his weaknesses, nor his passions against the will of God.”

“Oh! but papa—­Jane, Jane”—­she burst into bitter tears for more than a minute, and then added—­“Jane, papa, is dying—­leaving us at last!”

“Maria,” said he, calmly, “leave me for some minutes.  You know not, dear child, what my struggles have been.  Leave me now—­this is the trial I fear—­and now must I, and so must you all—­but now must I——­Oh, leave me, leave me.”

He knelt down and prayed; but in less than three, minutes, Agnes, armed with affection—­commanding and absolute it was from that loving sister—­came to him.

She laid her hand upon his arm, and pressed it.  “Papa!”—­

“I know it,” said he, “she is going; but, Agnes, we must be Christians.”