Her father laid his knife and fork down, and fixing his eyes affectionately upon her, said: 

“My child, there is something wrong with you.”

Jane herself, who sat beside her mother, made no reply; but putting her arms about her neck, she laid her cheek against hers, and wept for many minutes.  She then rose in a paroxysm of increasing sorrow, and throwing her arms about her father’s neck also, sobbed out as upon the occasion already mentioned:—­

“Oh, papa, pity and forgive me;—­your poor Jane, pity her and forgive her.”

The old man struggled with his grief, for he saw that the tears of the family rendered it a duty upon him to be firm:  nay, he smiled after a manner, and said in a voice of forced good humor: 

“You are a foolish slut, Jane, and play upon us, because you know we pet and love you too much.  If you cannot eat your dinner go play, and get an appetite for to-morrow.”

She kissed him, and as was her habit of compliance with his slightest wish, left the room as he had desired her.

“Henry,” said his wife, “there is something wrong with her.”

For a time he could not speak; but after a deep silence he wiped away a few straggling-tears, and replied: 

“Yes! yes! do you not see that there is a mystery upon my child!—­a mystery which weighs down my heart with affliction.”

“Dear papa,” said Agnes, “don’t forbode evil for her.”

“It’s a mere nervous affection,” said William.  “She ought to take more exercise.  Of late she has been too much within.”

Maria and Agnes exchanged looks; and for the first time, a suspicion of the probable cause flashed simultaneously across their minds.  They sat beside each other at dinner, and Maria said in a whisper: 

“Agnes, you and I are thinking of the same thing.”

“I am thinking of Jane,” said her candid and affectionate sister.

“My opinion is,” rejoined Maria, “that she is attached to Charles Osborne.”

“I suspect it is so,” whispered Agnes.  “Indeed from many things that occur to me I am now certain of it.”

“I don’t see any particular harm in that,” replied Maria.

“It may be a very unhappy attachment for Jane, though,” said Agnes.  “Only think, Maria, if Osborne should not return her affection:  I know Jane,—­she would sink under it.”

“Not return her affection!” replied her sister.  “Where would he find another so beautiful, and every way so worthy of him?”

“Very true, Maria; and I trust in heaven he may think so.  But how, if he should never know or suspect her love for him?”

“I cannot answer that,” said the other; “but we will talk more about it by-and-by.”

Whilst this dialogue went on in a low tone, the other members of the family sat in silence and concern, each evidently anxious to develop the mystery of Jane’s recent excitement at dinner.  At length the old man’s eye fell upon his two other daughters, and he said: