Jane’s countenance, in itself so exquisitely lovely, was now an object of deep and melancholy interest.  Upon it might be observed faint traces of those contending emotions whose struggle had been on that day so nearly fatal to her mind for ever.  The smile left behind it a faint and dying light, like the dim radiance of a spring evening when melting into dusk;—­whilst the secret dread of becoming a cast-away, and the still abiding consciousness of having deceived her father, blended into the languid serenity of her face a slight expression of the pain they had occasioned her while awake.

“Unhappy girl!  There she lay in her innocence and beauty like a summer lake whose clear waters have settled into stillness after a recent storm; reflecting, as they pass, the clouds now softened into milder forms, which had but a little time before so deeply agitated them.

“Oh, no wonder,” said her father, “that the boy who loves her should say he would not leave her, and that separation would break down the strength of his heart and spirit.  A fairer thing—­a purer being never closed her eyelids upon the cares and trials of life.  Light may those caros be, oh! beloved of our hearts; and refreshing the slumbers that are upon you; and may the blessing and merciful providence of God guard and keep you from evil!  Amen!  Amen!”

Maria on this occasion was deeply affected Jane’s arm lay outside the coverlid, and her sister observed that her white and beautiful fingers were affected from time to time with slight starting twitches, apparently nervous.

This, contrasted with the stillness of her face, impressed the girl with an apprehension that the young mourner, though asleep, was still suffering pain; but when her father spoke and blessed her, she felt her heart getting full, and bending over Jane she imprinted a kiss upon her cheek;—­affectionate, indeed, was that kiss, but timid and light as the full of the thistle-down upon a leaf of the rose or the lily.  When she withdrew her lips, a tear was visible on the cheek of the sleeper—­a circumstance which, slight as it was, gave a character of inexpressible love and tenderness to the act.  They then quietly left her, with the excertion of Agnes, and all were relieved and delighted at seeing her enjoy a slumber so sound and refreshing.

The next morning they arose earlier than usual, in order to watch the mood in which she might awake; and when Agnes, who had been her bed-fellow, came down stairs, every eye was turned upon her with an anxiety proportioned to the disastrous consequences that might result from any unfavorable turn in her state of feeling.

“Agnes,” said her father, “how is she?—­in what state?—­in what frame of mind?”

“She appears much distressed, papa—­feels conscious that Charles is gone—­but as yet has made no allusion to their parting yesterday.  Indeed I do not think she remembers it.  She is already up, and begged this moment of me to leave her to herself for a little.”