from home, and the third expressed the uncommon benefit which he had, during his brief residence there, experienced from the use of the waters.  Against this last argument the father had nothing to urge.  His son’s health was to him a consideration paramount to every other, and when he found himself improved either by the air or waters of Bath, he should not hurry his return as he had intended.  “Only write to your friends,” said he, “they are as anxious for the perfect establishment of your health as I am.”

This latter correspondence between Mr. Osborne and his son, was submitted to Mr. Sinclair, that it might be mentioned to serve as an apology for Charles’s delay in replying to her last letter.  This step was suggested by Mr. Sinclair himself, who dreaded the consequences which any appearance of neglect might have upon a heart so liable to droop as that of his gentle daughter.  Jane, who was easily depressed, but not suspicious, smiled at the simplicity of her papa, as she said, in deeming it necessary to make any apology for Charles Osborne’s not writing to her by return of post.

“It will be time enough,” she added, “when his letters get cool, and come but seldom, to make excuses for him.  Surely, my dear papa, if any one blamed him, I myself would be, and ought to be the first to defend him.”

“Yet,” observed William, “you could complain to me about his letting a letter of yours stand over a fortnight before he answered it.  Jane—­Jane—­there’s no knowing you girls; particularly when you’re in love; but, indeed, then you don’t know yourselves, so how should we?”

“But, papa,” she added, looking earnestly upon him; “it is rather strange that you are so anxious to apologize for Charles.  I cannot question my papa, and I shall not; but yet upon second thoughts, it is very strange.”

“No, my love, but I would not have you a day uneasy.”

“Well,” she replied, musing—­but with a keen eye bent alternately upon him and William; “it is a simple case, I myself have a very ready solution for his want of punctuality, if it can be called such, or if it continue such.”

“And pray what is it, Jane,” asked William.

“Excuse me, dear William—­if I told you it might reach him, and then he might shape his conduct to meet it—­I may mention it some day, though; but I hope there will never be occasion.  Papa, don’t you ask me, because if you do, I shall feel it my duty to tell you; and I would rather not, sir, except you press me.  But why after all should I make a secret of it.  It is, papa, the test of all things, as well as of Charles’s punctuality—­for, of his affection I will never doubt.  It is time—­time; but indeed I wish you had not spoken to me about it; I was not uneasy.”