She fixed her eyes with an earnest penetration on him as she spoke.

“He is expected home soon, Jane.”

“He is not ill, William; and you have all permitted me to deceive myself into a belief that he is; because you felt that I would rather ten thousand times that he were dead than false—­than false.”

“He could not, he dare not be false to you, my dear, after having been solemnly betrothed to you, I may say with the consent of your father and his.”

“Dare not—­ha—­there is meaning in that, William; your complexion is heightened, too; and so I have found out your secret, my brother.  Sunk as is my heart, you see I have greater penetration than you dream of.  So he is not sick, but false; and his love for me is gone like a dream.  Well, well; but yet I have laid down my own plan of resignation.  You would not guess what it is?  Come, guess; I will hear nothing further till you guess.”

He thought it was better to humor her, and replied in accordance with the hope of I his father.

“Religion, my dear Jane, and reliance on God.”

“That was my first plan; that was my plan in case the malady I suspected had taken him from me—­but what is my plan for his falsehood?”

“I cannot guess, dear Jane.”

“Death, William.  What consoler like death? what peace so calm as that of the grave?  Let the storm of life howl ever so loudly, go but six inches beneath the clay of the church-yard and how still is all there!”

“Indeed, Jane, you distress yourself without cause; never trust me again if Charles will not soon come home, and you and he be happy.  Why, my dear Jane, I thought you had more fortitude than to sink under a calamity that has not yet reached you.  Surely it will be time enough when you find that Charles is false to take it so much to heart as you do.”

“That is a good and excellent advice, my dear William; but listen, and I will give a far better one:  never deceive your father; never prevaricate with papa, and then you may rest satisfied that your heart will not be crushed by such a calamity as that which has fallen upon me.  I deceived papa; and I am now the poor hopeless cast-away that you see me.  Remember that advice, William—­keep it, and God will bless you.”

William would have remonstrated with her at greater length, but he saw that she was resolved to have no further conversation on the subject.  When it was closed she walked slowly and composedly out of the garden, and immediately took her way to those favorite places among which she was latterly in the habit of wandering.  One of her expressions, however, sunk upon his affectionate heart too deeply to permit him to rest under the fearful apprehension which it generated.  After musing for a little he followed her with a pale face and a tearful eye, resolved to draw from her, with as much tenderness as possible, the exact meaning which, in her allusion to Osborne’s falsehood, she had applied to death.