That ever faithful sister no sooner heard the words, than a smile of indescribable happiness overspread her face, which, however, became instantly pale, and the next moment she sunk down, and in a long swoon forgot both the love and sorrow of her favorite sister.  In little more than a minute the family were assembled in the sickroom, and heard from Mrs. Sinclair’s lips the history, as she thought, of their beloved one’s recovery.  Agnes was soon restored, and indeed it would be impossible to witness a scene of such unexpected delight, as that presented by the rejoicing group which surrounded the bed of the happy—­alas, too happy, Jane Sinclair.

“Is it possible, my dear,” said her father, “that our darling is restored to her sense and recollection?”

“Try her, Henry,” said the proud mother.

“Jane, my love, do you not know me?” he asked.

“To be sure, papa; to be sure,” she replied smiling.

“And you know all of us, my heart’s treasure?”

“Help me up a little,” she replied; “now I will show you:  you are my papa—­there is my mamma—­that is William—­and Maria there will kiss me.”

Maria, from whose eyes gushed tears of delight, flew to the sweet girl’s bosom.

“But,” added Jane, “there is another—­another that must come to my bosom and stay there—­Agnes!”

“I am here, my own darling,” replied Agnes, stooping and folding her arms about the beautiful creature’s snow-white neck, whilst she kissed her lips with a fervor of affection equal to the delight experienced at her supposed recovery.

“There now, Agnes, you are to sleep with mo to-night:  but I want my papa.  Papa, I want you.”

Her father stood forward, his mild eyes beaming with an expression of delight and happiness.

“I am here, my sweet child.”

“You ought to be a proud man, papa; a proud man:  although I say it, that ought not to say it, you are father to the most beautiful girl in Europe.  Charles Osborne has traveled Europe, and can find none at all so beautiful as the Fawn of Springvale, and so he is coming home one of these days to marry me, because, you know, because he could find none else so beautiful.  If he had—­if he had—­you know—­you may be assured, I would not be the girl of his choice.  Yet I would marry him still, if it were not for one thing; and that is—­that I am foredoomed; a reprobate and a cast-away; predestined—­predestined—­and so I would not wish to drag him to hell along with me; I shall therefore act the heroic part, and refuse him.  Still it is something—­oh it is much—­and I am proud of it, not only on my own account, but on his, to be the most beautiful girl in Europe!  I am proud of it, because he would not marry if I were not.”

Oh unhappy, but affectionate mourners, what—­what was all you had yet suffered, when contrasted with the sudden and unexpected misery of this bitter moment Your hearts had gathered in joy and happiness around the bed of that sweet girl, the gleams of whose insanity you had mistaken for the light of reason; and now has hope disappeared, and the darkness of utter despair fallen upon you all for ever.