When the ceremony of the toilette was over, she and her sister returned to the parlor, and they could notice a slight tinge of color added to her pale cheek, by the proud consciousness of her beauty.  The exertion, however, she had undergone, considering her extremely weak and exhausted state of of health was more than she could bear long.  But a few minutes had elapsed after her reappearance in the parlor, when she said—­

“Mamma, I am unwell; I want to be undressed, and to go to bed; I am very faint; help me to bed, mamma—­and if you come and stay with me, I shall tell you every thing about my prospects in life—­yes, and in death, too; because I have prospects in death—­but ah,” she added, shuddering, “they are dark—­dark!”

Seldom, indeed, was a family tried like this family; and never was the endurance of domestic love, and its triumph over the chilling habit of affliction, more signally manifested than in the undying tenderness of their hearts and hands, in all that was necessary to her comfort, or demanded by the childish caprices of her malady.

On going upstairs, she kissed them all as usual, but they then discovered, for the first time, in all its bitterness, what a dark and melancholy enjoyment it is to kiss the lips of a maniac, who has loved us, and whom we still must love.

“Jane,” said William, struggling to be firm, “kiss me, too, before you go.”

“Come to me, William,” said she, “for I am not able to go to you.  Oh, my brother, if I did not love you, I would be very wicked.”

The affectionate young man kissed her, and, as he did, the big tears rolled down his cheeks.  He wept aloud.

“I never, never gave her up till now,” he exclaimed; “but”—­and his face darkened into deep indignation as he spoke, “we shall see about it yet, Jane dear.  I shall allow a month or two—­she may recover; but if I suffer this to go unav——­” he paused; “I meant nothing,” he added, “except that I will not despair of her yet.”

About ten days restored her to something like health, but it was obvious that her constitution had sustained a shock which it could not long survive.  Of this Dr. M’Cormick assured them.

“In so delicate a subject as she is,” he added, “we usually find that when reason goes, the physical powers soon follow it.  But if my opinion be correct, I think you will have the consolation of seeing her mind clear before she dies.  There comes often in such cases what the common people properly, and indeed beautifully, term a light before death, and I think she will have it.  As you are unanimous against putting her into a private asylum, you must only watch the sweet girl quietly, and without any appearance of vigilance, allowing her in all that is harmless and indifferent to have her own way.  Religious feeling you perceive constitutes a strong feature in her case, the rest is obviously the result of the faithless conduct of Osborne.  Poor girl, here she comes, apparently quite happy.”  Jane entered as he spoke, after having been dressed as usual for the day, in her best apparel.  She glanced for a moment at the glass, and readjusted her hair which had, she thought, got a little out of order; after which she said, smiling,