e, that it was wrong in Mr. Sinclair, at
a moment when the act of separating from Osborne might have touched, the
feelings of his daughter into that softness which lightens and relieves
the heart, abruptly to suppress emotions so natural, by exacting a proof
of obedience too severe and oppressive to the heart of one who loved as
Jane did. She knew it was her duty to obey him the moment he expressed
his wish; but he was bound by no duty to demand such an unnecessary
proof of her obedience. The immediate consequences, however, made him
sufficiently sensible of his error, and taught him that a knowledge of
the human heart is the most difficult task which a parent has to learn.

Jane, conducted by her parents, having reached another apartment, sat
down--her father taking a chair on one side, and her mother on the
other.

"My darling," said Mr. Sinclair, "I will never forget this proof of your
obedience to me, on so trying an occasion. I knew I might rely upon my
daughter."

Jane made no reply to this, but sat apparently wrapped up in an ecstacy
of calm and unbroken delight. The smile of happiness with which she
contemplated Osborne, on taking her last look of him, was still upon her
face, and contrasted so strongly with the agony which they knew she must
have felt, that her parents, each from an apprehension of alarming the
other, feared openly to allude to it, although they felt their hearts
sink in dismay and terror.

"Jane, why do you not speak to your papa and me?" said her mother;
"speak to us, love, speak to us--if it was only one word."

She appeared not to hear this, nor to be at all affected by her mother's
voice or words. After the latter spoke she smiled again, and immediately
putting up her long white fingers through the ringlets that shaded
her cheek, she pulled them down as one would pressing them with slight
convulsive energy as they passed through, her fingers.

"Henry, dear, what--what is the matter with her?" inquired her
mother, whose face became pale with alarm. "Oh! what is wrong with my
child!--she does not know us!--Gracious heaven, whats is this!"

"Jane, my love, wont you speak to your papa?" said Mr. Sinclair. "Speak
to me, my darling,--it is I,--it is your own papa that asks you?"

She looked up, and seemed for a moment struggling to recover a
consciousness of her situation; but it passed away, and the scarcely
perceptible meaning which began almost to become visible in her eye, was
again