himself."

"I will go," said the old man; "I know how to be firm; I will reflect; I
will pray; I will weep. I must, I must----"

He pressed the beautiful creature to his bosom, kissed her lips, and as
he hung over her, his tears fell in torrents upon her cheeks.

Oh! what a charm must be in sympathy, and in the tears which it sheds
over the afflicted, when those of the grey-haired father could soothe
his daughter's soul into that sorrow which is so often a relief to the
miserable and disconsolate!

When Jane first felt his tears upon her cheeks, she started slightly,
and the smile departed from her countenance. As he pressed her to his
heart she struggled a little, and putting her arms out, she turned up
her eyes upon his face, and after a long struggle between memory and
insanity, at length whispered out "papa!"

"You are with me, darling," he exclaimed; "and I am with you, too: and
here we are all about you,--your mother, and Agnes, and all."

"Yes, yes," she replied; "but papa,--and where is my mamma?"

"I am here, my own love; here I am. Jane, collect yourself, my treasure.
You are overcome with sorrow. The parting from Charles Osborne has been
too much for you."

"Perhaps it was wrong to mention his name," whispered William. "May it
not occasion a relapse, mother?"

"No," she replied. "I want to touch her heart, and get her to weep if
possible."

Her daughter's fingers were again involved in the tangles of her
beautiful ringlets, and once more was the sweet but vacant smile
returning to her lips.

"May God relieve her and us," said Maria; "the darling child is
relapsing!"

Agnes felt so utterly overcome, that she stooped, and throwing her arms
around her neck wept aloud, with her cheek laid to Jane's.

Again the warmth of the tears upon the afflicted one's face seemed
to soothe or awaken her. She looked up, and with a troubled face
exclaimed:--

"I hope I am not!--Agnes, you are good, and never practised deceit,--am
I? am I?"

"Are you what, love? are you what, Jane, darling?"

"Am I a cast-away? I thought I was. I believe I am--Agnes?"

"Well, dear girl!"

"I am afraid of my papa."

"Why, Jane, should you be afraid of papa. Sure you know how he loves
you--dotes upon you?"

"Because I practised deceit upon him. I dissembled to him. I sinned,
sinned deeply;--blackly, blackly. I shudder to think of it;" and she
shuddered while speaking.

"Well, but Jane dear," said her mother, soothingly