to them. But, alas, why should I
blame any of you, when I know that it is from an excess of indulgence to
poor Jane, and to avoid giving her pain that you do it?"

"Well, we will not do it any more, love, if it pains or is disagreeable
to you."

"It confounds me, Agnes, it injures my head, and sometimes makes me
scarcely know where I am, or who are about me. I begin to think that
there's some dreadful secret among you; and I think of coffins, and
deaths, or of marriages, and wedding favors, and all that. Now, I can't
bear to think of marriages, but death has something consoling in it;
give me death the consoler: yet," she added, musing, "we shall not die,
but we shall all be changed."

"Jane, love, may I ask you why you are dressing with such care?"

"When we go down stairs I shall tell you. It's wonderful, wonderful!"

"What is, dear?"

"My fortitude. But those words were prophetic. I remember well what I
felt when I heard them; to be sure he placed them in a different light
from what I at first understood them in; but I am handsomer now, I
think. You will be a witness for me below, Agnes, will you not?"

"To be sure, darling."

"Agnes, where are my tears gone of late? I think I ought to advertise
for them, or advertise for others, 'Wanted for unhappy Jane Sinclair'"--

Agnes could bear no more. "Jane," she exclaimed, clasping her in her
arms, and kissing her smiling lips, for she smiled while uttering the
last words, "oh, Jane, don't, don't, my darling, or you will break
my heart--your own Agnes's heart, whom you loved so well, and whose
happiness or misery is bound I up in yours."

"For unhappy Jane Sinclair!--no I won't distress you, dear Agnes; let
the advertisement go; here, I will kiss you, love, and dry your tears,
and then when I am dressed you shall know all."

She took up her own handkerchief as she spoke, and after having again
kissed her sister, wiped her cheeks and dried her eyes with childlike
tenderness and affection. She then, looked sorrowfully upon Agnes, and
said--"Oh, Agnes, Agnes, but my heart is heavy--heavy!"

Agnes's tears were again beginning to flow, but Jane once more kissed
her, and hastily wiping her eyes, exclaimed in that sweet, low voice
with which we address children, "Hush, hush, Agnes, do not cry, I will
not make you sorry any more."

She then went on to dress herself, but uttered not another word until
she and Agnes met the family below stairs.

"I am now come, papa