Jane was in the habit of taking every day.

"Now, my children," said the white-haired father, summoning all the
fortitude of a Christian man to his aid,--"now must we show ourselves
not ignorant of those resources which the religion of Christ opens to
all who are for His wise purposes grievously and heavily afflicted. Let
us act as becomes the dignity of our faith. We must suffer: let it be
with patience, and a will resigned to that which laid the calamity upon
us,--and principally upon the beloved mourner who is dear, dear--and
oh! how justly is she dear to all our hearts! Be firm, my children--and
neither speak, nor look, nor act as if these heavy tidings had reached
us. This is not only our duty, but our wisest course under circumstances
so distressing as ours. Another letter from Mr. Osborne will decide all
and until then we must suffer in silent reliance upon the mercy of God.
It may, however, be a consolation to you all to know, that if this young
man's heart be detached from that of our innocent and loving child, I
would rather--the disposing will of God being still allowed--see her
wrapped in the cerements of death than united to one, who with so little
scruple can trample upon the sanctions of religion, or tamper with the
happiness of a fellow-creature. Oh, may God of His mercy sustain our
child, and bear her in His own right hand through this heavy woe!"

This affecting admonition did not fall upon them in vain,--for until the
receipt of Mr, Osborne's letter from London, not even Jane, with all
her vigilance, was able to detect in their looks or manner any change
or expression beyond what she had usually noticed. That letter at length
arrived, and, as they had expected, filled up the measure of Osborne's
dishonor and their affliction. The contents were brief but fearful. Mr.
Osborne stated that he arrived in London on the second day after his
son's marriage, and found, to his unutterable distress, that he and
his fashionable wife had departed for the continent on the very day the
ceremony took place.

"I could not," proceeded his father, "wrench my heart so suddenly out of
the strong affection it felt for the hope of my past life, as to curse
him; but, from this day forward I disown him as my son. You know not, my
friend, what I feel, and what I suffer; for he who was the pride of my
declining years has, by this act of unprincipled ambition, set his seal
to the unhappiness of his father. I am told, indeed, t