tance of remorse as he is I have never seen, and
I hope never shall. His cry is to see your daughter, that he may hear
his forgiveness from her own lips. He says he cannot die in hope or in
happiness, unless she pardons him. This, however, must not be--I mean
an interview between them--for it would most assuredly prove fatal to
himself; and should she see him only for a moment, that moment were her
last."

"I will visit the unhappy young man myself," said her father; "as for an
interview it cannot be thought of--even if they could bear it, Charles
forgets that he is the husband of another woman, and that, consequently,
Jane is nothing to him--and that such a meeting would be highly--grossly
improper."

"Your motives, though perfectly just, are different from mine," said the
doctor--"I speak merely as a medical man. He wants not this to hurry him
into the grave--he will be there soon enough."

"Let him feel repentance towards God," said the old man
heavily--"towards my child it is now unavailing. It is my duty, as it
shall be my endeavor, to fix this principle in his heart."

The Doctor then departed, having promised to see Jane on the next
day but one. This gentleman's opinion, however, with respect to his
beautiful patient, was not literally correct; still, although she
lingered longer than could naturally be anticipated from her excessive
weakness, yet he was right in saying that her thread of life resembled,
that of the gossamer.

In the course of the same evening, she gave the first symptom of a lucid
interval; still in point of fact her mind was never wholly restored to
sanity. She had slept long and soundly, and after awaking rang the bell
for some one to come to her. This was unusual, and in a moment she was
attended by Agnes and her mother.

"I am very weak, my dear mamma," said she, "and although I cannot say
that I feel any particular complaint--I speak of a bodily one--yet I
feel that my strength is gone, and that you will not be troubled with
your poor Jane much longer."

"Do not think so, dear love, do not think so," replied her mother; "bear
up, my darling, bear up, and all may yet be well."

"Agnes," said she, "come to me. I know not--perhaps--dear Agnes----"

She could utter no more. Agnes flew to her, and they wept in each
other's arms for many minutes.

"I would be glad to see my papa," she said, "and my dear Maria and
William. Oh mamma, mamma, I suspect that I have occasioned you all much