the truth is, I don't think Osborne has any
thing to do with her feelings. It is merely some imaginary trifle that
she has got into her foolish little head, poor girl. Don't distress
yourself, father--you know she was always over-scrupulous. Even the most
harmless fib that ever was told, is a crime in her eyes. I wish, for
my part, she had a little wholesome wickedness about--I don't mean
that sir, in a very unfavorable light," he said in reply to a look of
severity from his father, "but I wish she had some leaning to error
about her. She would, in one sense at least, be the better for it."

"We shall see," said his father, who evidently spoke in deep distress of
mind, "we shall consider in the course of the evening what ought to be
done."

"Better to take her gently," observed her mother, wiping away a tear,
"gentleness and love will make her tell anything--and that there is
something on her mind no one can doubt."

"I won't have her distressed, my dear," replied her father. "It cannot
be of much importance I think after all--but whatever it may be, her own
candid mind will give it forth spontaneously. I know my child, and will
answer for her."

"Why then, papa, are you so much distressed, if you think it of no
importance?" asked Maria.

"If her finger ached, it would distress me, child, and you know it."

"Why, she and Osborne have had no opportunity of being together, out of
the eyes of the family," observed William.

"That's more than you know, William," said Agnes; "she has often walked
out."

"But she always did so," replied her mother.

"She would never meet him privately," said her father firmly, "of that I
am certain as my life."

"That, papa," returned Agnes, "I am afraid, is precisely what she has
done, and what now distresses her. And I am sure that whatever is wrong
with her, no explanation will be had from herself. Though kind and
affectionate as ever, she has been very shy with me and Maria of
late--and indeed, has made it a point to keep aloof from us! Three or
four times I spoke to her in a tone of confidence, as if I was about to
introduce some secret of my own, but she always under some pretense or
other left me. I had not thought of Osborne at the time, nor could I
guess what troubled her--but something I saw did." Her father sighed
deeply, and, clasping his hands, uttered a silent ejaculation to heaven
on her behalf. "That is true," said he, "it is now the hour of evening
worship; let