e cheerful in order that she
might unconsciously partake of a spirit less gloomy than that which
every day darkened more deeply about her path; Any attempt to give her
direct consolation, however, was found to produce the very consequences
which they wished so anxiously to prevent. If for this purpose
they entered into conversation with her, no matter in what tone of
affectionate sweetness they addressed her, such was the irresistible
pathos of her language, that their hearts became melted, and, instead
of being able to comfort the beloved mourner, they absolutely required
sympathy themselves. Since their last dialogue, too, it was evident
from her manner that some fresh source of pain had been on that occasion
opened in her heart. For nearly a Week afterwards her eye was fixed from
time to time upon her brother William, with a long gaze of hesitation
and enquiry--not unmingled with a character of suspicion that appeared
still further, to sink her spirits by a superadded weight of misery.

Nearly a fortnight had now elapsed since Charles Osborne ought to have
received his father's letter, and yet no communication had reached
either of the families. Indeed the gradual falling off of his
correspondence with Jane, and the commonplace character of his few last
letters left little room to hope that his affection for her stood the
severe test of time and absence. One morning about this period she
brought William into the garden, and after a turn or too, laid her hand,
gently upon his arm, saying,

"William, I have a secret to entrust you with."

"A secret, Jane--well, I will keep it honorably--what is it, dear?"

"I am very unhappy."

"Surely that's no secret to me, my pool girl."

She shook her head.

"No, no; that's not it; but this is--I strongly suspect that you all
know more about Charles than I do."

She fixed her eyes with an earnest penetration on him as she spoke.

"He is expected home soon, Jane."

"He is not ill, William; and you have all permitted me to deceive myself
into a belief that he is; because you felt that I would rather ten
thousand times that he were dead than false--than false."

"He could not, he dare not be false to you, my dear, after having been
solemnly betrothed to you, I may say with the consent of your father and
his."

"Dare not--ha--there is meaning in that, William; your complexion is
heightened, too; and so I have found out your secret, my brother. Sunk
as is my heart, you se