ke away that if I could find him."

"You told an indirect falsehood to your father--you concealed the
truth--and now the hand of God is upon you. There is nothing for you now
but death."

"I don't like death--it took away my baby--if they would give me back my
baby I would not care---except John--I would hide from him."

"William's married to another and dying, so that you may become a queen
of sorrow too--would you like that--sorrow is a sweet thing."

"How could he marry another, and be promised to me?"

"Is your heart cold?" inquired Jane.

"No," replied the other smiling, "indeed I am to be married to-morrow?"

"Let me see you early in the morning," said Jane--"if you do, perhaps
I may give you this," showing the letter. "Your heart cannot be cold
if you keep it--I carry it here," said she, putting her hand to her
bosom--"but I need not, for mine will be warm enough soon."

"Mine's warm enough too," said the other.

"If William comes, you will find poison on his lips," said Jane, "and
that will kill you--the poison of polluted lips would kill a thousand
faithful hearts--it, would--and there is nothing for treachery but
sorrow. Be sorrowful--be sorrowful--it is the only thing to ease a
deserted heart--it eases mine."

"But then they say you're crazed with love."

"No, no--with sorrow; but listen, never violate truth--never be guilty
of falsehood; if you do, you will become unhappy; and if you do not, the
light of God's countenance will shine upon you."

"Indeed it is no lie, for as sure as you stand there to-morrow is the
day."

"I think I love you," said the gentle and affectionate Jane. "Will you
kiss me? my sister Agnes does when I ask her."

"Why shouldn't I, my bonnie, bonnie lady? Why shouldn't I? Oh! indeed,
but you are bonnie, and yet be crazed with love! Well, well, he will
never comb a gray head that deserted the bonnie Fawn of Spring-vale."

Jane, who was much the taller, stooped, and with a smile of melancholy,
but unconscious sympathy, kissed the forlorn creature's lips, and after
beckoning Agnes to follow her, passed on.

That embrace! Who could describe its character? Oh! man, man, and woman,
woman, think of this!

Agnes, after Jane and she had returned home, found that a search had
been instigated during their absence for the letter which Charles had
written to his father. Mr. Sinclair, anxious to return it, had missed
it from among his papers, and felt seriously concerned at its