od if it does! but still, what, what will it be but,
as Dr. M'Cormick said, the light before death? The child is dying, and
she will be taken from us for ever, for ever!"

Jane, whilst they spoke, looked earnestly and with a struggling eye
into the countenances of those who were about her; but again she smiled
pensively, and said:

"I am--I am the star of sorrow, pale and mournful in the lonely sky.
Jane Sinclair is no more--the Fawn of Springvale is no more--I am now
nothing but sorrow. I was the queen, but now I am the star of sorrow.
Oh! how I long to set in heaven!"

She was then removed to bed, whore with her mother and her two sisters
beside her, she lay quiet as a child, repeating to herself--"I am the
star of sorrow, pale and mournful in the lonely sky; but now I know
that I will soon set in heaven. Jane Sinclair is no more--the Fawn of
Springvale is no more. No--I am now the star of sorrow!" The melancholy
beauty of the sentiment seemed to soothe her, for she continued to
repeat these words, sometimes aloud and sometimes in a sweet voice,
until she fell gently asleep.

"She is asleep," said Agnes, looking upon her still beautiful but
mournful features, now, indeed composed into an expression of rooted
sorrow. They all stood over the bed, and looked upon her for many
minutes. At length Agnes clasped her hands, and with a suffocating
voice, as if her heart would break, exclaimed, "Oh mother, mother," and
rushed from the room that she might weep aloud without awakening the
afflicted one who slept.

Another week made a rapid change upon her for the worse, and it was
considered necessary to send for Dr. M'Cormick, as from her feebleness
and depression they feared that her dissolution was by no means distant,
especially as she had for the last three days been confined to her bed.
The moment he saw her, his opinion confirmed their suspicions.

"Deal gently with her now," said he; "a fit or a paroxysm of any kind
would be fatal to her. The dear girl's unhappy race is run--her sands
are all but numbered. This moment her thread of life is not stronger
than a gossamer." Ere his departure on that occasion, he brought Mr.
Sinclair aside and thus addressed him:

"Are you aware, sir, that Mr. Osborne's son has returned."

"Not that he has actually returned," replied Mr. Sinclair, "but I know
that he is daily expected."

"He reached his father's house," continued the doctor, "early yesterday;
and such a pitiable ins