ly.

Nearly a fortnight had now elapsed, when Jane, walking one day in a
small shrubbery that skirted the little lawn before her father's door,
received a note by a messenger whom she recognized as a servant of Mr.
Osborne's.

The man, after putting it into her hands, added:

"I was desired, if possible, to bring back an answer."

She blushed deeply on receiving it, and shook so much that the tremor
of her small white hands gave evident proof of the agitation which it
produced in her bosom. She read as follows:--

"Oh why is it that I cannot see you! or what has become of you? This
absence is painful to me beyond the power of endurance. Alas, if you
loved with the deep and burning devotion that I do, you would not thus
avoid me. Do you not know, and feel, that our hearts have poured into
each other the secret of our mutual passion. Oh surely, surely, you
cannot forget that moment--a moment for which I could willingly endure
a century of pain. That moment has thrown a charm into my existence that
will render my whole future life sweet. All that I may suffer will be,
and already is softened in the consciousness that you love me. Oh let
me see you--I cannot rest, I cannot live without you. I beseech you, I
implore you, as you would not bring me down to despair and sorrow--as
you would not wring my heart with the agony of disappointment, to meet
me this evening at the same place and the same hour as before.

"Yours--yours for ever,

"H. O.

"N.B.--The bearer is trustworthy, and already acquainted with the secret
of our attachment, so that you need not hesitate to send me a reply by
him--and let it be a written one."

After pursuing this, she paused for a moment, and felt so much
embarrassed by the fact of their love being known to a third person,
that she could not look upon the messenger, while addressing him,
without shame-facedness and confusion.

"Wait a little," she said at length, "I will return presently"--and
with a singular conflict between joy, shame, and terror, she passed with
downcast looks out of the shrubbery, sought her own room, and having
placed writing materials before her, attempted to write. It was
not, however, till after some minutes that she could collect herself
sufficiently to use them. As she took the pen in her hand, something
like guilt seemed to press upon her heart--the blood forsook her cheeks,
and her strength absolutely left her.

"Is not this wrong," she thought. "I have alre