w.

Jane had retired to her own room in a mortification of spirit she could
ill conceal during this conversation, and she felt a degree of humiliation
which almost drove her to the desperate resolution of hiding herself for
ever from the world. The man she had so fondly enshrined in her heart
proving to be so notoriously unworthy as to be the subject of unreserved
censure in general company, was a reproach to her delicacy, her
observation, her judgment, that was the more severe, from being true; and
she wept in bitterness over her fallen happiness.

Emily had noticed the movement of Jane, and waited anxiously for the
departure of the visitors to hasten to her room. She knocked two or three
times before her sister replied to her request for admittance.

"Jane, my dear Jane," said Emily, soothingly, "will you not admit me?"

Jane could not resist any longer the affection of her sister, and the door
was opened; but as Emily endeavored to take her hand, she drew back
coldly, and cried--

"I wonder you, who are so happy, will leave the gay scene below for the
society of an humbled wretch like me;" and overcome with the violence of
her emotion, she burst into tears.

"Happy!" repeated Emily, in a tone of anguish, "happy, did you say, Jane?
Oh, little do you know my sufferings, or you would never speak so
cruelly!"

Jane, in her turn, surprised at the strength of Emily's language,
considered her weeping sister with commiseration; and then her thoughts
recurring to her own case, she continued with energy--

"Yes, Emily, happy; for whatever may have been the reason of Denbigh's
conduct, he is respected; and if you do or did love him, he was worthy of
it. But I," said Jane, wildly, "threw away my affections on a wretch--_a
mere impostor_--and I am miserable for ever."

"No, dear Jane," rejoined Emily, having recovered her self-possession,
"not miserable--nor for ever. You have many, very many sources of
happiness yet within your reach, even in this world. I--I do think, even
our strongest attachments may be overcome by energy and a sense of duty.
And oh! how I wish I could see you make the effort."

For a moment the voice of the youthful moralist had failed her; but
anxiety in behalf of her sister overcame her feelings, and she ended the
sentence with earnestness.

"Emily," said Jane, with obstinacy, and yet in tears, "you don't know
what blighted affections are. To endure the scorn of the world, and see
the man you