shrinking but flashing glances by which the spirit of love conveys its
own secret, she felt the first painful transports of the new affection,
and retired to solitude with the arrow that struck her so deeply yet
quivering in her bosom.

The case of our fair girl differed widely from that of many young
persons, in whose heart the passion of love lurks unknown for a time,
throwing its roseate shadows of delight and melancholy over their peace,
whilst they themselves feel unable in the beginning to develop those
strange sensations which take away from their pillows the unbroken
slumber of early life.

Jane from the moment her eyes rested on Osborne felt and was conscious
of feeling the influence of a youth so transcendently fascinating. Her
love broke not forth gradually like the trembling light that brightens
into the purple flush of morning; neither was it fated to sink calm and
untroubled like the crimson tints that die only when the veil of night,
like the darkness of death, wraps them in its shadow. Alas no, it sprung
from her heart in all the noontide strength of maturity--a full-grown
passion, incapable of self-restraint, and conscious only of the wild
and novel delight arising from its own indulgence. Night and day that
graceful form hovered before her, encircled in the halo of her young
imagination, with a lustre that sparkled beyond the light of human
beauty. We know that the eye when it looks steadily upon a cloudless
sun, is incapable for some time afterwards of seeing any other object
distinctly; and that in whatever direction it turns that bright image
floats incessantly before it--nor will be removed even although the eye
itself is closed against its radiance. So was it with Jane. Asleep or
awake, in society or in solitude, the vision with which her soul held
communion never for a moment withdrew from before her, until at length