When she was gone, Agnes, who sat beside | her father, turned to him,
and leaned her I head upon his breast, burst into bitter tears. "Papa,"
she exclaimed, "I believe you will now admit that I have gained the
victory. My sister's peace of mind or happiness is gone for ever. Unless
Osborne either now is, or becomes in time attached to her, I know not
what the consequences may be."

"It will be well for Osborne, at all events, if he has not practised
upon her affections," said William; "that is, granting that the
suspicion, be just. But the truth is, I don't think Osborne has any
thing to do with her feelings. It is merely some imaginary trifle that
she has got into her foolish little head, poor girl. Don't distress
yourself, father--you know she was always over-scrupulous. Even the most
harmless fib that ever was told, is a crime in her eyes. I wish, for
my part, she had a little wholesome wickedness about--I don't mean
that sir, in a very unfavorable light," he said in reply to a look of
severity from his father, "but I wish she had some leaning to error
about her. She would, in one sense at least, be the better for it."

"We shall see," said his father, who evidently spoke in deep distress of
mind, "we shall consider in the course of the evening what ought to be
done."

"Better to take her gently," observed her mother, wiping away a tear,
"gentleness and love will make her tell anything--and that there is
something on her mind no one can doubt."

"I won't have her distressed, my dear," replied her father. "It cannot
be of much importance I think after all--but whatever it may be, her own