"My darling," said Mr. Sinclair, "I will never forget this proof of your
obedience to me, on so trying an occasion. I knew I might rely upon my
daughter."

Jane made no reply to this, but sat apparently wrapped up in an ecstacy
of calm and unbroken delight. The smile of happiness with which she
contemplated Osborne, on taking her last look of him, was still upon her
face, and contrasted so strongly with the agony which they knew she must
have felt, that her parents, each from an apprehension of alarming the
other, feared openly to allude to it, although they felt their hearts
sink in dismay and terror.

"Jane, why do you not speak to your papa and me?" said her mother;
"speak to us, love, speak to us--if it was only one word."

She appeared not to hear this, nor to be at all affected by her mother's
voice or words. After the latter spoke she smiled again, and immediately
putting up her long white fingers through the ringlets that shaded
her cheek, she pulled them down as one would pressing them with slight
convulsive energy as they passed through, her fingers.

"Henry, dear, what--what is the matter with her?" inquired her
mother, whose face became pale with alarm. "Oh! what is wrong with my
child!--she does not know us!--Gracious heaven, whats is this!"

"Jane, my love, wont you speak to your papa?" said Mr. Sinclair. "Speak
to me, my darling,--it is I,--it is your own papa that asks you?"

She looked up, and seemed for a moment struggling to recover a