“Oh no, sir, no!” exclaimed Colin, “you cannot mean that. It is impossible. When I left her but now to come to you, I had not half told her what I intended to say, and I promised to be back again as soon as I had seen you. She begged of me not to be long, because with all her grief she could not bear to be alone. I must go, sir; if it be only to say one good-b'ye,—just one,—and no more!”
“Better not,” faltered Mr. Calvert, half between a smile and a tear.
“Yes, sir,—yes,—you will 'not deny us that.”
Mr. Calvert's lips quivered, but he said nothing.
“I am made unhappy for ever, now!” added Colin.
After a pause Mr. Calvert replied, “Then you must see her in my presence, if at all.”
“Anywhere!” exclaimed our hero gladly; “but let me see her again.”
Jane was now sent for. When she entered the room, Colin could no longer restrain himself. The sight of her made him burst into tears.
“Jane, my girl,” began the father as he took her hand, and led her gently beside his own chair; “I hope you will sustain yourself for a few moments, while I simply explain to you that Mr. Clink and I have had some conversation upon the same subject as that upon which your mother has already spoken to you. The matter is now finally settled. But Mr. Clink wished, before he went, to bid you a good-b'ye for the last time; as you part friends with him, the same as, from my heart, I can say I do; and not for myself alone, but in the name of all the family.”
Jane could not speak, but her pretty throat swelled like that of a nightingale that dies, as poor Keates describes it, “heart-stifled in its dell.”