“Father!” at length she whispered, “it is not—is not—true!”
Mr. Calvert remained fixed and mute as a statue.
“It cannot be true!” continued Jane; “you would never—never make me so miserable! I do not believe it—I cannot!”
At length her father spoke.
“My dear girl,” said he, with a solemnity which he could not help, and of which he was not himself conscious; “you must endeavour to be resigned. As you love me, let me beg of you to calm yourself, and endeavour to seek in prayer to Heaven that comfort which I never thought to see a child of mine so much in need of. You want peace of mind, child.”
“I do, father!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands; “no poor soul more than I.”
Another pause ensued here, during which Colin clasped Jane's other hand, as though when that one grapple was over, the world would be lost, and he should sink for ever. His eyes were on her face, but he could not see.
“And now,” added Mr. Calvert, half-chokingly; “do not prolong this scene. We can do no more. Bid each other a loving good-b'ye, and be that kiss the last.”
“I cannot!” exclaimed Jane, hysterically; “I cannot! Father! I love him, and shall love him everlastingly. You will not part us, I know. He will never leave me—never! Oh no! no, no, no!”
And poor Jane fell into a fearful convulsion, that made all cheeks pale and eyes wet for mere pity at her trouble.