He pressed the beautiful creature to his bosom, kissed her lips, and as he hung over her, his tears fell in torrents upon her cheeks.
Oh! what a charm must be in sympathy, and in the tears which it sheds over the afflicted, when those of the grey-haired father could soothe his daughter’s soul into that sorrow which is so often a relief to the miserable and disconsolate!
When Jane first felt his tears upon her cheeks, she started slightly, and the smile departed from her countenance. As he pressed her to his heart she struggled a little, and putting her arms out, she turned up her eyes upon his face, and after a long struggle between memory and insanity, at length whispered out “papa!”
“You are with me, darling,” he exclaimed; “and I am with you, too: and here we are all about you,—your mother, and Agnes, and all.”
“Yes, yes,” she replied; “but papa,—and where is my mamma?”
“I am here, my own love; here I am. Jane, collect yourself, my treasure. You are overcome with sorrow. The parting from Charles Osborne has been too much for you.”
“Perhaps it was wrong to mention his name,” whispered William. “May it not occasion a relapse, mother?”
“No,” she replied. “I want to touch her heart, and get her to weep if possible.”
Her daughter’s fingers were again involved in the tangles of her beautiful ringlets, and once more was the sweet but vacant smile returning to her lips.
“May God relieve her and us,” said Maria; “the darling child is relapsing!”