Agnes felt so utterly overcome, that she stooped, and throwing her arms around her neck wept aloud, with her cheek laid to Jane’s.
Again the warmth of the tears upon the afflicted one’s face seemed to soothe or awaken her. She looked up, and with a troubled face exclaimed:—
“I hope I am not!—Agnes, you are good, and never practised deceit,—am I? am I?”
“Are you what, love? are you what, Jane, darling?”
“Am I a cast-away? I thought I was. I believe I am—Agnes?”
“Well, dear girl!”
“I am afraid of my papa.”
“Why, Jane, should you be afraid of papa. Sure you know how he loves you—dotes upon you?”
“Because I practised deceit upon him. I dissembled to him. I sinned, sinned deeply;—blackly, blackly. I shudder to think of it;” and she shuddered while speaking.
“Well, but Jane dear,” said her mother, soothingly, “can you not weep for your fault. Tears of repentance can wipe out any crime. Weep, my child, weep, and it will relieve your heart.”