That ever faithful sister no sooner heard the words, than a smile of indescribable happiness overspread her face, which, however, became instantly pale, and the next moment she sunk down, and in a long swoon forgot both the love and sorrow of her favorite sister. In little more than a minute the family were assembled in the sickroom, and heard from Mrs. Sinclair’s lips the history, as she thought, of their beloved one’s recovery. Agnes was soon restored, and indeed it would be impossible to witness a scene of such unexpected delight, as that presented by the rejoicing group which surrounded the bed of the happy—alas, too happy, Jane Sinclair.
“Is it possible, my dear,” said her father, “that our darling is restored to her sense and recollection?”
“Try her, Henry,” said the proud mother.
“Jane, my love, do you not know me?” he asked.
“To be sure, papa; to be sure,” she replied smiling.
“And you know all of us, my heart’s treasure?”
“Help me up a little,” she replied; “now I will show you: you are my papa—there is my mamma—that is William—and Maria there will kiss me.”
Maria, from whose eyes gushed tears of delight, flew to the sweet girl’s bosom.
“But,” added Jane, “there is another—another that must come to my bosom and stay there—Agnes!”
“I am here, my own darling,” replied Agnes, stooping and folding her arms about the beautiful creature’s snow-white neck, whilst she kissed her lips with a fervor of affection equal to the delight experienced at her supposed recovery.