Conversation was not resumed among the Sinclairs for some minutes after his departure, each, in fact, having been engaged in reflecting upon the surpassing beauty of his face, and the uncommon symmetry of his slender but elegant person.  Their impression, indeed, was rather that of wonder than of mere admiration.  The tall youth who had just left them seemed, in fact, an incarnation of the beautiful itself—­a visionary creation, in which was embodied the ideal spirit of youth, intellect, and grace.  His face shone with that rosy light of life’s prime which only glows on the human countenance during the brief period that intervenes between the years of the thoughtless boy and those of the confirmed man:  and whilst his white brow beamed with intellect, it was easy to perceive that the fire of deep feeling and high-wrought enthusiasm broke out in timid flashes from his dark eye.  His modesty, too, by tempering the full lustre of his beauty, gave to it a character of that graceful diffidence, which above all others makes the deepest impression upon a female heart.

“Well, I do think,” said William Sinclair, “that young Osborne is decidedly the finest boy I ever saw—­the most perfect in beauty and figure—­and yet we have not seen him to advantage.”

“I think, although I regretted to see him so, that he looked better after he got pale,” said Maria; “his features, though colorless, were cut like marble.”

“I hope his health may not be injured by what has occurred,” observed the second; “he appeared ill.”

“That, Agnes, is more to the point,” said Mr. Sinclair; “I fear the boy is by no means well; and I am apprehensive, from the deep carnation of his cheek, and his subsequent paleness, that he carries within him the seeds of early dissolution.  He is too delicate, almost too etherial for earth.”

“If he becomes an angel,” said William, smiling, “with a very slight change, he will put some of them out of countenance.”

“William,” said the father, “never, while you live attempt to be witty at the expense of what is sacred or solemn; such jests harden the heart of him who utters them, and sink his character, not only as a Christian, but as a gentleman.”

“I beg your pardon, father—–­I was wrong—­but I spoke heedlessly.”

“I know you did, Billy; but in future avoid it.  Well, Jane, how is your bird?”

“I think it is better, papa; but one can form no opinion so soon.”

“Go, show it to your mamma—­she is the best doctor among us—­follow her advice, and no doubt she will add its cure to the other triumphs of her skill.”

“Jane is fretting too much about it,” observed Agnes; “why, Jane, you are just now as pale as young Osborne himself.”

This observation turned the eyes of the family upon her; but scarcely had her sister uttered the words when the young creature’s countenance became the color of crimson, so deeply, and with such evident confusion did she blush.  Indeed she felt conscious of this, for she rose, with the wounded dove lying gently between her hands and bosom, and passed, without speaking, out of the room.