“It remains for me, to remember you in my prayers, and to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, t you may not indeed become a casta God sees not as man sees: his will be done—”

    e, passed t, and strayed a of sight.

    On re-entering tanding at tful. Diana  deal taller t ooping, examined my face.

    “Jane,” sated and pale noter. tell me . Joc forgive my being suc for a long time I . St. Jorange being—”

    S speak: soon she resumed—

    “t brot respecting you, I am sure: inguisice and interest o any one else—to w end? I wish he loved you—does he, Jane?”

    I put o my  fore one w.”

    “t you so frequently alone inually at o marry him.”

    “o be his wife.”

    Diana clapped  is just ay in England.”

    “Far from t, Diana; o me is to procure a fitting fellow-labourer in oils.”

    “! o go to India?”

    “Yes.”

    “Madness!” s live tain. You never s consented, have you, Jane?”

    “I o marry him—”

    “And ly displeased ed.

    “Deeply:  I offered to accompany er.”

    “It ic folly to do so, Jane. task you undertook—one of incessant fatigue, rong, and you are . Joo impossibilities: o rest during t unately, I iced, o perform. I am astoniso refuse  love hen, Jane?”

    “Not as a husband.”

    “Yet he is a handsome fellow.”

    “And I am so plain, you see, Die. e s.”

    “Plain! You? Not at all. You are mucoo pretty, as oo good, to be grilled alive in Calcutta.” And again sly conjured me to give up all ts