Scotland/Scots > Wilson's tales of the Borders and of Scotland > Volume 3

THE KOTHESAY FISHERMAN.
57
my Julia and of my father. I hastened to him on the
■wings of expectation, and, when I arrived, was taken by
him into an inner apartment of his house, with an air of
secrecy and mystery.
“ Have you yet recovered from the effects of your mis¬
fortunes ?” said he. “ I have often reflected on your extra¬
ordinary fate, and pitied you from the innermost recesses
of my soul. Would you believe it? I have in store for
you an antidote against the grief of your ruined affections;
but I will not say a medicine for your pain, or a balm for
your sorrow.”
“ For a broken heart,” said I, “ there is no cure in this
world.”
He looked at me, and wept.
“ Dress yourself in this suit of my mournings,” he said,
“ and accompany me whither I will lead you.”
I gazed at him in amazement; but he left me to put on
the weeds, and to torture myself with vain thoughts.
He returned and called me out. I followed him. We
went some little distance, and joined a funeral that was
slowly proceeding to the burying-ground. My confusion
prevented me from looking at the time to see who was
chief mourner. I proceeded with the mourners, and soon
stood on the brink of the grave. When the pall was taken
off, and the coffin lowered down into the earth, my eye
caught the inscription on the plate; it was—“ J. M., aged
20.” “ So young!” muttered I; and at the same moment
I glanced at the chief mourner. He had withdrawn his
handkerchief from his face. Our eyes met—he turned
deadly pale, and made a motion as if to leave the ground;
but I sprang forward, almost shrieking 1 Henry! ’ and de¬
tained him. I looked in his face. Oh, what a change
was there! His eye quailed beneath the cold, steady,
withering glance of mine. I felt that he read the meaning
of *hat dance, for he absolutely writhed beneath it.