If there is a melancholy there is also something sublime and consolatory in the character of the scenery that surrounds it. Every one has felt the influence of lofty mountains near. This region is all beautiful; but the very spirit of solitude and grandeur is over it.
I was just consulting with my maid about some simple provisional mourning, for which I was about to despatch her to the town, when our conference was arrested by the appearance of Richard Marston before the window.
I had my things on, for I thought it not impossible he might arrive earlier than he had the day before.
I told my maid to come again by-and-by; and I went out to meet him.
Well, we were now walking on the wild path, along the steep side of the cleugh, towards the lake. What kind of conversation is this going to be? His voice and manner are very gentle—but he looks pale and stern, like a man going into a battle. The signs are very slight, but dreadful. Oh! that the next half-hour was over! What am I about to hear?
We walked on for a time in silence.
The first thing he said was:
"You are to stay here at Dorracleugh—you must not go—but I'm afraid you will be vexed with me."
Then we advanced about twenty steps; we were walking slowly, and not a word was spoken during that time.
He began again: