[CHAPTER XLVIII.]
The next day men were set to work to drag the lake for Golden Leith's body.
A poor, bleached skeleton, partially petrified by the action of the water, and therefore in a good state of preservation, was all they found.
The broad, gold band of a wedding-ring still clung to the fleshless finger, and the name within was all that remained to assure them that this was she whom they sought—the hapless girl whose bright life had been blasted by a brother's sin, and whose name had been covered with ignominy and shame for sixteen years.
They placed the precious remains in a coffin, and prepared to give them Christian burial the next day.
All night and all day it stood on trestles in Hugh Glenalvan's sitting-room, with mourners at head and foot—the husband and father, so tragically bereaved of their darling, sat there dumb and tearless in their great affliction, and old Dinah stole in and out, with the corner of her apron pressed to her streaming eyes, her old black face convulsed with grief.
Only a few days ago the daughter's coffin had stood there where the mother's rested now.
Both her nurslings were gone, and the faithful, old creature's heart was almost broken.
Throughout the night and day not a member of John Glenalvan's family was visible. The curtains remained drawn at the windows, the doors closed, there was no sign of life within the house.