Mr. Scott had desired that they might come directly to Craigie Hall, and said he would take them to their own house in the evening. Accordingly they managed to drive up the dale, in the morning, both with a wish to please Mr. Scott, and to gratify themselves by a view of all the well-known scenes, among which their infant years had been spent. John, even in the midst of happiness, wept bitterly, when he came within sight of that house, which had been a home to him in his orphan state; and which from the kind treatment and instruction he had received within its walls must ever be dear to him. Marion, though possessing an equal warm heart, was just at that moment too much ingrossed with the delight of seeing her parents, and of presenting to them, as her husband, that very John they had so often tried to persuade her was no more, to enter exactly into his feelings. She sat looking out of the carriage, from side to side, watching every turn and bush she formerly knew, to see if they looked as they did when she left them; and at last, when they were approaching Mr. Elliott's cottage, she could keep silence no longer. "Look, dear John," cried she, "what a beautiful place this is made! Surely there must be new comers there now. Mr. Elliott would never have built these two pretty bow windows; and only see what lovely flowers are placed in them! It looks like a perfect paradise."—"It really does," answered John, with a sigh, thinking at the moment of poor Helen's wishes, on that memorable walk, which he first took with his dear master. I should have preferred living at that house, thought he, if I could have afforded it; but he did not express this, as he was determined to be contented with whatever house Mr. Scott had chosen for him.
All was happiness on their arrival at Mr. Scott's; an excellent dinner was prepared for them, which they were too happy to do much justice to. Soon after dinner, Mr. Scott proposed going with them to their own house; and said he hoped they had not forgotten how to walk, as he should expect a visit from them every day, and their house was a little distance from Craigie Hall. They laughed, and continued chatting with him and Mrs. Scott all down the river, till they came to the very cottage they had admired so much in the morning. "Pray, Sir," asked John, "who lives here now? Mr. Elliott I think must have left it, for he was not very famous for keeping his house in such excellent order."—"He is dead," answered Mr. Scott, "and it has been lately sold to a gentleman that has come from foreign parts. The family are not yet come down to it, but I believe are shortly expected. Would you like to look at the inside of the house? it is very well worth seeing; for, according to my taste, it is as pretty a neat box as you will meet with any where." Marion said she should like to see it of all things; they therefore turned up the little path that led to the door. Mr. Scott knocked, and it was opened by Peggy Oliphant, dressed in her best Sunday's gown; she curtesied and looked eagerly at John, who shook hands with her on entering.
They went over every room, and all the different adjoining offices, Mr. Scott seeming to take particular pleasure in pointing out all its superior qualities. John thought he never had seen so complete a thing and almost wished he had not examined it, for fear of finding his own much inferior. At length when every thing had been admired, Mr. Scott taking John's hand, said, "Now, my dear son, Marion, long ago, let me into a secret about this cottage, and when your joyful letter arrived, a thought came into my head, that I would surprise you. Mr. Elliott had been dead some time, and I knew his heirs wanted to dispose of the farm; I therefore made them an offer, which was accepted. I have fitted it up according to what I think will be pleasing, both to you, my dear children, and even to your intended guest. I have only to add, it is my wedding gift to my daughter, who I hope, will never again quit her native dale, at least during her mother's life and mine." John and Marion were so overcome with their own happiness and Mr. Scott's kindness, that they could only answer him with their tears; Marion threw herself into his arms, calling him the best and kindest of fathers. "Oh," at last said John, "had I known what a fortune Marion was, I scarcely think I could have had courage to ask her to be my wife." "I am very glad you knew nothing about it then," said Mr. Scott, "for we should have been all in the wrong without you, Marion would never have had any other man; you know she has been in love with you ever since you jumped over Bob's ears; and to own the truth, I approve her taste from the bottom of my heart; and I would rather see her your wife than any other man's in Eskdale."
Two day after they were settled in their favourite cottage, John left Marion to get every thing in order, and proceeded to Edinburgh, with a firm determination of not quitting that city, without conducting back to her native dale the last surviving remnant of his dear master's family.
On his arrival in Edinburgh, he wrote a few lines to Helen, saying that one of the crew of the unfortunate Amazon had been so lucky as to find his way back to his native country, after many years of captivity; and expressing a desire to be permitted to see her, if it were not too painful to her feelings. Helen had just come to the final resolution of retiring from business her health had been greatly injured by the close attention and fatigue she had undergone during Miss Maxwell's illness; and she now found herself unable to sustain the kind of life she was forced to lead, in order to make it an object worth her while to pursue.
On the receipt of John's note she was greatly agitated; at last, summoning all her resolution, she said, "I will see this person, if it be only for Marion Scott's sake; he may, perhaps, be able to set her mind at rest about poor John;" so saying, she answered his note, desiring to see him immediately. John trusted she would not recognize him, for he was greatly altered, had grown considerably taller and stouter, and his complexion, from being fair, was now almost as dark as an Indian's. "She cannot possibly know me," thought he, "Nobody, but Marion, could ever know me, I am quite sure;" and in this hope, he walked boldly into the little parlour, in Prince's Street, where sat Helen ready to receive him. On his entrance, he almost betrayed himself by his surprise; for in her, he almost thought he saw his own dear master himself, Helen's features resembled, in so strong a degree, those of her father; but she was now thin and pale, and evidently out of health.
John looked at her a few minutes without speaking, but at last made some apology for his intrusion. He said he had promised Captain Elliott to deliver her a small miniature of her mother. He then approached her, and kneeling presented her picture. Helen was surprised, but she put out her hand to receive it; on her arm she wore as a bracelet, a miniature of her father; John saw it, and for a moment prudence was forgotten; he snatched her hand, and kissed the resemblance of his master. Helen, astonished, fixed her eyes upon him, and the next moment, exclaiming, "Oh! it is John himself!" leant upon his shoulder and wept bitterly. John succeeded in soothing her into composure, and spent the evening in relating all the particulars of the loss of her poor brother and uncle, which till now were unknown to her; he then proceeded to prefer his request that she would return with him to Eskdale. "I consider myself, dear Miss Helen, as pledged to your uncle (independently of all I owe to my own master, and that is far more than I ever can express), never to leave you nor separate from you so long as you have no other protector; I have a comfortable home to offer you, and a wife who will strive with me to see which of us can pay you most attention; oh, do not deprive us of the delight of having you under our roof." "You are married, then," said Helen mournfully, thinking of poor Marion's constant attachment, "pray who is your wife? a foreigner, I suppose."—"And could my master's daughter know so little of John Telfer? Could she think he would ever do such a foolish thing as to bring a foreigner into Eskdale, or ask Miss Helen to live with a stranger? No lady, it is your friend, Marion Scott that was, now my own Marion Telfer, that invites you through me to come to her, and let us all once more be happy; you will not surely refuse us, Miss Helen, you cannot be so cruel." Helen felt she could not be so cruel, either to herself or to the honest affectionate couple, who now offered her a home. "I will come to you, John," said she, "the moment I have finished the arrangement of my affairs: in a few weeks I shall be at liberty; I am not much richer than when I quitted Eskdale, yet I have enough to prevent my being a burden to you and uncomfortable to myself: I have only one agreement to make with you: you must both, from the moment I enter your house, consider me in the light of a sister, nothing more, or I cannot remain with you."—"It shall be in that and every thing else," said John, "exactly as you please; our only wish is to see you comfortable."
John insisted on remaining in Edinburgh while Helen was detained, and she found him of the greatest service in assisting her to arrange her business; she had her precious library carefully packed up and sent on before her to Eskdale, and at the end of three weeks was ready to attend John to his peaceful home.
With what a variety of different feelings did Helen once more enter her native dale! She wept violently all the way, till she had passed the Manse, when, recollecting that she was actually unkindly to the good and proved friend who sat beside her, she endeavoured to compose herself and to appear cheerful on meeting his wife, the long attached and faithful Marion. "How Mr. Elliott's cottage is improved!" said Helen, but she had scarcely uttered the sentence, when on the green before the house Marion appeared running towards the gate to let them in. "And do you indeed, my kind friends, live here?" said she, almost overpowered. Marion flew into her arms, exclaiming, "I was sure he would bring you; you would never refuse to come to us; now we shall be happy again;" so saying, she led Helen into a neat little room, with a bow-window at one end, and a book-case, well filled with books, at the other; the furniture perfectly neat and comfortable, but nothing fine nor out of its place; and what amazed and pleased Helen more than can be described, over the chimney-piece hung, in a small size, the portraits of her father and mother. John had, when in Edinburgh, borrowed from her the miniatures of her parents, and carrying them to Mr. Raeburn, the celebrated artist, prevailed on him to take copies of them, and afterwards forwarded them to Eskdale. "This is kind, indeed," said she, and taking John's hand, while she laid her head on Marion's bosom, "now I do feel I am again at home."
In a few months, John and Marion's care of their dear guest was amply rewarded by seeing her health completely re-established; her spirits had resumed their former cheerfulness, and the dale did indeed look more like itself, as Marion expressed it, than it had ever done since poor William's elopement.