Oh, what a melancholy day was that to us all. Margaret's sweet face alone wore a serene smile, as, supported by her father, she stood beside me at the altar.
How beautiful she looked in her white bridal dress. What a mockery was the ceremony to my tortured heart, whilst fancy, busy with my grief, converted those flowing garments into a snowy shroud.
One little week after that melancholy event I again bent before that altar, to partake of the last tokens of a Saviour's dying love; but I knelt alone. The grave had closed over my bright, my beautiful, my virgin bride, and my soul had vowed an eternal divorce from the vanities and lusts of earth.
Years have fled on in their silent and undeviating course. I am now an old, grey-headed man.
Sir Alexander Moncton has long been gathered to his fathers, and the old Hall is filled by a race of healthy, noble-looking young people, the children of Sir George Moncton and Catherine Lee. I, too, have a Geoffrey and a Margaret, the children of my adoption; for a large family Sir George willingly spared me these.
For years I have resided at the Lodge, formerly the residence of Dinah North, which I have converted into a pretty dwelling, surrounded by shrubberies and flower-gardens. I love to linger near the scenes where the happiest and saddest moments of my life were passed.
Behold me now, a cheerful and contented old man, surrounded by dear young faces, who lavish upon Uncle Geoffrey the redundant affections of warm and guileless hearts.
My wealth is the means of making many happy, of obviating the sorrows of the sorrowful, and smoothing with necessary comforts the couch of pain. When I first lost my beloved Margaret, I mourned as one without hope; but it pleased God to hallow and bless my afflictions, and by their instrumentality gently to lead me to a knowledge of the truth—that simple and holy truth, which has set me free from the chains of sin and the fear of death.
In what a different light I view all these trials now. How sincerely I can bless the munificent hand which wounds but to heal—punishes but to reform; who has poured upon the darkness of my soul the light of life, and exchanged the love of earth, which bound me grovelling in the dust, for the love of Christ; sorrow for the loss of one dear companion and friend, into compassion for the sorrows and sufferings of the whole human race.