The ensuing day, the minister of Kilmun united Roderick Campbell to Annette Gordon. The marriage was kept quite private, contrary to the usual custom in the Highlands; but this was at the express desire of Roderick, who told his father that it ill became one who had so recently received a pardon for his transgressions to make any public display, even on such an occasion.
Everything, therefore, was quietly managed—two or three friends only being present, to whom the old laird introduced his son for the first time.
In place of returning to the Tower of Gloom, the married couple and the father proceeded to Dungyle, where the honeymoon was spent. Matrimony acts differently upon different people; in some cases it sweetens, in others it sours, the temper. With Roderick it operated in the former manner; for our hero had entirely divested himself of that gloom and melancholy which characterised his conduct upon his first return to the house of his parent. With his father it was different. As his life drew near a close, his despondency increased. It was in vain that Annette soothed him, or that Roderick offered him comfort. No longer was he hunted by the cateran chief—no more were his lands devastated, or his cattle carried off. All was quiet, save the workings of his conscience. He grew weaker and weaker, till at last he was compelled to keep his bed. Medical advice was procured, but in vain. The skill of the physician could not retard the approach of death.
One beautiful evening, as his son sat beside his bedside—
"Roderick," he feebly exclaimed, "my last hour is at hand. One thing I could wish; but that, I fear, is impossible."
"What is it, sir?"
"That William Grahame could witness my sufferings—could satisfy himself of my penitence, and ease my soul by his forgiveness."
"And could his forgiveness afford you relief?"
"It would."
"Then you are forgiven."