"Is it possible, Helen?" said he, in a voice choking with strong emotion, and unable to get out the rest of the sentence, the meaning of which his pointed finger sufficiently indicated.
Helen was silent; the blush rose higher on her face, and the tear dropped on the face of the child. William and Grizzel looked at each other, as if each wished the other to speak.
"Speak, Helen," said Willie, partly recovering himself. "Can it be——?" and he again faltered.
His emotion stopped still more effectually the voice of Helen, who hid her face on the breast of her child.
"Indeed, and it is just sae," at last said Grizzel. "That is Helen's bairn, and as bonny a ane it is as she was hersel when we found her by the Eldrich Stane, wi' her head restin on the side o' puir auld Colin, wha is since dead. Ah, Willie! ye hae yersel to blame; for ye never let us ken whether ye were dead or alive."
Willie drew his hand over his eyes, and was silent. There was another subject that pressed upon his heart, and one which he equally feared to broach by a question.
"And Elizabeth—my more than mother!" he ejaculated, in a broken voice—"what of her?"
"She's in the kirkyard o' Minniegaff," answered Grizzel. "The sods are again grown thegither, and the grass is hail and green owre her grave."
"Oh, did I expect to meet all this!" muttered the unhappy man, as he held his hands upon his face. There was again silence in the cottage. "Had my dear friend plenty, and was she well cared for in her last moments?" he continued, with the same broken voice.
"Nane o' us had plenty at that dreadfu time," answered Grizzel; "death was the only creature that seemed to hae aneugh. We killed auld Hawky to save the life o' puir Elizabeth; but her time was come. She died i' the fear o' God; and you, Willie, that was her only love on earth, was her last thought, as she left this warld for that better ane whar friends dinna forget their auld benefactors."