"Bring me my child, Captain Clydesdale," said the general, on recovering his composure; "for I can no longer doubt that your adopted daughter is, indeed, my Julia."
Captain Clydesdale left the apartment, and in a moment returned leading in Julia Elderslie, who had hitherto been kept in ignorance of what was passing. On her entrance the general rushed towards her, took her by the left hand, gently pushed the sleeve of her gown a little way up the wrist, saw that the latter exhibited a small brown mole, and exclaiming—"The proof is complete; you are—you are my daughter, the image of your darling but ill-fated mother," took her in his arms in a transport of joy.
The feelings of Julia Elderslie, on this extraordinary occasion, we need not describe, they will readily be conceived. Neither need we detain the reader with any further detail; seeing that, with the incident just mentioned, the interest of our story terminates.
It will be enough now, then, to say, that General Elderslie, who had amassed a princely fortune, bought the estate and mansion of Park House. That he took every opportunity, and adopted every means he could think of, of shewing his gratitude to Captain Clydesdale, for the generous part he had acted towards his daughter. That this daughter ultimately inherited his entire fortune; the general having never married a second time; and that she finally married into a family of high rank and extensive influence in the west of Scotland.
THE ASSASSIN.
At a late hour of an evening in the beginning of the year 1569, mine host of the Stag and Hounds—the principal hostelry of Linlithgow at the period referred to—was suddenly called from his liquor—the which liquor he was at the moment enjoying with a few select friends who were assembled in the public room of the house—to receive a traveller who had just ridden up to the door.
Much as Andrew Nimmo—for such was the name of mine host—much, we say, as Andrew loved custom, it was not without reluctance that he rose to leave his party to attend the duties of his calling on the present occasion. He would rather he had not been disturbed; for he was in the middle of an exceedingly interesting story, when the summons reached him, and was very unwilling to leave it unfinished. But business must be attended to; its demands are imperative; and no man, after all, could be more sensible of this than mine host of the Stag and Hounds. So, however reluctant, from his seat he rose, and, telling his friends he would rejoin them presently, hastened out of the apartment.
On reaching the door, Andrew found the traveller had dismounted. He was standing by the head of his horse—a powerful black charger—and seemingly waiting for some one to relieve him of the animal.