“What is become of Mary?” said my father. Mary was gone. We searched the house, the garden, and the houses of all the cottagers, but she was nowhere to be found. Poor lovelorn, forsaken Mary! She had hid herself in the ancient yew that grows in front of the old ruin, that she might see her lover depart, without herself being seen, and might indulge in all the luxury of woe. Poor Mary! how often have I heard her sigh, and seen her eyes red with weeping, while the smile that played on her languid features, when aught was mentioned in Duncan’s commendation, would have melted a heart of adamant.
I must pass over Duncan’s journey to the north Highlands; but on the evening of the sixth day after leaving my father’s house, he reached the mansion-house of Glenellich, which stands in a little beautiful woody strath, commanding a view of part of the Hebrides; every avenue, tree, and rock was yet familiar to Duncan’s recollection; and the feelings of his sensible heart, on approaching the abode of his father, whom he had long scarcely thought of, can only be conceived by a heart like his own. He had, without discovering himself, learned from a peasant that his father was still alive, but that he had never overcome the loss of his son, for whom he lamented every day; that his wife and daughter lorded it over him, holding his pleasure at naught, and rendered his age extremely unhappy; that they had expelled all his old farmers and vassals, and introduced the lady’s vulgar, presumptuous relations, who neither paid him rents, honour, nor obedience.
Old Glenellich was taking his evening walk on the road by which Duncan descended the strath to his dwelling. He was pondering on his own misfortunes, and did not even deign to lift his eyes as the young stranger approached, but seemed counting the number of marks which the horses’ hoofs had made on the way.
“Good e’en to you, sir,” said Duncan. The old man started and stared him in the face, but with a look so unsteady and harassed, that he seemed incapable of distinguishing any lineament or feature of it.
“Good e’en, good e’en,” said he, wiping his brow with his arm, and passing by.
What there was in the voice that struck him so forcibly it is hard to say. Nature is powerful. Duncan could not think of aught to detain him; and being desirous of seeing how matters went on about the house, thought it best to remain some days incog. He went into the fore-kitchen, conversed freely with the servants, and soon saw his step-mother and sister appear. The former had all the insolence and ignorant pride of vulgarity raised to wealth and eminence; the other seemed naturally of an amiable disposition, but was entirely ruled by her mother, who taught her to disdain her father, all his relations, and whomsoever he loved. On that same evening he came into the kitchen, where she then was chatting with Duncan, to whom she seemed attached at first sight.
“Lexy, my dear,” said he, “did you see my spectacles?”
“Yes,” said she; “I think I saw them on your nose to-day at breakfast.”
“Well, but I have lost them since,” said he.
“You may take up the next you find then, sir,” said she.