growing black in the face when he saw ye; for, when want came hard upon our heels, and my dear motherless and faitherless bairn was driven to herd his sheep by the brae-sides—­there wad the poor, dear, delicate bairn (for she was as delicate then as she is bonnie now) been lying—­the sheep a’ feeding round about her, and her readin’ at her Bible, just like a little angel, her lee lane, when the brute wad come sleekin’ down ahint her, an’ giein’ her a drive wi’ his foot, cursed her for a little lazy something I’m no gaun to name, an’ rugged her bonnie yellow hair, till he had the half o’ it torn out o’ her head; or the monster wad riven the blessed book out o’ her hand, an’ thrown it wi’ an oath as far as he could drive.  But the nephew was aye a bit fine callant; only, ye ken, wi’ my bairn’s prospects, it wasna my part to encourage onything.”

Eagerly did the stranger, who gave his name as Colonel Morton, hang over the fair being who had conjured up the sunshine of his youth.  One by one, he was weeping and tracing every remembered feature of his wife upon her face, when doubt again entered his mind, and he exclaimed in bitterness, “Merciful Heaven! convince me!  Oh, convince me that I have found my child!” The few trinkets that belonged to Mrs. Morton had been parted with in the depth of her poverty.  At that moment Lieutenant Sommerville hastily entered the cottage.  He stated that his uncle had left the Hall, and delivered a letter from him to Colonel Morton.  It was of few words, and as follows: 

“Morton,—­We were rivals for Isabella’s love; you were made happy, and I miserable.  But I have not been unrevenged.  It was I who betrayed you into the hands of the enemy.  It was I who reported you dead—­who caused the tidings to be hastened to your widowed wife, and followed them to England.  It was I who poisoned the ear of her friends, until they cast her off; I dogged her to her obscurity, that I might enjoy my triumph; but death thwarted me as you had done.  Yet I will do one act of mercy—­she sleeps beneath the grave where we met yesterday; and the lady before whom you wept—­is your own daughter.”

He cast down the letter, and exclaimed, “My child! my long lost child!” And, in speechless joy, the father and the daughter rushed to each other’s arms.  Shall we add more?  The elder Sommerville left his native land, which he never again disgraced with his presence.  William and Elizabeth wandered by the hill-side in bliss, catching love and recollections from the scene.  In a few months her father bestowed on him her hand, and Mrs. Douglas, in joy and in pride, bestowed upon both her blessing.

THE BURGHER’S TALES.

THE BROWNIE OF THE WEST BOW.