It would have been impossible, in the mangled remains
of Ellen’s guide, to discover the son of the
Widow Butler, except from the evidence of her sister,
who became, by his death, the sole inheritrix of the
cottage. The history of this evil and unfortunate
man must be comprised within very narrow limits.
A harsh father, and his own untamable disposition,
had driven him from home in his boyhood; and chance
had made him the temporary companion of Hugh Crombie.
After two years of wandering, when in a foreign country
and in circumstances of utmost need, he attracted the
notice of Mr. Langton. The merchant took his
young countryman under his protection, afforded him
advantages of education, and, as his capacity was above
mediocrity, gradually trusted him in many affairs of
importance. During this period, there was no
evidence of dishonesty on his part. On the contrary,
he manifested a zeal for Mr. Langton’s interest,
and a respect for his person, that proved his strong
sense of the benefits he had received. But he
unfortunately fell into certain youthful indiscretions,
which, if not entirely pardonable, might have been
palliated by many considerations that would have occurred
to a merciful man. Mr. Langton’s justice,
however, was seldom tempered by mercy; and, on this
occasion, he shut the door of repentance against his
erring protege, and left him in a situation
not less desperate than that from which he had relieved
him. The goodness and the nobleness, of which
his heart was not destitute, turned, from that time,
wholly to evil; and he became irrecoverably ruined
and irreclaimably depraved. His wandering life
had led him, shortly before the period of this tale,
to his native country. Here the erroneous intelligence
of Mr. Langton’s death had reached him, and suggested
the scheme, which circumstances seemed to render practicable,
but the fatal termination of which has been related.
The body was buried where it had fallen, close by
the huge, gray, moss-grown fragment of rock,—a
monument on which centuries can work little change.
The eighty years that have elapsed since the death
of the widow’s son have, however, been sufficient
to obliterate an inscription, which some one was at
the pains to cut in the smooth surface of the stone.
Traces of letters are still discernible; but the writer’s
many efforts could never discover a connected meaning.
The grave, also, is overgrown with fern-bushes, and
sunk to a level with the surrounding soil. But
the legend, though my version of it may be forgotten,
will long be traditionary in that lonely spot, and
give to the rock and the precipice and the fountain
an interest thrilling to the bosom of the romantic
wanderer.
CHAPTER X.
“Sitting then in shelter shady,
To observe and mark his mone.
Suddenly I saw a lady
Hasting to him all alone,
Clad in maiden-white and green,
Whom I judged the Forest Queen.”
The WOODMAN’S bear.
