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Tales of the Scottish Peasantry
The Cousins

Within somewhat less than thirty miles of Edinburgh—in what direction it matters not—there was a small farm, which, about the time of the revolutionary war in America, was known as Glenlochy. The low, thatch-roofed dwelling-house, with its other appurtenances, stood upon a small eminence, in the middle of a sequestered valley, from which the outlets, forming a communication with the surrounding country, were so devious, that it appeared to be completely shut in by hills on every side. From the site which it occupied, the ground sloped gently downward to a small sheet of water, called the loch, or Glenlochy Loch; and so short was the distance between them, that in summer it served as a watering-place for the cattle, etc. At the time alluded to, the place was tenanted by an individual bearing the very commonplace name of Robert Langton. It was cultivated by himself, a young man, and a boy. At the period when our little narrative commences, his family consisted of two sons, William and Frederic, of whom the former might be about four, and the latter about two years of age.

Nearly at the same time, two of his sisters died of an infectious fever, which was then said to "run in the blood;" but which, in reality, had been communicated by the younger to the elder in the course of those visits which the illness of the former seemed to require. The two sisters left three infant daughters; and as the fathers of these children did not appear to have the means of providing for their immediate comfort, two of them, Grace and Eliza, were taken home by Robert Langton, to be reared along with his own family. From their being thus so early brought together, and from their being treated in every respect as if they had been born of the same parents, it may be easily conceived that the four children would grow up like brothers and sisters, rather than cousins, and this was actually the case.

Years, the ordinary details of which the reader can easily imagine, sped on : with them the seasons of infancy and boyhood passed away, and Robert Langton was at last enabled to cultivate the farm without any other assistance save that of his two sons. Grace and Eliza, too, were, by -this time in the opening bloom of womanhood. They had reached that period at which, perhaps of all others, the female face and form is most engaging, and most likely to excite sentiments of admiration and regard in the bosoms of the other sex; and, being decidedly the best looking lasses for miles round, they had already become objects of pretty general attention with a certain class of persons in the neighbourhood. Some young men, who could occasionally spare a few hours for their own amusement, seemed all at once to have discovered that the little creek of Glenlochy Loch, immediately below the house, afforded the best place which was to be found in the whole parish for curling: through their exertions, stones, and people to use them, were collected ; and in winter, while the ice lasted, from a dozen to twenty players might have been seen there every afternoon. Nor was the summer destitute of reasons for assembling near the same place. As that season advanced, it was found that the green level margin of the little lake afforded excellent accommodation for playing at quoits and other masculine sports; and to it the youth of the neighbourhood accordingly resorted for these purposes.

As the magnet invariably draws certain metals toward it, there is likewise a principle, or rather a charm in female beauty which has a strong tendency to draw the unthinking of the other sex within its circle, almost without their being aware of the influence by which they are attracted—in many instances, at least, without their having any definite purpose, or serious intention in view; and this alone can account for the proceedings just noticed. The moth, fluttering around the candle till it is singed by the flame, were, perhaps, an apt illustration of the manner in which such things not unfrequently terminate; and, in the present instance, this may have been the case with more than one individual, though it was never openly acknowledged. During these winter-afternoon and summer-evening amusements, however, many excuses were found or formed for calling at the "modest-looking mansion" above. If either of the old people chanced to have caught cold, their health was most carefully and perseveringly inquired after. If a cow or a horse happened to be taken ill, the inquiries, though of a nature somewhat different, were scarcely less numerous or less sincere. The very dogs and the cats about the place came in for a share in the general sympathy. If one of the former happened to have overfeasted himself upon a "rotten sheep," or if a rat had, unluckily, scratched the nose of one of the latter, they, too, were inquired after with much benevolent feeling, and many expressions of pity and commiseration. On these occasions, more than one individual held himself a happy man when he had succeeded in engaging one or other of the cousins in something like an exclusive conversation. This, however, was no easy task; for, "when strangers were within," the girls were, in general, busiest with their work—knitting, sewing, spinning, or whatever it might be. During the harvest season, too, numerous offers of assistance were made; and when "before the ripened fields the reapers stood in fair array," scarcely a day passed on which some one did not try "to mitigate, by nameless gentle offices, the toil" of one or other of the cousins. For a succession of years, this helpful disposition prevailed to such an extent, that Mr. Langton, who, though rather a stern character, was himself a humourist in his own way, was heard to remark, that, "to a certainty, the world had greatly improved in benevolence, since he commenced farming; for then, when he had a great deal more work to do, with fewer hands to accomplish it, he was left to struggle on without a single offer of assistance; but now, he verily believed, that he should get the greater part of his crops cut down, though he were not to hire a single reaper."

If Grace and Eliza were thus objects of attention with the neighbouring youth, 'William and Frederic seemed to occupy, at least, a fair share of the thoughts of the softer sex. Sometimes a fair damsel, on the point of emerging from her teens, would "step in in passing"—instructed by her friends at home, as she said—"to inquire for Mr. and Mrs. Langton;" and become, unwittingly, so much engaged in conversation upon sundry topics, as to " forget herself," till the increasing darkness of the evening made "it a matter of common civility for some one to insist on being allowed to escort her on her homeward way. Occasionally the mother of one or two "marriageable daughters," would solicit their assistance at some little job, or their company for an evening; and then the "neat repast" —as neat, at least, as circumstances would permit—was served up by the girls themselves, who, with a profusion of smiles, and locks braided, and dresses arranged in the best style of the day, generally contrived to get seated, as if by accident, beside' their guests. At these seasons, some little delicacies prepared by their own hands—such, for instance, as a cheese made in a particular way—were almost always placed on the table; and a number of articles, displaying considerable skill in the housewifery of these days, exhibited; while their various excellencies, and the numerous difficulties which had been overcome before they could be brought to their present state of perfection. were all descanted on, merely to amuse their visitors. Sometimes, too, as the brothers were on their way to or from the church, a thoughtful looking maiden might have been seen, who, in stooping to pick up her handkerchief, or her Bible, which had, no doubt, dropped by accident, stole a wistful glance from under her arm, to see if she were particularly observed by either of the young men; and if she had any reason for surmising; that such was the case—albeit the road might be free alike from mud and dust^she was almost certain to manifest a greater degree of care for the preservation of her under garments, by slightly tucking them up; and thereby, in the forgetfulness of the moment, exposing more prominently to view a very pretty foot and ankle—both of which she would have, perhaps, wished to conceal.

Nothing, however, can last always: and in this changeful world, most things are extremely evanescent. Eliza, who was the youngest of the cousins, had reached the mature age of twenty-three, while some of the others were nearly four years older; and still there was not the most distant prospect of any of them being married. Respecting the girls, it was even asserted, and with the greatest appearance of truth, that, among the whole of their admirers, not one had ever ventured to speak openly of love, or to make a direct proposal for their hands. William and Frederic were still occasionally invited to a New. Year's or a harvest feast, by the mothers of grown up daughters; but among the daughters themselves, a feeling of hopelessness seemed to prevail; and, though they were still willing to honour their visitors with their presence and their conversation, their smiles were less bright, by many degrees, than they had once been. The curlers and quoit players, too, had discovered, by this time, that there were other places in the country which would suit their sports quite as well; the "benevolence" of the world had again somewhat declined; and if any accidental allusion was made to the younger members of the Glenlochy family, it was common enough to see individuals of either sex toss their heads, and make some sneering remarks about "bachelors" and "old maids."

One reason for the conduct of the parties thus sneeringly alluded to might be found in the circumstance of the family possessing within itself all the elements of happiness, and its members having no temptation to seek it elsewhere; but perhaps the reader will discover another reason, which, though unacknowledged, was not inoperative before the conclusion of the story. Be that as it may, the scene was indeed one which appeared too completely happy to be long enjoyed by mortals.

Coeval with these events, and in the early part of the year, Mrs. Langton sickened and died. It -were almost trite to say that the death of a wife and a mother is always an irreparable loss to a family; but in the present instance, and to parties situated like the cousins, there was, perhaps, a something which made it more so than common. That minute attention which extends to {he most trifling contingency—that intuitive knowledge of the workings of the human heart, in every varying situation, which is so natural to woman after she has arrived at a certain period of life; and above all, that gentle control which an experienced matron knows so well how to exercise while she does not appear to lay the slightest restraint upon the inclinations of those who are under her—these had gone to the grave with one of the heads of the domestic establishment; and it is highly probable that this circumstance hastened on at least the consummation which followed.

The summer and harvest season passed over without anything remarkable occurring. But about the autumnal equinox, during a violent gale, the wind broke upon the roof of an old house which, though in a crazy condition, could not be well spared; and, as soon as it was discovered, both William and Frederic mounted to the ridge, while their father and cousins endeavoured to supply them with pieces of wood and other materials with which to secure the thatch. From age and other causes, the gables of the house already leaned so much to one side that a line drawn perpendicularly from the centre of gravity would have fallen without the base; and thus, upon scientific principles, but for the support which they derived from the roof, they must have fallen. They had, however, stood long in this position, and their insecure state gave no alarm. But the absence of apprehension is not always the absence of danger. They now began to yield before the pressure of the tempest) but so imperceptibly as not to be noticed till they fairly swung over, carrying the whole of the roof, the wood of which was so rotten that the greater part of it crumbled into short pieces before them, and burning both brothers in the ruin. A wild scream of terror burst from Grace, while Eliza appeared to have been struck motionless and dumb by despair. After a few seconds of inactivity, the former flew to that part of the ruins at which Frederic had been last seen, and displayed what was, for a woman, an almost superhuman degree of strength; but she evidently knew not what she was doing, and she only rolled about large stones and rafters, without advancing one inch towards her object, Aroused from a trance of speechless terror by her example, as it seemed, the other called on her uncle to assist her, and moved to the place at which the elder brother had disappeared; but her strength was gone, and her feeble efforts could produce no effect. The one appeared to have strength without mind to direct it, and the other had mind without strength to do its behests—so differently may individuals be affected by the same cause.

Fortunately the accident had been seen from a distance, and a number of active hands soon arrived, and exerted themselves to better purpose in searching for the young men. On lifting up a rafter, which still supported a part of the fallen roof in such a manner as to leave a cavity below, William rose to his feet unhurt. The moment he was discovered, poor Eliza— who, with cheeks as pale as ashes, had never lifted her eye from the spot at which he disappeared—advanced hurriedly a few steps toward him, as if she would have clasped all she loved on earth to her bosom. But when she saw the look of deep interest which he bent in another direction, she checked herself abruptly before she reached him; while the blood which, with the first assurance of his safety, had again begun to mantle on her cheek—producing a faint tinge like the reflection of the evening clouds upon new fallen snow—once more receded and gave place to a second paleness almost as marked as the first. If these sudden changes were to be compared to aught, it must be to the colours of the pigeon's wing, which seem to vary in the twinkling of an eye when the light is thrown upon them in a new direction.

They were entirely unnoticed, however, by the individual who had occasioned them. He saw her not, nor seemed to be aware of her presence. With the first glimpse of daylight, his eye sought her cousin, and continued to follow her half frantic movements with intense interest for a time. Grace, on her part, took no notice of the circumstance, nor did she seem to heed in the smallest degree the words of those who told her he was safe. The whole of her distracted attention was fixed upon another quarter of the ruin, and, apart from that particular spot, the whole world beside was evidently nothing to her.

The joy at having found one brother had somewhat abated the activity of the search for the other; and it was not till William had recovered a little from the confusion of ideas incident to his late situation—or, rather, till he had roused himself from a momentary fit of deep musing into which he had been thrown by some unknown cause—and pronounced the words, "Frederic, where is he?" that it was resumed with full vigour. A very few minutes more served to bring him also to light. He had been stunned by the fall, while he had, at the same time, been protected from serious consequences by being thrown under a beam which still remained unbroken. The time which had elapsed since the accident, had, however, allowed him to recover his self-possession. But before he could utter a single word, Grace had him by the hand, reiterating, with an almost frantic earnestness, the words, "Are you hurt, Fred?—-it's me—it's Grace—it's your cousin—are you hurt?" As she uttered the last interrogatory, their eyes met, and he said, rather faintly, but with a characteristic smile, "I only feel a slight pain in one of my legs." As these accents fell upon her ear, she seemed with great difficulty to suppress a scream of ecstasy. Her feelings, however, found vent in a sort of half hysterical laugh, which was several times repeated, along with all the other demonstrations of irrepressible joy.

With his first attempt to rise, it was found that Frederic's ankle had been dislocated, and that he could not walk. When this was known, Grace, in the excitement of the moment, would have carried him to the house in her arms. Indeed, she was almost on the point of making the attempt, when William and Eliza, both of whom were silent spectators of the scene, stepped forward and offered their assistance—the one with a degree of embarrassment and restraint, which contrasted strongly with the former ease and freedom of his manners, and the other with that affectionate timidity which was natural to, her disposition. With their aid he was removed to the house. The dislocation was soon after reduced; but, from the limb having been bruised as well as disjointed, he was confined to the house for several weeks. During this interval Grace seldom left him. His comfort and his recovery seemed to be her only care; and, while she found a thousand opportunities for making tender inquiries, and bestowing unnumbered nameless offices of kindness, he did not seem to be greatly distressed at the accident which gave him so much of her company.

"Throw up a straw—'twill show the way the wind blows;" and an occurrence as trifling will sometimes show the current of human passions. From the time at which the old house fell, a marked change seemed to have come over Eliza. Her eye no longer met William's with that free, joyous expression which it was wont to display. If he spoke to her, she would answer him without venturing to look him in the face; and when he retired she would follow him with an intent gaze, and sigh deeply, and appear to be absorbed in melancholy reflection as he disappeared from her view. Sometimes she seemed willing to eschew his company as much as possible; at others she manifested an unwonted degree of cheerfulness as often as he was present: and, when both these moods had passed away, there was an unaccountable confusion in her manner as she approached him, and a strange tremulousness in her voice, as she tried to ask him some unmeaning question, or to answer some question of his which was almost as meaningless as her own. Altered as she had become, gentleness, and an ill-concealed melancholy, were still the predominating features in her character. Yet nobody seemed to be aware of the change which had come over her except Grace, who occasionally asked, "When she expected her wits to return from their woolgathering?" or some such question.

The intercourse between the brothers appeared to have undergone a similar revolution. It was no longer of that unreserved and all-confiding kind which it had formerly been, Some subject now seemed to lie near the heart of each, about which he felt that he could not speak to the other. In short, the very demon of discord was now between them ! and, but for the restraint imposed by early training and strong fraternal affection, their future histories might have served to darken the annals of crime. Of the whole family, Grace alone appeared to be perfectly happy. The only thing which seemed to give her the slightest uneasiness was, when she chanced to meet William alone; and then it only manifested itself in a distant, and rather pettish demeanour, till she could make her escape.

In this manner the winter months passed on, and, with the revolution of the seasons, spring approached. The little lake had been long frozen ; but repeated thaws, alternating with returning frost, had rendered the ice of very uncertain and very unequal strength. Upon some parts of it, boys might have still been seen at their sports, while there were others which they carefully avoided.

"It will not do for the plough this morning," said William Langton to his brother, as they stood looking down upon the frozen lake, glittering in the first beams of the sun. "The frost has been too hard last night," he continued, in a thoughtful voice, not without a shade of embarrassment; "and I believe—I think I may take this opportunity to speak to you about something—for we are not now as we were wont to be."

"Well, well," said the other—affecting to laugh, though the confused blood mounting to his cheek, and the unsteadiness of his voice, told of other emotions than mirth:—"You look so Serious," he continued, "that really I cannot help from laughing, but I will hear what you have to say some other time— only, just now, I must run down to the loch and take a last slide." With these words he ran hurriedly down the sloping bank, while the other retired slowly to the barn, and mechanically took up a flail. ,

Frederic's mind appeared to be in that tremulous state which does not admit of calculating consequences; and, without pausing to try the strength of the ice as had been his wont, he took a long run from the shore, and, with the force which he had thus obtained, placing himself upright upon the smooth surface of the frost-bound element, where it joined the land, he glided over it toward the middle of the lake. He had only proceeded a few yards, however, when the ice began to crack and bend under him. Still the rapid motion with which he passed along did not afford time for its going down. But, with the progressive diminution of that motion, the cracking and bending of the treacherous floor which now supported him became every moment more alarming, and ere the first had fairly ceased to operate, the latter gave way, and down he went, at a place where there was perhaps three or four fathom water, and at a distance of nearly fifty yards from the shore.

Although at the moment unnoticed by his friends, he was seen going down from some houses at the other side of the lake; and, in less than ten minutes, nearly a dozen of men and women were on the spot, with ropes in their hands, and all eager to lend assistance. The noise which they made alarmed Ills brother and his two cousins, who, pale and breathless, joined the others in a few minutes more. But what could they all do? After being repeatedly plunged below, and rising again to the surface, he had at last succeeded in grasping the ice in such a manner as to keep himself afloat, with no more than his head above water; so that, but for the cold, which had already weakened his voice to such an extent that he could scarcely be heard, and was fast benumbing every other faculty —there was still a prospect of saving him. Nobody, however, could throw the rope more than half the distance, while nobody jould venture more than a few yards upon the ice without the certainty of going down also; and thus it seemed that he must inevitably perish!

In this dreadful dilemma, Grace threw herself before the elder brother—throwing back at the same time a profusion of shining auburn hair, which she had been in the act of arranging for the day when the alarm arose, from her countenance—and addressing him with desperate energy: "Oh, William!" she said, "you can save him!—You can swim, though he cannot— only save him and I will give you all I possess—my life, or whatever you may ask!" and in her eagerness she threw her arms about his neck, and clung around him as if she would not be denied,

Beautiful at all times, beyond the most of her sex, she was now superlatively so; and, even at that fearful moment, his eye turned from his drowning brother to look on her as she gazed in his face, with the flush of hope, fear, and a thousand mingled feelings beside, brightening her expressive countenance till it almost seemed inspired with the intelligence of other worlds. It was a trying scene; and, as he afterwards confessed, while he returned her ardent and inquiring look, the thought, "If he perish, she may yet be mine!" passed through his mind. He pressed his hand upon his eyes, as if by shutting out the light from them he could have shut out the demon from his heart; and in another moment his resolution was formed.

"Yes," he said, as he unclasped her arms and shook her off, with a look approaching even to sternness, "he is my brother, and I will either save him or perish with him!" He then proceeded with what appeared to be more than mortal despatch to tie the whole of the ropes together; after which he coiled them up, and reserving only the two ends, he threw the rest as far as he was able upon the ice. His next step was to fix one of these ends around his own body, thus making his purpose apparent. But, while he did so, Eliza approached him, and holding up her hands imploringly, "For Godsake, and your poor cousin's," she said, "do not venture on the ice!— I could not live—I mean, what would become of your father, and the rest of us, if you were drowned too ! "

He heeded her not. Indeed, he did not seem to hear her. "Hold that till I bid you pull," he said, giving the other end of the rope to the man who stood nearest him.

"Oh God!" Eliza was heard to ejaculate, and, summoning .ill her energy, she grasped his hand to detain him from his desperate purpose. As little moved by her second, as he had been by her first attempt, he twisted his hand out of her grasp, pushed her hurriedly aside, and, while she staggered, dizzily, to the stump of a broken tree for support, he retired to some distance from the shore, to give himself the necessary momentum ; and then doing as his brother had done, he shot along the ice exactly in his tract.

There was now a dead silence among the spectators, who seemed to suspend their very breathing till they could ascertain the result. Eliza alone raised her hands and lifted her eyes to heavfin, for a moment, as if she had implored a higher power to save him from the death which she supposed he had planned for himself; and then she turned a steadfast—almost a frozen gaze upon that form beneath which the ice was every moment bending and cracking more fearfully. Notwithstanding appearances, it continued to support him till within little more than a yard of the place where his brother first sunk; and then it gave way at once, and down he went! For a moment he was lost to the spectators, and Eliza clasped her hands in an agony of hopeless feeling; but, with the next, he reappeared like a daring swimmer, as he was; and, pushing aside the floating fragments of broken ice, with a few vigorous strokes he succeeded in laying hold of Frederic at the very moment when his benumbed hands could hold on no longer, and he was sinking for the last time. "Pull on now," he shouted, as he threw himself upon his back, placing his body at such an angle as that his head and shoulders might rise over the edge of the ice; and thus the two were dragged toward the shore, till the frozen crust became strong enough to carry them.

A scene which it takes a length of time to describe, may frequently pass under the eye in a few minutes; and thus it was in the present instance. The praises and congratulations which were offered were numerous and loud, and the scene which followed was an interesting one; but lack of space forbids any attempt to describe it. Suffice it to say that the accident produced no permanent bad effects; only Frederic seemed to labour under a sort of depression of spirits throughout the day, as if he had incurred a debt, which he could neither discharge nor forget, and which, in the event of its being brought against him, would for ever mar his happiness.

On the following morning Mr. Langton took his sons aside, and told them that Grace's father, who, as they knew, was dead some time ago, had left about thirty acres of land, of which he had been the sole proprietor, to her younger sister, who latterly had kept his house; while to Grace herself he had left only a small portion—that of late he had entertained a wish to see them settled in the world—that he was now determined his youngest son should marry the heiress, a union which he conceived would be easily brought about, as he had himself been nominated the sole manager of her property—and that William should marry Grace, and succeed to the farm of Glenlochy at his own decease.

Both the young men knew that their father's disposition was unbending, and that it was utterly in vain to argue with him ; but they appeared to be very differently affected by what they had heard. .The younger blushed and stammered, but could make no intelligible reply; while the elder, with a half bitter, half melancholy smile, which seemed to spread slowly over a calm concentrated paleness of countenance, only remarked that,—"These were matters of some importance, and might crave at least one day for consideration."

"Hitherto you have been dutiful children," said the father, "and I do not expect that you will disobey me in this. I go off immediately," he continued, addressing his youngest son, "to break the ice about your marriage to your cousin and, recollect, you are to follow me to-morrow, that she may have an opportunity of seeing you." With these words he left them. to prosecute his journey.

Shortly after he was gone, William, too, departed. At another time he might have found it difficult to get away without some explanation; but at present no one appeared to question him. Having travelled in a contrary direction till he lost sight of the place, he took the direct road for the shores of the Forth, intending there to try if he could find a passage to America; and, if that should fail him, he had determined to enlist rather than return home. In this respect, however, fortune seemed to favour him. In the harbour of the first coast town which he reached, he found a vessel bound for the western hemisphere, which was to sail in two days; and having engaged for his passage, he had only to lie by till she was ready for the voyage. As one of the thoroughfares to the metropolis passed through the place, he kept himself rather retired for what remained of the day. But on the following forenoon, as he ventured to look abroad, he saw a horse at full speed, with the cart to which it was attached, turn the corner of a street, and dash forward, without a driver; while a man, who quitted the arm of a woman, and tried to intercept it, was thrown down. Something like a shriek was heard, and a crowd instantly collected behind the cart; but William Langton paid little attention to these matters, being himself meditating an attempt to stop the animal. Having accomplished his purpose, he next hastened to see what was the nature of the accident which had drawn the crowd together. The first thing which attracted his notice was a woman, whose face he instantly knew, standing with her hands clasped together, and her eyes fixed in a glassy stare upon some object which he could not see. His first impulse was to start back, and leave the place without speaking; but there was a something in the look and attitude of the female, which dashed that idea almost before it was formed; and pressing forward, and touching her on the shoulder, "Grace," he said in a rather stern voice, "what brought you here?"

As if only half awakened, by that touch and that voice, from some horrid dream, she pronounced the word, "Frederic," and then sunk to the earth, leaving an opening toward the centre of the crowd; and, while such expressions as, "Poor man!"— "ay, ay—nae mair o' him,"—"it's a' ower noo!" and the like, were uttered by various voices, William saw the body of a man prostrate on the street—his head literally crushed to pieces by the cart wheel, with the warm blood welling up from among the brains and fractured bones. The arms and the upper part of the body were already motionless, hut the limbs continued to quiver for a few seconds longer. Face, or feature by which to recognise its owner, none were left; but the proportions of the body, and some parts of the dress, told too truly that it was his brother.

What remains of the story must be told in a few words. Instead of going to America, William returned to Glenlochy, with that brother for whose happiness he had generously determined to forego his home and his native country, a mangled corpse; and the woman whom, in spite of himself, he still loved, a poor maniac. How they came to be in the situation where he found them, could never be exactly ascertained; for one was not, and the other could tell nothing distinctly. "Where is Frederic?" she would say. "He should come and see me. I am his wife now. We were married at Edinburgh at the Half-mark. My uncle thought to prevent us, but we took the opportunity of his being from home. Can't you tell him, William, that I am ill I would do as much for you. I'm sure I always loved you like a brother; but perhaps you are angry because I did not love you as I loved Fred, hut- it would have been wrong to love you both. Only tell him that I am ill, and he will come and see me." Ill she was in body, as well as mind; and, notwithstanding all the care and tenderness which could be lavished on her, in a few weeks she followed her fancied husband to the grave. The old man did not long survive the death of his son, the suddenness of which gave such a shock to his feelings and his constitution, that he never recovered it. But in the midst of these severe trials, William Langton learned to appreciate the real worth of Eliza. In her presence he felt that he could indulge his sorrows, unrestrained. Her deep sympathy, and unobtrusive affection, won gradually -upon his heart; and, in due time, they were rewarded with his hand.

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