As he entered, Elizabeth wept, and he also burst into tears.
Their aged friend beheld the yearnings of a young passion that might
terminate in sorrow; and taking his hand, she prayed God to prosper him,
and bade him farewell. She was leading him to the door, when Elizabeth
raised her tearful eyes; he beheld them, and read their meaning, and,
leaping forward, threw his arms round her neck, and printed the first
kiss on her forehead! "Do not forget me, Elizabeth," he cried, and
hurried from the house.

Seven years from this period passed away. The lovely girl was now
transformed into the elegant woman, in the summer majesty of her beauty.
For four years Elizabeth had kept a school in the village, to which her
gentleness and winning manners drew prosperity; and her grey-haired
benefactress enjoyed the reward of her benevolence. Preparations were
making at Thorndean Hall for the reception of William, who was now
returning as Lieutenant Sommerville. A post-chaise in the village had
then become a sight less rare; but several cottagers were assembled
before the inn to welcome the young laird. He arrived, and with him a
gentleman between forty and fifty years of age. They had merely become
acquainted as travelling companions; and the stranger being on his way
northward, had accepted his invitation to rest at his uncle's for a few
days. The footpath to the Hall lay through the churchyard, about a
quarter of a mile from the village. It was a secluded path, and
Elizabeth was wont to retire to it between school hours, and frequently
to spend a few moments in silent meditation over her mother's grave. She
was gazing upon it, when a voice arrested her attention, saying,
"Elizabeth--Miss Morton!" The speaker was Lieutenant Sommerville,
accompanied by his friend. To the meeting of the young lovers we shall
add nothing. But the elder stranger gazed on her face and trembled, and
looked on her mother's grave and wept. "Morton!" he repeated, and read
the inscription on the humble stone, and again gazed on her face, and
again wept. "Lady!" he exclaimed, "pardon a miserable man--what was the
name of your mother?--who the family of your father? Answer me, I
implore you!" "Alas! I know neither," said the wondering and now unhappy
Elizabeth. "My name is Morton," cried the stranger; "I had a wife; I had
a daughter once, and my Isabella's face was thy face!" While he yet
spoke, the elder Sommerville drew near to meet his nephew. His eyes and
the