my fathers; and my foot, which has only bowed the
head of the heather-bell in the valley, may yet collect energy enough
from my unstrung nerves to press fearlessly the sod of the mountain. How
long is it since your husband died?"

"Seven years," replied she.

"Well, short as our acquaintance has yet been," said he, "our words have
been only of unpleasant things. Now, I require refreshment; and here is
some small pay in advance, to remove the ordinary prejudice against
strangers. We shall be better acquainted by times. I will take, now,
what is readiest in the house; for you may guess, from my attire, that I
have been accustomed to that fare by which the poor contrive to spin out
the weary term of their pilgrimage."

So much being arranged, the dame set about preparing a meal; and Mr.
Wallace, as he had called himself, proceeded to transform his staff into
a fishing-rod, and arrange his other small matters connected with his
future residence. When the humble dish was prepared, the dame went out,
and, taking her position on a green tumulus that rose between the
cottage and the Lyne, stood, and, placing her hands over her eyes,
looked down the water. Her eye, accustomed to the search, detected the
form of her daughter far down the stream, and, waving her hand to her,
she beckoned her home. But she came not; and the two inmates sat down to
their repast.

"This shall be for my poor Alice," said the mother, as she laid aside a
portion of the frugal fare; "but she will take it at her own time, or
perhaps not at all."

"And yet how much she needs it," added the stranger, "her wasted form
and pale face too plainly show."

"There is a sad change there, sir," rejoined she. "There was not a
fairer or more gentle creature from Tweedscross to Tweedmouth than Alice
Scott; nor did ever the foot of light-hearted innocence pass swifter
over the hill or down the glen. You have seen her to-day where she is
often to be seen--by the pond opposite the closed-up house of
Whitecraigs--and may wonder to hear how one so wasted may still reach
the hill-heads; yet there, too, she is sometimes seen. I have struggled
sore to make her what she once was; but in vain. She will wander and
wander, and return and wander again; nor will this cease till I some day
find her dead body among the seggs of the Lyne, or in the lirk of the
hill. When I know you better, I may tell you more. At present, I am
eating the bread of one who is more connected with