me at
once into full and distinct view of his home. It was then grey twilight,
and objects began to assume an indistinct appearance. Walking by the
side of the stream, as if meditating, there appeared a figure wrapped up
in a Highland plaid. It immediately struck the young sailor that this
was his sister; and in order to give her what is called an agreeable
surprise, he stepped aside unperceived by her, and stood concealed
behind a projecting cliff, which the stream had stripped bare of soil in
its passing current. The figure came nearer and nearer, and then,
sighing deeply, uttered some sound, which his ear could not catch. At
last, tears and sobs followed, and he heard the words most distinctly
pronounced--"Alas, I can never truly love him! I shall be the most
wretched of women! But he whom I loved as angels love--oh, he, my own
dear William M'Pherson, is dead and gone, and I can never see him more."

"But you can though, my own dear Helen;" and in an instant he held her
lifeless and motionless in his arms. She had uttered just one awful
scream, which was re-echoed by the surrounding cliffs, and had ceased to
feel or know anything connected with the living world. Alas! she was
dead, and he was distracted. He ran to the house, calling aloud for
help; but every one of its inmates, even the mother who bore him, fled
from his presence, uttering ejaculations, intimating the greatest terror
at his presence. In vain did he protest with tears--I am your son and no
other--I am Willie M'Pherson, your lost boy! His words bore no
conviction along with him. Avaunt, foul fiend! Avaunt, in the name of
God and the Holy Trinity--trouble me not--trouble me not; my dear child
is in heaven; and thou, foul spirit, art permitted for a time to assume
his shape. His sister, too, was equally incredulous, and his father had
not yet returned from the hill. What was to be done? Helen M'Donald was
in all probability dead, or dying, helpless and alone, and yet no one
would come to her assistance. At last, Oscar and Fingal made their
appearance in advance of his father; and though they barked at first
upon his naming them, they immediately ran up to him, and jumped upon
his back, his neck, his head, his whole person. They seemed in as much
danger of expressing joy as poor Helen had been of dying of fearful
surprise.

"Stand back," said the delighted and believing father to his wife, who
absolutely clung to his knees to prevent his advance--"stand