months afterwards, Mrs or Lady M'Wharry, as the peasantry
styled the laird's wife. It was during her visit (previous to her
marriage) to M'Wharry that the incident took place which thus connects
our narrative, and brings us up to the point of time when William
M'Pherson arrived at Denhead.

William, learning from Helen, as well as from his father and mother, how
matters were situated, suddenly disappeared, and left no means of
tracing the place of his retreat. Days, and even weeks, passed, but no
letter arrived, and no message came. In the meantime, the day appointed
for the marriage approached, and Helen seemed to have made up her mind
to submit to necessity; at least she tried to look cheerful, and put as
good a face upon it as many tears, shed in private, would permit.

Laird M'Wharry was a true Highlander--he had much of that clannish
feeling which is peculiar to the Celt. He was, besides, exceedingly
passionate, and had more than once got into trouble from having used
hasty and unguarded expressions. Nay, he had once been prosecuted in the
Court of Session, and damages had been obtained to a considerable
amount, by one of his servants, or rather slaves, whom he had beat most
unmercifully. In attending a Perth market, he had occasion to ride
homewards, after dark, with a brother proprietor, who had lately bought
an estate in his neighbourhood. This proprietor could not boast a Celtic
name or origin. He was plain Mr Monnipenny, from the town of Kirkcaldy,
in Fife. They had both been drinking during the course of the day, and
were, therefore, more liable to get into some dispute or quarrel.
M'Wharry began by deprecating Mr Monnipenny's horse, whose character the
master supported with some warmth; so, to settle the matter, they both
set off at the gallop, and the fire flashed from the horses' heels as
they passed through Dunkeld. Unfortunately for Laird M'Wharry, however,
about a mile beyond the above town, the saddle-girth gave way, and he
came to the ground head foremost. He was dead when Mr Monnipenny came up
with him. He had suffered a concussion of the brain; and,
notwithstanding that medical aid was immediately obtained from Dunkeld,
nothing could be done.

Poor Helen M'Pherson really mourned his fate; for, though she had no
love for him, she had brought herself to think that it was her duty to
fulfil her promise. But where was he whom her young heart held in its
core? No one knew--no one could tell. Helen had