and beckoned to his
daughter Margaret, as he called her, to leave the room. The young
woman retired slowly, and I observed, as she proceeded towards the
door, she threw back two or three nervous looks, which I thought
indicated a strong feeling of apprehension, mixed with her filial
sympathy. As the door shut, it sounded as if it had lost the catch;
the father caught the sound, appeared angry, and requested me to rise
and shut it effectually, and, as he added, carefully. I complied, and
he seemed to listen for some time, as if to try to ascertain whether
his daughter had proceeded along the passage to the kitchen. He was
uncertain, and listened again, but was still unresolved; at last, he
said he was sorry to give me so much trouble, but he felt he could not
enter upon the subject about which he wished to consult me until he
was satisfied, beyond the possibility of doubt, that Margaret was not
listening. I rose and went to the door. On opening it, I saw the young
woman standing behind it. On perceiving me, she retreated
precipitately and fearfully along the dark passage. I shut the door;
and, being unwilling, in my ignorance of the cause of all this
mysterious secrecy and suspicion, to betray the poor girl, who had
perhaps some good legitimate object in solicitude, I said simply that
there was now nobody there. He was satisfied; and I again sat down.

I then asked him what was the particular complaint about which he
wished to consult me.

"That is precisely what I wish to know," he replied. "I hae nae
complaint aboot _my body_, which, God be thanked! is just as strong as
it used to be. But there is a change in my mind, different frae the
healthy griefs, and sorrows, and pains o' mortals. My wife, the best
o' women, died a year ago. In a short time after, I lost the greater
number o' my sheep in a storm, which prevented me frae payin my
Candlemas rent. But mony a man loses his wife, and mony a shepherd his
sheep, without tellin a doctor o' their loss. I laid my account wi'
sufferin grief as heavy as mortal ever suffered; and in this house, in
this bed, on these hills, in the kirk, and at our cattle trysts, I hae
struggled wi' my sorrow. But, sir," leaning his head towards me, and
speaking low, "_it winna a' do_."

He paused, and, as he fixed his eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, as if
he had already, as it were, broached a subject that was fearful to
himself.

"What mean you?" said I.

"I mean, that _I canna live_!"