o'clock to a minute. It's sae unthinking and
unfriendly like to keep folk waiting." And, endeavouring to smile upon a
beautiful black-haired girl of seventeen, who sat by her elbow, she
continued in an anxious whisper--"Did ye see naething o' him, Elizabeth,
hinny?"

The maiden blushed deeply; the question evidently gave freedom to a
tear, which had, for some time, been an unwilling prisoner in the
brightest eyes in the room; and the monosyllable, "No," that trembled
from her lips, was audible only to the ear of the inquirer. In vain Mrs.
Elliot despatched one of her children after another, in quest of their
father and brother; they came and went, but brought no tidings more
cheering than the moaning of the hollow wind. Minutes rolled into hours,
yet neither came. She perceived the prouder of her guests preparing to
withdraw, and, observing that "Thomas's absence was so singular and
unaccountable, and so unlike either him or his father, she didna ken
what apology to make to her friends for such treatment; but it was
needless waiting, and begged they would use no ceremony, but just
begin."

No second invitation was necessary. Good humour appeared to be restored,
and sirloins, pies, pasties, and moor-fowl began to disappear like the
lost son. For a moment, Mrs. Elliot apparently partook in the
restoration of cheerfulness; but a low sigh at her elbow again drove the
colour from her rosy cheeks. Her eye wandered to the farther end of the
table, and rested on the unoccupied seat of her husband, and the vacant
chair of her first-born. Her heart fell heavily within her; all the
mother gushed into her bosom; and, rising from the table, "What in the
world can be the meaning o' this?" said she, as she hurried, with a
troubled countenance, towards the door. Her husband met her on the
threshold.

"Where hae ye been, Peter?" said she, eagerly; "hae ye seen naething o'
him?"

"Naething! naething!" replied he; "is he no cast up yet?" And, with a
melancholy glance, his eyes sought an answer in the deserted chair. His
lips quivered, his tongue faltered.

"Gude forgie me!" said he; "and such a day for even an enemy to be out
in! I've been up and doun every way that I can think on, but not a
living creature has seen or heard tell o' him. Ye'll excuse me,
neebors," he added, leaving the house; "I must awa again, for I canna
rest."

"I ken by mysel', friends," said Adam Bell, a decent-looking
Northumbrian, "that a faither's heart i