steps at a distance.
Every ear was raised to listen, every eye turned to the door; but,
before the tread was yet audible to the listeners--"Oh! it is only
Peter's foot!" said the miserable mother, and, weeping, rose to meet
him.

"Janet, Janet!" he exclaimed, as he entered, and threw his arms around
her neck, "what's this come upon us at last?"

He cast an inquisitive glance around his dwelling, and a convulsive
shiver passed over his manly frame, as his eye again fell on the vacant
chair, which no one had ventured to occupy. Hour succeeded hour, but the
company separated not; and low, sorrowful whispers mingled with the
lamentations of the parents.

"Neighbours," said Adam Bell, "the morn is a new day, and we will wait
to see what it may bring forth; but, in the meantime, let us read a
portion o' the Divine word, an' kneel together in prayer, that, whether
or not the day-dawn cause light to shine upon this singular bereavement,
the Sun o' Righteousness may arise wi' healing on his wings, upon the
hearts o' this afflicted family, an' upon the hearts o' all present."

"Amen!" responded Peter, wringing his hands; and his friend, taking down
the Ha' Bible, read the chapter wherein it is written--"It is better to
be in the house of mourning than in the house of feasting;" and again
the portion which sayeth--"It is well for me that I have been afflicted,
for before I was afflicted I went astray."

The morning came, but brought no tidings of the lost son. After a solemn
farewell, all the visitants, save Adam Bell and his daughter, returned
every one to their own house; and the disconsolate father, with his
servants, again renewed their search among the hills and surrounding
villages.

Days, weeks, months, and years rolled on. Time had subdued the anguish
of the parents into a holy calm; but their lost first-born was not
forgotten, although no trace of his fate had been discovered. The
general belief was, that he had perished on the breaking up of the snow;
and the few in whose remembrance he still lived, merely spoke of his
death as a "very extraordinary circumstance," remarking that "he was a
wild, venturesome sort o' lad."

Christmas had succeeded Christmas, and Peter Elliot still kept it in
commemoration of the birthday of him who was not. For the first few
years after the loss of their son, sadness and silence characterized the
party who sat down to dinner at Marchlaw, and still at Peter's right
hand was placed t