began to imagine that the man must have been guilty of some unknown and
dreadful crime, and that conscience was at such times busy within him.
Douglas must have observed my changing manner; but it made little
alteration in his demeanour towards myself.

"What is the matter, Douglas?" said I, one day, when I observed him
start and turn pale at some casual observation of mine.

"Do not indulge a vain and idle curiosity, Master Charles, at the
expense of another's feelings," replied he, gravely and mournfully, "nor
endeavour to rake up the ashes of the past. The heart knows its own
bitterness: long may yours be a stranger to sorrow! I have observed,
with pain, that you, as others have done, begin to look upon me with
suspicion. Be satisfied with the assurance, that I have no crimes
needing concealment, to reproach myself with; and the sorrows of age
should be sacred in the eyes of youth."

I was humbled by the old man's reproof, and hastened to express my
concern for having hurt his feelings.

"Enough said, enough said, Mr. Charles," said he; "curiosity is natural
at your age, and I am not surprised at your wishing, like some of your
elders, to learn the cause of the melancholy which hangs over me like a
cloud darkening the path of life, and embittering all its pleasures. At
some future time I will tell you the reason why you see me what I am;
but I cannot now--the very thought of it unmans me."

Time wore on; every year I returned to the sea-side during the summer,
and was always welcomed with unaffected cordiality by my old ally,
Douglas. I was now a strapping youth of nineteen, tall and powerful of
my age--thanks to the bracing sea-air and constant exercise. One day
Douglas told me he was going over to Largs, and asked if I would
accompany him.

"With all my heart," said I; and in ten minutes we were standing across
the Frith with a fine steady breeze. We were close over to the Ayrshire
coast, when a sudden puff of wind capsized the boat, and we were both
thrown into the water. When I rose to the surface again, after my
plunge, I looked around in vain for Douglas, who had disappeared. He
had on a heavy pea-jacket, and I was at first afraid the weight and
encumbrance of it must have sunk him; but, on second thoughts, I dived
under the boat, and found him floundering about beneath the sail, from
whence I succeeded with great difficulty in extricating him. He was
quite exhausted, and it required all my strength to