have an opportunity to spend the interval by herself.

The wonderful change which a few weeks had wrought in her situation, from
shame and grief, and almost despair, to honour, joy, and a fair prospect
of future happiness, passed before her eyes with a sensation which
brought the tears into them. Yet they flowed at the same time from
another source. As human happiness is never perfect, and as
well-constructed minds are never more sensible of the distresses of those
whom they love, than when their own situation forms a contrast with them,
Jeanie's affectionate regrets turned to the fate of her poor sister--the
child of so many hopes--the fondled nursling of so many years--now an
exile, and, what was worse, dependent on the will of a man, of whose
habits she had every reason to entertain the worst opinion, and who, even
in his strongest paroxysms of remorse, had appeared too much a stranger
to the feelings of real penitence.

While her thoughts were occupied with these melancholy reflections, a
shadowy figure seemed to detach itself from the copsewood on her right
hand. Jeanie started, and the stories of apparitions and wraiths, seen by
solitary travellers in wild situations, at such times, and in such an
hour, suddenly came full upon her imagination. The figure glided on, and
as it came betwixt her and the moon, she was aware that it had the
appearance of a woman. A soft voice twice repeated, "Jeanie--Jeanie!"--
Was it indeed--could it be the voice of her sister?--Was she still among
the living, or had the grave given uly its tenant?--Ere she could state
these questions to her own mind, Effie, alive, and in the body, had
clasped her in her arms and was straining her to her bosom, and devouring
her with kisses. "I have wandered here," she said, "like a ghaist, to see
you, and nae wonder you take me for ane--I thought but to see you gang
by, or to hear the sound of your voice; but to speak to yoursell again,
Jeanie, was mair than I deserved, and mair than I durst pray for."

"O Effie! how came ye here alone, and at this hour, and on the wild
seabeach?--Are you sure it's your ain living sell?" There was something
of Effie's former humour in her practically answering the question by a
gentle pinch, more beseeming the fingers of a fairy than of a ghost. And
again the sisters embraced, and laughed, and wept by turns.

"But ye maun gang up wi' me to the Lodge, Effie," said Jeanie, "and tell
me a' your story--I hae gude folk