It broke at length and he
died, - bequeathing his old 'prentice his trade and all his wealth,
and solemnly charging him with his last breath to revenge his child
if ever he who had worked her misery crossed his path in life
again.
From the time of Alice's flight, the tilting-ground, the fields,
the fencing-school, the summer-evening sports, knew Hugh no more.
His spirit was dead within him. He rose to great eminence and
repute among the citizens, but was seldom seen to smile, and never
mingled in their revelries or rejoicings. Brave, humane, and
generous, he was beloved by all. He was pitied too by those who
knew his story, and these were so many that when he walked along
the streets alone at dusk, even the rude common people doffed their
caps and mingled a rough air of sympathy with their respect.
One night in May - it was her birthnight, and twenty years since
she had left her home - Hugh Graham sat in the room she had
hallowed in his boyish days. He was now a gray-haired man, though
still in the prime of life. Old thoughts had borne him company for
many hours, and the chamber had gradually grown quite dark, when he
was roused by a low knocking at the outer door.
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