was no peace anywhere. Maggie's one hope was, that she would be able to
bear up until they were gone. Fortunately the tide served very early, and
almost at daylight she called the travelers for their breakfast. They were
both silent, and perhaps no one was sorry when those few terrible minutes
of approaching farewells were over. At the last, with all her efforts,
Maggie could not keep back her tears, and David's black, shiny eyes were
dim and misty also.

"Few men hae sae kind-hearted a sister as I hae," he said gratefully.
Scotch families are not demonstrative in their affections; very seldom in
all her life had Maggie kissed her brother, but when he stood with his
bonnet in his hand, and the "good-bye" on his lips, she lifted her face
and kissed him tenderly. Allan tried to make the parting a matter of
little consequence. "We shall be back in a few days, Maggie;" he said
cheerily. "David is only going for a pleasuring"--and he held out his hand
and looked her brightly in the face. So they went into the boat, and she
watched them out of harbor; and Allan long remembered how grandly
beautiful she was, standing at the very edge of the land, with the
sunshine falling all over her, the wind blowing backward her hair and her
plaid, and her white bare arm raised above her head in a last adieu. He
saw her turn slowly away, and he knew how her heart ached by the sharpness
of the pain in his own.

She went back to the desolate untidy house and fastened the door, and drew
the curtains, and sat down full of misery, that took all light and hope
out of her life. She did not lose herself in analysis; the tide of sorrow
went on rising, rising, until it submerged her. Accustomed to draw all her
reflections from the Bible, she moaned out "Lover and friend thou hast put
far from me." Ah! there is no funeral so sad to follow as the funeral of
our first love, and all its wonderful hopes.