For some days after this melancholy event had taken place, the family, and indeed all the inhabitants of the dale, were in the utmost state of distress. Mrs. Martin had been universally beloved by all ranks in the neighbourhood of her residence; and there was not a single individual for ten miles round, that did not, in some way or other, show a sympathy in the minister's affliction.

Helen struggled with her feelings; and this exertion was of infinite service both to herself and her father, who, struck by seeing so much fortitude in so young a girl, felt it his duty to encourage her by example, at least in her presence; and Helen, aware of this, took good care to be with him continually.

Her grandmother was perfectly astonished at her conduct; and took every opportunity of praising her when they were alone. "My Helen," would she say, "you will be the means, through the blessing of God, of saving your father's life. I really feared for him for the first week or two; but he begins now to look more like himself, and I think, by a continuance of the same attention and unobtrusive kindness, you will in time reconcile him in some degree to his loss, and bring him again into his former habits of employment and usefulness."

On one of these occasions, Helen caught her grandmother's hand, saying "Hush! no more, dear madam; I cannot hear praise on this subject. I am only endeavouring to follow the precepts and example of the best and most beloved of mothers. Her advice, and the solemn promise I gave her a few hours before her death, are never out of my mind; but it is a subject too sacred for me to bear hearing it talked of;" and straining her clasped hands across her chest, she added solemnly, "No! that I cannot do." Her grandmother folded her to her breast, saying, "My Helen, pardon me, I will never distress you on this subject again; we now perfectly understand each other."

Helen for many months continued the same mild, quiet, but unceasing attention to her father; who at length had acquired composure, and even began to smile at his daughter's little sallies of humour. She had became his pupil in drawing, and this tempted him to resume their usual walks and rides when the weather would permit, so that by the end of the summer, content, and even cheerfulness, had in some degree again appeared at the Manse. Helen, however could never bring her mind to mention her mother's name to any one but her father; and only to him, from observing that it would deprive him of a great enjoyment, which he evidently had, in talking of her and her virtues.

William had sailed before he heard of his mother's death. For the present, therefore, he had been spared the punishment of his disobedience; but Mr. Martin had written both to him and his uncle, and inclosed his mother's last legacy. Helen likewise had thought it her duty to write to William, and assure him how kindly and affectionately her mother had spoken of him before her death, and how much she wished to impress on both their minds love and confidence in each other. She then entreated him to write soon, and often, as their father was not in a state to bear much anxiety; she durst not say a word about her grandmother, for the old lady had positively refused to allow her name to be mentioned to him, and it evidently gave her pain whenever she heard Helen and her father conversing about him.

At this time, Mrs. Scott, the gardener's wife at Craigie Hall, was obliged, by the sudden illness of her father, to go to Edinburgh. Her husband was to accompany her, and leave her there if necessary, but they knew not exactly what to do with little Marion. Mr. Martin and Helen happening to call in one of their daily walks, he asked them to send Marion to the Manse. "She will be much better with us, Mrs. Scott, than being left here; and I am sure my daughter will take care to make her attend to all that she has learnt from you during your absence." Helen, also, was quite pleased with the plan, and pressed Mrs. Scott to agree to it. "I am sure, Sir," said Mr. Scott, "my wife can have no objection, unless it be the thought of giving you and Miss Helen trouble: but Marion is a good little girl, and will trouble you as little as possible; and therefore, as you are kind enough to ask her, Sir, I really think we ought to accept the offer; the advantage of being near so good a daughter, and seeing how she conducts herself, may be of use to her all her life." Accordingly, the next day Marion was brought down to the Manse by her father; and John was not a little surprised and pleased to find her established there when he came in the evening. Marion was but a short while under Helen's care, when her grandmother perceived she was of the greatest use, both to her health and spirits; she was a tractable child, with a very feeling heart. She had heard from her parents the continued praises of Miss Martin's conduct, from the time of her mother's death, and Marion fancied her the first of human beings; she therefore had the greatest ambition to please her. She watched even her looks to anticipate which she thought might be her wishes, and if ever a cloud of sorrow came over Helen's face, Marion was sure, by some little winning attention, to endeavour to direct her thoughts into a different channel. She remained at the Manse nearly three months, and returned home, to the great regret of all the family; from that time, however, she was a constant visitor, and a sincere attachment took root between her and Helen, which has lasted all their lives.

Very little change took place in the dale after this, for the space of several years. Mr. Martin had in some degree recovered his health and spirits; but a shock had been given to his nerves, which rendered him more delicate, and requiring more care than he did before; and it was not likely, Mr. Armstrong said, that he would ever be otherwise. Mrs. Elliott still enjoyed good health, though from rheumatism she was obliged to live more within doors. Helen was their comfort and support; she was now fast approaching womanhood, and never was there a more amiable creature; her dear mother's lessons and instructions had indeed not been thrown away. She had unfortunately known sorrow in early youth; but it had acted upon her for good, in teaching her the proper regulation of her mind and she now felt the comfort of having done so, by being the friend and confident both of her father and grandmother.

John had gone on under Will the shepherd, performing his duty as a servant in the day, and improving his mind with Mr. Martin in the evening; for though he had learned all that was necessary for him to know, yet Helen encouraged his constant attendance in the study, as she thought it amused her father's mind. John was now becoming a stout lad, almost too big for the hills, and on some occasion, when Mr. Martin happened to mention that he thought he must begin to consider whether he meant to be a shepherd all his life, John answered directly, "No, Sir, not if I can help it;" but recollecting himself immediately, he added, "in that as in every thing else, I feel it is my duty to be regulated by your advice. I certainly have formed a wish to see a little more of the world, and if I could go into the service of some gentleman who would have patience with my awkwardness, I think I should prefer that, at least for a few years, to settling here immediately for life. I have wished to speak to you, Sir, upon this subject, as my time is out next summer with Mr. Laurie; but if you think I am wrong, I will give up all thoughts of leaving the dale, and hire myself out as a shepherd. I have no doubt any of the farmers around will engage me, as I am well known among the hills; and Will's herd-boys are always preferred, as he takes so much pains to teach us our duty." Mr. Martin replied, "My dear John, I am rather unprepared to give you an answer; but I will think of the subject, and talk it over with you before your time is out with Mr. Laurie. You are a good lad, and will, I am sure, be guided by reason."

The day after this conversation took place a letter arrived from Capt. Elliott, saying that he was safely arrived in England; that he was now at Portsmouth, and he hoped in a very few weeks to be in Eskdale. He gave a most flattering account of William, who was now all that his warmest friends could wish. His poor mother's death had had a most astonishing effect upon his whole conduct. When he first received the sad tidings, he was so affected, that his uncle feared for his reason, and could scarcely ever trust him out of sight; but at length he became calm and composed, and from that time was never seen, even in a single instance, out of humour. For the first two years this appeared to cost him great mental exertion, his colour often rising when any thing displeased him; but he always on those occasions left the cabin, or retired to a corner away from every one, and on his joining the company again appeared with a placid countenance. Now all appearance of passion, or any thing approaching to it, had entirely vanished; his uncle entreated that his father, for his own sake, would allow him to come down with him to the dale, as he was quite sure he would be delighted to witness so complete a reformation.

Mr. Martin immediately answered this letter, by requesting William to come to him as soon as he could be spared from the duties of his ship. As Capt. Elliott found he should be detained in town longer than he at first expected, he thought it cruel to keep William from going to his father a day longer than was necessary; he therefore despatched him off by the mail, about a week after he had heard from Mr. Martin.

As soon as this news had reached the Manse, both Helen and her father felt the greatest anxiety; wishing, yet fearing to see one who would recall so many bitter thoughts to their minds. The having a few days to prepare themselves for this meeting was of great service to them: for, long before the time of his arrival was come, the delight of once more seeing a being so beloved had overcome in their minds all unpleasant reflections. Not so with Mrs. Elliott. When his arrival in England was first mentioned to her she made no remark, not even when it was told her that he was coming down with her son; but, as soon as she understood that he was coming alone, she informed Helen she was determined to go away before he arrived, and would take that time for paying a long promised visit to some friends at Melrose. Helen was absolutely in despair when she heard this. Her grandmother had been very far from well for some time, and was in her opinion quite unable to take such a journey; she therefore used every argument she could think of herself, being very unwilling to let her father know any thing of the matter if she could possibly help it, but all was in vain. She was therefore obliged, at last, to tell him what was her grandmother's intention. Mr. Martin was excessively distressed. He joined Helen in her entreaties, representing, in the mildest way, the great necessity we all have for forgiveness from our heavenly father, and that therefore it becomes a first-rate duty to forgive those who injure us. Poor William, now that he was sensible of his former bad conduct, was in fact an object rather of pity than of dislike; since in all probability he would never in this life be able to forgive himself. All their arguments were however vain, till Helen said, "Well, my dear grandmother, since you really are determined to act in this cruel manner, it must deprive me of the pleasure of enjoying my brother's society whilst he is here; for, in the state of your health, I consider my self bound, both by affection and the solemn promise I gave my dearest mother on her death-bed, never to separate from you while you require any assistance; and I never will, however much it may cost me. My father will receive William, and I hope will explain to him the great sacrifice I am taking in not remaining to welcome him; I have no doubt my brother will come and see me at the inn at Melrose; for I know not how I could bear to be entirely deprived of seeing an object, endeared to me, both by natural affection, and by the strong injunctions of one whom, I trust, I have never yet intentionally disobeyed."—"You are right, my dearest girl," said her father, "your grandmother must not be permitted to go alone in the present state of her health. It is a great sacrifice we must all make to part at this time; but to you, my sweet child, it is even of more importance than to any of us, as it must in a great degree prevent that intimacy and friendship taking place with your brother, which I think of essential consequence to the happiness of you both, and which you may not have another opportunity of forming for many years; but we must act (according to our best judgment) up to our duty, however much that duty may be unpleasant to us." Mrs. Elliott said she would on no account agree to this arrangement; but finding that nothing could shake Helen's resolution, she then proposed going only into Langholm, where she thought she might easily procure lodgings. "I can, I am sure," said she, "get Marion Scott to come and be with me, when you are in the Manse; and by this plan you can both see me every day. And besides, Mrs. Armstrong will then be near me, if any thing should be the matter. Will you, my dear son, agree to this plan? I cannot, indeed I cannot see William and live," added she, in great agitation: "at least I feel quite unable to bring my mind to it: I bear him no ill will; on the contrary, I shall ever be thankful to God for his reformation and prosperity, but I feel I was myself greatly to blame in my conduct towards him whilst under my charge; and to see him now would bring the recollection of my own culpability so strongly to my mind, that I am persuaded my life would fall a sacrifice to the acuteness of my feelings." Mr. Martin and Helen now thought it improper to press her further upon the subject; but they agreed that it would be much more satisfactory to them to adopt the plan of going into Langholm, than that at the present season (for it was now December) she should take so long a journey as Melrose. Helen proposed speaking to Mr. Armstrong on the subject who, as he was an unmarried man and had a good house, she did not doubt, for the few weeks her grandmother might require it, would offer to receive her at his own home.

Mr. Martin liked the idea very much, and said he would walk into Langholm and endeavour to arrange something immediately, as they had very little time, William being expected in the course of two days. Helen in the mean time got her pony and rode up to Mr. Scott's, to make her request concerning Marion. She felt that if she could succeed in this her mind would be quite at ease, as Marion was extremely handy and attentive, and what was of equal importance, a great favourite of Mrs. Elliott's; she might therefore with safety and satisfaction to herself be able to be a great deal at the Manse, without feeling any anxiety at leaving her grandmother. Mrs. Scott cheerfully agreed to her request. "I am sure, Miss Helen," said she, "any thing that Marion can ever be able to do for you or your worthy father she will have the greatest pleasure in doing; and I cannot, my dear miss, wonder much at the old lady's disliking to meet her grandson. Being a mother myself," continued she, looking at Marion with affection, "I do not think I could ever bear to see any one who, however innocently, occasioned the loss of my child. Oh, no! (shuddering at the bare thought of it). I am sure I could not." "We must and ought to forget and forgive, Mrs. Scott," answered Helen. "Poor William was but a boy when he brought so much distress upon us; but he is quite an altered character now I do assure you, and I am certain would not give any of us a minute's uneasiness."—"I am rejoiced to hear you say so; the sight of him will then be a cordial and a blessing to our dear and esteemed friend the minister; pardon my presumption in styling him so, but a friend in the truest sense of the word he is to us, and indeed to all that are in the dale." Helen now wished her good morning, she having promised to send Marion down in the evening. "I shall send John up early," said Helen, "that he may carry her parcel, and take care of her, for it gets soon dark at this time of the year."—"That will do nicely," said Mrs. Scott; "I was just thinking how unlucky it was her father was not at home to-day; he is gone down as far as Canonby this morning, and it will be late before he returns."

Mr. Martin had settled with Mr. Armstrong, that Mrs. Elliott and Marion were to be his visitors, as he would not for a moment hear of their going anywhere else; and Mrs. Elliott, when informed of the arrangements, expressed herself perfectly satisfied. "I am glad it has happened, my dear," said she to Helen, "that Mr. Armstrong can take me into his own house, for now you and your dear father will feel satisfied that I am quite comfortable. It has given me the greatest distress that I have been obliged to vex you both as I have done, but you must pardon an old woman, who has not strength now left, either of body or mind, to make the exertion that would have been necessary to have acted otherwise. Had I attempted it, I think it would have brought on you more serious evils than the little inconvenience of my changing my residence for a few weeks."

The following morning, a chaise, which Mr. Martin had ordered from Langholm, arrived to carry Mrs. Elliott and Marion to Mr. Armstrong's. Helen went along with them, and having stayed to see them safely settled, and all her grandmother's little comforts placed around her, she returned home to her dear father, well knowing that he required her society at that moment even more than the old lady.