"She sighed deeply, for I saw that her heart craved after some word
fra' him, but she said nae mair, but pale an' sorrowfu', the very
ghaist o' her former sel', went back into the house.
"From that hour she never breathed his name to ony of us; but we all
ken'd that it was her love for him that was preying upon her life.
The grief that has nae voice, like the canker-worm, always lies
ne'est to the heart. Puir Jeanie! she held out during the simmer,
but when the fall came, she just withered awa' like a flower, nipped
by the early frost, and this day we laid her in the earth.
"After the funeral was ower, and the mourners were all gone, I stood
beside her grave, thinking ower the days of my boyhood, when she and
I were happy weans, an' used to pu' the gowans together on the
heathery hills o' dear auld Scotland. An' I tried in vain to
understan' the mysterious providence o' God, who had stricken her,
who seemed sae gude and pure, an' spared the like o' me, who was mair
deservin' o' his wrath, when I heard a deep groan, an' I saw Willie
Robertson standing near me beside the grave.
"'Ye may as weel spare your grief noo,' said I, for I felt hard
towards him, 'an' rejoice that the weary is at rest.'
"'It was I murdered her,' said he, 'an' the thought will haunt me to
my last day.
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