The dead who wounded hearts and had no power to heal them--who broke faith, and went away with their treachery in their hearts to the grave; who disenchanted youthful eyes and darkened lives which were not bright before--evils that the doer never can atone--alas for them, unhappy! Alas for the false--the cruel--the heart-breakers! The hearts broken will heal; the suffering will pass away like clouds; but woe for those who inflict--woe for the seedmen of sin, whose harvest shall not fail. “And you, Lucy,” said Mossgray. “I must question you, and blame you as I cannot blame Hew. Why have I never heard from you? where have you been?” “We came from France to Orkney,” said Lucy; “was not that a change, Adam? and there I have been very glad and very sorrowful. They both lie yonder--my husband and my father, and there my Hew was born. I should have written to you, Adam, but I have told you before how long my father lived, and how he retained his old pride; and when he was dead, and James was dead, and Hew away from me, forgive me that I was very listless, very sad, Adam. I could write to no one but my son.” “Not even to Lilias; when you knew who she was, Lucy?” said Mossgray. “Not even to Lilias, Adam. I did not know _herself_, and I had some fears, I confess, of Hew’s early decision on a matter so important; and when they sent me word that my son was dead, and when I got her simple, touching letter, I was jealous, Adam, that any one should mourn for him but myself. I became selfish as grief does sometimes; I would not believe that any other heart could break as mine did. He was mine--my son. I was jealous of her, Adam, when I thought she claimed a right to share with me my boy’s grave.” “And afterwards?” said Mossgray, smiling. He too seemed in a jealous mood--jealous for his ward and her new position. “Afterwards I fell into my old indolent, listless mood again,” said Lucy; “Hew was coming home--the two Hews--it filled all my mind. I went to meet them at London, promising myself that I should atone to Lilias for my neglect, and she accepts my apology. Will not you accept it, Adam? You do not know how listless and powerless one becomes whose life has been so overcast as mine. I think it will be otherwise now--I think it is all past, Adam, and we will travel to the sunsetting together.” CHAPTER XIV. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.--PARABLE OF THE PRODIGAL. “Gang in bauld, man--put on a guid face, and tak the first word o’ flyting. What are ye looking sae wae about?--they’ll e’en be ower blythe to welcome ye hame.”