In about four months after the boy had left home to join his father in Edinburgh, his mother, with her two daughters, also proceeded to that city, and for the same purpose; the period having arrived which, according to previous understanding, was to see the family once more united under one roof. We will not attempt to describe the poor mother's feelings of joyous anticipation on this occasion, as she looked forward to the exquisite happiness of embracing the two objects whom she loved best on earth, her husband and son. These feelings were such as the reader can imagine for himself without our aid or interference. On M'Lauchlane's wife and daughters arriving, which they did in due time and in safety, at the humble domicile which the farmer's dutiful affection had provided for them in Edinburgh, the first question she asked of her husband, and she put it ere she had yet fairly entered his door, was-- "Where is James? Where is my dear boy, Fergus?" "Why, Margaret," replied M'Lauchlane, laughingly, "you should know that fully better than I do. Where did you leave him?" The boy had never reached his father's house. "Come, come, now, Fergus, none of your tricks," said his wife, smiling. "Tell me where my boy is--I cannot rest till I see him." "Ha, ha!" rejoined her husband, now laughing outright, "you keep up the farce very well, Margaret; but, come, now, let James be produced; for _I_ am impatient to see him. You want to tantalize me a little." "Or rather it is you that wish to tantalize me, Fergus," replied his wife, good-humouredly; "but do not keep me longer in pain, I beseech you. Go and bring James to me immediately. Do now, I entreat of you." "Margaret," said M'Lauchlane, now somewhat alarmedly--for the earnest manner of his wife struck him as very strange, and as carrying very little of jocularity in it--"Margaret," he said, gravely, "is this jest or earnest? Is James not with you?--and, if he is not, where is he?" "Gracious heavens!" exclaimed his wife, in an agony of horror--she in turn having marked the serious manner of her husband--"what is this come over us? O Fergus, Fergus," she said, in dreadful agitation, and flinging her arms around her husband in wild despair, "has not James been with you for these three months past? He left home to come to you then, and I always believed him to be with you. O my God, my God! where is my child? What has come over my boy?" And she gave way to a fearful and uncontrollable paroxysm of grief. During this scene, her husband sat silent and motionless; but there were dreadful workings going on in his bosom. His face was deadly pale, and his lips quivered with agonizing emotion. "I have never seen him, Margaret," he at length said, in a slow and solemn tone--"never seen him. What has come over my boy?" And the strong man burst into tears.