As soon as he could obtain the co-operation of good Aunt Clara, a suitable boarding-school was solicited, and, after due preparation, Madeline was sent from home, to remain until her education should be completed. It was a sore trial to both parent and child, and the parting nearly overcame the resolution of the father, who could scarcely endure the loneliness of Woodcliff without his darling. Poor Effie would also be very lonely, but Aunt Matilda was really kind at heart, and imposed nothing upon the young girl, but what she was fully competent to perform. CHAPTER XI. A MOTHER'S LIFE SORROW. Madeline had been gone for some days, and Roland had nearly completed his arrangements. He saw much of Effie, for the few remaining hours were precious to both. "Effie, meet me this evening in the cemetery, I wish to read you our mother's manuscripts." Effie promised. The last evening had arrived, and the orphans met upon their mother's grave, for the sad farewell. Roland untied the black ribbon, and commenced reading:-- "When you read these lines, my dear children, my mortal remains will be sleeping in the quiet grave, but I myself shall be with Jesus, and that is enough of bliss for an immortal spirit. I have thought it wise to make you acquainted with the history of my early life. You know that my father was the minister of the parish where I was born. He was a wise and holy man, and gave me all the advantages of a good education. My mother died when I was young, but my Aunt Ellen, my father's sister, came to take charge of the manse, and to bring up the motherless children. She was an excellent woman, and faithfully performed the part of a mother. "I had a cousin, named Malcolm Graham, to whom I had been most tenderly attached from my earliest childhood. We had roamed our native mountains, and sailed upon our Scottish lakes together; we had walked from earliest days to the house of God in company, had sang from the same hymn-book, and had joined the church on the same day. We sang the same Scottish songs, loved the same wild stories of our martyred ancestors. In fine, we were as one soul; no love was ever purer, holier, deeper than that which filled our young hearts for each other. "My father and my aunt were blinded; they had been so accustomed to look upon us as brother and sister, that nothing could have surprised my father more, than when Malcolm came to ask that the current of our lives might henceforth flow in one calm, holy channel. "'It canna' be, Malcolm; you are owre near akin; I could na' ask the Master's blessing upon sic a union.' "'Oh, Uncle Gordon, ye canna' break your Mary's heart, by sic an answer?' "'Why did I na' ken this before? I might ha' seen it a'.' "Malcolm pleaded his cause earnestly; my father loved us both tenderly. At the end of a week, he gave his unwilling consent, on the ground that, as he had blindly allowed the intimacy, he had not the heart to say nay, and we were betrothed.