One beautiful evening towards the end of July, Susan Gray and her sister-in-law, Jane, were sitting together on the bench outside their cottage door, with their hands lying idle on their laps, a thing they would have accounted a sin in the days of the happy past. But now there was nothing for hands to do, and life was at times a very weariness. These troublous years had wrought a woeful change upon both those women, and had aged them long before their time. Also upon the face of Susan Gray there appeared at times a vague, wandering kind of expression, which seemed to indicate a weakness of the mind, and verily it was not greatly to be wondered at that the nerves of women-folk should be unable to bear the awful strain upon them. They were not conversing together, for such sorrows as theirs will not bear to be spoken of by the lips; there was a hopeless, purposeless look about them, which was painful in the contrast it presented to their busy, cheerful energy of long ago. "See Jane!" said Susan Gray, presently. "Is not that a figure on the road? Is it Sandy or the bairn Nannie? They should be on their way home from the village now." "No; it is a taller figure than either of the bairns," replied Jane. "It is a woman, and she has a basket on her arm." "Is she like a gangerel [tramp], Jane? She need hardly come here seeking now," said Susan, listlessly. "Yes, she looks like that. There are not many of her kind on the roads now," said Jane. Then they relapsed into silence, and so sat until the woman with the basket appeared on the path in front of the cottage door. Susan Gray only gave her a careless look, and then went into the cottage, leaving Jane to deal with her. "My woman, ye need hardly have come this length with your basket," said Jane Gray, kindly, and looking compassionately at the evidences of fatigue on her face. "The wherewithal is much lacking here now. But sit down on the bench here and rest a while, till I bring you a piece of bread, which, thanks be to God, we can still offer to those in greater need than ourselves." So saying, she pointed to the bench, and retired into the house. The woman set down her basket, and dropping on the seat, covered her face with her hands, and uttered a low but passionate prayer of thankfulness. In this attitude Jane Gray found her when she again stepped out of doors. She laid her hand on the bent shoulders, and said kindly, "You seem quite overcome. Have you travelled many miles this day?" Slowly the stranger’s head was raised, and a pair of eyes fixed themselves on the kind, womanly face with a glance which stirred her very soul; and, without knowing why, she began to tremble from head to foot. "Sister Jane, do you not know me?" said the voice of one she had mourned as dead. "Then indeed my disguise is as complete as Ailie Kilgour assured me. I am your brother David!"