When James II. ascended the throne, after the death of Charles, he published an Act of Toleration, on the conditions of which many persecuted wanderers were induced to return to their homes, and even some ministers to their parishes. It was as deep a snare in its way as the indulgence of Charles had been, its ultimate object being to establish Papacy in Scotland. Into this net many fell, and it indeed seemed as if the martyrdom of the saints were to have no good harvest in the land. But it being now the darkest hour, the dawning was at hand. Grown somewhat weary of life in their native land, and being sore exercised and perplexed by the condition of religious affairs therein, David Gray, with some others, made it a matter of prayerful consideration whether they should not retire to the Continent for a space, and labour for the Master there. The conventicles, which could only now be held at long intervals, and under strict secrecy, were thinly attended, and not productive of any wide-spreading good, also the end of the struggle seemed at hand, in the utter extermination of the scattered remnant still faithful to the old doctrines and principles, so that it indeed appeared as if there were no more work left for them to do in Scotland. After due deliberation, therefore, David Gray resolved to escape out of the country. Attiring himself in his former disguise, with which his sister Jane provided him, he travelled on foot without molestation to Newcastle-on-Tyne, where, after some little delay, he obtained shipment in a trading vessel to Rotterdam, and there we lose sight of him for a while. *CHAPTER XXVI* *REST.* The golden radiance of a summer sunset lay upon the vale of Inverburn. The year was in its prime, and everywhere the wealth of her beauty was scattered with no stinted hand. The harvest was ripe for the sickle in the fertile lowlands, and even on the bleaker uplands there was a lovely yellow tinge on the standing corn, which promised an early reaping. Yes, there were peace and plenty in the smiling land once more, for the long reign of bloodshed and terror was over, the house of Stuart had fallen to rise no more, buried in the ruins of its own iniquity, and a wise, just and upright ruler now wielded the sceptre on the throne of England. There were not altogether lacking evidences of the dark days which had been. Here and there, on some sunny slope or in some sheltered valley, a black and mouldering ruin indicated where the spoiler had waved his destroying brand, and there yet remained many a broad acre left untilled, because those whose inheritance it was had been destroyed, root and branch, old and young, until not a living representative was left.