But in the main, Scotland had returned to her old-time peace and prosperity; again the voice of the husbandman was heard in the fields, again the women folk went about their daily tasks without fear or trembling, and last, and best of all, the kirks were open on the Sabbath Day once more, for the free and pure worship of the Most High. The village of Inverburn that summer evening presented much the same appearance as it did when first we made acquaintance with it. The pleasant voices of the children at their play filled the summer air, on the cottage doorsteps or in the trellised porches the women sat at their knitting or spinning, while the broad benches in the doorway of the hostelry had each their complement of sturdy yeomen discussing, over their foaming tankards, the events of the day or the graver memories of the past. About the hour of sundown there was observed, coming slowly along the wide and pleasant road from Lanark, two pedestrians, for whose coming the villagers waited with that keen curiosity so characteristic of country folk. They walked very slowly, as I said, and though one appeared to be of tall and erect figure, the other was much bent, and walked leaning heavily on his companion’s arm. Just as they entered upon the village street, and speculation began to run higher regarding them, the attention of the idlers was distracted for a little space by the clatter of hoofs in the opposite direction, and presently a horse and rider came rapidly down the slope and drew rein in front of the inn. The horseman was a young man of goodly stature and fine appearance, with a boyish, open countenance, and a winning, fearless eye. "Guid e’en, Sandy Gray!" cried one or two with familiarity which was pardonable, seeing they had known the lad from his infancy, and some of them his godly forbears before him. "Guid e’en!" he answered back frankly. "Here, Willie, my man," he added to a curly-headed urchin playing on the step, "run in and tell your mother I want to see her about ale for the reapers." "Ay, man, is the hairst [harvest] ready on Hartrigge?" queried one of the older men. "Mony a day I bound a stent [sheaf] behind your faither on the rigs o’ Hartrigge." "Ay, Robin, ye’d better come up and bind a stent after me, then, just for auld lang syne," said the young man and a slight shade crossed his sunny face. At that moment the two pedestrians came directly opposite the inn door and there stopped. Sandy Gray wheeled round his horse, and regarded them with a curiosity almost as great as that exhibited by his neighbours. Their attire was such as these simple villagers had never before seen, being distinctly foreign in its fashion, a thing sufficient in itself to invest the strangers with extraordinary interest. Sandy Gray courteously saluted them, and then one spoke, and it seemed to the young man that the first word awakened some chord in his heart which had long been asleep.