As they passed the manse and the kirk they involuntarily stood still, and the minister took his hat from his waving white locks and bent his head a moment on his breast, while Adam Hepburn fixed his eyes on one green spot under a spreading yew tree, as if they would fain dwell there for ever. Then they went on again, and the minister told his nephew in a few brief words how they had been blessed to meet in Holland, and had been vouchsafed a measure of prosperity and usefulness there, but how their hearts had ever yearned for their native land, until the time came they could return to it without fear. This talk occupied all the way to the farm, at which young Sandy was not sorry, for he did not desire as yet to be more closely questioned regarding his own household at Hartrigge. The farm at Hartrigge now presented a very fine and striking appearance, the new steading [farm buildings] and commodious dwelling-house, standing so imposingly on the brow of the hill, being thrown into strong relief by the brilliant green of the summer foliage and the bright golden hue of the ripening grain. At the foot of the little hill, sheltering cosily under the fir-wood, there stood a neat cottage with a garden-plot in front, which was gay with summer bloom. Just as the little party came in sight on the private road a woman’s figure came to the door, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked long and intently at it, greatly wondering what it meant. She was a sweet and comely-looking person, though long past her prime, and her fair, calm face bore the impress of many sorrows, yet peace dwelt abidingly upon it now. She presently turned about, called to some one within, and another figure, much older and feebler looking, and wearing a widow’s garb, joined her on the step. And thus they were standing when the party came up. "Susan! Susan! it is the answer to our many prayers!" said Jane Gray, tremblingly. "If these be not David and Adam, our exiled wanderers, my eyes strangely deceive me." Then she sat down on the bench at the door and burst into tears. Why should I linger over that sacred meeting? Could any human pen do it justice? I think not. After a little Sandy touched the arm of his Uncle David, and begged him to come away up with him to the house, and the others would follow. He gave the old man his arm, and they ascended the hill, walked slowly (too slowly for Sandy’s impatient feet) through the fir-wood, and round to the front of the house. Then, with trembling hand, Sandy opened the door and led his uncle in. In the pleasant family room in the ruddy evening glow there was a sweet and restful picture. On the hearth there stood a cradle, and in a low chair near to it the figure of a woman--a young woman--too young almost, one might have thought, to be a wife and mother. "Is that you, Sandy? Don’t make a noise, dearie, for baby has been so troublesome, and is just asleep."