It was a voice of winning and exquisite softness, and when presently the speaker rose, the old man saw a sweet and lovely young creature, with a fair, rose-tinted face, and deep, tender blue eyes, which reminded him of those blue eyes which had charmed him long ago. "Is this your wife, my lad? You kept this pleasant surprise to the last," said he, with a sweet smile, and advanced with extended hands. "Yes, my wife, Uncle David, but something, nay a great deal more," said the young man, hardly knowing what he said. "Oh, uncle, uncle! it is your own daughter Lilian who is my wife, and our little son yonder is named David Gray, out of our love for you. Lily, my dear, my love, this is your father, come home from exile, as we have so long hoped and prayed he would." For a moment father and daughter stood still, and then these words fell from the old man’s lips, in accents of trembling joy-- "It is enough. Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace!" * * * * * I cannot linger over these happy moments, so fraught with deepest joy, and yet so shadowed by undying memories and unutterable yearnings for those who were not! Before many minutes were passed they missed Adam Hepburn from their midst, and looking from their southern window they saw him wending his solitary way towards Rowallan. And they let him go in peace, knowing the unutterable yearnings of his soul. * * * * * So gleams of sunset joy were vouchsafed to these beaten pilgrims, whose way through life had been so long under shadow of the cloud. And there were Grays again in Hartrigge and Rowallan, and it was hoped that there would be a Gray again in the manse and kirk of Inverburn, when the little David, destined from his birth for the ministry, should be grown to manhood. The family of Burnet of Haughhead was now extinct, save for Sandy Gray’s wife. The spoiled daughter of the house had not long survived the death of her boy, who succumbed to his constitutional weaknesses at the age of fifteen. Gilbert Burnet and his wife were dead also, and Haughhead in the hands of a distant connection, who was proved to be the nearest male heir. While any of her Burnet kindred lived, Lilian Gray would never have been permitted to follow her mother’s example, and marry a Gray. Her happy home was a haven of peace and rest to her father, who grew young again in heart in her blithe companionship. How dear each was to the other, or what unutterable thanksgiving dwelt continually in their hearts, I cannot tell you. Adam Hepburn spent his time betwixt Hartrigge and Rowallan, but as was natural, was oftenest at the latter place. He was a quiet, gentle, unobtrusive old man, who seemed to live much in the past. He appeared like one who had no hold upon this present life, but who was simply sojourning at a wayside inn, waiting and waiting for a summons to come farther on.