“I think these things only develope this obstinate identity more fully, Lilias,” said Mossgray, smiling. “We come through the process after our own individual fashion, and carry the distinct self triumphantly through every change. I think we must turn back, though, and leave our philosophies if you begin to tremble. Come, we will go home.” They turned towards the house, but Lilias only trembled the more; and the old man, as he looked down upon her pale face, beheld it suddenly flush into brilliant change. She stood still, leaning on him heavily. “Are you ill? does anything ail you, Lilias?” “No, no; it is Hew!” said the low, joyous voice; “look, Mossgray, it is Hew!” And the old man started violently, as he looked up at the young, strong, manlike figure leaping down that hillock, with its rude steps of knotted trees--the happy flushed cheek, the frank simplicity of joy and haste. “It is Hew!” said Lilias, looking up at the one object which she saw. Was it Hew Murray, in the flush of his youth and strength again? Mossgray stepped forward hastily, and grasped the hand of the new comer in silent welcome; and then the old man turned away and left them alone. Adam Graeme was not changed; his heart beat as strongly against his breast as it had done thirty years ago, when he laboured and yearned for some clue to the fate of Hew Murray. Hew Murray! with what a quickening thrill of tenderness his old friend turned away from the young rejoicing face, which brought back the image of his youth. The old man’s mind was confused; he did not know what to make of this singular resemblance. “It is Hew!” Was it Hew? Was the romance of the old faithful servant in their desolate house to have a wonderful fulfilment after all? The good, pure, gentle Hew, loving God and loving man, had his Master indeed given him youth for his inheritance? Singularly struck and bewildered, and with an unconscious expectation in his mind, Adam Graeme hurried forward towards the house of Murrayshaugh. The great saugh trees beside it had shed their slender leaves, and were waving their long arms mournfully, with here and there a feeble, yellow cluster at the end of a bough, ready to drop after their fellows into the deep, sombre burn, whose course was almost choked by the multitudes of the fallen. As Mossgray crossed the old, frail, broken, wooden bridge, he heard voices beyond the willow-trees, and saw as he drew nearer two strangers standing together. The old man’s heart beat high and loud with excited and wondering anticipation as they turned towards him.