One evening he was coming in to the town by way of the Pollokshaws road; he had spent the afternoon hard at work with Mr. Weems, and was making home again to the silent little lodging in the north. He had now been a month and more in Glasgow; and had formed no kind of society or companionship whatever. Once or twice he had looked in at his brother’s; but that was chiefly to see how the little Maggie was going on; his sister-in-law gave him no over-friendly welcome; and, indeed, the social atmosphere of the Reverend Andrew’s house was far from being congenial to him. As for the letter of introduction that Meenie had given him to her married sister, of course he had not had the presumption to deliver that; he had accepted the letter, and thanked Meenie for it—for it was but another act of her always thoughtful kindness; but Mrs. Gemmill was the wife of a partner in a large warehouse; and they lived in Queen’s Crescent; and altogether Ronald had no thought of calling on them—although to be sure he had heard that Mrs. Gemmill had been making sufficiently minute and even curious inquiries with regard to him of a member of his brother’s congregation whom she happened to know. No; he lived his life alone; wrestling with the weariness of it as best he might; and not quite knowing, perhaps, how deeply it was eating into his heart. Well, he was walking absently home on this dull gray evening, watching the lamp-lighter adding point after point to the long string of golden stars, when there went by a smartly appointed dog-cart. He did not particularly remark the occupants of the vehicle, though he knew they were two women, and that one of them was driving; his glance fell rather on the well-groomed cob, and he thought the varnished oak dog-cart looked neat and business-like. The next second it was pulled up; there was a pause, during which time he was of course drawing nearer; and then a woman’s voice called to him— ’Bless me, is that you, Ronald?’ He looked up in amazement. And who was this, then, who had turned her head round and was now regarding him with her laughing, handsome, bold black eyes? She was a woman apparently of five-and-thirty or so, but exceedingly well preserved and comely; of pleasant features and fresh complexion; and of rather a manly build and carriage—an appearance that was not lessened by her wearing a narrow-brimmed little billycock hat. And then, even in this gathering dusk, he recognised her; and unconsciously he repeated her own words— ’Bless me, is that you, Mrs.—Mrs.—Menzies—’ for in truth he had almost forgotten her name. ’Mrs. This or Mrs. That!’ the other cried. ’I thought my name was Kate—it used to be anyway. Well, I declare! Come, give us a shake of your hand—auntie, this is my cousin Ronald!—and who would hae thought of meeting you in Glasgow, now!’ ’I have been here a month and more,’ Ronald said, taking the proffered hand.