One fine October afternoon, I was leaving the hospital, when I saw the
large gate open, and in walked Rab, with that great and easy saunter of
his. He looked as if taking general possession of the place; like the
Duke of Wellington entering a subdued city, satiated with victory and
peace. After him came Jess, now white from age, with her cart, and in it
a woman carefully wrapped up,--the carrier leading the horse anxiously,
and looking back. When he saw me, James (for his name was James Noble)
made a curt and grotesque "boo," and said, "Maister John, this is the
mistress; she's got a trouble in her breest,--some kind o' an income,
we're thinkin'."

By this time I saw the woman's face; she was sitting on a sack filled
with straw, her husband's plaid round her, and his big-coat, with its
large white metal buttons, over her feet.

I never saw a more unforgettable face,--pale, serious, LONELY,
[Footnote: It is not easy giving this look by one word: it was
expressive of her being so much of her life alone.] delicate, sweet,
without being at all what we call fine. She looked sixty, and had on a
mutch, white as snow, with its black ribbon; her silvery, smooth hair
setting off her dark-gray eyes,--eyes such as one sees only twice or
thrice in a lifetime, full of suffering, full also of the overcoming of
it; her eyebrows [Footnote:
"Black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, BUT IN A SEMICIRCLE
OR A HALF-MOON MADE WITH A PEN."--A WINTER'S TALE.]
black and delicate, and her mouth firm, patient, and contented, which
few mouths ever are.