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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Guinea Stamp, by Annie S. Swan
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Guinea Stamp
+ A Tale of Modern Glasgow
+
+
+Author: Annie S. Swan
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #17442]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUINEA STAMP***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+ file which includes the original illustrations.
+ See 17442-h.htm or 17442-h.zip:
+ (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/4/4/17442/17442-h/17442-h.htm)
+ or
+ (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/4/4/17442/17442-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GUINEA STAMP
+
+by
+
+ANNIE S. SWAN
+
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+FIVE SHILLING SERIES.
+
+
+ _THE GATES OF EDEN._
+
+ A Story of Endeavour. By ANNIE S. SWAN. Large crown 8vo, cloth,
+ with Portrait of the Authoress.
+
+ _BRIAR AND PALM._
+
+ A Study of Circumstance and Influence. By ANNIE S. SWAN. Large
+ crown 8vo, cloth extra, Illustrated.
+
+ _ONE FALSE STEP._
+
+ By ANDREW STEWART. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra, Illustrated.
+
+ _NOEL CHETWYND'S FALL._
+
+ By Mrs. J. H. NEEDELL. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra,
+ Illustrated.
+
+ _SIR JOHN'S WARD._
+
+ By JANE H. JAMIESON. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra,
+ Frontispiece.
+
+ _ST. VEDA'S; or, The Pearl of Orr's Haven._
+
+ By ANNIE S. SWAN. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra, with
+ Frontispiece by ROBERT M'GREGOR.
+
+ _KILGARVIE._
+
+ By ROBINA F. HARDY. With Frontispiece by ROBERT
+ M'GREGOR, R. S. A. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra.
+
+ _MADELINE POWER._
+
+ By ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra.
+
+ _AFTER TOUCH OF WEDDED HANDS._
+
+ By HANNAH B. MACKENZIE. Large crown 8vo, cloth extra.
+
+ _THE GUINEA STAMP._
+
+ A Tale of Modern Glasgow. By ANNIE S. SWAN. Large crown 8vo,
+ cloth extra.
+
+
+Edinburgh & London:
+Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier.
+
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+THE GUINEA STAMP
+
+A Tale of Modern Glasgow
+
+by
+
+ANNIE S. SWAN
+(Mrs. Burnett-Smith)
+
+Author of
+'Aldersyde,' 'Across Her Path,' 'The Gates of Eden,' 'The Ayres of
+Studleigh,' 'Who Shall Serve?'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ '_The rank is but the guinea stamp,
+ The man's the gowd for a that._'
+
+
+
+
+Edinburgh and London
+Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
+1892
+
+
+
+Books By Annie S. Swan.
+
+ 6s.
+
+ _Sheila._ With Frontispiece.
+ _Maitland of Laurieston._
+
+
+ 5s.
+
+ _The Gates of Eden._ With Portrait of the Authoress.
+ _Briar and Palm._ With Six Chalk Drawings.
+ _St. Veda's._ With Frontispiece by Robert M'Gregor.
+ _The Guinea Stamp. A Tale of Modern Glasgow._
+
+
+ 3s. 6d.
+
+ _Aldersyde._ With Six Original Illustrations by Tom Scott.
+ _Carlowrie._ With Six Original Illustrations by Tom Scott.
+ _Doris Cheyne._ With Illustrations of the English Lake District.
+ _Who Shall Serve? A Story for the Times._
+
+
+ 2s. 6d.
+
+ _Aldersyde._
+ _Carlowrie._
+ _Hazell & Sons._ Illustrated.
+ _A Divided House._ Illustrated.
+ _Ursula Vivian._ Illustrated.
+ _The Ayres of Studleigh._ Illustrated.
+
+
+ 2s. In Paper Boards.
+
+ _Aldersyde._
+ _Carlowrie._
+ _The Ayres of Studleigh._ Illustrated.
+
+
+ Cloth, 1s. 6d.; Paper Covers, 1s. Illustrated.
+
+ _Across Her Path._
+ _A Divided House._ Cheap Edition.
+ _Sundered Hearts._
+ _Robert Martin's Lesson._
+ _Mistaken, and Marion Forsyth._
+ _Shadowed Lives._
+ _Ursula Vivian._ Cheap Edition.
+ _Dorothea Kirke._
+ _Vita Vinctis._ By Robina F. Hardy, Annie S. Swan, and
+ Jessie M. E. Saxby.
+ _Wrongs Righted._
+ _The Secret Panel._
+ _Thomas Dryburgh's Dream, and Miss Baxter's Bequest._
+ _Twice Tried._
+ _A Vexed Inheritance._
+ _Hazell & Sons._ Cheap Edition.
+ _A Bachelor in Search of a Wife._
+
+
+ Cloth, 9d.
+
+ _Mistaken._
+ _Marion Forsyth._
+ _Thomas Dryburgh's Dream._
+ _Miss Baxter's Bequest._
+
+
+ 6d.
+
+ _Douglas Roy._
+ _Katie's Christmas Lesson._
+ _Tom's Memorable Christmas._
+ _Bess: The Story of a Waif._
+ _The Bonnie Jean._
+
+
+
+ Edinburgh and London
+ OLIPHANT ANDERSON & FERRIER.
+ MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+ CHAP. PAGE
+
+ I. FATHERLESS, 7
+
+ II. WHAT TO DO WITH HER, 16
+
+ III. THE NEW HOME, 26
+
+ IV. A RAY OF LIGHT, 34
+
+ V. LIZ, 43
+
+ VI. PICTURES OF LIFE, 51
+
+ VII. LIZ SPEAKS HER MIND, 60
+
+ VIII. EDGED TOOLS, 68
+
+ IX. AN IMPENDING CHANGE, 77
+
+ X. IN AYRSHIRE, 86
+
+ XI. DARKENING DAYS, 95
+
+ XII. SETTING HIS HOUSE IN ORDER, 104
+
+ XIII. THE LAST SUMMONS, 113
+
+ XIV. THOSE LEFT BEHIND, 122
+
+ XV. HER INHERITANCE, 131
+
+ XVI. FAREWELL, 139
+
+ XVII. THE WEST END, 148
+
+ XVIII. 'THE DAYS THAT ARE NOT,' 157
+
+ XIX. THE SWEETS OF LIFE, 166
+
+ XX. PLANS, 174
+
+ XXI. ACROSS THE CHANNEL, 182
+
+ XXII. A HELPING HAND, 190
+
+ XXIII. REAL AND IDEAL, 198
+
+ XXIV. THE UNEXPECTED, 206
+
+ XXV. THE FIRST WOOER, 214
+
+ XXVI. UNDER DISCUSSION, 222
+
+ XXVII. GLADYS AND WALTER, 229
+
+ XXVIII. A TROUBLED HEART, 236
+
+ XXIX. AN AWAKENING, 243
+
+ XXX. TOO LATE! 250
+
+ XXXI. 'WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN,' 259
+
+ XXXII. THE WANDERER, 266
+
+ XXXIII. A FAITHFUL FRIEND, 274
+
+ XXXIV. WHAT WILL SHE DO? 283
+
+ XXXV. A REVELATION, 291
+
+ XXXVI. TETE-A-TETE, 299
+
+ XXXVII. CHUMS, 307
+
+ XXXVIII. IN VAIN, 315
+
+ XXXIX. GONE, 323
+
+ XL. THE MATRONS ADVISE, 331
+
+ XLI. A GREAT RELIEF, 338
+
+ XLII. A DISCOVERY, 345
+
+ XLIII. A WOMAN'S HEART, 352
+
+ XLIV. THE MAGDALENE, 361
+
+ XLV. THE BOLT FALLS, 369
+
+ XLVI. THE WORLD WELL LOST, 377
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+THE GUINEA STAMP
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+FATHERLESS.
+
+
+It was an artist's studio, a poor, shabby little place, with a latticed
+window facing the north. There was nothing in the furnishing or
+arrangement of the room to suggest successful work, or even artistic
+taste. A few tarnished gold frames leaned against the gaudily-papered
+wall, and the only picture stood on the dilapidated easel in the middle
+of the floor, a small canvas of a woman's head, a gentle Madonna face,
+with large supplicating eyes, and a sensitive, sad mouth, which seemed
+to mourn over the desolation of the place. The palette and a few worn
+brushes were scattered on the floor, where the artist had laid them down
+for ever. There was one living creature in the room, a young girl, not
+more than sixteen, sitting on a stool by the open window, looking out
+listlessly on the stretch of dreary fenland, shrouded in the cold and
+heavy mist. It was a day on which the scenery of the fen country looked
+desolate, cheerless, and chill. These green meadows and flat stretches
+have need of the sunshine to warm them always. Sitting there in the soft
+grey light, Gladys Graham looked more of a woman than a child, though
+her gown did not reach her ankles, and her hair hung in a thick golden
+plait down her back. Her face was very careworn and very sad, her eyes
+red and dim with long weeping. There was not on the face of the earth a
+more desolate creature than the gentle, slender girl, the orphan of a
+day. At an age when life should be a joyous and lovely thing to the
+maiden child, Gladys Graham found herself face to face with its grimmest
+reality, certain of only one thing, that somewhere and somehow she must
+earn her bread. She was thinking of it at that moment, with her white
+brows perplexedly knitted, her mouth made stern by doubt and
+apprehension and despair; conning in her mind her few meagre
+accomplishments, asking herself how much they were likely to bring in
+the world's great mart. She could read and write and add a simple sum,
+finger the keys of the piano and the violin strings with a musicianly
+touch, draw a little, and dream a great deal. That was the sum total of
+her acquirements, and she knew very well that the value of such things
+was _nil_. What, then, must become of her? The question had become a
+problem, and she was very far away yet from its solution.
+
+The house was a plain and primitive cottage in the narrow street of a
+little Lincolnshire village--a village which was a relic of the old
+days, before the drainage system was introduced, transforming the fens
+into a fertile garden, which seems to bloom and blossom summer and
+winter through. Its old houses reminded one of a Dutch picture, which
+the quaint bridges across the waterways served to enhance. There are
+many such in the fen country, dear to the artist's soul.
+
+John Graham was not alone in his love for the wide reaches, level as the
+sea, across which every village spire could be seen for many a mile. Not
+very far away, in clear weather, the great tower of Boston, not
+ungraceful, stood out in awe-inspiring grandeur against the sky, and was
+pointed out with pride and pleasure by all who loved the fens and
+rejoiced in the revived prosperity of their ancient capital. For ten
+years John Graham had been painting pictures of these level and
+monotonous plains, and of the bits to be found at every village corner,
+but somehow, whether people had tired of them, or hesitated to give
+their money for an unknown artist's work, the fortune he had dreamed of
+never came. The most of the pictures found their way to the second-hand
+dealers, and were there sold often for the merest trifle. He had somehow
+missed his mark,--had proved himself a failure,--and the world has not
+much patience or sympathy with failures. A great calamity, such as a
+colossal bankruptcy, which proves the bankrupt to be more rogue than
+fool, arouses in it a touch of admiration, and even a curious kind of
+respect; but with the man out at elbows, who has striven vainly against
+fearful odds, though he may have kept his integrity throughout, it will
+have nothing to do; he will not be forgiven for having failed.
+
+And now, when he lay dead, the victim of an ague contracted in his
+endeavour to catch a winter effect in a marshy hollow, there was nobody
+to mourn him but his motherless child. It was very pitiful, and surely
+in the wide world there must have been found some compassionate heart
+who would have taken the child by the hand and ministered unto her for
+Christ's sake. If any such there were, Gladys had never heard of them,
+and did not believe they lived. She was very old in knowledge of the
+world, that bitterest of all knowledge, which poverty had taught. She
+had even known what it was, that gentle child, to be hungry and have
+nothing to eat--a misery enhanced by the proud, sensitive spirit which
+was the only heritage John Graham had left the daughter for whom, most
+cheerfully, he would have laid down his life. The village people had
+been kind after their homely way; but they, working hard all day with
+their hands, and eating at eventide the substantial bread of their
+honest toil, were possessed of a great contempt for the worn and haggard
+man who tramped their meadow-ways with his sketch-books under his arm,
+his daughter always with him, preserving still the look and manners of
+the gently born, though they wore the shabbiest of shabby garments, and
+could scarcely pay for the simple food they ate. It was a great mystery
+to them, and they regarded the spectacle with the impatience of those
+who did not understand.
+
+It was the month of November, and very early that grey day the chilly
+darkness fell. When she could no longer see across the narrow street,
+Gladys let her head fall on her hands, and so sat very still. She had
+eaten nothing for many hours, and though feeling faint and weak, it did
+not occur to her to seek something to strengthen her. She had something
+more important than such trifling matters to engross her thoughts. She
+was so sitting, hopeless, melancholy, half-dazed, when she heard the
+voice of an arrival down-stairs, and the unaccustomed tones of a man's
+voice mingling with the shriller notes of Miss Peck, their little
+landlady. It was not the curate's voice, with which Gladys had grown
+quite familiar during her father's illness. He had been very kind; and
+in his desperation, when his end approached, Graham had implored him to
+look after Gladys. It was a curious charge to lay upon a young man's
+shoulders, but Clement Courtney had accepted it cheerfully, and had even
+written to his widowed mother, who lived alone in a Dorsetshire village,
+asking her advice about the girl. Gladys was disturbed in her solitude
+by Miss Peck, who came to the door in rather an excited and officious
+manner. She was a little, wiry spinster, past middle life, eccentric,
+but kind-hearted. She had bestowed a great deal of gratuitous and
+genuine kindness on her lodgers, though knowing very well that she would
+not likely get any return but gratitude for it; but times were hard with
+her likewise, and she could not help thinking regretfully at times of
+the money, only her due, which she would not likely touch now that the
+poor artist was gone. She had a little lamp in her hand, and she held it
+up so that the light fell full on the child's pale face.
+
+'Miss Gladys, my dear, it is a gentleman for you. He says he is your
+uncle,' she said, and her thin voice quite trembled with her great
+excitement.
+
+'My uncle?' repeated Gladys wistfully. 'Oh yes; it will be Uncle Abel
+from Scotland. Mr. Courtney said he had written to him.'
+
+She rose from her stool and turned to follow Miss Peck down-stairs.
+
+'In the sitting-room, my dear, he waits for you,' said Miss Peck, and a
+look of extreme pity softened her pinched features into tenderness. 'I
+hope--I hope, my dear, he will be good to you.' She did not add what she
+thought, that the chances were against it; and, still holding the lamp
+aloft, she guided Gladys down-stairs. There was no hesitation, but
+neither was there elation or pleasant anticipation in the girl's manner
+as she entered the room. She had ceased to expect anything good or
+bright to come to her any more, and perhaps it was as well just then
+that her outlook in life was so gloomy; it lessened the certainty of
+disappointment. A little lamp also burned on the round table in the
+middle of the narrow sitting-room, and the fire feebly blinked behind
+Miss Peck's carefully-polished bars, as if impressed by the subdued
+atmosphere without and within. Close by the table stood a very little
+man, enveloped in a long loosely-fitting overcoat, his hat in one hand
+and a large damp umbrella in the other. He had an abnormally large head,
+and a soft, flabby, uninteresting face, which, however, was redeemed
+from vacancy by the gleam and glitter of his remarkably keen and
+piercing black eyes. His hair was grey, and a straggling beard, grey
+also, adorned his heavy chin. Gladys was conscious of a strong sense of
+repulsion as she looked at him, but she tried not to show it, and feebly
+smiled as she extended her hand.
+
+'Are you Uncle Abel, papa's brother?' she asked--a perfectly unnecessary
+question, of course, but it fell from her involuntarily, the contrast
+was so great; almost she could have called him an impostor on the spot.
+
+'Yes,' said Uncle Abel in a harsh undertone; 'and you, I suppose, are my
+niece?'
+
+'Yes. Can I take your overcoat or your umbrella?' asked Gladys; 'and
+would you like some tea? I can ask Miss Peck to get it. I have not had
+any myself--now I come to think of it.'
+
+'I'll take off my coat. Yes, you can take it away, but don't order tea
+yet. We had better talk first--talking always makes one hungry; then we
+can have tea, and we won't require any supper. These are the economics
+poor people have to study. I guess you are no stranger to them?'
+
+Gladys again faintly smiled. She was not in the least surprised. Poverty
+had long been her companion, she expected nothing but to have it for her
+companion still. She took her uncle's hat and overcoat, hung them in the
+little hall, and returned to the room, closing the door.
+
+'Perhaps you are cold, uncle?' she said, and, grasping the poker, was
+about to stir up the fire, when he hastily took it from her, with an
+expression of positive pain on his face.
+
+'Don't; it is quite warm. We can't afford to be extravagant; and I
+daresay,' he added, with a backward jerk of his thumb towards the door,
+'like the rest of her tribe, she'll know how to charge. Sit down there,
+and let us talk.'
+
+Gladys sat down, feeling a trifle hurt and abashed. They had always been
+very poor, she and her father, but they had never obtruded it on their
+own notice, but had tried cheerfully always to accept what they had with
+a thankful heart. But Love dwelt with them always, and she can make
+divine her humblest fare.
+
+Mr. Abel Graham fumbled in the inner pocket of his very shabby coat, and
+at last brought out a square envelope, from which he took the curate's
+letter.
+
+'I have come,' he said quite slowly, 'in answer to this. I suppose you
+knew it had been written?'
+
+'If it is Mr. Courtney's letter, yes,' answered Gladys, unconsciously
+adopting her uncle's business-like tone and manner. 'Of course he told
+me he had written.'
+
+'And you expected me to come, of course?'
+
+'I don't think I thought about it much,' Gladys answered, with
+frankness. 'It is very good of you to come so soon.'
+
+'I came because it was my duty. Not many people do their duty in this
+world, but though I'm a very poor man, I won't shirk it--no, I won't
+shirk it.' He rubbed his hands together slowly, and nodded across the
+hearth to his niece. Instead of being pleased, as she ought to have
+been, with this announcement, she gave a quick little shiver. 'My
+brother John--your father, I mean--and I have not met for a good number
+of years, not since we had the misfortune to disagree about a trifle,'
+continued the old man, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl's face till
+she found herself made nervous by them. 'Time has proved that I was
+right, quite right; but my brother John was always, if you will excuse
+me saying it, rather pigheaded, and'--
+
+'Don't let us speak about him if you do not feel kindly to him!' cried
+the girl, her great eyes flashing, her slender frame trembling with
+indignation. 'I will not listen, I will go away and leave you, Uncle
+Abel, if you speak harshly of papa.'
+
+'So'--Abel Graham slapped his knee as he uttered this meditative
+monosyllable, and continued to regard his niece with keener scrutiny, if
+that were possible, than before. 'It is John's temper--a very firebrand.
+My dear, you are very young, and you should not be above taking advice.
+Let me advise you to control that fiery passion. Temper doesn't pay--it
+is one of the things which nothing can ever make pay in this world.
+Well, will you be so kind as to give me a little insight into the state
+of your affairs? A poor enough state they appear to be in, if this
+parson writes truly--only parsons are accustomed to draw the long bow,
+for the purpose of ferreting money out of people's pockets. Well, my
+dear, have you nothing to tell me?'
+
+Gladys continued to look at him with dislike and distrust she made no
+attempt to disguise. If only he would not call her 'my dear.' She
+resented the familiarity. He had no right to presume on such a short
+acquaintance.
+
+'I have nothing to tell you, I think,' she said very coldly, 'except
+that papa is dead, and I have to earn my own living.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+WHAT TO DO WITH HER.
+
+
+'Your own living? I am glad to hear you put it so sensibly. I must say I
+hardly expected it,' said the old man, with engaging frankness. 'Well,
+but tell me first what your name is. I don't know what to call you.'
+
+'Gladys,' she answered; and her uncle received the information in
+evident disapproval.
+
+'Gladys! Now, what on earth is the meaning of such a name? Your father
+and mother ought to be ashamed of themselves! Why can't people name
+their children so that people won't stare when they hear it? Jane,
+Susan, Margaret, Christina,--I'm sure there are hundreds of decent names
+they might have given you. I think a law should be passed that no child
+shall be named until he is old enough to choose for himself. Mine is bad
+enough,--they might as well have christened me Cain when they were at
+it,--but Gladys, it beats all!'
+
+'I have another name, Uncle Abel. I was baptized Gladys Mary.'
+
+'Ah, that's better. Well, I'll call you Mary; it's not so heathenish.
+And tell me what you have thought of doing for yourself?'
+
+'I have thought of it a great deal, but I have not been able to come to
+any decision,' answered Gladys. 'Both papa and Mr. Courtney thought I
+had better wait until you came.'
+
+'Your father expected me to come, then?'
+
+'Yes, to the last he hoped you would. He had something to say to you, he
+said. And the last morning, when his mind began to wander, he talked of
+you a great deal.'
+
+These details Gladys gave in a dry, even voice, which betrayed a keen
+effort. She spoke almost as if she had set herself a task.
+
+'I came as soon as I could. The parson wrote urgently, but I know how
+parsons draw the long bow, so I didn't hurry. Business must be attended
+to, whatever happens. You don't know what it was your father wished to
+say? He never asked you to write it, or anything?'
+
+'No, but in his wandering he talked of money a great deal, and he seemed
+to think,' she added, with a slight hesitation, 'that you had taken some
+from him. Of course it was only his fancy. Sick people often think such
+things.'
+
+'He could not possibly in his senses have thought so, for I never had
+any money, or he either. We could not rob each other when there was
+nothing to rob,' said the old man, but he avoided slightly his niece's
+clear gaze. 'Well, Mary, I am willing to do what I can for you, as you
+are my brother's only child, so you had better prepare to return to
+Scotland with me.'
+
+Gladys tried to veil her shrinking from the prospect, but her sweet face
+grew even graver as she listened.
+
+'I am a very poor man,' he repeated, with an emphasis which left no
+doubt that he wished it to be impressed firmly on her mind,--'very poor;
+but I trust I know my duty. I don't suppose, now, that you have been
+taught to work with your hands--in the house, I mean--the woman's
+kingdom?'
+
+This sentimental phrase fell rather oddly from the old man's lips. He
+looked the very last man to entertain any high and chivalrous ideal of
+womanhood. Gladys could not forbear a smile as she answered,--
+
+'I am afraid I am rather ignorant, Uncle Abel. I have never had occasion
+to do it.'
+
+'Never had occasion; hear her!' repeated the old man, quite as if
+addressing an audience. 'She has never had any occasion. She has been
+born and cradled in the lap of luxury, and I was a born fool to ask the
+question.'
+
+The desolate child felt the keenness of the sarcasm, and her eyes filled
+with hot tears. 'You don't understand, Uncle Abel, you never can
+understand, and there is no use trying to make you,' she said curiously.
+'I think I had better call Miss Peck to get tea for us.'
+
+'Not yet; we must settle everything, then we needn't talk any more. I am
+your only relation in the world, and as I have been summoned, perhaps
+unnecessarily, on this occasion, I must, and will, do my duty. I have
+not taken the long and expensive journey from Scotland for nothing,
+remember that. So sit down, Mary, and tell me exactly how matters stand.
+How much money have you?'
+
+The colour mounted high to the girl's white brow, and her proud mouth
+quivered. Never had she so felt the degradation of her poverty! Now it
+seemed more than she could bear. But she looked straight into her
+uncle's unlovely countenance, and made answer, with a calmness which
+surprised herself,--
+
+'There is no money, none at all--not even enough to pay all that must be
+paid.'
+
+Abel Graham almost gasped.
+
+'All that must be paid! And, in Heaven's name, how much is that? Try to
+be practical and clear-headed, and remember I am a poor man, though
+willing to do my duty.'
+
+'Mr. Courtney and I talked of it this morning, when we arranged that the
+funeral should be to-morrow,' Gladys answered in a calm, straight, even
+voice, 'and we thought that there might be five pounds to pay when all
+was over. Papa has some pictures at the dealers'--two in Boston, and
+three, I think, in London. Perhaps there might be enough from these to
+pay.'
+
+'You have the addresses of these dealers, I hope?' said the old man,
+with undisguised eagerness.
+
+'Yes, I have the addresses.'
+
+'Well, I shall apply to them, and put on the screw, if possible. Will
+you tell me, if you please, how long you have lived in this place?'
+
+'Oh, not long,--in this village, I mean,--only since summer. We have
+been all over the fens, I think; but we have liked this place most of
+all.'
+
+'Heathens, wandering Jews, vagabonds on the face of the earth,' said the
+old man to himself. 'So you have arranged that it will be to-morrow--you
+and the parson? I hope he understands that he can get nothing for his
+pains?'
+
+'I don't know what you are talking about,' said Gladys, and her mouth
+grew very stern--her whole face during the last hour seemed to have
+taken on the stamp and seal of age.
+
+'And what hour have you arranged it for?'
+
+'Eleven, I think--yes, eleven,' answered Gladys, and gave a quick,
+sobbing breath, which the old man elected not to notice.
+
+'Eleven?' He said it over slowly, and took a penny time-table from his
+pocket, and studied it thoughtfully. 'We can get away from Boston at
+one. It's the worst kind of place this to get at, and I don't know why
+on earth your father should have chosen it'--'to die in,' he had almost
+added; but he restrained these words. 'We can't get to Glasgow before
+midnight, I think. I hope you won't object to travelling in the
+night-time? I must do it. I can't be away any longer from business; it
+must be attended to. I hope you can be ready?'
+
+'I don't mind it at all,' answered Gladys in a still, quiet voice. Her
+heart cried out against her unhappy destiny; but one so desolate, so
+helpless and forlorn, may not choose. 'Yes, I shall be ready.'
+
+'Well, see that you are. Punctuality is a virtue--one not commonly
+found, I am told, in your sex. You will remember, then, Mary, that I am
+a very poor man, struggling to get the necessaries of life. You have no
+false and extravagant ideas of life, I hope? Your father, surely, has
+taught you that it is a desperate struggle, in which men trample each
+other remorselessly under foot. Heaven knows he has had experience of
+it, so far as I can hear and see.'
+
+'He never told me anything, Uncle Abel. We were happy always, he and I
+together, because we loved each other. But I know that life is always
+hard, and that the good suffer most,' said Gladys simply.
+
+A strange and unwonted thrill touched the selfish heart of the old man
+at these words, as they fell gravely from the young lips, formed in
+their perfect sweetness for the happy curves of joy and hope.
+
+'Well, well, if these are your views, you are less likely to be
+disappointed,' he said, in gruff haste. 'Well, to go on. I am a poor
+man, and I have a poor little home; I hope, when you come to share it,
+you will be a help, and not altogether a burden on it?'
+
+'I shall try. I can learn to work. I must learn now,' Gladys answered,
+with exemplary meekness.
+
+'There is an old woman who comes to do my little turn of a morning.
+There is no reason why now I should not dispense with her services. She
+is dear at the money, anyhow. I have often grudged it.'
+
+'I wonder to hear that you are so poor,' said Gladys, looking straight
+into his face with her young, fearless eyes. 'Papa told me once that you
+were quite rich, and that you had a splendid business.'
+
+Abel Graham looked distinctly annoyed at this unexpected statement
+regarding his worldly affairs.
+
+'Your father, Mary, was as ignorant of the practical affairs of life as
+an unborn babe. He never showed his ignorance more than when he told you
+that fabrication--a pure fabrication of his fancy. I have a little trade
+in the oil and tallow line. No, not a shop, only a little warehouse in a
+back street in Glasgow. When you see it you will wonder how it has ever
+kept body and soul together. A splendid business! Ha! ha! That is good!'
+
+'And do you live near it, Uncle Abel?'
+
+'I live at it--in it, in fact; my house is in the warehouse. It's not a
+very genteel locality, nor a fine house, it is good enough for me; but I
+warn you not to expect anything great, and I can't alter my way of life
+for you.'
+
+'I hope I should never expect it,' answered Gladys quietly. 'And you
+live there quite alone?'
+
+'Not quite. There is Walter Hepburn.'
+
+'Who is Walter Hepburn?' asked Gladys, and the Scotch name fell most
+musically from her lips for the first time, the name which was one day
+to be the dearest to her on earth.
+
+'He's the office boy--an imp of the devil he is; but he is sharp and
+clever as a needle; and then he is cheap.'
+
+'Are cheap things always good, Uncle Abel?' Gladys asked. 'I have heard
+papa say that cheap things are so often nasty, and he has spoken to me
+more than once of the sin of cheapness. Even genius must be bought and
+sold cheaply. Oh, he felt it all so bitterly.'
+
+'Mary Graham, your foolish father was his own worst enemy, and I doubt
+he will prove yours too, if that is all he has taught you. You had
+better get tea at once.'
+
+Thus rebuked, Gladys retired to the kitchen, and, to the no small
+concern of the little landlady, she sat down on the low window-seat,
+folded her hands on the table, and began helplessly to weep.
+
+'My dear, my dear, don't cry! He hasn't been good to you, I know he
+hasn't. But never mind; better times will soon dawn for you, and he will
+not stay. I hope he will go away this very night,' she said very
+sympathetically.
+
+'No, he will stay till to-morrow, then I must go with him. He has
+offered me a home, and I must go. There is nothing else I can do just
+now,' said Gladys. 'I can't believe, Miss Peck, that he is papa's
+brother. It is impossible.'
+
+'Dear Miss Gladys, there is often the greatest difference in families. I
+have seen it myself,' said Miss Peck meditatively. 'But now you must
+have something to eat, and I suppose he must be hungry too'--
+
+'If you would get tea, please, we should be much obliged; and oh, Miss
+Peck, do you think you could give him a bed?'
+
+'There is nothing but the little attic, but I daresay it will do him
+very well. He doesn't look as if he were accustomed to anything much
+better,' said Miss Peck, with frank candour. So it was arranged, and
+Gladys, drying her eyes, offered to help the little woman as best she
+could.
+
+Abel Graham looked keenly and critically at his niece when she returned
+to the room and laid the cloth for tea. His eye was not trained to the
+admiration or appreciation of beauty, but he was struck by a singular
+grace in her every movement, by a certain still and winning loveliness
+of feature and expression. It was not the beauty sought for or beloved
+by the vulgar eye, to which it would seem but a colourless and lifeless
+thing; but a pure soul, to which all things seemed lovely and of good
+report, looked out from her grave eyes, and gave an expression of gentle
+sweetness to her lips. With such a fair and delicate creature, what
+should he do? The question suggested itself to him naturally, as a
+picture of his home rose up before his vision. When he thought of its
+meagre comfort, its ugly environment, he confessed that in it she would
+be quite out of place. The house in which he had found her, though only
+a hired shelter, was neat and comfortable and home-like. He felt
+irritated, perplexed; and this irritation and perplexity made him quite
+silent during the meal. They ate, indeed, without exchanging a single
+word, though the old man enjoyed the fragrant tea, the sweet, home-made
+bread, and firm, wholesome butter, and ate of it without stint. He was
+not, indeed, accustomed to such dainty fare. Gladys attended quietly to
+his wants, and he did not notice that she scarcely broke bread. When the
+meal was over, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and rose
+from the table.
+
+'Now, if you don't mind,' he said almost cheerfully, the good food
+having soothed his troubled mind, 'I would like to take a last look at
+my brother. I hope they have not screwed down the coffin?'
+
+Gladys gave a violent start. The word was hideous; how hideous, she had
+never realised till it fell from her uncle's lips. But she controlled
+herself; nothing was to be gained by exhibitions of feeling in his
+presence.
+
+'No, they will come, I think, to-morrow, quite early. I did not wish it
+done sooner,' she answered quietly. 'If you come now, I can show you the
+door.' She took the lamp from the table, and, with a gesture of dignity,
+motioned him to follow her. At the door of the little room where the
+artist had suffered and died she gave him the lamp, and herself
+disappeared into the studio. Not to sit down and helplessly weep. That
+must be over now; there were things to be thought of, things to do, on
+the threshold of her new life, and she was ready for action. She found
+the matches, struck a light, and began at once to gather together the
+few things she must now sacredly cherish as mementoes of her father.
+First she took up with tender hand the little canvas from the easel,
+looked at it a moment, and then touched the face with her lips. It was
+her mother's face, which she remembered not, but had been taught to love
+by her father, who cherished its memory with a most passionate devotion.
+She wrapped it in an old silk handkerchief, and then began a trifle
+dreamily to gather together the old brushes with which John Graham had
+done so much good, if unappreciated, work. Meanwhile the old man was
+alone in the chamber of death. He had no nerves, no fine sensibilities,
+and little natural affection to make the moment trying to him. He
+entered the room in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, set the lamp on
+the washhand-stand, and approached the bed. As he stood there, looking
+on the face, calm, restful, beautiful in its last sleep, a wave of
+memory, unbidden and unwelcome, swept over his selfish and hardened
+heart. The years rolled back, and he saw two boys kneeling together in
+childish love at their mother's knee, lisping their evening prayer,
+unconscious of the bitter years to come. Almost the white, still outline
+of the dead face seemed to reproach him; he could have anticipated the
+sudden lifting of the folded eyelids. He shivered slightly, took an
+impatient step back to the table for the lamp, and made haste from the
+room.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE NEW HOME.
+
+
+Next day at noon that strangely-assorted pair, the sordid old man and
+the gentle child, set out in a peasant's waggon, which he had hired for
+a few pence, to ride across the meadows to Boston. The morning was very
+fair. In the night the mist had flown, and now the sun shone out warm
+and cheerful, giving the necessary brightness to the scene. It lay
+tenderly on the quaint fen village, and the little gilt vane on the
+church steeple glittered proudly, almost as if it were real gold.
+
+Gladys sat with her back to the old horse, quite silent, never allowing
+her eyes for a moment to wander from that picture until distance made it
+dim. She had no tears, though she was leaving behind all that love had
+hallowed. She wondered vaguely once or twice whether it would be her
+last farewell, or whether, in other and happier years, she might come
+again to kneel by that nameless grave. Abel Graham paid small attention
+to her. He tried to engage in a conversation with the peasant who sat on
+the front of the waggon, holding the reins loosely in his sunburnt
+hands; but that individual was stolid, and when he did vouchsafe a
+remark, Abel did not understand him, not being familiar with fen
+vernacular. They reached Boston in ample time for the train, even
+leaving half an hour to spare. This half hour the old man improved by
+hunting up the dealer in whose hands were two of his brother's pictures,
+leaving Gladys at the station to watch their meagre luggage. He drove a
+much better bargain than the artist himself could have done, and
+returned to the station inwardly elated, with four pounds in his pocket;
+but he carefully concealed from his niece the success of his
+transaction--not that it would have greatly concerned her, she was too
+listless to take interest in anything. At one o'clock the dreary railway
+journey began, and after many stoppages and changes, late at night
+Gladys was informed that their destination was reached. She stepped from
+the carriage in a half-dazed manner, and perceived that they were in a
+large, brilliantly-lighted, but deserted, city station. All her worldly
+goods were in one large, shabby portmanteau, which the old man weighed,
+first in one hand and then in the other.
+
+'I think we can manage it between us. It isn't far, and if I leave it,
+it will cost tuppence, besides taking Wat Hepburn from his work
+to-morrow to fetch it.'
+
+'Can't we have a cab?' asked Gladys innocently.
+
+'No, we can't; you ought to know, if you don't, that a cab is double
+fare after midnight,' said the old man severely. Just look in the
+carriage to make sure nothing is left.'
+
+Gladys did so, then the melancholy pair trudged off out from the station
+into the quiet streets. Happily the night was fine, though cold, with a
+clear, star-begemmed sky, and a winter moon on the wane above the roofs
+and spires. A great city it seemed to Gladys, with miles and miles of
+streets; tall, heavy houses set in monotonous rows, but no green
+thing--nothing to remind her of heaven but the stars. She had the soul
+of the poet-artist, therefore her destiny was doubly hard. But the time
+came when she recognised its uses, and thanked God for it all, even for
+its moments of despair, its bitterest tears, because through it alone
+she touched the great suffering heart of humanity which beats in the
+dark places of the earth. In the streets after midnight there is always
+life--the life which dare not show itself by day, because it stalks in
+the image of sin. Gladys was surprised, as they slowly wended their way
+along a wide and handsome thoroughfare, past the closed windows of great
+shops, to meet many ladies finely dressed, some of them beautiful, with
+a strange, wild beauty, which half-fascinated, half-terrified her.
+
+'Who are these ladies, Uncle Abel?' she asked at length. 'Why are so
+many people in the streets so late? I thought everybody would be in bed
+but us.'
+
+'They are the night-birds, child. Don't ask any more questions, but shut
+your eyes and hold fast by me. We'll be home in no time,' said the old
+man harshly, because his conscience smote him for what he was doing.
+
+Gladys again became silent, but she could not shut her eyes. Soon they
+turned into another street, in which were even more people, though
+evidently of a different order. The women were less showily dressed, and
+many of them had their heads bare, and wore little shawls about their
+shoulders. As they walked, the crowd became greater, and the din
+increased. Some children Gladys also saw, poorly clad and with hungry
+faces, running barefoot on the stony street. But she kept silence still,
+though growing every moment more frightened and more sad.
+
+'Surely this is a terrible place, Uncle Abel,' she said at last. 'I have
+never seen anything like it in my life.'
+
+'It isn't savoury, I admit; but I warned you. This is Argyle Street on a
+Saturday night; other nights it is quieter, of course. Oh, he won't harm
+you.' A lumbering carter in a wild state of intoxication had pushed
+himself against the frightened girl, and looked down into her face with
+an idiotic leer.
+
+Gladys gave a faint scream, and clung to her uncle's arm; but the next
+moment the man was taken in charge by the policeman, and went to swell
+the number of the drunkards at Monday's court.
+
+'Here we are. This is Craig's Wynd, or The Wynd, as they say. We have
+only to go through here, and then we are in Colquhoun Street, where I
+live. It isn't far.'
+
+In the Wynd it was, of course, rather quieter, but in the dark doorways
+strange figures were huddled, and sometimes the feeble wail of a child,
+or a smothered oath, reminded one that more was hidden behind the
+scenes. Gladys was now in a state of extreme mental excitement. She had
+never been in a town larger than Boston, and there only on bright days
+with her father. It seemed to her that this resembled the place of which
+the Bible speaks, where there is weeping and wailing and gnashing of
+teeth. To the child, country born and gently reared, whom no unclean or
+wicked thing had ever touched, it was a revelation which took away from
+her childhood for ever. She never forgot it. When years had passed, and
+these dark days seemed almost like a shadow, that one memory remained
+vivid and most painful, like a troubled dream.
+
+'Now, here we are. We must let ourselves in. Wat Hepburn will be away
+long ago. He goes home on Saturday night,' said the old man, groping in
+his pocket for a key. It was some minutes before he found it, and Gladys
+had time to look about her, which she did with fearful, wondering eyes.
+It was a very narrow street, with tall houses on each side, which seemed
+almost to touch the sky. Gladys wondered, not knowing that they were all
+warehouses, how people lived and breathed in such places. She did not
+know yet that this place, in comparison with others not many streets
+removed, was paradise. It was quiet--quite deserted; but through the
+Wynd came the faint echo of the tide of life still rolling on through
+the early hours of the Sabbath day.
+
+'Here now. Perhaps you had better stay here till I bring a light,' said
+the old man at length.
+
+'Oh no, I can't; I am terrified. I will come in, cried Gladys, in
+affright.
+
+'Very well. But there's a stair; you must stand there a moment. I know
+where the matches are.'
+
+Gladys stood still, holding in to the wall in silent terror. The
+atmosphere of the place depressed her--it smelt close and heavy, of some
+disagreeable oily odour. She felt glad to turn her face to the door,
+where the cool night air--a trifle fresher--could touch her face. Her
+uncle's footsteps grew fainter and fainter, then became louder again as
+he began to return. Presently the gleam of a candle appeared at the
+farther end of a long passage, and he came back to the door, which he
+carefully closed and locked. Then Gladys saw that a straight, steep
+stair led to the upper floor, but the place Abel Graham called his home
+was on the ground floor, at the far end of a long wide passage, on
+either side of which bales of goods were piled. He led the way, and soon
+Gladys found herself in a large, low-ceiled room, quite cheerless, and
+poorly furnished like a kitchen, though a bed stood in one corner. The
+fireplace was very old and quaint, having a little grate set quite
+unattached into the open space, leaving room enough for a stool on
+either side. It was, however, choked with dead ashes, and presented a
+melancholy spectacle.
+
+'Now,' said the old man, as he set the portmanteau down, 'here we are.
+One o'clock in the morning--Sunday morning, too. Are you hungry?'
+
+'No,' said Gladys, 'not very.'
+
+'Or cold, no? That's impossible, we've walked so fast. Just take off
+your things, and I'll see if there's anything in the press. There should
+be a bit of bread and a morsel of cheese, if that rascal hasn't gobbled
+them up.'
+
+Gladys sat down, and her eyes wandered over all the great wide room into
+its shadowy corners, and it was as if the frost of winter settled on her
+young heart. The old man hung up his coat and hat behind the door, and,
+opening the press, brought therefrom the half of a stale loaf, a plate
+on which reposed a microscopic portion of highly-coloured butter, and a
+scrap of cheese wrapped in paper. These he laid on the bare table, where
+the dust lay white.
+
+'Eat a mouthful, child, and then we'll get to bed,' he said. 'You'll
+need to sleep here in my bed to-night, and I'll go to the back room,
+where there's an old sofa. On Monday I'll get some things, and you can
+have that room for yourself. Tired, eh?'
+
+Uncle Abel's spirits rose to find himself at home, and the child's sank
+lower at the prospect stretching out before her.
+
+'No--that is, not very. It seems very long since morning.'
+
+'Ay, it's been a longish day. Never mind; tomorrow's Sunday, and we
+needn't get up before ten or eleven.'
+
+'Don't you go to church, Uncle Abel?'
+
+'Sometimes in the afternoon, or at night. Oh, there are plenty of
+churches; they grow as thick as mushrooms, and do about as much good.
+Won't you eat?'
+
+The fare was not inviting; nevertheless, Gladys did her best to swallow
+a few morsels, because she really felt faint and weak. It did not occur
+to the miser that he might kindle a cheerful spark of fire to give her a
+welcome, and to make her a cup of tea. He was not less cold and hungry
+himself, it may be believed, but he had long inured himself to such
+privation, and bore it with an outward semblance of content.
+
+When they had eaten, he busied himself getting an old rug and a pillow
+from the chest standing across one of the windows, and carried them into
+the other room, then he bade Gladys get quickly to bed, and not burn the
+candle too long. He went in the dark himself, and when Gladys heard his
+footsteps growing fainter in the long passage a great terror took
+possession of her, the place was so strange, so cold, so unknown. For
+some time she was even afraid to move, but at last she rose and crossed
+the floor to the windows, to see whether from them anything friendly or
+familiar could be seen. But they looked into the street, and had thick
+iron bars across them, exactly like the windows of a gaol. It was the
+last straw added to the burden of the unhappy child. Her imagination did
+not lack in vividness, and a thousand unknown terrors rose up before her
+terrified eyes. If only from the window she might have looked up to the
+eyes of the pitying stars, she had been less desolate, less forlorn. A
+sharp sense of physical cold was the first thing to arouse her, and she
+took the candle and approached the bed. Now, though they had ever been
+poor, the artist and his child had kept their surroundings clean and
+wholesome. In her personal tastes Gladys was as fastidious as the
+highest lady in the land. She turned down the covering, and when she saw
+the hue of the linen her lip curled, and she hastily covered it up from
+sight. In the end, she laid herself down without undressing above the
+bed, spreading a clean handkerchief for her head to rest upon; and so,
+worn-out, she slept at last an untroubled and dreamless sleep, in which
+she forgot for many hours her forlorn and friendless state.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+A RAY OF LIGHT.
+
+
+Sunday was a dreary day. It rained again, and the fog was so thick that
+it seemed dim twilight all day long in Gladys's new home. Her uncle did
+not go out at all, but dozed in the chimney-corner between the intervals
+of preparing the meagre meals. On Sunday Abel Graham attended to his own
+housekeeping, and took care to keep a shilling off Mrs. Macintyre's
+pittance for the same. Gladys, though unaccustomed to perform household
+duties except of the slightest kind, was glad to occupy herself with
+them to make the time pass. The old man from his corner watched with
+much approval the slender figure moving actively about the kitchen, the
+busy hands making order out of chaos, and adding the grace of her sweet
+young presence to that dreary place. On the morrow, he told himself, he
+should dismiss the expensive Mrs. Macintyre. Yes, he had made a good
+investment, and then the girl would always be there, a living creature,
+to whom he might talk when so disposed.
+
+'It isn't at all a bad sort of place, my dear,' he said quite
+cheerfully. 'At the back, in the yard, there's a tree and a strip of
+grass. In spring, if you like, you might put in a pennyworth of seeds,
+and have a flower.'
+
+This was a tremendous concession. Gladys felt grateful for the kindly
+thought which prompted it.
+
+'One tree, growing all by itself. Poor thing, how lonely it must be!'
+
+The old man looked at her curiously.
+
+'That's an odd way to look at it. Who ever heard of a tree being lonely?
+You have a great many queer fancies, but they won't flourish here.
+Glasgow is given up to business; it has no time for foolish fancies.'
+
+Gladys gravely nodded.
+
+'Papa told me so. Is it very far to Ayrshire, Uncle Abel?'
+
+The old man gave a quick start.
+
+'To Ayrshire! What makes you ask the question? What has put such a thing
+into your head?'
+
+'Papa spoke of it so often, of that beautiful village where you and he
+were born. He was so sorry I could not pronounce it right, Mauchline.'
+
+As that sweet voice, with its pretty English accent, uttered the
+familiar name, again a strange thrill visited the old man's withered
+heart.
+
+'No, you don't say it right. But I wonder that he spoke of it so much;
+we were poor enough there, herd boys in the fields. We couldn't well
+have a humbler origin, eh?'
+
+'But it was a beautiful life--papa said so--among the fields and trees,
+listening to the birds--the same songs Burns used to hear. I seem to
+know every step of the way, all the fields in Mossgiel, and every tree
+in the woods of Ballochmyle. Just before he died, he tried to sing,--oh,
+it was so painful to hear his dear, trembling voice,--and it was "The
+Bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle." If it is not very far, will you take me
+one day, when you have time, Uncle Abel, to see Mauchline and Mossgiel
+and Ballochmyle?'
+
+She looked at him fearlessly as she made her request, and her courage
+pleased him.
+
+'We'll see. Perhaps at the Fair, when fares are cheap. But it will only
+be to please you; I never want to see the place again.'
+
+'Oh, is not that very strange, Uncle Abel, that papa and you should
+think of it so differently? He loved it all so much, and he always said,
+when we were rich, we should come, he and I together, to Scotland.'
+
+'He was glad enough to turn his back on it, anyhow. If he had stayed in
+Glasgow, and attended to business, he might have been a rich man,' said
+he incautiously.
+
+'_You_ are not rich, though you have done so,' said Gladys quickly,
+looking at him with her young, fearless eyes. 'I think papa was better
+off than you, because he could always be in the country, and not here.'
+
+The undisguised contempt on the girl's face as she took in her
+surroundings rather nettled the old man, and he gave her a snappish
+answer, then picked himself up, and went off to his warehouse.
+
+Next day Gladys had to rise quite early--before six--and with her own
+hands light the fire, under the old man's superintendence, thus
+receiving her first lesson in the economy of firelighting. She was very
+patient, and learned her lesson very well. While she was brushing in the
+hearth she heard another foot on the passage, and was further astonished
+by the tones of a woman's voice giving utterance to surprise.
+
+'Mercy on us! wha's he gotten noo?'
+
+The words, uttered in the broadest Scotch, and further graced by the
+unlovely Glasgow accent, fell on the girl's ears like the sound of a
+foreign tongue. She paused, broom in hand, and looked in rather a
+bewildered manner at the short stout figure standing in the doorway,
+with bare red arms akimbo, and the broadest grin on her coarse but not
+unkindly face.
+
+'I beg your pardon, what is it?' Gladys asked kindly, and the surprise
+deepened on the Scotchwoman's face.
+
+'Ye'll be his niece, mebbe--his brither's lass, are ye, eh? And hae ye
+come to bide? If ye hiv, Almichty help ye!'
+
+Gladys shook her head, not understanding yet a single word. At this
+awkward juncture the old man came hurrying along the passage, and Mrs.
+Macintyre turned to him with a little curtsey.
+
+'I'm speakin' to the young leddy, but she seemin'ly doesna understand. I
+see my work's dune; mebbe I'm no' to come back?'
+
+'No; my niece can do the little that is necessary, so you needn't come
+back, Mrs. Macintyre, and I'm much obliged to you,' said the old man,
+who was polite always, in every circumstance, out of policy.
+
+'Ye're awn me wan an' nine, fork it oot,' she answered brusquely, and
+held out her brawny hand, into which Abel Graham reluctantly, as usual,
+put the desired coins.
+
+'Yer brither's dochter, genty born?' said Mrs. Macintyre, with a jerk of
+her thumb. 'Gie her her meat; mind, a young wame's aye toom. Puir thing,
+puir thing!'
+
+Abel Graham hastened her out, but she only remained in the street until
+she saw his visage at one of the upper windows, then she darted back to
+the kitchen, and laid hold of the astonished Gladys by the shoulder.
+'If ye ever want a bite--an' as sure as daith ye will often--come ye to
+me, my lamb, the second pend i' the Wynd, third close, an' twa stairs
+up, an' never heed him, auld skin o' a meeser that he is!'
+
+She went as quickly as she came, leaving Gladys dimly conscious of her
+meaning, but feeling intuitively that the words were kindly and even
+tenderly spoken, so they were not forgotten.
+
+When the water had boiled, the old man came down to supervise the making
+of the porridge--a mystery into which Gladys had not been yet initiated.
+Three portions were served on plates, a very little tea put in a tiny
+brown teapot, and breakfast was ready. Then Abel went into the passage
+and shouted to his young assistant to come down.
+
+Gladys was conscious of a strong sense of curiosity as she awaited the
+coming of the 'imp,' which was his master's favourite name for him, and
+when he entered she felt at first keenly disappointed. He was only a
+very ordinary-looking street boy, she thought, rather undersized, but
+still too big for his clothes, which were stretched on him tightly, his
+short trousers showing the tops of his patched boots, which were several
+sizes too large for him, and gave him a very ungraceful appearance. He
+had not even a collar, only an old tartan scarf knotted round his neck,
+and from the shrunk sleeves of the old jacket his hands, red and bony,
+appeared abnormally large. But when she looked at his face, at the eyes
+which looked out from the tangle of his hair, she forgot all the rest,
+and her heart warmed to him before he had uttered a word.
+
+'This is Walter Hepburn--my niece, Mary Graham; and you may as well be
+friendly, because I can't have any quarrelling here,' was the old man's
+introduction; then, without a word of thanksgiving, he fell to eating
+his porridge, after having carefully divided the sky-blue milk into
+three equal portions.
+
+The two young persons gravely nodded to each other, and also began to
+eat. Gladys, feeling intuitively that a kindred soul was near her, felt
+a wild desire to laugh, her lips even trembled so that she could
+scarcely restrain them, and Walter Hepburn answered by a twinkle in his
+eye, which was the first bright thing Gladys had seen in Glasgow. But
+though she felt kindly towards him, and glad that he was there, she did
+not by any means admire him, and she even thought that if she knew him
+better she would tell him of his objectionable points. For one thing, he
+had no manners; he sat rather far back from the table, and leaned
+forward till his head was almost on a level with his plate. Then he made
+a loud noise in his eating, which disturbed Gladys very much--certainly
+she was too fastidious and delicate in her taste for her present lot in
+life. When that strange and silent meal was over, the old man retired to
+the warehouse and left the children alone. But that did not disconcert
+them, as might have been expected. From the first moment they felt at
+home with each other. Walter was the first to speak. He leaned up
+against the chimneypiece, and meditatively watched the girl as she began
+deftly to clear the table.
+
+'I say, miss,' he said then, 'do you think you'll like to be here?'
+
+The English was pretty tolerable, though the accent was very Scotch.
+
+'No. How could I?' was the frank reply of Gladys. 'But I have nowhere
+else, and I should be thankful for it.'
+
+'Um.'
+
+Walter thrust his hands into his diminutive pockets, and eyed her with a
+kind of meditative gravity.
+
+'Are you always thankful when you should be?' he inquired.
+
+'I am afraid not,' Gladys answered, with a little shake of her head.
+'You live here all the week, don't you, till Saturday night, when you go
+home?'
+
+'Yes; and I'm always thankful, if you like, when Monday comes.'
+
+Gladys looked at him in wonder.
+
+'You are glad when Monday comes, to come back here? How strange!--and
+the other place is home. Have you a father and mother?'
+
+'Yes, worse luck.'
+
+Again Gladys looked at him, this time with strong disapproval.
+
+'I don't understand you. It is very dreadful, I think, that you should
+talk like that.'
+
+'Is it? Perhaps if you were me, and had it to do, you'd understand it. I
+wish I was an orphan. When a man's an orphan he may get on, but he never
+can if he has relations like mine.'
+
+'Are they--are they wicked?' asked Gladys hesitatingly.
+
+The lad answered by a short, bitter laugh.
+
+'Well, perhaps not exactly. They only drink and quarrel, and drink
+again, whenever they have a copper. Saturday and Sunday are their head
+days, because Saturday's the pay. But I'm better off than Liz, because
+she has to be there always.'
+
+'Is Liz your sister?'
+
+'Yes. She isn't a bad sort, if she had a chance, but she never will have
+a chance there; an' perhaps by the time I'm able to take care of her it
+will be too late.'
+
+Gladys did not understand him, but forbore to ask any more questions.
+She had got something fresh to ponder over, another of the many
+mysteries of life.
+
+'I say, he's a queer old buffer, the boss, isn't he?' asked Walter, his
+eye twinkling again as he jerked his thumb towards the door. 'They say
+he's awful rich, but he's a miserable old wretch. I'd rather be myself
+than him any day.'
+
+'I should think so,' answered Gladys, looking into the fine open face of
+the lad with a smile, which made him redden a little.
+
+'I say, you might tell me why you think I'm so much better off than him.
+I sometimes think myself that I'm the most miserable wretch in the
+world.'
+
+'Oh no, you're not; you are quite young, and you are a man--at least,
+you will be soon. If I were you I should never think that, nor be afraid
+of anything. It isn't very nice to be a girl like me; with you it is so
+different.'
+
+'Well, perhaps I ought to be thankful that I'm not a woman. I never
+thought of that. Women have the worst of it mostly, now I think of it.
+I'm sorry for you.'
+
+'Thank you.'
+
+Gladys looked at him gratefully, and both these young desolate hearts,
+awaking to the possibilities and the sorrows of life, felt the chord of
+sympathy responding each to the other.
+
+'He gives me five shillings a week here and my meat. They take it all at
+home, and I want so awful to go to the night school. Do you know, it
+takes me all my time to read words of three or four letters?'
+
+'Oh, how dreadful! I can read; I'll teach you,' she cried at once.
+'Perhaps it would do till you can go to school.'
+
+'Could you? Would you?'
+
+The boy's whole face shone, his eyes glowed with the light of awakened
+hope. He felt his own power, believed that he could achieve something if
+the first great stumbling-block were removed. Something of his gladness
+communicated itself to Gladys--showed itself in the heightened, delicate
+colour in her cheek, in the lustre of her eyes. So these two desolate
+creatures made their first compact, binding about them in the very hour
+of their meeting the links of the chain which, in the years to come,
+love would make a chain of gold.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+LIZ.
+
+
+Abel Graham's business was really that of a wholesale drysalter in a
+very small way. His customers were chiefly found among the small
+shopkeepers who abounded in the neighbourhood, and as he gave credit for
+a satisfactory time, he was much patronised. To give credit to a certain
+amount was the miser's policy. When he once got the unhappy debtors in
+his toils it was hopeless to extricate themselves, and so they continued
+paying, as they were able, high prices and exorbitant interest, which
+left them no chance of making any profit in their own humble sphere. He
+had also lent a great deal of money, his income from that source alone
+being more than sufficient to keep himself and his niece in modest
+comfort, had he so willed. But the lust of gold possessed him. It was
+nothing short of physical pain for him to part with it, and he had no
+intention of changing his way of life for her. He was known in the
+district under the elegant _sobriquet_ of Skinny Graham; and when Gladys
+heard it for the first time, she laughed silently to herself, thinking
+of its fitness. The simple-hearted child quickly accommodated herself to
+her surroundings, accepting her meagre lot with a serenity a more
+experienced mind might have envied. She even managed to make a little
+atmosphere of brightness about her, which at once communicated itself to
+the two who shared it with her. They viewed this exquisite change, it
+may be believed, from an entirely different standpoint. The old man
+liked the comfort and the cleanliness which the girl's busy hands made
+in their humble home; the boy looked on with deep eyes, wonderingly,
+catching glimpses of her white soul, and knowing that it was far above
+and beyond the sordid air it breathed. She went out a great deal,
+wandering alone and fearlessly in the streets--always in the streets,
+because as yet she did not know that even in that great city, where the
+roar and the din of life are never still, and the air but seldom clear
+from the smoke of its bustle, are to be found quiet resting-places,
+where the green things of God grow in hope and beauty, giving their
+message of perpetual promise to the heart open to receive it. Gladys
+would have welcomed that message gladly, ear and heart having been early
+taught to wait and listen for it, but as yet she believed Glasgow to be
+but a city of streets, of dull and dreadful stones, against which the
+tide of life beat remorselessly for ever. And such life! For very pity
+the child's heart grew heavy within her often as she looked upon the
+stream of humanity in these poor streets, on the degraded, hopeless
+faces, the dull eyes, the languid bearing of those who appeared to have
+lost interest in, and respect for, themselves. She believed it wholly
+sad. Standing on the outside, she knew nothing of the homely joys, the
+gleams of mirth, the draughts of happiness possible to the very poor.
+She thought their laughter, when it fell sometimes upon her ears, more
+dreadful than their tears. So she slipped silently about among them,
+quite unnoticed, looking on with large sad eyes, and almost as an angel
+might. Sometimes looking to the heavens, which even walls and roofs of
+stone could not shut out, she wondered how God, who loved all with such
+a tender love, could bear to have it so. It vexed her soul with doubts,
+and made her so unhappy that even in her dreams she wept. Of these
+things she did not speak to those about her yet, though very soon it
+became a habit with her and Walter to discuss the gravest problems of
+existence.
+
+The old man offered no objections to the lessons, only stipulating that
+no unnecessary candles should be consumed. He allowed but one to lighten
+the gloom of the large kitchen; and every evening after tea the same
+picture might have been seen--the old man dozing in the chimney-corner,
+and the two young creatures at the little table with books and slates,
+the unsteady light of the solitary candle flickering on their earnest
+faces. Teacher and taught! Very often in the full after years they
+looked back upon it, and talked of it with smiles which were not far off
+from tears. It is not too much to say that the companionship of Walter
+was the only thing which saved Gladys from despair; but for the bright
+kinship of his presence she must have sunk under the burden of a life so
+hard, a life for which she was so unfitted; but they comforted each
+other, and kept warm and true in their young hearts faith in humankind
+and in the mercy of Heaven.
+
+As the days went by, Walter dreaded yet more the coming of Saturday, and
+Sunday to be spent in his own house in Bridgeton, but as yet he had not
+spoken of his great sorrow to Gladys, only she was quick to notice how,
+as the week went by and Saturday came, the shadow deepened on his face.
+She felt for him keenly, but her perception was so delicate, so quick,
+she knew it was a sorrow with which she must not intermeddle. There were
+very many things in life, Gladys was learning day by day, more to be
+dreaded than death, which is so often, indeed, the gentlest friend.
+
+One Monday morning Walter appeared quite downcast, so unusual with him
+that Gladys could not forbear asking what troubled him.
+
+'It's Liz,' he said, relieved to be asked, though diffident in
+volunteering information. 'She's ill,--very badly, too,--and she is not
+looked after. I wish I knew what to do.'
+
+Gladys was sympathetic at once.
+
+'What is it?--the matter, I mean. Have they had a doctor?'
+
+'Yes; it's inflammation of the lungs. She's so much in the streets at
+night, I think, when it's wet; that's where she's got it.'
+
+'I am very sorry. Perhaps I could do something for her. My father was
+often ill; he was not strong, and sometimes caught dreadful chills
+painting outside. I always knew what to do for him. I'll go, if you
+like.'
+
+The lad's face flushed all over. He was divided between his anxiety for
+his sister, whom he really loved, and his reluctance for Gladys to see
+his home. But the first prevailed.
+
+'If it wouldn't be an awful trouble to you,' he said; and Gladys smiled
+as she gave her head a quick shake.
+
+'No trouble; I shall be so glad. Tell me where to find the place, and
+I'll go after dinner, before it is dark. Uncle Abel says I must not go
+out after dark, you know.'
+
+'It's a long way from here, and you'll have to take two cars.'
+
+'I know the Bridgeton car; but may I not walk?'
+
+'No; please take these pennies. When you are going to see my sister, I
+should pay. Yes, take them; I want you to.'
+
+Gladys took the coppers, and put them in her pocket. She knew very well
+they would reduce the hoard he was gathering for the purchase of a
+coveted book, but she felt that in accepting them she was conferring a
+rare pleasure on him. And it was so. Never was subject prouder of a gift
+accepted by a sovereign than Walter Hepburn of the fact that that day
+Gladys should ride in comfort through the wet streets at his expense. It
+was another memory for the after years.
+
+In the afternoon, accordingly, Gladys dressed and went out. Her uncle
+had provided her with a warm winter cloak, which enveloped her from head
+to foot. It was not new. Had Gladys known where it came from, and who
+had worn it before her, she might not have enjoyed so much solid
+satisfaction in wearing it, but though she had been told that it was an
+unredeemed pledge she would not have known what it meant.
+
+It was a dry afternoon, though cloudy and cold. It was so near Christmas
+that the shops were gay with Christmas goods; but in those who have no
+money to spend in such luxuries, the Christmas display can only awaken a
+dull feeling of envy and discontent. By dint of much asking, after
+leaving the car, Gladys found the street where the Hepburns lived. It
+was not so squalid as the immediate neighbourhood of her own home, but
+it was inexpressibly dreary--one of these narrow long streets, with high
+'lands' on either side, entered by common stairs, and divided into very
+small houses. Outwardly it looked even respectable, and was largely
+occupied by the poorer labouring class, who often divided their abodes
+by letting them out to lodgers. It was one of the streets, indeed, where
+the overcrowding had attracted the serious consideration of the
+authorities.
+
+A bitter wind, laden with the promise of snow, swept through it from end
+to end, and caught Gladys in the teeth as she entered it. It was not a
+very cheerful welcome, and Gladys looked with compassion upon the
+children playing on the pavement and about the doorways, but scantily
+clad, though their blue fingers and pinched faces did not seem to damp
+their merriment. The child-heart, full of glee and ready for laughter,
+always will assert itself, even in the most unfavourable circumstances.
+Round the door which Gladys desired to enter, a little band of boys and
+girls were engaged playing the interesting game of 'Here's the Robbers
+passing by,' and Gladys stood still, watching them with a kind of quiet,
+tender interest, trying to understand the words, to which they gave many
+strange meanings. They grew shy of the scrutiny by and by, and the spell
+was broken by an oath which fell glibly from the lips of a small boy,
+showing that it was no stranger to them. Gladys looked inexpressibly
+shocked, and hastened into the stair, which was very dirty, and odorous
+of many evil smells. The steps seemed endless, but she was glad as she
+mounted to find the light growing broader, until at last she reached the
+topmost landing, where the big skylight revealed a long row of doors,
+each giving entrance to a separate dwelling. The girl looked confusedly
+at them for a moment, and then, recalling sundry directions Walter had
+given, proceeded to knock at the middle one. It was opened at once by a
+young woman wearing a rusty old black frock and a large checked apron, a
+little shawl pinned about her head quite tightly, and making her face
+look very small and pinched. It was a very pale face,--quite ghastly,
+in fact,--the very lips white, and her eyes surrounded by large black
+circles, which made Gladys think she must be very ill.
+
+'Well, miss?' she said coolly and curtly, holding the door open only
+about three inches.
+
+'Does Mrs. Hepburn live here?' asked Gladys, thinking she had made a
+mistake.
+
+'Yes, but she's no' at hame. Come back the morn. Eh, Liz, will yer
+mither be oot the morn?'
+
+'Ay; ask her what she wants,' a somewhat husky voice announced from the
+interior, followed by a fit of coughing quite distressing to hear.
+
+'Oh, is that Walter's sister, who is ill?' said Gladys eagerly. 'Please,
+may I come in? Ask her. Tell her that I have come from Colquhoun Street
+to see her. I am Gladys Graham.'
+
+The young woman disappeared into the interior; a whispered consultation
+followed, and a general hurrying movement of things being put straight,
+then Gladys was bidden come in.
+
+She stepped into the little narrow dark passage, closed the door, and
+entered the kitchen where the two girls were. It was quite a comfortable
+place, clean and warm, though the air was close, and not wholesome. It
+had a few articles of kitchen furniture, and two beds, one in each
+corner, which rather crowded the space. On one of the beds, half-lying,
+half-sitting, was Liz, Walter's sister, with a blanket pinned round her
+shoulders, and a copy of the _Family Reader_ in her hand, open at a
+thrilling picture of a young lady with an impossible figure being
+rescued from a runaway horse by a youth of extraordinary proportions.
+
+Gladys entered the kitchen rather hesitatingly,--the young woman with
+the sullen grey face disconcerted her--but when she looked at Liz she
+smiled quite brightly, and came forward with a quick, ready step.
+
+'How are you? I am so sorry you are ill. Walter thought I might come to
+see you. I hope you will soon be better.'
+
+Liz allowed her hand to be shaken, and fixed her very bright blue eyes
+keenly on the girl's sweet face. Gladys felt that she was being
+scrutinised, that the measure of her sincerity was gauged by that look,
+but she did not evade it. With Liz, Gladys was much surprised. She was
+so different from the picture she had drawn, so different from Walter;
+there was not the shadow of a resemblance between them. Many would have
+called Liz Hepburn beautiful. She was certainly handsome after her kind,
+having straight, clear-cut features, a well-formed if rather coarse
+mouth, brilliant blue eyes, and a mass of reddish-brown hair, which set
+off the extreme fairness of her skin. Gladys felt fascinated as she
+looked, though she felt also that there was something fierce, and even
+wild, in the depths of these eyes. Evidently they found satisfaction in
+their survey of the stranger's face, for she laid down the paper, and
+gave her head a series of little nods.
+
+'Gie her a chair, Teen, and shove the teapat on to the hob,' she said,
+offering to her guest such hospitality as was in her power.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+PICTURES OF LIFE.
+
+
+Gladys sat down, and suddenly became conscious of what she was carrying,
+a little flower-pot, in which bloomed a handful of Roman hyacinths,
+their delicate and lovely blossoms nestling among the tender green of
+their own leaves, and a bit of hardy fern. It was her only treasure,
+which she had bought for a few pence in the market one morning, and she
+had nothing else to bring to Liz.
+
+'Will you take this? Is it not very pretty? I love it so much, but I
+have brought it for you. My father liked a flower when he was ill.'
+
+Liz gave another enigmatical nod, and a faint, slow, melancholy smile
+gathered about the lips of Teen as she sat down to her work again, after
+having stirred the fire and pushed the dirty brown teapot on to the
+coals. In this teapot a black decoction brewed all day, and was partaken
+of at intervals by the two; sometimes they ate a morsel of bread to it,
+but other sustenance they had none. Little wonder the face of Teen was
+as cadaverous as the grave.
+
+Then followed an awkward silence, during which Liz played with the
+frayed edge of the blanket, and Teen stitched away for dear life at a
+coarse garment, which appeared to be a canvas jacket. A whole pile of
+the same lay on the unoccupied bed, and Gladys vaguely wondered whether
+the same fingers must reduce the number, but she did not presume to ask.
+She did not feel drawn to the melancholy seamstress, whose thin lips had
+a hard, cold curve.
+
+'Were you reading when I came in? I'm afraid I have stopped you,' said
+Gladys at length.
+
+'Ay, I was readin' to Teen "Lord Bellew's Bride; or the Curse of
+Mountford Abbey." Splendid, isn't it, Teen?' said Liz quite brightly.
+'We buy'd atween us every week. I'll len' ye'd, if ye like. It comes oot
+on Wednesday. Wat could bring'd on the Monday.'
+
+'Thank you very much,' said Gladys. 'I haven't much time; I have a great
+deal to do in the house.'
+
+'Hae ye? Ay, Wat telt me; an', michty! ye dinna look as if ye could dae
+onything. The auld sinner, I'd pooshin him!'
+
+Liz looked quite capable of putting her threat into execution, and
+Gladys shrank a little away from the fierceness of her eyes.
+
+'Ye are ower genty. His kind need somebody that'll fecht. If he was my
+uncle, and had as muckle money as they say he has, I'd walk oot in silk
+and velvet in spite o' his face. I'd hing them a' up, an' then he'd need
+to pay.'
+
+Gladys only vaguely understood, but gathered that she was censuring the
+old man with the utmost severity.
+
+'Oh, I don't think he is as rich as people say, and he is very kind to
+me,' said she quickly. 'If he had not taken me when my father died, I
+don't know what would have become of me.'
+
+'Imphm! The tea's bilin', Teen. Look in my goon pocket for a penny, an'
+rin doon for twa cookies.'
+
+The little seamstress obediently rose, pushed back the teapot, and
+disappeared.
+
+'If I wis you,' said Liz the moment they were alone, and leaning forward
+to get a better look at Gladys, 'I wadna bide. Ye wad be faur better
+workin' for yersel'. If ye like, I'll speak for ye whaur I work, at
+Forsyth's Paper Mill in the Gorbals. I ken Maister George wad dae
+onything I ask him.'
+
+She flung back her tawny locks with a gesture of pride, and the rich
+colour deepened in her cheek.
+
+'Oh, you are very kind, but I don't think I could work in a mill. I
+don't know anything about it, and I am quite happy with my uncle--as
+happy as I can be anywhere, away from papa.'
+
+Liz regarded her with a look, in which contempt and a vague wonder were
+oddly mingled.
+
+'Weel, if you are pleased, it's nae business o' mine, of course. But I
+think ye are a fule. Ye wad hae yer liberty, onyway, and I could show ye
+a lot o' fun. There's the dancin'-schule on Saturday nichts. It's grand;
+an' we're to hae a ball on Hogmanay. I'm gettin' a new frock, white book
+muslin, trimmed wi' green leaves an' a green sash. Teen's gaun to mak'
+it. That's what for I'll no' gang to service, as my mither's aye
+wantin'. No me, to be ordered aboot like a beast! I'll hae my liberty,
+an' maybe some day I'll hae servants o' my ain. Naebody kens. Lord
+Bellew's bride in the story was only the gatekeeper's dochter, an'
+that's her on the horse, look, after she was my Lady Bellew. Here's
+Teen.'
+
+Breathless and panting, the little seamstress returned with the cookies,
+and made a little spread on the bare table. Gladys was not hungry, but
+she accepted the proffered hospitality frankly as it was given, though
+the tea tasted like a decoction of bitter aloes. She was horrified to
+behold the little seamstress swallowing it in great mouthfuls without
+sugar or cream. Gladys had sometimes been hungry, but she knew nothing
+of that painful physical sinking, the result of exhausting work and
+continued insufficiency of food, which the poisonous brew for the time
+being overcame. Over the tea the trio waxed quite talkative, and 'Lord
+Bellew's Bride' was discussed to its minutest detail. Gladys wondered at
+the familiarity of the two girls with dukes and duchesses, and other
+persons of high degree, of whom they spoke familiarly, as if they were
+next-door neighbours. Although she was very young, and knew nothing of
+their life, she gathered that its monotony was very irksome to them, and
+that they were compelled to seek something, if only in the pages of an
+unwholesome and unreal story, to lift them out of it. It was evident
+that Liz, at least, chafed intolerably under her present lot, and that
+her head was full of dreams and imaginings regarding the splendours so
+vividly described in the story. All this time Gladys also wondered more
+than once what had become of the parents, of whom there was no sign
+visible, and at last she ventured to put the question--
+
+'Is your mother not at home to-day?'
+
+This question sent the little seamstress off into a fit of silent
+laughter, which brought a dull touch of colour into her cheeks, and very
+much improved her appearance. Liz also gave a little short laugh, which
+had no mirth in it.
+
+'No, she's no' at hame; she's payin' a visit at Duke Street.' And the
+little grave nod with which Gladys received this information further
+intensified the amusement of the two.
+
+'Ye dinna see through it,' said Liz, 'so I'll gie ye'd flat. My faither
+and mither are in the gaol for fechtin'. They were nailed on Saturday
+nicht.'
+
+'Oh!'
+
+Gladys looked genuinely distressed, and perhaps for the first time Liz
+thought of another side such degradation might have. She had often been
+angry, had felt it keenly in her own passionate way, but it was always a
+selfish anger, which had not in it a single touch of compassion for the
+miserable pair who had so far forgotten their duty to each other and to
+God.
+
+'Gey bad, ye think, I see,' said Liz soberly. 'We're used to it, and
+dinna fash oor thoombs. She'll be hame the nicht; but he's gotten thirty
+days, an' we'll hae a wee peace or he comes oot.'
+
+Gladys looked at the indifferent face of Liz with a vague wonder in her
+own. That straight, direct glance, which had such sorrow in it,
+disconcerted Liz considerably, and she again turned to the pages of
+'Lord Bellew.'
+
+'Don't you get rather tired of that work?' asked Gladys, looking with
+extreme compassion on the little seamstress, who was again hard at work.
+
+'Tired! Oh ay. We maun tire an' begin again,' she answered dully. 'It's
+sair on the fingers.'
+
+She paused a moment to stretch out one of her scraggy hands, which was
+worn and thin at the fingertips, and pricked with the sharp points of
+many needles.
+
+'It's dreadful; the stuff looks so hard. What do you make?'
+
+'Men's canvas jackets, number five, thirteenpence the dizen,' quoted the
+little seamstress mechanically, 'an' find yer ain threed.'
+
+'What does that mean?' asked Gladys.
+
+'I get a penny each for them, an' a penny ower.'
+
+'For making these great things?'
+
+'Oh, I dinna mak' them a'. The seams are run up wi' the machine afore I
+get them. I pit in the sleeves, the neckbands, an' mak' the buttonholes.
+There's mair wark at them than ye wad think.'
+
+'Is the money not very little?'
+
+'Maybe; but I'm gled to get it. I'm no' able for the mill, an' I canna
+sterve. It keeps body an' soul thegither--eh, Liz?'
+
+'Nae mair,' said Liz abstractedly, again absorbed in her paper. 'But
+maybe oor shot 'll come.'
+
+Gladys rose to her feet, suddenly conscious that she had made a very
+long visit. Her heart was heavier than when she came. More and more was
+the terrible realism of city life borne in upon her troubled soul.
+
+'I'm afraid I must go away,' she said very quietly. 'I am very much
+obliged to you for being so kind to me. May I come again?'
+
+'Oh, if ye like,' said Liz carelessly. 'But ye'll no' see Teen. She
+lives doon the street. My mither canna bide her, an' winna let her nose
+within the door, so we haud a jubilee when she's nailed.'
+
+'Oh, please don't speak like that of your mother!'
+
+Liz looked quite thunderstruck.
+
+'What for no'? I've never gotten onything frae her a' my days but ill.
+I'll tell ye what--if I had ta'en her advice, I'd hae gane to the bad
+lang syne. Although she is my mither, I canna say black's white, so ye
+needna stare; an' if ye are no' pleased ye needna come back, I didna
+spier ye to come, onyway.'
+
+'Oh no; pray forgive me if I have made a mistake. I am so sorry for it
+all, only I cannot understand it.'
+
+'Be thankfu' if ye dinna, then,' replied Liz curtly. 'I'm no' very
+ceevil to ye. I am much obleeged to ye for comin', for the flooers, an'
+mair than a', for teachin' Wat to read.'
+
+Her face became quite soft in its outline; the harshness died out of her
+bright eyes, leaving them lovely beyond expression. Gladys felt drawn to
+her once more, and, leaning forward, without a moment's hesitation she
+kissed her on the brow. It was a very simple act, no effort to the child
+who had learned from her English mother to give outward expression to
+her feelings; but its effect on Liz was very strange. Her face grew
+quite red, her eyes brimmed with tears, and she threw the blanket over
+her head to smother the sob which broke from her lips. Then Gladys bade
+good-bye to the little seamstress, and slipped away down the weary stair
+and into the grimy street, where already the lamps were lit. Her mind
+was full of many new and strange thoughts as she took her way home, and
+it was with an effort she recovered herself sufficiently to attend to
+her simple duties for the evening. But when the old man and the boy came
+down from the warehouse, supper was ready as usual, and there was
+nothing remarked, except that Gladys was perhaps quieter than usual.
+
+'Yes, I have been, and I saw your sister, Walter,' she said at last,
+when they had opportunity to talk alone. 'She is much better, she says,
+and hopes to get out soon.'
+
+'Did you see anybody else?'
+
+'Yes, a friend whom she called Teen; I do not know her other name,'
+answered Gladys.
+
+'Teen Balfour--I ken her. An' what do you think of Liz?'
+
+He put the question with a furtive anxiety of look and tone not lost on
+Gladys.
+
+'I like her. At first I thought her manner strange, but she has a
+feeling heart too. And she is very beautiful.'
+
+'You think so too?' said the lad, with a strange bitterness; 'then it
+must be true.'
+
+'Why should it not? It is pleasant to be beautiful, I think,' said
+Gladys, with a little smile.
+
+'For ladies, for you, perhaps it is, but not for Liz,' said Walter. 'It
+would be better for her if she looked like Teen.'
+
+Gladys did not ask why.
+
+'I am very sorry for her too. It is so dreadful her life, sewing all day
+at these coarse garments. I have many mercies, more than I thought. And
+for so little money! It is dreadful--a great sin; do you not think so?'
+
+'Oh yes, it's a sin; but it's the way o' the world,' answered Walter
+indifferently. 'Very likely, if I were a man and had a big shop, I'd do
+just the same--screw as much as possible out of folk for little pay.
+That's gospel.'
+
+Gladys laid her hand on his arm, and her eyes shone upon him. 'It will
+not be your gospel, Walter, that I know. Some day you will be a rich
+man, perhaps, and then you will show the world what a rich man can do.
+Isn't there a verse in the Bible which says, "Blessed is he that
+considereth the poor"? You will consider the poor then, Walter, and I
+will help you. We shall be able to do it all the better because we have
+been so poor ourselves.'
+
+It was a new evangel for that proud, restless, bitter young heart, upon
+which the burden of life already pressed so heavily. Gladys did not
+know till long after, that these words, spoken out of the fulness of her
+sympathy, made a man of him from that very day, and awakened in him the
+highest aspirations which can touch a human soul.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+LIZ SPEAKS HER MIND.
+
+
+'Wat,' said Liz Hepburn to her brother next time he came home, 'what
+kind o' a lassie is thon?'
+
+It was a question difficult for Walter to answer, and, Scotch-like, he
+solved it by putting another.
+
+'What do you think of her?'
+
+'I dinna ken; she's no' like ither folk.'
+
+'But you liked her, Liz?' said Walter, with quite evident anxiety.
+
+'Oh ay; but she's queer. How does she get on wi' Skinny?'
+
+'Well enough. I believe he likes her, Liz, if he would let on.'
+
+Liz made a grimace.
+
+'I daursay, if he can like onything. I telt her my mind on the business
+plain, an' offered to get her into our mill.'
+
+'Oh, Liz, you might have had more sense! Her work in a mill!' cried
+Walter, with more energy than elegance.
+
+'An' what for no'?' queried Liz sharply. 'I suppose she's the same flesh
+and bluid as me.'
+
+'Shut up, you twa,' said a querulous, peevish voice from the ingle-neuk,
+where the mother, dull-eyed, depressed, and untidy, sat with her elbows
+on her knees. She was in a poor state of health, and had not recovered
+from the last week's outburst. It was Saturday night, but there was no
+pay forthcoming from the head of the house, who was still in Duke Street
+Prison. Walter looked at his mother fixedly for a moment, and the shadow
+deepened on his face. She was certainly an unlovely object in her dirty,
+unkempt gown, her hair half hanging on her neck, her heavy face looking
+as if it had not seen soap and water for long, her dull eyes unlit by
+any gleam of intelligence. Of late, since they had grown more dissipated
+in their habits, Walter had fallen on the plan of keeping back his wages
+till the beginning of the week--the only way in which to ensure them
+food. Seldom, indeed, was anything left after Saturday and Sunday's
+carousal.
+
+'Is there anything the matter the day, mother?' he asked quite kindly
+and gently, being moved by a sudden feeling of compassion for her.
+
+'No, naething; but I'm clean dune. Wad ye no' bring in a drap, Wat?' she
+said coaxingly, and her eye momentarily brightened with anticipation.
+
+'It won't do you any good, mother, ye ken that,' he said, striving still
+to speak gently, though repulsion now mingled with his pity. 'A good
+dinner or supper would do ye more good. I'll bring in a bit steak, if
+ye'll cook it.'
+
+'I've nae stammick for meat,' she said, relapsing into her dull state.
+'I'm no' lang for this world, an' my wee drap's the only comfort I hae.
+Ye'll maybe wish ye hadna been as ill to me by an' by.'
+
+'I'm comin' alang some nicht, Wat,' said Liz, who invariably treated
+such remarks with the most profound contempt, ignoring them entirely.
+'D'ye think Skinny'll let me in?'
+
+'I daresay,' answered Walter abruptly, and, sitting down on the
+window-box, he looked through the blindless window upon the masses of
+roofs and the twinkling lights of the great city. His heart was heavy,
+his soul sick within him. His home--so poor a home for him, and for all
+who called it by that sweet name--had never appeared a more miserable
+and homeless place. It was not the smallness nor the poverty of its
+furnishing which concerned him, but the human beings it sheltered, who
+lay a burden upon his heart. Liz was out of bed, crouching over the
+fire, with an old red shawl wrapped round her--a striking-looking figure
+in spite of her general _deshabille_, a girl at whom all men and many
+women would look twice. He wished she were less striking, that her
+appearance had matched the only destiny she could look for--grey,
+meagre, commonplace, hopeless as a dull November day.
+
+'Your pecker's no' up, Wat?' she said, looking at him rather keenly.
+'What are ye sae doon i' the mooth for?'
+
+Walter made no reply. Truth to tell, he would have found it difficult to
+give expression to his thoughts.
+
+'He's aye doon i' the mooth when he comes here, Liz,' said the mother,
+with a passing touch of spirit. 'We're ower puir folk for my lord noo
+that he's gettin' among the gentry.'
+
+'The gentry of Argyle Street an' the Sautmarket, mother?' asked Walter
+dryly. 'They'll no' do much for ye.'
+
+'Is Skinny no' gaun to raise yer screw, Wat?' asked Liz. 'It's high time
+he was thinkin' on't.'
+
+'I'll ask him one o' these days, but he might as well keep the money as
+me. This is a bottomless pit,' he said, with bitterness. 'It could
+swallow a pound as quick as five shillings, an' never be kent.'
+
+'Ye're richt, Wat; but I wad advise ye to stick in to Skinny. He has
+siller, they say, an' maybe ye'll finger it some day.'
+
+One night not long after, Liz presented herself at the house in
+Colquhoun Street, to return the visit of Gladys. As it happened, Walter
+was not in, having heard of a night school where the fees were so small
+as to be within the range of his means. Gladys looked genuinely pleased
+to see her visitor, though she hardly recognised in the
+fashionably-dressed young lady the melancholy-looking girl she had seen
+lying on the kitchen bed in the house of the Hepburns.
+
+'Daur I come in? Would he no' be mad?' asked Liz, when they shook hands
+at the outer door.
+
+'Do you mean my uncle?' asked Gladys. 'He will be quite pleased to see
+you. Come in; it is so cold here.'
+
+'For you, ay; but I'm as warm's a pie, see, wi' my new fur cape--four
+an' elevenpence three-farthings at the Polytechnic. Isn't it a beauty,
+an' dirt cheap?'
+
+Thus talking glibly about what was more interesting to her than anything
+else in the world, Liz followed Gladys into the kitchen, where the old
+man sat, as usual, in his arm-chair by the fireside, looking very old
+and wizened and frail in the flickering glow of fire and candle light.
+
+'This is Walter's sister, Uncle Abel,' Gladys said, with that
+unconscious dignity which singled her out at once, and gave her a touch
+of individuality which Liz felt, though she did not in the least
+understand it.
+
+The old man gave a little grunt, and bade her sit down; but, though not
+talkative, he keenly observed the two, and saw that they were cast in a
+different mould. Liz looked well, flushed with her walk, the dark warm
+fur setting off the brilliance of her complexion, her clothes fitting
+her with a certain flaunting style, her manner free from the least touch
+of embarrassment or restraint. Liz Hepburn feared nothing under the sun.
+
+'And are you quite better, Liz?' asked Gladys gently, with a look of
+real interest and sympathy in her face.
+
+'Oh ay, I'm fine. Wat's no' in?' she said, glancing inquiringly round
+the place.
+
+'No; he has heard of a teacher who takes evening pupils for book-keeping
+and these things, and has gone to make arrangements with him.'
+
+Never had the nicety of her speech and her sweet, refined accent been
+more marked by Abel Graham. He looked at her as she stood by the table,
+a slender, pale figure, with a strange touch of both child and maiden
+about her, and he felt glad that she was not like Liz. Not that he
+thought ill of Liz, or did not see her beauty, such as it was, only he
+felt that the maiden whom circumstances had cast into his care and
+keeping was of a higher type than the red-cheeked, bright-eyed damsel
+whom so many admired.
+
+'An' when hae ye been oot, micht I ask?' inquired Liz calmly. 'Ye're a
+jimpy-looking thing.'
+
+'Not since Sunday.'
+
+'Sunday! Mercy me! an' this is Friday. She'll sune be in her grave, Mr.
+Graham. Folk maun hae fresh air. What way d'ye no' set her oot every
+day?'
+
+'She is welcome to go if she likes, miss. I don't keep her in,' answered
+the old man tartly.
+
+'Maybe no', but likely she has that muckle adae she canna get,' replied
+Liz fearlessly. 'It's a fine nicht--suppose ye tak' a walk wi' me? The
+shops is no' shut yet.'
+
+'Shall I go, uncle?' asked Gladys.
+
+'If ye want, certainly; but come in in time of night. Don't be later
+than nine.'
+
+'Very well,' answered Gladys, and retired into her own room to make
+ready for her walk.
+
+Then Liz, turning round squarely on her seat, fixed the old man
+fearlessly with her eyes, and gave him a piece of her mind.
+
+'I saw ye lookin' at her a meenit ago, Maister Graham, an' maybe ye was
+thinkin' the same as me, that she's no' lang for this world. Is't no' a
+sin an' a shame for a cratur like that to work in a place like this? but
+it's waur, if it be true, as folk say, that there's nae need for it.'
+
+So astonished was Abel Graham by this plain speaking on the part of a
+girl he had never seen in his life, that he could only stare.
+
+'It's true,' added Liz significantly; 'she's yin o' the kind they mak'
+angels o', and that's no' my kind nor yours. If I were you, I'd see
+aboot it, or it'll be the waur for ye, maybe, after.'
+
+Happily, just then Gladys returned for her boots, and in her mild
+excitement over having a companion to walk with, she did not observe the
+very curious look on her uncle's face. But Liz did, and gave an inward
+chuckle.
+
+'How's your father and mother?' he asked, making the commonplace
+question a cover for the start he had got.
+
+'Oh, they're as well as they can expect to be,' Liz replied. 'He cam'
+oot on Monday. I spiered if they had gi'en him a return ticket available
+for a week.'
+
+The hard little laugh which accompanied these apparently heartless words
+did not in the least deceive Gladys, and, looking up from the lacing of
+her boots, she flashed a glance of quick sympathy upon the girl's face,
+which expressed more than any words.
+
+'They're surely very ill-kinded,' was Abel Graham's comment, in rather a
+surprised tone. Liz had given him more information about her people in
+five minutes than Walter had done in the two years he had been with him.
+The difference between the two was, that while sharing the bitterness of
+their home sorrows, the one found a certain relief in telling the worst,
+the other shut it in his heart, a grief to be brooded over, till all
+life seemed tinged and poisoned by its degradation.
+
+'Oh, it's drink,' she said carelessly,--'the same auld story. Everything
+sooms awa' in whisky; they'll soom awa' theirsel's some day wi'd, that's
+wan comfort. I'm sure that's wan thing Wat an' me's no' likely to meddle
+wi'. We've seen ower muckle o' the misery o' drink. It'll never be my
+ruin, onyway. Are ye ready, Gladys?'
+
+'In a minute, just my hat and gloves,' Gladys answered, and again
+retired.
+
+'I say, sir, d'ye no' think ye should raise Wat's wages? I had twa
+things to say to ye the nicht, an' I've said them. Ye needna fash to
+flyte; I'm no' feared. If ye are a rich man, as they say, ye're waur
+than oor auld yin, for he haunds oot the siller as lang as it lasts.'
+
+'You are a very impudent young woman,' said Abel Graham, 'and not a fit
+companion for my niece. I can't let her go out with you.'
+
+'Oh, she's gaun the nicht, whether you let her or no',' was the calm
+answer. 'And as to being impident, some folk ca's the truth impidence,
+because they're no' accustomed to it. But aboot Wat, ye ken as weel as
+me, ye micht seek east an' west through Glesca an' no' get sic anither.
+He's ower honest. You raise his wages, or he'll quit, if I should seek a
+place for him mysel'.'
+
+The calm self-assertion of Liz, which had something almost queenly in
+it, compelled the respect of the old man, and he even smiled a little
+across the table to the chair where she sat quite at her ease,
+delivering herself of these remarkably plain statements. In his inmost
+soul he even enjoyed them, and felt a trifle sorry when Gladys appeared,
+ready to go. Liz sprang up at once, and favoured the old miser with a
+gracious nod by way of farewell.
+
+'Guid-nicht to ye, then, an' mind what I've said. I was in deid earnest,
+an' I'm richt, as ye'll maybe live to prove. An' mind that there's ower
+wee a pickle angels in Glesca for the ither kind, and we'd better tak'
+care o' what we hae.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+EDGED TOOLS.
+
+
+'Noo, whaur wad ye like to gang?' inquired Liz, as they shut the outer
+door behind them.
+
+'Anywhere; it is pleasant to be out, only the air is not _very_ good
+here. Do you think it is?'
+
+'Maybe no'. We'll look at the shops first, onyhoo, an' then we'll gang
+an' meet Teen Ba'four. D'ye mind Teen?'
+
+'Oh yes. Is she quite well? She looked so ill that day I saw her. I
+could not forget her face.'
+
+'Oh, she's well enough, I think. I never asks. Oor kind gangs on till
+they drap, an' then they maistly dee,' said Liz cheerfully. 'But Teen
+will hing on a while yet--she's tough. I dinna see her very often. My
+mither disna like her. She brings me the _Reader_ on Fridays. Eh,
+wummin, "Lord Bellew's Bride" is finished. Everything was cleared up at
+the end, an' the young man Lord Bellew was jealous o' turns oot to be
+only her brither. The last chapter tells aboot the christenin' o' the
+heir, an' she wears a white brocade goon, trimmed wi' real pearls an'
+ostrich feathers. Fancy you an' me in a frock like that! Wad it no' mak'
+a' the difference?'
+
+'I don't know, I'm sure. I never thought of it,' answered Gladys,
+quietly amused.
+
+'Hae ye no'? I often think o'd. If I lived in a big hoose, rode in a
+carriage, an' wore a silk dress every day, I wad be happy, an' guid too,
+maybe. It's easy to be guid when ye are rich.'
+
+'The Bible doesn't say so. Don't you remember how it explains that it is
+so hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven?'
+
+Liz looked round in a somewhat scared manner into her companion's face.
+
+'D'ye read the Bible?' she asked bluntly. 'I never dae, so I canna mind
+that. I never thocht onybody read it--or believed it, I mean--except
+ministers that are paid for it.'
+
+'Oh, that is quite a mistake,' said Gladys warmly. 'A great many people
+read it, because they love it, and because it helps them in the battle
+of life. I couldn't live without it. Walter and I read it every night.'
+
+Liz drew herself a little apart doubtfully, and looked yet more
+scrutinisingly into the face of Gladys.
+
+'Upon my word, ye're less fit than I thocht for this warld. What were ye
+born for? Ye'll never fecht yer way through,' she said, with a kind of
+scornful pity.
+
+'Oh yes, I will. Perhaps if it came to the real fight, I should prove
+stronger than you, just because I have that help. Dear Liz, it is
+dreadful, if it is true, to live as you do. Are you not afraid?'
+
+'I fear naething, except gaun into consumption, an' haein' naebody to
+look after me,' responded Liz. 'If it cam' to that, I'd _tak'_ something
+to pit an end to mysel'. My mind's made up on that lang syne.'
+
+She looked quite determined; her full red lips firmly set, and her eyes
+looking straight before her, calm, steadfast, undaunted, in
+corroboration of her boast that she feared nothing in the world.
+
+'But, Liz, that would be very wicked,' said Gladys, in distress. 'We
+have never more to bear than we are able; God takes care of that always.
+But I am sure you are only speaking in haste. I think you have a great
+deal of courage--too much to do that kind of thing.'
+
+'Dinna preach, or we'll no' 'gree,' said Liz almost rudely. 'Let's look
+at the hats in this window. I'll hae a new one next pay. Look at that
+crimson velvet wi' the black wings; it's awfu' neat, an' only
+six-and-nine. D'ye no' think it wad set me?'
+
+'Very likely. You look very nice always,' answered Gladys truthfully,
+and the sincere compliment pleased Liz, though she did not say so.
+
+'Well, look, it's ten meenits past aicht. We were to meet Teen in the
+Trongate at the quarter. We'll need to turn back.'
+
+'And where will we go after that?' inquired Gladys. 'The shops are
+beginning to shut.'
+
+'You'll see. We've a ploy on. I want to gie ye a treat. Ye dinna get
+mony o' them.'
+
+She linked her arm with friendly familiarity into that of Gladys, and
+began to chatter on again, chiefly of dress, which was dear to her soul.
+Her talk was not interesting to Gladys, who was singularly free from
+that feminine weakness, love of fine attire. No doubt she owed this to
+her upbringing, having lived always alone with her father, and knowing
+very few of her own sex. But she listened patiently to Liz's minute
+account of the spring clothes she had in view, and even tried to make
+some suggestions on her own account.
+
+It was with something of a relief, however, that she beheld among the
+crowd at last the slight figure and pale countenance of Teen.
+
+'Guid-e'enin' to ye,' Teen said in her monotonous voice, and without a
+smile or brightening of her face. 'Fine dry nicht. We're late, Liz, ten
+minutes.'
+
+'Oh, it doesna matter. We'll mak' a sensation,' said Liz, with a grim
+smile. 'A' the same, we'd better hurry up an' get oor sixpenceworth.'
+
+'Where are we going?' asked Gladys rather doubtfully.
+
+'Oh, ye'll see. I promised ye a treat,' answered Liz; and the trio
+quickened their steps until they came to a narrow entrance, illuminated,
+however, by a blaze of gas jets, and adorned about the doorway with
+sundry bills and pictures of music-hall _artistes_.
+
+Before Gladys could utter the least protest, she was whisked in, paid
+for at the box, and hurried up-stairs into a brilliantly-lighted hall,
+the atmosphere of which, however, was reeking with the smoke and the
+odour of tobacco and cheap cigars. Somebody was singing in a high,
+shrill, unlovely voice, and when Gladys looked towards the platform
+behind the footlights, she was horrified at the spectacle of a large,
+coarse-looking woman, wearing the scantiest possible amount of clothing,
+her face painted and powdered, her hair adorned with gilt spangles, her
+arms and neck hung with sham jewellery.
+
+'Who is she? Is it not awful?' whispered Gladys, which questions sent
+the undemonstrative Teen off into one of her silent fits of laughter.
+
+But Liz looked a trifle annoyed.
+
+'Don't ask such silly questions. That's Mademoiselle Frivol, and she's
+appearin' in a new character. It's an awful funny song, evidently. See
+how they're laughin'. Be quiet, an' let's listen.'
+
+Gladys held her peace, and sank into the seat beside Liz, and looked
+about her in a kind of horrified wonder.
+
+It was a large place, with a gallery opposite the stage. The seats in
+the body of the hall were not set very closely together, and the
+audience could move freely about. It was very full; a great many young
+men, well-dressed, and even gentlemanly-looking in outward appearance at
+least; the majority were smoking. The women present were mostly
+young--many of them mere girls, and there was a great deal of talking
+and bantering going on between them and the young men.
+
+Those in the gallery were evidently of the poorer class, and they
+accompanied the chorus of the song with a vigorous stamping of feet and
+whistling accompaniment. When Mademoiselle Frivol had concluded her
+performance with a little dance which brought down the house, there was
+a short interval, and presently some young men sauntered up to the three
+girls, and bade them good-evening in an easy, familiar way, which made
+the colour leap to the cheek of Gladys, though she did not know why. She
+knew nothing about young men, and had no experience to enable her to
+discern the fine shades of their demeanour towards women; but that
+innate delicacy which is the safeguard and the unfailing monitor of
+every woman until she wilfully throws it away for ever, told the
+pure-minded girl that something was amiss, and that it was no place for
+her.
+
+'Who's your chum, old girl?' asked a gorgeous youth, who wore an
+imitation diamond breastpin and finger-ring. 'Give us an introduction,
+Miss Hepburn.'
+
+He did not remove his cigar, but looked down upon the pale face of
+Gladys with a kind of familiar approval which hurt her, and made her
+long to flee from the place.
+
+'No; shut up, an' let her a-be,' answered Liz tartly. 'Hae ye a
+programme?'
+
+'Yes, but you don't deserve it for being so shabby,' said the gorgeous
+youth, putting on a double eyeglass, and still honouring Gladys with his
+attention.
+
+'I hope you will enjoy the performance, miss,' he added. 'Did you hear
+Frivol's song? It was very clever, quite the hit of the evening.'
+
+Gladys never opened her mouth. When she afterwards looked back on that
+experience, she wondered how she had been able to preserve her calm,
+cold unconcern, which very soon convinced the youth that his advances
+were not welcome. Liz looked round at her, and, noting the proud,
+contemptuous curl of the girl's sweet lips, laughed up in his face.
+
+'It's no go, Mr. Sinclair. Let's see that programme, an' dinna be mean.'
+
+But the discomfited Mr. Sinclair, in no little chagrin, departed as
+rudely as he came.
+
+'Ye dinna want a gentleman lover, Gladys,' whispered Liz. 'He's struck,
+onybody can see that, an' he's in business for himsel'. I'm sure he's
+masher enough for you. Wull I gie him the hint to come back?'
+
+'I'm going home, Liz. This is no place for me, nor for any of us, I know
+that,' said Gladys, quite hotly for her.
+
+'Oh no, you're no'. We must hae oor sixpenceworth. Bide or nine, onyhoo.
+That's just twenty meenits. Here's the acrobats; ye'll like that.'
+
+The acrobatic performance fascinated Gladys even while it horrified and
+almost made her sick. She watched every contortion of the bodies with
+the most morbid and intense interest, though feeling it to be hideous
+all the time. It excited her very much, and her cheeks flushed, her eyes
+shone with unwonted brilliance. When it was over, she rose to her feet.
+
+'I'm going out, Liz. This is a bad place; I know it is. I'm going home.'
+
+Liz looked up, with annoyance, at the clock.
+
+'It's too bad; aichteenpence awa' for naething, but I suppose we maun
+gang. I've to leave mysel', onyway, at nine. Ye'll bide, Teen, yersel'?'
+
+'No' me. There's no' much the nicht, onyway,' answered Teen; and her
+weird black eyes wandered restlessly through the hall, as if looking in
+vain for an absent face. So the three quitted the place in less than
+half an hour after they had entered it.
+
+One of the audience watched their movements, and left the hall
+immediately behind them by another door. As they moved along the busy
+street some one touched Liz on the shoulder, and Gladys felt her hand
+tremble as it lay on her arm.
+
+'I maun say guid-nicht here, Gladys,' she said hurriedly, and her cheeks
+were aflame. 'I'm vexed ye didna like the play. I meant it weel. Ye'll
+see her hame, Teen?'
+
+'Ay,' answered Teen, and next moment Liz was gone.
+
+Gladys, glancing back, saw her cross the street beside a tall,
+broad-shouldered, handsome-looking man, though she could not see his
+face.
+
+'That's her bean,' said Teen, with a nod. 'He's a swell; that's what for
+she has her best claes on. They're awa' for a walk noo. He was in the
+hall, but I didna see him.'
+
+'Is she going to be married to him?' inquired Gladys, with interest.
+
+'She hopes sae; but--but--I wadna like to sweer by it. He's a slippery
+customer, an' aye was. I ken a lassie in Dennistoun he carried on as far
+as Liz, but I'm no' feared for Liz. She can watch hersel'.'
+
+A strange feeling of weariness and vague terror came over Gladys. Day by
+day more of life was revealed to her, and added to her great perplexity.
+She did not like the phase with which she had that night made
+acquaintance. Conversation did not flourish between them, and they were
+glad to part at the corner of the Lane. Gladys ran up to the house,
+feeling almost as if somebody pursued her, and she was out of breath
+when she reached the door. Walter had returned from his first evening
+lesson, and great had been his disappointment to find Gladys out. He was
+quick to note, when she entered the kitchen, certain signs of nervous
+excitement, which made him wonder where she had been.
+
+'It's nearly half-past nine,' said the old man crossly; 'too late for
+you to be in the streets. Get to bed now, and be up to work in the
+morning.'
+
+'Yes, uncle,' said Gladys meekly, and retired to her own room
+thankfully, to lay off her bonnet and cloak.
+
+Walter hung about by the dying fire after the old man went up to take
+his nightly survey of the premises, and at last Gladys came back.
+
+'Did you have a good lesson, Walter?' she asked, with a slight smile.
+
+'Oh, splendid. What a thing it is to learn! I feel as if I could do
+anything now I have begun,' he cried enthusiastically. 'Mr. Robertson
+was so kind. He will give me Euclid as well for the same money. He says
+he sees I am in earnest. Life is a fine thing after all, sometimes.'
+
+'Yes.' Gladys looked upon his face, flushed with the fine enthusiasm of
+youth, with a slight feeling of envy. She felt very old and tired and
+sad.
+
+'And you've been out with Liz?' he said then, seeing that for some
+unexplained reason she was not so interested as usual in his pursuits.
+'Where did she take you?'
+
+'To a music hall--not a nice place, Walter,' said Gladys almost
+shamefacedly.
+
+His colour, the flush of quick anger, leaped in his cheek.
+
+'A music hall! I should just say it isn't a nice place. How dared she? I
+see Liz needs me to talk to her plainly, and I will next time I see
+her,' he began hotly; but just then the old man returned, and they kept
+silence. But the evening's 'ploy' disturbed them both all night, though
+in a different way.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+AN IMPENDING CHANGE.
+
+
+It was an uneventful year. Spring succeeded the fogs and frosts of
+winter, sunny skies and warmer airs came again, bringing comfort to
+those who could buy artificial heat, so making gladness in cities, and a
+wonder of loveliness in country places, where Nature reigns supreme. The
+hardy flowers Gladys planted in the little yard grew and blossomed; the
+solitary tree, in spite of its loneliness, put forth its fresh green
+buds, and made itself a thing of beauty in the maiden's eyes. In that
+lonely home the tide of life flowed evenly. The old man made his
+bargains, cutting them perhaps a trifle less keenly than in former
+years. The lad, approaching young manhood, did his daily work, and drank
+yet deeper of the waters of knowledge, becoming day by day more
+conscious of his power, more full of hope and high ambition for the
+future. And the child Gladys, approaching womanhood also, contentedly
+performed her lowly tasks, and dreamed her dreams likewise, sometimes
+wondering vaguely how long this monotonous, grey stream would flow on,
+yet not wishing it disturbed, lest greater ills than she knew might
+beset her way.
+
+Again winter came, and just when spring was gathering up her skirts to
+spread them benignly over the earth, a great change came, a very great
+change indeed.
+
+It was a March day--cold, bitter, blustering east winds tearing through
+the streets, catching the breath with a touch of ice--when the old man,
+who to the observant eye had become of late decrepit and very
+frail-looking, came shivering down from his warehouse, and, creeping to
+the fire, tried to warm his chilled body, saying he felt himself very
+ill.
+
+'I think you should go to bed, uncle, and Walter will go for the
+doctor,' said Gladys, in concern. 'Shall I call him now?'
+
+'No; I'll go to bed, and you can give me some toddy. There's my keys;
+you'll get the bottle on the top shelf of the press in the office. I
+won't send for the doctor yet. You can't get them out when once they get
+a foot in, and their fees are scandalous. No, I'll have no doctors
+here.'
+
+Gladys knew very well that it was useless to dispute his decision, and,
+taking his keys, ran lightly up-stairs to the warehouse.
+
+'I am afraid Uncle Abel is quite ill, Walter,' she said, as she unlocked
+the cupboard. 'He shivers very much, and looks so strangely. Do you not
+think we should have the doctor?'
+
+'Yes; but he won't have him. I think he looks very bad. He's been bad
+for days, and his cough is awful, but he won't give in.'
+
+'If he is not better to-morrow, you will just go for the doctor
+yourself, Walter. After he is here, uncle can't say much,' said Gladys
+thoughtfully. 'I will do what I can for him to-day. I am afraid he looks
+very like papa. I don't like his eyes.'
+
+She took the bottle down, and retired again, with a nod and a
+smile--the only inspiration known to the soul of Walter. It was not of
+the old man he thought as he busied himself among the goods, but of the
+fair girl who had come to him in his desolation as a revelation of
+everything lovely and of good report.
+
+The hot fumes of the toddy sent the old man off into a heavy sleep,
+during which he got a respite from his racking cough. It was late
+afternoon when he awoke, and Gladys was sitting by the fire in the
+fading light, idle, for a wonder, though her work lay on her lap. It was
+too dark for her to see, and she feared to move lest she should awaken
+the sleeper. He was awake, however, some time before she was aware, and
+he lay looking at her intently, his face betokening thought of the most
+serious kind. She was startled at length by his utterance of her name.
+
+'Yes, uncle, you have had a fine sleep, so many hours. See, it is almost
+dark, and Walter will be down presently,' she said brightly. 'Are you
+ready for tea now?'
+
+She came to his bed-side, and looked down upon him as tenderly as if he
+had been the dearest being to her on earth.
+
+'You are a good girl, a good girl,' he said quickly,--'the best girl in
+the whole world.'
+
+Her face flushed with pleasure at this rare praise.
+
+'I am very glad, uncle, if you think so,' she said gently. 'And now,
+what can the best girl in the world do to keep up her reputation? Is the
+pain gone?'
+
+'Almost; it is not so bad, anyhow. Do you think I'm dying, Gladys?'
+
+She gave a quick start, and her cheek blanched slightly at this sudden
+question.
+
+'Oh no. Why do you ask such a thing, uncle? You have only got a very
+bad cold--a chill caught in that cold place up there. I wonder you have
+escaped so long.'
+
+'Ay, it is rather cold. I've been often chilled to the bone, and I've
+seen Walter's fingers blue with cold,' he said. 'You'll run up soon and
+tell him to haul all the soap-boxes out of the fireplace, and build up a
+big fire to be ready for the morning, lighted the first thing.'
+
+'Very well, uncle; but I don't think I'll let you up-stairs to-morrow.'
+
+'It's for Walter, not for me. If I'm better, I've something else to do
+to-morrow.'
+
+'Well, we'll see,' said Gladys briskly. 'Now I must set on the kettle.
+Wouldn't you like something for tea?'
+
+'No, nothing. I've no hunger,' he answered, and his eyes followed her as
+she crossed the floor and busied herself with her accustomed skill about
+the fireplace.
+
+'You're an industrious creature. Nothing comes amiss to you,' he said
+musingly. 'It's a poor life for a young woman like you. I wonder you've
+stood it so long?'
+
+'It has been a very good life on the whole, uncle,' Gladys replied
+cheerfully. 'I have had a great many blessings; I never go out but I
+feel how many. And I have always tried to be contented.'
+
+'Have you never been very angry with me,' he asked unexpectedly.
+
+'No, never; but'--
+
+'But what?'
+
+'Sorry for you often.'
+
+'Why?'
+
+'Because you did not take all the good of life you might.'
+
+'How could I? A poor man can't revel in the good things of life,' he
+said, with a slight touch of irritation.
+
+'No, quite true; but some poor people seem to make more out of small
+things. That was what I meant,' said Gladys meekly. 'But we must not
+talk anything disagreeable, uncle; it is not good for you.'
+
+'But I want to talk. I say, were you disappointed because I never took
+you into Ayrshire in the summer?'
+
+'Yes, uncle, a little, but it soon passed. When summer comes again, you
+will take me, I am sure.'
+
+'You will go, anyhow, whether I do or not,' he said pointedly. 'Will you
+tell me, child, what you think of Walter?'
+
+'Of Walter, uncle?' Gladys paused, with her hand on the cupboard door,
+and looked back at him with a slightly puzzled air.
+
+'Yes. Do you think him a clever chap?'
+
+'I do. I think he can do anything, Uncle Abel,' she replied warmly.
+'Yes, Walter is very clever.'
+
+'And good?'
+
+'And good. You and I know that there are few like him,' was her
+immediate reply.
+
+'And you like him?'
+
+'Of course I do; it would be very strange if I did not,' she replied,
+without embarrassment.
+
+'Do you think he would be capable of filling a much higher post than he
+has at present?'
+
+'Of course I do; and if you will not be angry, I will say that I have
+often thought that you do not pay him enough of money.'
+
+'There's nothing like going through the hards in youth. It won't do him
+any harm,' said the old man. 'He won't suffer by it, I promise you
+that.'
+
+'Perhaps not; but when he has educated himself,--which won't be long
+now, Uncle Abel, he is getting on so fast,--he will not stay here. We
+could not expect it.'
+
+'Why not, if there's money in it?'
+
+'_Is_ there money in it?'
+
+A shrewd little smile wreathed her lips, and her whole manner indicated
+that her sense of humour was touched.
+
+'There's money in most things if they are attended to,' he said, with
+his usual evasiveness; 'and a young, strong man can work up a small
+thing into a paying concern if he watches his opportunity.'
+
+'Money is not everything,' Gladys replied, as she began to spread the
+cloth, 'but it can do a great deal.'
+
+'Ay, you are right, my girl; this is a poor world to live in without it.
+Suppose you were a rich woman, what would you do with your money?'
+
+'Help people who have none; it is the only use money is for.'
+
+'Now you speak out of ignorance,' said the old man severely. 'Don't you
+know that there's a kind of people--Walter's parents, for instance--whom
+it is not only useless, but criminal, to help with money? Just think of
+the poor lad's case. He has only had a small wage, certainly; but if it
+had been three times bigger it would have been the same thing.'
+
+Gladys knit her brows perplexedly.
+
+'It is hard, uncle, certainly. The plan would be, to help them in a
+different way.'
+
+'But how? There are plenty rich and silly women in Glasgow who are
+systematically fleeced by the undeserving poor--people who have no
+earthly business to be poor, who have hands and heads which can give
+them a competence, only they are moral idiots. No woman should be
+allowed full use of large sums of money. She is so soft-hearted, she
+can't say no, and she's imposed on half the time.'
+
+'You are very hard on women, Uncle Abel,' said Gladys, still amused with
+his enthusiasm. She had no fear of him. Although there was not much in
+common between them, there was a kind of quiet understanding, and they
+had many discussions of the kind. 'I would rather be poor always, Uncle
+Abel, if I were not allowed to spend as I wished. I should just have to
+learn to be prudent and careful by experience.'
+
+'Ay, by experience, which would land you in the poorhouse. Have you no
+desire for the things other women like--fine clothes, trinkets, and
+such-like?'
+
+'I don't know, uncle, because I have never had any,' said Gladys, with a
+little laugh. 'I daresay I should like them very well.'
+
+The old man gave a grunt, and turned on his pillow, as if tired of talk.
+
+Gladys busied herself with the evening meal, and when it was ready
+called Walter down. It was a pretty sight to see her waiting on the old
+man, attending to his comforts, and coaxing him to eat. In the evening
+she ran out to get some medicine for him, and when he was left with
+Walter, busy at his books at the table, he sat up suddenly, as if he had
+something interesting and important to say.
+
+'How are you getting on with your learning, Wat? You are pretty constant
+at it. If there's anything in application, you should succeed.'
+
+'It's pretty tough work, though, when a fellow's getting older.'
+
+'Older,' repeated the old man, with a quiet chuckle. 'How old are you?'
+
+'Nineteen.'
+
+'Nineteen, are you? Well, you look it. You've vastly improved of late. I
+suppose you think yourself rather an ill-used sort of person--ill used
+by me, I mean?'
+
+'I don't think you pay me enough, if you mean that,' said Walter, with a
+little laugh; 'but I'm going to ask a rise.'
+
+'Why have you stayed here so long, if that is your mind? Nobody was
+compelling you.'
+
+'No; but I've got used to the place, and I like it,' returned Walter
+frankly; but he bent his eyes on his books, as if there was something
+more behind his words which he did not care should be revealed.
+
+'I see--it's each man for himself in this world, and deil tak' the
+hindmost, as they say; but I don't think you'll be hindmost. Suppose,
+now, you were to find yourself the boss of this concern, what would you
+do?'
+
+'Carry it on as best I could, sir,' answered Walter, in surprise.
+
+'Ay, but how? I suppose you think you'd reorganise it all?' said the old
+man rather sarcastically.
+
+'Well, I would,' admitted Walter frankly.
+
+'In what way? Just tell me how you'd do it?'
+
+'Well, I'd be off, somehow or other, with all these old debts, sir, and
+then I'd begin a new business on different principles. I couldn't stand
+so much carrying over of old scores to new accounts, if I were on my own
+hook. You never know where you are, and it's cruel to the poor wretches
+who are always owing; they can't have any independence. Its a poor way
+of doing business.'
+
+'Oh, indeed! You are not afraid to speak your mind, my young bantam. And
+pray, where did you pick up all these high and mighty notions?'
+
+'They may be high and mighty, sir, but they're common-sense,' responded
+Walter, without perturbation. 'You know yourself how you've been worried
+to death almost, and what a watching these slippery customers need. It
+is not worth the trouble.'
+
+'Is it not? Pray, how do you know that?' inquired the old man, his eyes
+glittering as he asked the question. 'I don't know, of course, but you
+always say you are a poor man,' replied Walter, as he put down the
+figures of a sum on his slate.
+
+'But you don't believe it, eh? Perhaps that's why you've stuck to me
+like a leech so long,' he said, with his most disagreeable smile; but
+Walter never answered. They had been together now for some years, and
+there was a curious sort of understanding--a liking, even--between them;
+and of late Walter had taken several opportunities of speaking his mind
+with a candour which really pleased his strange old master, though he
+always appeared to be in a state of indignation.
+
+'The only thing I am anxious about is the girl,' he muttered, more to
+himself than to the lad. 'But she'll find friends--more of them,
+perhaps, than she'll want, poor thing, poor thing!'
+
+These words gave Walter something of a shock, and he looked round in
+quick wonderment. But the return of Gladys just then prevented him
+asking the question trembling on his lips.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+IN AYRSHIRE.
+
+
+The old man passed a quiet night, and was so much better in the morning
+that he insisted on getting up.
+
+'What kind of a morning is it?' was the first question he put to Gladys
+when she entered the kitchen soon after six o'clock.
+
+'A lovely morning, uncle, so balmy and soft. You can't think what a
+difference from yesterday, and there's a bird singing a spring song in
+my tree.'
+
+Often yet she said such things. The grey monotony of her life had not
+quite destroyed the poetic vein, nor the love of all things beautiful.
+
+'Warm, is it? Have you been out?'
+
+'Not yet; but I opened my window and put my head out, and the air was
+quite mild. A spring morning, Uncle Abel, the first we have had this
+year.'
+
+'Any sun?'
+
+'Not yet, but he will be up by and by. How have you slept?'
+
+'Pretty well. I am better this morning--quite well, in fact, and
+directly you have the fire on I'll get up.'
+
+'Don't be rash, uncle, I really think you ought to stay in bed to-day.'
+
+'No; I have something to do. How soon can you be ready--finished with
+your work, I mean? Have you anything you can leave ready for Wat's
+dinner?'
+
+'Why, Uncle Abel?' asked Gladys, in surprise.
+
+'Because I want you to go somewhere with me.'
+
+'You are not going out of this house one foot to-day,' she answered
+quickly. 'It would be very dangerous.'
+
+The old man smiled, slightly amused, but not displeased, by the decision
+with which she spoke. 'We'll see, if it keeps fine, and the sun comes
+out. I'm going to-day, whatever the consequences, and you with me. It's
+been put off too long.'
+
+Gladys asked no more questions, but made haste to build up the fire and
+get him a cup of tea before he rose.
+
+'Put on your warm clothes, and make ready for a journey in the train,
+Gladys,' he said after breakfast.
+
+She looked at him doubtfully, almost wondering if his mind did not
+wander a little.
+
+'Uncle Abel, what are you thinking of? You never go journeys in trains.
+It will not be safe for you to go to-day, with such a cold,' she
+exclaimed.
+
+'I am going, my dear, as I said, and so are you, whatever the
+consequences, so get ready as fast as you like, so that we may have the
+best of the day.'
+
+'Is it a far journey?'
+
+'You'll see when you get there,' he replied rather shortly; and Gladys,
+still wondering much, made haste with her work, and began to dress for
+this unexpected outing. But she felt uneasy, and, stealing a moment, ran
+up to Walter, who was busy in the warehouse, and revelling in the
+unaccustomed luxury of a blazing fire.
+
+'How nice it is, and what a difference a fire can make, to be sure,' she
+said quickly. 'I say, Walter, such a thing! Uncle Abel is going a
+journey,--a railway journey, actually,--and I am going with him. Has he
+said anything to you? Have you any idea what it means?'
+
+'Not I. He's a queer old chap. Not off his head, I hope?'
+
+'Oh no, and he says he is quite well. I don't know what to think.
+Perhaps I shall understand it when I come back. You will find your
+dinner in the oven, Walter; and be sure to keep up a good fire all day
+down-stairs, in case uncle should come back very cold and tired. I am
+afraid he will, but it is no use saying anything.'
+
+Walter leaned his elbows on the soap-boxes, and looked into the girl's
+face with a curious soberness.
+
+'Something's going to happen, I feel it--something I don't like. I'm
+oppressed with an awful queer feeling. I hope they're not worse than
+usual at home.'
+
+'Oh no, you are letting your imagination run away with you,' she said
+brightly. 'I hope you will have such a busy day you won't have time to
+think of such things;' and, bidding him good-morning, she ran down again
+to her uncle.
+
+Then, for the first time since that memorable and dreary journey from
+the fen country, these two, the old man and the maiden, went forth
+together. Both thought of that journey, though it was not spoken of. She
+could not fail to see that there was a certain excitement in the old
+man; it betrayed itself in his restless movements and in the gleam of
+his piercing eye. Gladys no longer feared the glance of his eye nor the
+sound of his voice. A quiet confidence had established itself between
+them, and she really loved him. It was impossible for her to dwell
+beside a human being, not absolutely repulsive, without pouring some of
+the riches of her affection upon him. As for him, Gladys herself had not
+the remotest idea how he regarded her, did not dream that she had
+awakened in his withered heart a slow and all-absorbing affection, the
+strength of which surprised himself. He bade her stand back while he
+went to the booking-office for the tickets, and they were in the train
+before she repeated her question regarding their destination.
+
+'I think it would only be fair, Uncle Abel, if you told me now where we
+are going,' she said playfully.
+
+For answer, he held out the ticket to her, and in amazement she read
+'Mauchline' on it. The colour flushed all over her face, and she looked
+at him with eager, questioning eyes.
+
+'Oh, Uncle Abel, what does it mean? Why are you going there to-day? I
+cannot understand it.'
+
+'I have my reasons, Gladys. You will know them, perhaps, sooner than you
+think.'
+
+'Is it a long journey, uncle? I am so afraid for you. Let me shut the
+window up quite. And are we really, really going into Ayrshire at last?'
+
+She was full of excitement as a child. She sat close to the window, and
+when the train had left the city behind, looked out with eagerest
+interest on the wintry landscape.
+
+'Oh, Uncle Abel, it is so beautiful to see it, the wide country, and the
+sky above it so clear and lovely. Oh, there is room to breathe!'
+
+'I am sure it looks wintry and bleak enough,' the old man answered, with
+a grunt. 'I don't see much beauty in it myself.'
+
+'How strange! To me it is wholly beautiful. Is this Ayrshire yet? Tell
+me when we come to Ayrshire.'
+
+A slow smile was on the old man's face as he looked and listened. He
+enjoyed her young enthusiasm, but it seemed to awaken in him some sadder
+thought, for once he sighed heavily, and drew himself together as if he
+felt cold, or some bitter memory smote him.
+
+In little more than an hour the train drew up at the quiet country
+station, and Gladys was told they had reached their journey's end. It
+was a lovely spring morning; the sun shone out cheerfully from a mild,
+bright sky, the air was laden with the awakening odours of spring, and
+the spirit of life seemed to be everywhere.
+
+'Now, my girl, we have a great deal to do to-day,' said the old man,
+when they had crossed the footbridge. 'What do you want most to see
+here?'
+
+'Mossgiel and Ballochmyle, and the house where you lived in Mauchline.'
+
+'We'll go to that first; it's not a great sight, I warn you--only a
+whitewashed, thatched cottage in a by-street. When we've seen that,
+we'll take a trap and drive to the other places.'
+
+'But that will cost a great deal,' said Gladys doubtfully, recalled for
+the moment to the small economies it was her daily lot to practise.
+
+'Perhaps; but we'll manage it, I daresay. It is impossible for us to
+walk, so there's no use saying another word. Give me your arm.'
+
+Gladys was ready in a moment. Never since the old fen days had she felt
+so happy, because the green earth was beneath her feet, the trees waving
+above her, the song of birds in her ears instead of the roar of city
+streets. They did not talk as they walked, until they turned into the
+quaint, wide street of the old-fashioned village; then it was as if the
+cloak of his reserve fell from Abel Graham, and he became garrulous as
+a boy over these old landmarks which he had never forgotten. He led
+Gladys by way of Poosie Nancie's tavern, showed her its classic
+interior, and then, turning into a little narrow lane, pointed out the
+cottage where he and her father had been boys together.
+
+It was the girl's turn to be silent. She was trying to picture the dear
+father a boy at his mother's knee, or running in and out that low
+doorway, or helping to swell the boyish din in the narrow street; and
+when they turned to go, her eyes were wet with tears.
+
+'I would rather have come here to-day, Uncle Abel, than anywhere else in
+the whole wide world. But why did you wish to come? Did you take a
+sudden longing to see the old place?'
+
+'No; that was not my object at all. You will know what it was some day.
+Now we'll go to the inn and get something to eat while they get our
+machine ready. See, there's the old kirk; there's a lot of famous folk
+buried in that kirkyard. We'd better go in, and I'll show you where I
+want to be laid.'
+
+They got the key of the churchyard gates, and, stepping across the
+somewhat untidily kept graves, stood before an uneven mound, surrounded
+by a very old mossgrown headstone.
+
+'There's a name on it, child. You can't read it, but it doesn't matter,'
+he said; but Gladys, bending down, brushed the tall grass from the
+stone, and read the name, John Bourhill Graham of Bourhill, and his
+spouse, Nancy Millar.
+
+'Whose names are these, uncle--your father's and mother's?'
+
+'Oh no; _they_ were not Grahams of Bourhill,' he answered dryly. 'That's
+generations back.'
+
+'But the same family?'
+
+'I suppose so--yes. I see you would like to explore this place; but we
+can't, it's not the most cheerful occupation, anyhow. Come on, let us to
+the inn.'
+
+The lavish manner in which her uncle spent his money that day amazed
+Gladys, but she made no remark. Immediately after their hot and abundant
+dinner at the inn, they drove to the places Burns has immortalised, and
+which Gladys had so long yearned to see. Ballochmyle, in lovely spring
+dress, so far exceeded her expectation that she had no words wherein to
+express her deep enjoyment.
+
+'Do not let us hurry away, uncle,' she pleaded, as they wandered through
+the wooded glades, 'unless you are very tired. It is so warm and
+pleasant, and it cannot be very late.'
+
+'It is not late, half-past two only; but I want you to see Bourhill,
+where our forbears lived when we had them worth mentioning,' he said
+grimly. 'Did your father never speak to you about Bourhill?'
+
+'No, never, Uncle Abel. I am quite sure I never heard the name until I
+read it to-day in the churchyard.'
+
+'I will tell you why. He had a dream--a foolish one it proved--a dream
+that he might one day restore the name Graham of Bourhill again. He
+hoped to make a fortune by his pictures, but it was a vain delusion.'
+
+A shadow clouded the bright face of Gladys as she listened to these
+words.
+
+'This place, Bourhill, is it an estate, or what?' she asked.
+
+'Not now. A hundred years ago it had some farms, and was a fair enough
+patrimony, but it's all squandered long syne.'
+
+'How?'
+
+'Oh, drink and gambling, and such-like. My grandfather, David Graham,
+kent the taste of Poosie Nancie's whisky too well to look after his ain,
+and it slipped through his fingers like a knotless thread.'
+
+He had become even more garrulous, and unearthed from the storehouse of
+his memory a wealth of reminiscences of those old times, mingled with
+many bits of personal history, which Gladys listened to with breathless
+interest. She had never seen him so awakened, so full of life and
+vigour; she could only look at him in amazement. They drove leisurely
+through the pleasant spring sunshine over the wide, beautiful country,
+past fields where the wheat was green and strong, and others where
+sowing was progressing merrily--sights and sounds dear to Gladys, who
+had no part nor lot in cities.
+
+'Oh, Uncle Abel, Ayrshire is lovely. Look at these low green hills in
+the distance, and the woods everywhere. I do not wonder that Burns could
+write poetry here. There is poetry everywhere.'
+
+'Ay, to your eyes, because you are young and know no better. Look, away
+over yonder, as far as your eyes can see, is the sea. If it was a little
+clearer you would see the ships in Ayr Harbour; and down there lies
+Tarbolton; away over there, the way we have come, Kilmarnock. And do you
+see that little wooded hill about two miles ahead to the left? Among
+these trees lies Bourhill.'
+
+'It is a long drive to it, Uncle Abel. I hope it has not tired you very
+much?'
+
+'No, no; I'm all right. We'll drive up the avenue to the house and back.
+I want you to see it.'
+
+'Does nobody live in it?'
+
+'Not just now.'
+
+Another fifteen minutes brought them to an unpretending iron gateway,
+which gave entrance to an avenue of fine old trees. The gate stood open,
+and though a woman ran out from the lodge when the trap passed, she made
+no demur.
+
+The avenue was nearly half a mile in length, and ended in a sharp curve,
+which brought them quite suddenly before the house--a plain, square,
+substantial family dwelling, with a pillared doorway and long wide
+windows, about which crept ivy of a century's growth. It was all shut
+up, and the gravel sweep before the door was overgrown with moss and
+weeds, the grass on the lawns, which stretched away through the
+shrubberies, long and rank; yet there was a homely look about it too, as
+if a slight touch could convert it into a happy home.
+
+'This is Bourhill, my girl; and whatever ambitions your father may have
+had in later years, it was once his one desire to buy it back to the
+Grahams. Do you like the place?'
+
+'Yes, uncle; but it is very desolate--it makes me sad.'
+
+'It will not be long so,' he said; and, drawing himself together with a
+quick shiver, he bade the driver turn the horses' heads. But before the
+house vanished quite from view he cast his gaze back upon it, and in his
+eye there was a strange, even a yearning glance. 'It will not be long
+so,' he repeated under his breath,--'not long; and it will be a great
+atonement.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+DARKENING DAYS.
+
+
+In the night Gladys was awakened by her uncle's voice sharply calling
+her name, and when she hastened to him she found him in great pain, and
+breathing with the utmost difficulty. Her presence of mind did not
+desert her. She had often seen her father in a similar state, and knew
+exactly what to do. In a few minutes she had a blazing fire, and the
+kettle on; then she ran to awaken Walter, so that he might go for the
+doctor. The simple remedies experience had taught the girl considerably
+eased the old man, and when the doctor came he found him breathing more
+freely. But his face was quite grave after his examination was made.
+
+'I suppose my hour's come?' said Abel Graham in a matter-of-fact way. 'I
+don't think much of your fraternity,--I've never had many dealings with
+you,--but I suppose you can tell a man what he generally knows himself,
+that he'll soon be in grips with death?'
+
+The doctor looked at him with an odd smile. He was a young man, fighting
+his way up against fierce competition--an honest, straightforward
+fellow, who knew and loved his work.
+
+'You don't think highly of us, Mr. Graham, but I daresay we have our
+uses. This young lady appears to be an accomplished nurse; she has done
+the very best possible under the circumstances.'
+
+He turned to Gladys, not seeking to hide his surprise at finding such a
+fair young creature amid such surroundings. Walter Hepburn, standing in
+the background, experienced a strange sensation when he saw that look.
+Though he knew it not, it was his first jealous pang.
+
+'I had to nurse my father often in such attacks,' Gladys answered, with
+her quiet, dignified calm. 'If there is anything more I can do, pray
+tell me, and I will follow your instructions faithfully.'
+
+'There is not much we can do in such a case. I never heard anything so
+foolhardy as to go off, as you say he did yesterday, driving through the
+open country for hours on a March day. I don't think a man who takes
+such liberties with himself can expect to escape the penalty, Mr.
+Graham.'
+
+'Well, well, it doesn't matter. If my hour's come, it's come, I suppose,
+and that's the end of it,' he retorted irritably. 'How long will I
+last?'
+
+'Years, perhaps, with care--after this attack is conquered,' replied the
+doctor; and the old man answered with a grim, sardonic smile.
+
+'We'll see whether you or I am right,' he replied. 'You needn't stay any
+longer just now.'
+
+Gladys took the candle, and herself showed the doctor to the outer door.
+
+'Will he really recover, do you think?' she asked, when they were out of
+hearing.
+
+'He may, but only with care. The lungs are much congested, and his
+reserve of strength is small. What relation is he to you, may I ask?
+Your grandfather?'
+
+'No; my uncle?'
+
+'And do you live here always?'
+
+'Yes, this is my home,' Gladys answered, and she could scarcely forbear
+a smile at the expression on the young doctor's face.
+
+'Indeed! and you are contented? You seem so,' he said, lingering at the
+door a moment longer than he need have done.
+
+'Oh yes; I have a great deal to be thankful for,' she answered. 'You
+will come again to-morrow early, will you not?'
+
+'Certainly. Good-morning. Take care of yourself. You do not look as if
+your reserve of strength were very great either.'
+
+'Oh, I am very strong, I assure you,' Gladys answered, with a smile; and
+as she looked into his open, honest face, she could not help thinking
+what a pleasant face it was.
+
+Then she went back to keep her vigil by the sick-bed, and to exercise
+her woman's prerogative to ease and minister to pain. There was so
+little any one could do now, however, to help Abel Graham, the issue of
+his case being in the hand of God. In obedience to the request of
+Gladys, Walter went back to bed, and she sat on by the fire, thoroughly
+awake, and watchful to be of the slightest use to her uncle. He did not
+talk much, but he appeared to watch Gladys, and to be full of thoughts
+concerning her.
+
+'Do you remember that night I came, after your father died?' he asked
+once.
+
+'Yes,' she answered in a low voice. 'I remember it well.'
+
+'You felt bitter and hard against me, did you not?'
+
+'If I did, Uncle Abel, it has long passed,' she answered. 'There is no
+good to be got recalling what is past.'
+
+'Perhaps not; but, my girl, when a man comes to his dying bed it is the
+past he harks back on, trying to get some comfort out of it for the
+future he dreads, and failing always.'
+
+'It is not your dying bed, Uncle Abel, I hope; you are not so old yet,'
+she said cheerfully.
+
+'No, I'm not old in years--not sixty--but old enough to regret my
+youth,' he said. 'Are you still of the same mind about the spending of
+money, if you should ever have it to spend?'
+
+'Yes; but it is so unlikely, Uncle Abel, that I shall ever have any
+money to spend. It is quite easy saying what we can do in imaginary
+circumstances. Reality is always different, and more difficult to deal
+with.'
+
+'You are very wise for your years. How many are they?'
+
+'Seventeen and three months.'
+
+'Ay, well, you look your age and more. You'd pass for twenty, but no
+wonder; and'--
+
+'I wish you would not talk so much, uncle; it will excite and exhaust
+you,' she said, in gentle remonstrance.
+
+'I must talk, if my time is short. Suppose I'm taken, what will you do
+with yourself, eh?'
+
+'The way will open up for me, I do not doubt; there must be a corner for
+me somewhere,' she said bravely; nevertheless, her young cheek blanched,
+and she shivered slightly as she glanced round the place--poor enough,
+perhaps, but which at least afforded her a peaceful and comfortable
+home. These signs were not unnoticed by the dying man, and a faint,
+slow, melancholy smile gathered about his haggard mouth.
+
+'You believe, I suppose, that the Lord will provide for you?' he said
+grimly.
+
+'Yes, I do.'
+
+'Does He never fail, eh?'
+
+'Never. He does not always provide just as we expect or desire, but
+provision is made all the same,' answered the girl, and her eyes shone
+with a steadfast light.
+
+'It's a very comfortable doctrine, but not practicable, nor, to my
+thinking, honest. Do you mean to say that it is right to sit down with
+folded hands waiting for the Lord to provide, and living off other
+people at the same time?'
+
+Gladys smiled.
+
+'No, that is not right, but wrong, very wrong, and punishment always
+follows. Heaven helps those who help themselves; don't you remember
+that?'
+
+'Ay, well, I don't understand your theology, I confess. But we may as
+well think it out. What do you suppose will become of me after I shuffle
+off, eh?'
+
+'I don't know, uncle. You best know what your own hope is,' she replied.
+
+'I have no hope, and I don't see myself how anybody can presume to have
+any. It's all conjecture about a future life. How does anybody know?
+Nobody has ever come back to tell the tale.'
+
+'No; but we know, all the same, that there are many mansions in heaven,
+and that God has prepared them for His children.'
+
+'You would not call me one of them, I guess?' said the old man, with a
+touch of sarcasm, yet there was something behind--a great wistfulness, a
+consuming anxiety, which betrayed itself in his very eye, as he awaited
+her reply. It was a curious moment, a curious scene. The old, toilworn,
+world-weary man, who had spent his days in the most sordid pursuit of
+gold--gold for which he would at one time almost have sold his soul,
+hanging on the words of a young, untried maiden, whose purity enabled
+her to touch the very gates of heaven. It was a sight to make the
+philosopher ponder anew on the mysteries of life, and the strange
+anomalies human nature presents.
+
+She turned her sweet face to him, and there was a mixture of pathos and
+brightness in her glance.
+
+'Why not, uncle? I may not judge. It is God who knows the heart.'
+
+'Ay, maybe. But what would you think yourself? You have shrewd enough
+eyes, though you are so quiet.'
+
+'But I cannot know this, uncle; only if you believe that Christ died for
+you, you are one of God's children, though'--she added, with a slight
+hesitation--'you may not have served Him very well.'
+
+'Then you think I have not served Him, eh?' he repeated, with strange
+persistence.
+
+'Perhaps you might have done more, uncle. If you get better you will do
+more for others, I feel sure,' she said. 'But now you must be still and
+keep quiet. I shall not talk another word to you, positively not a
+word.'
+
+'Ay,' he said dryly, and, turning on his pillow, closed his eyes--not to
+sleep, oh no, brain and heart were too full of conflicting and
+disturbing thought.
+
+In the dull hours of the early morning Gladys dozed a little in her
+chair, imagining the sick man slept. When the light grew broader she
+roused herself, and began to move about with swift but noiseless steps,
+fearing to awake him. But he did not sleep. Lying there, with his face
+turned to the wall, Abel Graham held counsel with himself, reviewing his
+life, which lay before him like a tale that is told. None knew better
+than he what a poor, mean, sordid, selfish life it had been, how little
+it had contributed to the good or the happiness of others, and these
+memories tortured him now with the stings of the bitterest regret. It
+was not known to any save himself and his Maker what agony his awakened
+soul passed through in the still hours of that spring day. Seeing him
+lie apparently in such restfulness, the two young creatures spoke to
+each other at their breakfast only in whispers, and when Walter went up
+to the warehouse, Gladys continued to perform her slight tasks as gently
+and noiselessly as possible; but sometimes, when she looked at the face
+on the pillow, with its closed eyes and pinched, wan features, she
+wished the doctor would come again.
+
+About half-past nine a knock came to the door, and Gladys ran out almost
+joyfully, expecting to see the young physician with the honest face and
+the pleasant eyes, but a very different-looking personage was presented
+to her view when she opened the door. A man in shabby workman's garb,
+dirty, greasy, and untidy--a man with a degraded type of countenance, a
+heavy, coarse mouth, and small eyes looking out suspiciously from heavy
+brows. She shrank away a little, and almost unconsciously began to close
+the door, even while she civilly inquired his business.
+
+'Is Wat in? I want to see my son, Walter Hepburn,' he said; and when he
+opened his mouth Gladys felt the smell of drink, and it filled her with
+both mental and physical repulsion. So this was Walter's father? Poor
+Walter! A vast compassion, greater than any misery she had before
+experienced, filled the girl's gentle soul.
+
+'Yes, he is in, up-stairs in the warehouse. Will you come in, please?'
+she asked; but before the invitation could be accepted, Wat came
+bounding down the stairs, having heard and recognised the voice, and
+there was no welcoming light in his eye as he gazed on his father's
+face.
+
+'Well, what do you want?' he asked abruptly; and Gladys, slipping back
+hastily, left them alone.
+
+And after she had returned to the kitchen she heard the hum of their
+voices in earnest talk for quite five minutes. Then the door was closed,
+and she heard Walter returning to his work. It appeared to her as if his
+step sounded very heavy and reluctant as it ascended the stair.
+
+Presently her uncle roused himself up, and asked for something to eat or
+drink.
+
+'Are you feeling better?' she asked, as she shook up his pillows, and
+did other little things to make him comfortable.
+
+'No; there's a load lying here,' he answered, touching his chest, 'which
+presses down to the grave. If they can't do something to remove that,
+I'm a dead man. No word of that young upstart doctor yet?'
+
+'Not yet. Shall I send for him, uncle?'
+
+'No, no; he'll come sure enough, and fast enough--oftener than he's
+wanted,' he answered. 'Who was that at the door?'
+
+'Walter's father.'
+
+'Eh? Walter's father? What did he want? Is he smelling round too, to see
+if he can get anything?' he said querulously. 'When you've given me that
+tea, I wish you to take my keys from my coat pocket and go up to the
+safe. When you've opened it, you'll find an old pocket-book, tied with a
+red string. I want you to bring it down to me.'
+
+'Very well.'
+
+Gladys did exactly as she was bid, and, leaving the old man at his
+slender breakfast, ran up to the warehouse. To her surprise, she found
+Walter, usually so active and so energetic, sitting on the office stool
+with his arms folded, and his face wearing a look of deepest gloom. Some
+new trouble had come to him, that was apparent to her at once.
+
+'Why, Walter, how troubled you look! No bad news from home, I hope?'
+
+'Bad enough,' he answered in a kind of savage undertone. 'I knew
+something was going to happen. Haven't I been saying it for days?'
+
+'But what has happened? Nothing very bad, I hope?'
+
+'So bad that it couldn't be worse,' he said. 'Liz has run away.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+SETTING HIS HOUSE IN ORDER.
+
+
+Gladys opened her eyes.
+
+'Run away! How? Where? I don't understand.'
+
+'All the better if you don't,' he answered harshly. 'She's run away,
+anyhow, and it's their blame. Then they come to me, after the mischief's
+done, thinking I can make it right. I'm not going to stir a foot in the
+matter. They can all go to Land's End for me.'
+
+He spoke bitterly--more bitterly than Gladys had ever heard him speak
+before. She stood there, with the keys on her forefinger, the picture of
+perplexity and concern. She did not understand the situation, and was
+filled with curiosity to know where Liz had run to.
+
+'Have they quarrelled, or what?' she asked.
+
+'No; I don't suppose there's been any more than the usual amount of
+scrimmaging,' he said, with a hard smile. 'I don't blame Liz; she's only
+what they've made her. I'll tell you what it is,' he said, suddenly
+clenching his right hand, his young face set with the bitterness of his
+grief and shame, 'if there's no punishment for those that bring children
+into the world and then let them go to ruin, there's no justice in
+heaven, and I don't believe in it.'
+
+Gladys shrank back, paling slightly under this torrent of passionate
+words. Never had she seen Walter so bitterly, so fearfully moved. He got
+up from his stool, and paced up and down the narrow space between the
+boxes in a very storm of indignation; and it seemed to Gladys that a few
+minutes had changed him from a boy into a man.
+
+'Dear Walter,' she said gently, 'try to be brave. Perhaps it will not be
+so bad as you think.'
+
+'It's so bad for Liz, poor thing, that it won't be any worse. She's
+lost, and she was the only one of them I cared for. If she'd had a
+chance, she'd have been a splendid woman. She has a good heart, only she
+never had anybody to guide her.'
+
+Gladys could not speak. She had only the vaguest idea what he meant, but
+she knew that something terrible had happened to Liz. A curious
+reticence seemed to bind her tongue. She could not ask a single
+question.
+
+'Just when a fellow was beginning to get on!' cried Walter rebelliously,
+'this has to happen to throw him back. It was a fearful mistake trying
+to better myself. I wish I had sunk down into the mud with the rest. If
+I do it yet, it will be the best thing for me.'
+
+Then Gladys intervened. Though she did not quite comprehend the nature
+of this new trouble which appeared so powerfully to move him, she could
+not listen to such words without remonstrance.
+
+'It is not right to speak so, Walter, and I will not listen to it.
+Whatever others may do, though it may grieve and cut you to the heart,
+it cannot take away your honour or integrity, always remember that.'
+
+'Yes, it can,' he said impetuously. 'That kind of disgrace hangs on a
+man all his days. He has to bear the sins of others. That is where the
+injustice comes in. The innocent must suffer for and with the guilty
+always. There is no escape.'
+
+Gladys sighed, and her face became pale and weary-looking. Never had
+life appeared so hard, so full of pain and care. Looking at the face of
+Walter, which she had always thought so noble and so good,--the index to
+a soul striving, though sometimes but feebly, yet striving always after
+what was highest and best,--looking at his face then, and seeing it so
+shadowed by the bitterness of his lot, her own simple faith for the
+moment seemed to fail.
+
+'You saw him, then, this morning, and I hope you admired him,' said
+Walter, with harsh scorn. 'Reeking with drink, speaking thick through it
+at ten o'clock in the morning! What chance has a fellow with a father
+like that? Ten to one, I go over to drink myself one of these days.
+Well, I might do worse. It drowns care, they say, and I know it destroys
+feelings, which, from my experience, seem only given for our torture.'
+
+Gladys gave a sob, and turned aside to the safe. That sound recalled
+Walter to himself, and in a moment his mood changed. His eyes melted
+into tenderness as he looked upon the pale, slight girl, whom his words
+in some sad way had wounded.
+
+'Forgive me. I don't know what I am saying; but I had no right to vex
+you, the only angel I know in this whole city of Glasgow.'
+
+His extravagant speech provoked a smile on her face, and she turned her
+head from where she knelt before the safe, and lifted her large earnest
+eyes to his.
+
+'How you talk! You must learn to control yourself a little more. It is
+self-control that makes a man,' she said quietly. 'I do not know how to
+comfort you, Walter, in this trouble, which seems so much heavier than
+even I think; but in the end it will be for good. Everything is, you
+know, to them that love God.'
+
+She was so familiar with Scripture, and depended so entirely on it for
+comfort and strength, that her words carried conviction with them. They
+fell on the riven heart of Walter like balm, and restored a measure of
+peace to it. Before he could make any answer, a quick knocking, and the
+uplifting of the feeble voice from below, indicated that the old man was
+impatient of the girl's delay. She hastily lifted the pocket-book,
+relocked the safe door, and, with a nod to Walter, ran down-stairs.
+
+'What kept you so long chattering up-stairs?' queried the old man, with
+all the peevishness of a sick person. 'You don't care a penny-piece,
+either of you, though I died this very moment.'
+
+'Oh, Uncle Abel, hold your tongue; you know that is not true,' she said
+quickly. 'Walter is in great trouble this morning. Something has
+happened to his sister.'
+
+'Ay, what is it, eh?'
+
+'I don't know exactly, but she has left home.'
+
+'Ay, ay, I'm not surprised; she was a bold hussy, and had no respect for
+anything in this world. And is Walter taking on badly?'
+
+'Very badly. I never saw him so distressed.'
+
+'Well, it's hard on a chap trying to do well. It's a hopeless case
+trying to fly out of an ill nest.'
+
+'Uncle Abel, you must not say that. Nothing is hopeless, if only we are
+on the right side,' said Gladys stoutly, though inwardly her heart
+re-echoed sadly that dark creed.
+
+'Well, well, you're young, and nothing seems impossible,' he said
+good-naturedly. 'Here, take off this string. My fingers are as feckless
+as a thread.'
+
+Gladys opened the pocket-book, which was stuffed full of old papers. The
+old man fingered them lovingly and with careful touch, until he found
+the one he sought. It was a somewhat long document, written on blue,
+official-looking paper, and attested by several seals. He read it from
+beginning to end with close attention, and gave a grunt of satisfaction
+when he laid it down.
+
+'Is Wat busy?' he asked then.
+
+'He has not much heart for his work to-day, uncle,'
+
+'Cry him down; I've a message for him. Or, stop, you'd better go
+yourself, in case anybody comes to the warehouse. Do you know St.
+Vincent Street?'
+
+'Yes, uncle.'
+
+'You don't know Fordyce & Fordyce, the lawyers' office, do you?'
+
+'No, but I can find it.'
+
+'Very well; go just now and ask for old Mr. Fordyce. If he isn't in,
+just come back.'
+
+'And what am I to say to him?'
+
+'Tell him to come here just as soon as ever he can. I want to see him,
+and there is not any time to lose.'
+
+The girl's lip quivered. A strange feeling of approaching desolation was
+with her, and her outlook was of the dreariest. If it were true, as the
+old man evidently believed, that his hour had come, she would again be
+friendless and solitary on the face of the earth. Abel Graham saw these
+signs of grief, and a curious softness visited his heart, though he
+could scarce believe one so fair and sweet could really care for him.
+
+Gladys made the utmost haste to do her errand, and to her great
+satisfaction was told when she reached the large and well-appointed
+chambers of that influential firm, that Mr. Fordyce senior would attend
+to her in a moment. She stood in the outer office waiting, unconscious
+that she was the subject of remark and speculation among the clerks at
+their desks, still more unconscious that one day her name would be as
+familiar and respected among them as that of the governor himself. After
+the lapse of a few minutes the office boy ushered her into the private
+room of Mr. Fordyce senior. He was a fine, benevolent-looking, elderly
+gentleman, with a rosy, happy face, silver hair and whiskers, and a keen
+but kindly blue eye. He appeared to be a very grand gentleman indeed in
+the eyes of Gladys.
+
+'Well, my dear miss, what can I do for you, eh?' he asked, beaming at
+her over the gold rims of his double eyeglass in a very reassuring way.
+
+'Please, my uncle has sent me to ask you to come and see him at once, as
+he is very ill.'
+
+'And who is your uncle, my dear? It will be necessary for you to tell me
+that,' he said, with the slightest suggestion of a twinkle in his eye.
+
+'My uncle, Mr. Graham, who lives in Colquhoun Street.'
+
+'Abel Graham? Oh yes. Is he ill? And, bless me, are _you_ his niece?'
+
+Never was surprise so genuinely felt or expressed as at that moment by
+Mr. Fordyce.
+
+'Yes, I am his niece; and, please, could you come as soon as possible?
+He is very ill. I am afraid he thinks he is dying.'
+
+The girl's voice trembled, and a tear fell like a dew-drop from her long
+eyelashes. These things still more amazed the soul of Mr. Fordyce. That
+anybody should shed a tear for a being so sordid and unsociable as Abel
+Graham struck him as one of the extraordinary things he had met with in
+his career; and to see this fair young creature, fitted by nature for a
+sphere and for companionship so different, sincerely grieving for the
+old man's distress, seemed the most extraordinary thing of all. Mr.
+Fordyce rose, and, calling the boy, bade him bring a cab to the door,
+then he began to get into his greatcoat.
+
+'I'll drive you back, if you have nowhere else to go. So _you_ are his
+niece? Well, there's more sense and shrewdness in the old man than I
+gave him credit for.'
+
+These remarks were, of course, quite enigmatical to Gladys; but she felt
+cheered and comforted by the strong, kindly presence of the genial old
+lawyer. As for him, he regarded her with a mixture of lively interest,
+real compassion, and profound surprise. Perhaps the latter predominated.
+He had, in the course of a long professional career, encountered many
+strange experiences, become familiar with many curious and tragic life
+stories, but, he told himself, he had never met a more interesting case
+than this.
+
+'It's a romance,' he said loud out in the cab; and Gladys looked at him
+in mild surprise, but though she did not stand in awe of him at all, she
+did not presume to ask what he meant.
+
+'Now tell me, my dear, have you been happy in this--this place?' he
+inquired significantly, as the cab rumbled over the rough causeway of
+the Wynd into Colquhoun Street.
+
+'Yes, I have been happy. I only know now, when I think it may not be my
+shelter very long.'
+
+Mr. Fordyce looked at her keenly.
+
+'Poor girl, she knows nothing, absolutely nothing,' he said to himself.
+'What a revelation it will be to her! Yes, it's a thrilling romance.'
+
+The greeting between the well-known lawyer and his strange client was
+not ceremonious. It consisted of a couple of nods and a brief
+good-morning. Then Gladys was requested to leave them alone. Nothing
+loath, she ran up-stairs to Walter, whose sorrow lay heavy on her heart.
+
+'Your niece has surprised me, Mr. Graham,' said the lawyer. 'Yes, very
+much indeed.'
+
+'Why? What did you expect to see? Eh?'
+
+'Not a refined and lovely young woman in a place like this, certainly,'
+he said frankly, and looking round with an expression of extreme
+disgust. 'Has it never occurred to you what poor preparation Miss Graham
+has had for the position you intend her to fill?'
+
+'That's none of your business,' retorted the old man sharply. '_She_
+doesn't need any preparation, I tell you. Cottage or palace are the same
+to her; she'll be a queen in either.'
+
+This strange speech made the lawyer look at the old man intently. He
+perceived that underneath his brusque, forbidding exterior there burned
+the steady light of a great love for his brother's child, and here,
+surely, was the greatest marvel of all.
+
+'I did not bring you here to make remarks on my niece,' he said
+peevishly. 'Read that over, see, and tell me if it's all right, if
+there's anything to be added or taken away. There's a clause I want
+added about the boy, Walter Hepburn. He's been with me a long time, and
+though he's a very firebrand, he's faithful and honest. He won't rue
+it.'
+
+Mr. Fordyce adjusted his eyeglass and spread out the will before him.
+Up-stairs the two young beings, drawn close together by a common sorrow
+and a common need, tried to look into the future with hopeful eyes, not
+knowing that, in the room below, that very future was being assured for
+them in a way they knew not.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+THE LAST SUMMONS.
+
+
+'You'll look after her, Mr. Fordyce, promise me that?' said the old man
+when they had gone over the contents of the will.
+
+'Why, yes, I will, so far as I can,' answered the lawyer, without
+hesitation. 'She will not lack friends, you may rest assured. This,' he
+added, tapping the blue paper, 'will ensure her more friends than she
+may need.'
+
+'Ay, it's from such I want you to guard her. I know how many sharks
+there are who would regard an unprotected girl like her as their lawful
+prey. She'll marry some day, I hope, and wisely. But it is in the
+interval she needs looking after.'
+
+'How old is she?'
+
+'Seventeen and a half, I think.'
+
+'She looks her age--a remarkably calm and self-possessed young lady, I
+thought her to-day. And she has no idea of this, you say?'
+
+'Positively none,' answered the old man, with something like a chuckle.
+'Why, this very morning we spoke of what she would do when I'm away, but
+it doesn't seem to be worrying her much. I never saw a person, old or
+young, with greater powers of adapting themselves to any
+circumstances,--_any_ circumstances, mind you,--so you needn't be
+exercised about her future deportment. She'll astonish you, I promise
+you that.'
+
+'You really believe, then, that you won't get better?'
+
+'I know I won't; a man knows these things in spite of himself,' was the
+calm reply.
+
+The lawyer looked at him keenly, almost wonderingly. He did not know him
+intimately. Only within recent years had he been engaged to manage his
+monetary affairs, and only six months before had drawn up the will,
+which, it may be said, had considerably surprised him. Looking at him
+just then, he wondered whether there might not be depths undreamed of
+under the crust of the miser's soul.
+
+'You are behaving very generously to this young-fellow Hepburn,' he said
+then, leaving his deeper thoughts unspoken. 'He may consider himself
+very fortunate. Such a windfall comes to few in a position like his.'
+
+'Ay, ay. I daresay it depends on how you look at it,' responded the old
+man indifferently. 'Well, I'm tired, and there's no more to talk about.
+Everything is right and tight, is it? No possibility of a muddle at the
+end?'
+
+'None,' answered Mr. Fordyce promptly, as he rose to his feet.
+
+'Well, good-day to you. I have your promise to see that the girl doesn't
+fall into the hands of Philistines. I don't offer you any reward. You'll
+pay yourself for your lawful work, I know; and for the rest, well, I
+inquired well what I was doing, and though I'm not a Christian myself, I
+was not above putting myself into the hands of a Christian lawyer.'
+
+A curious dry smile accompanied these words, but they were spoken with
+the utmost sincerity. They conveyed one of the highest tributes to his
+worth Tom Fordyce had ever received. He carefully gathered together the
+loose papers, and for a moment nothing was said. Then he bent his keen
+and kindly eye full on the old man's wan and withered face.
+
+'Sir,' he said, 'if you are not a Christian, as you say, what is your
+hope for the next world?'
+
+'I have none,' he answered calmly. 'I am no coward. If it be true, as
+they say, that a system of award and punishment prevails, then I'm ready
+to take my deserts.'
+
+The lawyer could not reply to these sad words, because Gladys at the
+moment entered the kitchen.
+
+'I have come,' she said brightly,'because I fear you are talking too
+much, uncle. Oh, are you going away, Mr. Fordyce? I am glad the business
+is all done. See, he is quite exhausted.'
+
+She poured some stimulant into a glass and carried it to him, holding it
+to his lips with her own hand. The old man looked over her bent head
+significantly. The lawyer's eyes met his, and he gravely nodded,
+understanding that that mute sign asked a further promise.
+
+Gladys accompanied him to the door, and the lawyer laid his hand on her
+shoulder with a fatherly touch.
+
+'My dear, I am very sorry for you.'
+
+'Do you, then, think him so very ill?' she asked breathlessly. 'He says
+he will die; but I have nursed my own father through much worse
+attacks.'
+
+'He appears to have given up hope; but while life lasts we need not
+despair,' he said kindly. 'Good-bye. I shall come back perhaps
+to-morrow.'
+
+He thought much of her all day, and when he returned to his happy home
+at night, told the story to his wife, and there is no doubt that the
+strong sympathy of these two kind hearts supported Gladys through the
+ordeal of that trying time.
+
+In the evening Walter took himself off to Bridgeton, reluctant to go,
+yet anxious to hear further particulars regarding the flight of Liz. He
+arrived at the dreary house, to find his mother engaged with the weekly
+wash. Now, there was no reason why the washing should be done at night,
+seeing she had the whole day at her disposal; but it seemed to take
+these hours to rouse her up to sufficient energy. She was one of those
+unhappy creatures who have no method, no idea of planning, so that the
+greatest possible amount of work can be done in the shortest, and at the
+most fitting time. This habit of choosing unfavourable and unseasonable
+hours for work, which upsets the whole house, had, no doubt, in the
+first instance, helped to drive her husband outside for his company. She
+looked round from the tub, and gave her son a nod by way of greeting,
+but did not open her mouth. Her little kitchen was full of steam, the
+floor swimming in soapsuds, the whole appearance of the place suggestive
+of confusion and discomfort. Walter picked his way across the floor, and
+sat down on the window-box, his favourite seat.
+
+'Always washing at night yet, mother?' he said discontentedly. 'Have you
+no time through the day?'
+
+'No; it's meat-makin' frae mornin' till nicht. This is the only time
+there's a meenit's peace,' she answered stolidly.
+
+'You'll have one less to cook for now, then,' he said gloomily. 'When
+did Liz go off? and have you any idea where she's gone?'
+
+Mrs. Hepburn shook her head.
+
+'I was oot a' Tuesday nicht, an' when I cam' in, on the back o' eleeven,
+she was aff, bag an' baggage. Mrs. Turnbull says she gaed doon the stair
+wi' her Sunday claes on, an' carryin' her tin box, a wee efter aicht.
+"Are ye for jauntin', Liz?" says she; but Liz never gi'ed her an answer,
+guid or bad, an' that's a' I ken.'
+
+'Did she never give a hint that she was thinking of going?' Walter
+asked.
+
+'No' her. Liz was aye close, as close as yersel',' said his mother
+rather sarcastically. 'She's aff, onyhoo.'
+
+'Do you think she has gone away with any one--a man, I mean?' asked
+Walter then, and his face flushed as he asked the question.
+
+'I couldna say, I'm sure,' answered his mother, with a stolid
+indifference which astonished even him. 'Ye ken as muckle as me; but as
+she's made her bed she maun lie on't. I've washed my hands o' her.'
+
+'It's long since you washed your hands of us both, mother, so far as
+interest or guidance goes,' the lad could not refrain from saying, with
+bitterness. But the reproach did not strike home.
+
+'If it's news ye want, I'll tell ye where ye'll get it,' she said
+sourly. 'At Teen's. Eh, she's an ill hizzie. If Liz comes to grief, it's
+her wyte. I canna bide thon smooth-faced, pookit cat. She'll no' show
+her face here in a hurry.'
+
+'I've a good mind to look in at Teen's, and ask. Where's the old man
+to-night?'
+
+'Oh, guid kens whaur he aye is. He's on hauftime the noo, an' never
+sober. Eh, it's an ill world.'
+
+She drew her hands from the suds, wiped them on her wet apron, and,
+lifting a pint bottle from the chimneypiece, took a long draught.
+
+'A body needs something to keep them up when they've to wash i' the
+nicht-time,' was her only apology; but almost immediately she became
+much more talkative, and began to regale Walter with sundry minute and
+highly-spiced anecdotes about the neighbours' failings, which altogether
+wearied and disgusted him.
+
+'I'll away, then, mother, and see if Teen knows anything. Liz will maybe
+write her.'
+
+'Maybe. She's fit enough,' replied Mrs. Hepburn stolidly; and Walter,
+more heavy-hearted than ever, bade her good-night and departed. Never
+had he felt more fearfully alone--alone even in his anxiety for Liz. He
+had, at least, expected his mother to show some concern, but she did not
+appear to think it of the slightest consequence. In about ten minutes he
+was rapping at the door of the attic where his sister's friend Teen
+supported existence.
+
+'Oh, it's you! Come in,' she said, when she recognised him by holding
+the candle high above his head, and looking profoundly surprised to see
+him. 'What is't?'
+
+'I thought you'd know. I came to ask if you could tell me what has
+become of Liz.'
+
+'Liz!' she repeated so blankly that he immediately perceived she was in
+complete ignorance of the affair. 'What d'ye mean? Come in.'
+
+Walter stepped across the threshold, and Teen closed the door. The small
+apartment into which he was ushered was very meagre and bare, but it was
+clean and tidy, and more comfortable in every way than the one he had
+just left. A dull fire smouldered at the very bottom of the grate, and
+the inevitable teapot sat upon the hob. The little seamstress was
+evidently very busy, piles of her coarse, unlovely work lying on the
+floor.
+
+'Has onything happened to Liz?' she asked, in open-eyed wonder and
+interest.
+
+'Yes; I suppose it has. She's run off, bag and baggage, on Tuesday, my
+mother says, and this is Thursday.'
+
+'Oh my!'
+
+Teen took a large and expressive mouthful of these two monosyllables.
+Walter looked at her keenly.
+
+'Don't you know where she has gone? Did she tell you anything?'
+
+'No' her. Liz was aye close aboot hersel', but maybe I can guess.'
+
+'Tell me, then. Is anybody with her?'
+
+'She's no' hersel', you bet,' Teen answered shrewdly. 'My, she's ta'en
+the better o's a'; but maybe I'm wrang. She's been sick o' Brigton for
+lang and lang, an' whiles she said she wad gang awa' to London an' seek
+her fortune.'
+
+Walter sprang up, an immense load lifted from his mind. If that were
+all, he had needlessly tormented himself.
+
+'Did she say that? Then it's all right. Of course that's where she's
+gone. Don't you think so?'
+
+'Maybe. It's likely; only I think she micht hae telt me. We made up to
+gang thegither when we had saved the screw. She had a beau, but I
+raither think it's no' wi' him she's awa'; Liz could watch hersel'. But
+I'll fin' oot.'
+
+'Did you know him? Who was he?' asked Walter.
+
+'Oh, fine I kent him, but I'm no' at liberty to tell. It wadna dae ony
+guid till we see, onyhoo.'
+
+'If you find out anything, will you let me know?'
+
+'Yes, I'll dae that. Hoo are ye gettin' on yersel'? An' thon queer deil
+o' a lassie? I canna mak' onything o' her.'
+
+'I'm getting on fine, thank you,' Walter answered rather shortly.
+'Good-night to you, and thank you. Maybe Liz will write to you.'
+
+'Very likely. I'll let ye ken, onyway. If she writes to onybody it'll be
+to me,' Teen answered, with a kind of quiet pride. 'She telt me a'thing
+she didna keep to hersel'. But I dinna think mysel' there's a beau in
+this business. The theatre wad be mair like it; she had aye a desire to
+be an actress.'
+
+'Indeed!' said Walter, in surprise. He had never before heard such a
+thing hinted at, but no doubt it was true. He really knew very little
+about his sister, although they had always been the best of friends.
+
+His heart was not quite so heavy as he retraced his steps to Colquhoun
+Street. If Liz, tired of the grey monotony and degradation of home, had
+only gone forth into the world to seek something better for herself, all
+might yet be well. He took comfort in dwelling upon her strength and
+decision of character, and came to the conclusion that he had judged her
+too hastily, and that she was a most unlikely person to throw away her
+reputation. What an immense relief that thought gave him was known only
+to himself and God.
+
+Ten was pealing from the city bells when he reached home. When he
+entered the kitchen, a strange scene met his view. His master was
+propped up by pillows, and evidently suffering painfully from his
+breathing, and over his pinched features had crept that grey shadow
+which even the unpractised eye can discern and comprehend. The young
+doctor stood sympathetically by, conscious that he had given his last
+aid and must stand aside. Gladys knelt by the bed with folded hands,
+her golden head bowed in deep and bitter silence. She saw her last
+friend drifting towards the mystic sea, and felt as if the blackness of
+midnight surrounded her.
+
+'Surely, doctor, this is a sudden and awful change?' Walter said to the
+doctor; but he put up his hand.
+
+'Hush!' he said, pointing to the dying man, who essayed through his
+struggling breath to speak.
+
+'Pray,' he said at last; and they looked from one to the other dumbly
+for a moment. Then the girl's sweet voice broke the dreary silence, and
+she prayed as one who has been long familiar with such words, and who,
+while praying, believes the answer will be given. The words of that
+prayer were never forgotten by the two young men who heard them; they
+seemed to bring heaven very near to that humble spot of earth.
+
+'For Christ's sake.'
+
+Abel Graham repeated these words after her in a painful whisper, and his
+struggling ceased.
+
+'It is all over,' said the doctor reverently. And it was. Ay, all over,
+so far as this world was concerned, with Abel Graham.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THOSE LEFT BEHIND.
+
+
+That was a sad night for Gladys Graham and for Walter. Feeling that she
+required the help and presence of a woman, Walter ran up for the
+kind-hearted Mrs. Macintyre, whom Gladys had occasionally seen and
+spoken with since she took up her abode in Colquhoun Street. It is among
+the very poor we find the rarest instances of disinterested and
+sympathetic kindness--deeds of true neighbourliness, performed without
+thought or expectation of reward. Mrs. Macintyre required no second
+bidding. In five minutes she was with the stricken girl, ready, in her
+rough way, to do all that was necessary, and to take the burden off the
+young shoulders so early inured to care. When their work was done, and
+Abel Graham lay placidly upon the pure linen of his last bed, Mrs.
+Macintyre suggested that Gladys should go home with her for the night.
+
+'It's no' for ye bidin' here yersel', my doo,' she said, with homely but
+sincere sympathy. 'My place is sma', but it's clean, an' ye're welcome
+to it.'
+
+Gladys shook her head.
+
+'I don't mind staying here, I assure you. I have seen death before. It
+is not dreadful to me,' she said, glancing at the calm, reposeful face
+of her uncle, and being most tenderly struck by the resemblance to her
+own father. Death is always kind, and will give us, when we least expect
+it, some sudden compensation for what he takes from us. That faint
+resemblance composed Gladys, and gave her yet more loving thoughts of
+the old man. He had been kind when, in his own rugged way, the first
+harshness of his bearing towards her had swiftly been mellowed by her
+own sweet, subtle influence. We must not too harshly blame Abel Graham;
+his environment had been of a kind to foster the least beautiful
+attributes of his nature.
+
+The only being Gladys could think of to help her with the other
+arrangements was Mr. Fordyce. She seemed to turn naturally to him in her
+time of need. A message sent to St. Vincent Street in the morning
+brought him speedily, and he greeted her with a mixture of fatherly
+compassion and sympathy which broke her down.
+
+'You see it has not been long,' she said, with a quiver of the lips. 'I
+do not know what to do, or how to act. I thought you would know
+everything.'
+
+'I know what is necessary here, at least, my dear, and it shall be
+done,' he said kindly. 'The first thing I would suggest is that you
+should come home with me just now.'
+
+Gladys looked at him wonderingly, and shook her head.
+
+'You are very kind, but that is quite impossible,' she said quickly. 'I
+shall not leave here until all is over, and then I do not know what I
+shall do. God will show me.'
+
+The lawyer was deeply moved.
+
+'My dear young lady, has it never occurred to you that there might be
+something left for you, a substantial provision, which will place you
+at once above the need of considering what you are to do, so far as
+providing for yourself is concerned?'
+
+'I have not thought about it. Is it so?' she asked quickly, yet not with
+the eager elation of the expectant heir.
+
+'You are very well left indeed,' he answered. 'If you like, I can
+explain it to you now.'
+
+But Gladys shrank a little as she glanced towards the bed.
+
+'Not now. Let it be after it is all over. It does not matter now. I know
+it will be all right.'
+
+'Just as you will; but I cannot bear to go and leave you here, Miss
+Graham. Will you not think better of it? My wife and daughters will be
+glad to see you, and they will be very kind and sympathetic, I can
+assure you of that. Let me take you away.'
+
+But Gladys, though grateful, still shook her head.
+
+'I promised your uncle to take care of you,' he urged. 'If I go and
+leave you in such sad circumstances here, so alone, I should feel that I
+am not redeeming my promise.'
+
+'I thank you, and I shall come, perhaps, after, if you are so kind as to
+wish me to come, but not now. And I am not quite alone here. I have
+Walter.'
+
+Mr. Fordyce did not know what to say. It was impossible for him to
+suggest that Walter's very presence in the house was one reason why she
+should quit it. She knew nothing of conventionalities or proprieties,
+and this was not the time to suggest them to her mind. He could only
+leave the whole matter at rest.
+
+'Can I see this Walter?' he asked then. 'I have papers in my hand
+concerning him also. I may as well see him now.'
+
+'He is up-stairs. Shall I call him down?'
+
+'No. I shall go up,' answered the lawyer; and Gladys pointed him to the
+stairs leading up to the warehouse. Walter rose from his stool at the
+desk and stood at the door of the little office.
+
+'Good-morning,' both said, and then they looked at each other quite
+steadily for a moment. Mr. Fordyce was astonished at the lad's youth,
+still more at his manly and independent bearing, and he told himself
+that this strange client had exhibited considerable shrewdness in the
+disposal of his worldly goods.
+
+'This is a very sad affair,' said the lawyer,--'sad and sudden. Mr.
+Graham was an old man, but he has always been so robust, he appeared to
+have the prospect of still longer life. It will make a great change
+here.'
+
+'It will, sir.' Walter placed a chair for him, and a look of genuine
+relief was visible on his face. 'I am very glad you have come up. I was
+sitting here thinking over things. It is a very strange case.'
+
+'You know something, I presume, of this business, whether it was a
+paying concern or not?' said the lawyer keenly.
+
+'It is a large business done in a small way, sir,--a worrying,
+unsatisfactory kind of business, I know that much; but my master always
+kept his books himself, and I had no means of knowing whether it really
+paid or not. I know there were bad debts--a lot of them; but I am quite
+ignorant of the state of affairs. I have only one hope, sir, which I
+trust will not be disappointed'--
+
+'Well?' inquired the lawyer steadily, when the young man stopped
+hesitatingly.
+
+'That there will be something left for Miss Gladys. That has troubled me
+ever since the master took ill.'
+
+'You may set your mind at rest, then. Miss Graham will be a rich woman.'
+
+Walter looked incredulous at these words.
+
+'A rich woman?' he repeated,--'a rich woman? Oh, I am glad of it!'
+
+His face flushed, his eye shone, with the intensity of his emotion. He
+was very young, but these signs betrayed an interest in the fate of
+Gladys Graham which stirred a vague pity in the lawyer's heart.
+
+'Yes, a rich woman; and you are not forgotten. There is a will, which,
+however, Miss Graham desires shall not be read till after the funeral;
+but there is no harm in telling you a part of its contents which
+concerns you. Mr. Graham had the very highest opinion of your character
+and ability, and though he may not have seemed very appreciative in
+life, he has not forgotten to mark substantially his approval. You are
+left absolutely in control of this business, with the power to make of
+it what you will, and there is a legacy of five hundred pounds to enable
+you to carry it on.'
+
+Walter became quite pale, and began to tremble, though he was not given
+to such exhibitions of nervousness.
+
+'Oh, sir, there must be some mistake, surely,' he said quickly. 'It
+cannot be true.'
+
+'It is quite true, and I congratulate you, and wish you every success.
+There are very few young men in similar circumstances who have such an
+opportunity given them. I hope you will be guided to use both means and
+opportunity for the best possible end. I shall be glad to be of any
+service to you at any time. Do not scruple to ask me. I mean what I
+say.'
+
+'You are very kind.'
+
+They were commonplace words, but spoken with an earnest sincerity which
+indicated a deeper feeling.
+
+Mr. Fordyce looked round the large dingy warehouse with a slightly
+puzzled air.
+
+'Who would think that there was so much money in this affair?' he said
+musingly. 'But I suppose it was carried on at very little expense. Well,
+the poor old man had little pleasure in life. It was a great mistake. He
+might have blessed himself and others with his means in his lifetime. It
+is strange that the young lady should appear to mourn so sincerely for
+him; it was an awful life for her here.'
+
+'He was never unkind to her,' answered Walter; 'and latterly he could
+not do enough for her. She won him completely, and made a different man
+of him.'
+
+'I quite believe it. One of the weak things of the world,' he said more
+to himself than to his listener. 'There's a different life opening up
+for her; it will be a great change to her. Well, good-morning. I wish
+you well, and you'll remember my desire to be a friend to you should you
+ever need me.'
+
+'I won't forget,' replied Walter, with beaming eye. 'Miss Gladys said
+you would make all the arrangements for the funeral.'
+
+'I will. They are easily made, because Mr. Graham left the most explicit
+directions. He desires to be buried by his own folk in the churchyard of
+Mauchline. I am going out this afternoon.'
+
+Then the lawyer went away, but before proceeding to the station he wrote
+a note to his wife, and sent it by a messenger to his house at
+Kelvinside.
+
+About four o'clock in the afternoon, as Gladys was putting a black
+ribbon in her hat, a cab rattled over the rough causeway, and a knock
+came to the house door; and when Gladys went to open it, what was her
+surprise to behold on the threshold a lady, richly dressed, but wearing
+on her sweet, motherly face a look so truly kind that the girl's heart
+warmed to her at once.
+
+'I am Mrs. Fordyce,' the lady said. 'You, I think, are Miss Graham? May
+I come in?'
+
+'Certainly, madam.'
+
+Gladys held open the door wide, and Mrs. Fordyce entered the dark and
+gloomy passage.
+
+'We have a very small, poor place,' said Gladys, as she led the way. 'I
+ought to tell you that I have no room to show you into, except where my
+poor uncle lies.'
+
+'My dear, I quite know. Mr. Fordyce has told me. It is you I have come
+to see.'
+
+When they entered the kitchen, she laid her two kind hands on the girl's
+shoulders, and turned her face to the light. Then, with a sudden
+impulse, she bent down and kissed her brow. Gladys burst into tears. It
+was the first kiss she had received since she came to Glasgow, and that
+simple caress, with its accompanying tenderness of look and manner,
+opened the floodgates of her pent heart, and taught her her own
+loneliness and need.
+
+'I cannot leave you here, my dear child. My carriage is at the door. You
+must come home with me. I shall bring you back quite early to-morrow,
+but I must insist on taking you away to-night. It is not possible you
+can stay here.'
+
+'I must, I will. You are truly kind, but I shall not leave my home till
+I must. I have my own little room, and I am not quite alone. Walter is
+up-stairs.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce saw that she was firm. She looked at her in wonder, noting
+with practised eyes the neat refinement of her poor dress, her sweet
+grace and delicate beauty. To find a creature so fair in such a place
+was like coming suddenly on a pure flower blooming in a stony street.
+
+'Your position is very lonely, but you will not find yourself without
+friends. We must respect your wish to remain here, though the thought
+will make me unhappy to-night,' said the kind woman. 'You will promise
+to come to us immediately all is over?'
+
+'If you still wish it; only there is poor Walter. It will be so dreadful
+for me to leave him quite alone.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce could not restrain a smile. The child-heart still dwelt in
+Gladys, though she was almost a woman grown.
+
+'Ah, my dear, you know nothing of the world. It is like reading a fairy
+story to look at you and hear you speak. I hope--I hope the world will
+not spoil you.'
+
+'Why should it spoil me? I can never know it except from you,' she said
+simply.
+
+Mrs. Fordyce looked round the large, dimly-lighted place with eyes in
+which a wonder of pity lay.
+
+'My child, is it possible that you have lived here almost two years, as
+my husband tells me, with no companion but an old man and a working
+lad?'
+
+'I have been quite happy,' Gladys replied, with a slight touch of
+dignity not lost upon the lawyer's wife.
+
+'Perhaps because you knew nothing else. We will show you what life can
+hold for such as you,' she answered kindly; and there came a day when
+Gladys reminded her of these words in the bitterness of a wounded heart.
+
+When her visitor left, Gladys ran up-stairs to Walter. They had so long
+depended on each other for solace and sympathy, that it seemed the most
+natural thing in the world for her to share this new experience with
+him.
+
+'You heard the lady speaking, did you not, Walter?' she asked
+breathlessly. 'It was Mr. Fordyce's wife; she is so beautiful and so
+kind. Just think, she would have taken me away with her in her
+carriage.'
+
+'And why didn't you go?' asked Walter in a dull, even voice, and without
+appearing in the least interested.
+
+'Oh because I could not leave just now,' she said slowly, quite
+conscious of a change in his voice and look.
+
+'But you will go, I suppose, after?'
+
+'I suppose so. They seem to wish it very much.'
+
+'And you want to go, of course. They are very grand West End swells. I
+know their house--a big mansion looking over the Kelvin,' he said, not
+bitterly, but in the same even, indifferent voice.
+
+'I don't know anything about them. If that is true, it is still kinder
+of them to think of such a poor girl as I.'
+
+To the astonishment of Gladys, Walter broke into a laugh, not a
+particularly pleasant one.
+
+'Six months after this you'll maybe take a different view,' he said
+shortly.
+
+'Why, Walter, what has come to you? You have so many moods now I never
+know quite how to talk to you.'
+
+'That's true,' he answered brusquely. 'I'm a fool, and nobody knows it
+better than I.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+HER INHERITANCE.
+
+
+In the cheerful sunshine, the following afternoon, a small funeral party
+left the house in Colquhoun Street, and drove to the railway station. It
+consisted of Mr. Fordyce the lawyer, the minister of the parish, Walter
+Hepburn, and Gladys. It was her own desire that she should go, and they
+did not think it necessary to dissuade her. She was a sincere mourner
+for the old man, and he had not so many that they should seek to prevent
+that one true heart paying its last tribute to his memory. So for the
+first time for many years the burying-ground of the Bourhill Grahams was
+opened, somewhat to the astonishment of Mauchline folks. The name was
+almost forgotten in the place; only one or two of the older inhabitants
+remembered the widow and her two boys, and these found memory dim.
+Nevertheless, a few gathered in the old churchyard, viewing with
+interest the short proceedings, and with very special interest the
+unusual spectacle of a young fair girl standing by the grave. They did
+not dream how soon her name was to become a household word, beloved from
+one end of Mauchline to the other.
+
+The two elderly gentlemen were very kind and tender to her, and the
+clergyman regarded her with a curious interest, having had a brief
+outline of her story from Mr. Fordyce. But it was noticeable that she
+preferred Walter's company, that she spoke oftenest to him; and when the
+lawyer and the minister went into the inn to have some refreshment while
+waiting for the train, the two young people walked up the road to
+Mossgiel. Walter was very gloomy and downcast, and she, quick to notice
+it, asked the cause.
+
+'You know it quite well,' he said abruptly. 'I suppose you are going
+away to these grand folks to-night, and there's an end of me.'
+
+'An end of you, Walter! What do you mean?' she asked, with a puzzled
+air.
+
+'Just what I say. When you turn your back on Colquhoun Street, it's
+bound to be for ever. You'll be West, I East. There's no comings and
+goings between the two.'
+
+'I think you are very unkind to speak like that, and silly as well,' she
+said quickly.
+
+'Maybe, but it's true all the same,' he answered, with a slight touch of
+bitterness.
+
+'And you deserve to be punished for it,' she continued, with her quaint
+dignity; 'only I cannot quite make up my mind how to punish you, or,
+indeed, to do it at all to-day. Look, Walter,' she stopped him on the
+brow of the hill, with a light touch on his arm which thrilled him as it
+had never yet done, and sent the blood to his face.
+
+'See, away over there, almost as far as you can see, on yon little hill
+where the trees are so green and lovely, is Bourhill, where the Grahams
+used to live. I told you how Uncle Abel said papa had such a desire to
+buy it. If I were a rich woman I think I should buy Bourhill.'
+
+'So you will. I wish _I_ could give it to you,' cried Walter quickly.
+
+'Do you? You are very good. You have always been so good and kind to me,
+Walter,' she said dreamily. 'Yes, that is Bourhill; and just think, you
+can see the sea from it--the real sea, which I have never seen in my
+life.'
+
+'You'll get everything and see everything you want soon,' he said in a
+quiet, dull voice; 'and then you'll forget all that went before.'
+
+'We shall see.'
+
+She was hurt by the abrupt coldness of his manner, and, having her own
+pride of spirit, did not seek to hide it.
+
+'See, that is Mossgiel there, and we have no time to go up. I think Mr.
+Fordyce said we must turn here,' she said, changing the subject,
+woman-like, when it did not please her. 'But when it is summer you and I
+will come to Mauchline for a day together, and gather some daisies from
+the field where Burns wrote his poem to the daisy--that is,' she added,
+with a smile, 'if you are not disagreeable, which I must say, Walter,
+you are to-day--most disagreeable indeed.'
+
+She turned and looked at him then for a moment with an earnest, somewhat
+critical look, and she saw a tall, slender youth, whose figure had not
+attained to its full breadth and stature, but whose face--grave,
+earnest, noble, even--spoke of the experience of life. These two years
+had done much for Walter Hepburn, and she became aware of it suddenly,
+and with secret amazement.
+
+'Why do you look at me like that?' he asked almost angrily. 'Is there
+anything the matter with my clothes?'
+
+'No, nothing, you cross boy. I was only thinking that you had grown to
+be a man without any warning, and I am not sure that I did not like you
+better as a boy.'
+
+'That is more than likely,' he answered, not in the least gently; but
+Gladys only smiled. Her faith in him was so boundless and so perfect
+that she never misunderstood him. In her deep heart she guessed that the
+shadow of the coming parting lay heavy on his soul. It lay on hers
+likewise, but was brightened in some subtle fashion by a lovely hope
+which she did not understand nor seek to analyse, but which seemed to
+link the troubled past and the unknown future by a band of gold.
+Wherever she might go, or whatever might become of her, she could never
+lose Walter out of her life. It was the love of the child merging into
+the mysterious hope of the woman, but she did not understand it yet. Had
+he known even in part how she felt, it had saved him many a bitter hour;
+but as yet that solace was denied him. That hot, rebellious young heart
+must needs go through the very furnace of pain to bring forth its
+fulness of sweetness and strength.
+
+As the two came side by side up the middle of the village street, the
+lawyer and the minister stood upon the steps at the inn door.
+
+'Is it a case of love's young dream?' asked the latter significantly.
+
+Mr. Fordyce laughed as he shook his head.
+
+'Scarcely. They've been companions--in misfortune, I had almost
+said--for a long time, and it is natural that they should feel kindly
+towards each other. Miss Bourhill Graham must needs aim a little higher.
+I like the young fellow, however. There's an honesty of purpose and a
+fearless individuality about him which refreshes one. Odd, isn't it, to
+find two such gems in such a place?'
+
+'Rather; but I don't agree with all you say,' replied the minister, 'and
+I'll watch with interest the development of Miss Graham's history. If
+that determined-looking youth doesn't have a hand in it, I've made a
+huge mistake, that's all.'
+
+Mr. Fordyce had made his plans for the day, and arranged with his wife
+to bring the carriage to Colquhoun Street at five o'clock. Gladys had
+been made acquainted with this arrangement, and acquiesced in it. It was
+about four o'clock when they returned to the empty house, which looked
+more cheerless than usual after the beauty and freshness of the country.
+
+'Now, my dear,' said the lawyer, 'we must have a little talk before Mrs.
+Fordyce comes. I have a great deal to say to you. You remember you would
+not allow me to speak to you about business affairs until all was over?'
+
+'Yes,' answered Gladys, and seated herself obediently, but without
+betraying the slightest interest or anticipation.
+
+'I shall be as brief and simple as possible,' he continued. 'I told you
+that you need have no anxiety about your future, that it was assured by
+your uncle's will. You were not aware, I suppose, that he died a rich
+man?'
+
+'No; I have heard people call him rich, but I never believed it. He
+spoke and acted always as if he were very poor.'
+
+'That is the policy of many who have earned money hardly, and are loath
+to spend it. Well, it is you who will reap the benefit of his economy.
+About six months ago your uncle called upon me at my office for the
+first time in connection with the purchase of a small residential estate
+in Ayrshire. He wished to buy it, and did so--at a bargain, for there
+were few offers for it. That estate was Bourhill, and it was for you it
+was bought. You are absolutely its owner to-day.'
+
+'I--owner of Bourhill?' she repeated slowly, and as if she did not
+comprehend. 'I owner of Bourhill?'
+
+'Yes, my dear young lady; I congratulate you, not only as mistress of
+Bourhill, but also as mistress of what, to you, must seem a large
+fortune. Your uncle has left you Bourhill and the sum of ten thousand
+pounds.'
+
+She received this announcement in silence, but all the colour left her
+face.
+
+'Oh,' she cried at length, in a voice sharp with pain, 'how wrong! how
+hard! To live here in such poverty, to be so hard on others, to act a
+lie. It was that, Mr. Fordyce. Oh, my poor uncle!'
+
+Her distress was keen. It showed itself in her heaving breast, her
+saddened eye, her drooping lips. She could not realise her own great
+fortune; she could only think of what it had cost. The lawyer was deeply
+moved, and yet not surprised. It was natural that a nature so fine, so
+conscientious, and so true, should see at once the terrible injustice of
+it all.
+
+'My dear, I must warn you not to dwell on the morbid side. We must admit
+that it was a great pity, a very great pity, that your poor uncle did
+not realise the responsibility of wealth, did not even take some comfort
+for himself from it. But I may tell you it was a great, an inexpressible
+joy to him to leave it in your hands. I daresay he felt assured, as I
+do, that, though so young, you would know how to use it wisely.'
+
+It was the right chord to touch. The colour leaped back to her cheek,
+the light to her eyes, her whole manner changed.
+
+'Oh, I will, I will! God will help me. I will do the work, his work. If
+only he had told me how he wished it done.'
+
+'I have a letter for you, written by his own hand the day he died; but
+it is not here. I will bring it when I come from my office at night; and
+meanwhile, my dear, I would suggest that you should get ready to go. My
+wife will be here very shortly.'
+
+Immediately thought was diverted into another channel, and a great
+wistfulness stole over her.
+
+'And what,' she asked in a low voice,--'what will become of Walter?'
+
+'Has he not told you what his future is likely to be?'
+
+'No, he has told me nothing.'
+
+'Your uncle has left him this business to make of it what he likes, and
+five hundred pounds to help him to carry it on. It is a very good lift
+for a friendless young fellow--a waif of the streets.'
+
+'He's not a waif of the streets,' cried Gladys hotly. 'He has a home,
+not so happy as it might be, perhaps, but it is a home. It is this
+dreadful drink, which ruins everything it touches, which has destroyed
+Walter's home. I am so glad for him. He will get on so quickly now, only
+he will be so dreadfully lonely. I must come and see him very, very
+often.'
+
+'My dear, I do not wish you to turn your back on your old friend, but it
+might be better for you both, but more especially for him, if you let
+things take their course. Your life must be very different henceforth.'
+
+'I do not understand you,' said Gladys quite calmly, 'Please to
+explain.'
+
+Not an easy task for Mr. Fordyce, with these large, sorrowful,
+half-indignant eyes fixed so questioningly on his face. But he did his
+best.
+
+'I mean, my dear, that for you, as Miss Graham of Bourhill, a new life
+is opening up--a life in which it will be quite wise to forget the past.
+Your life here, I should think,' he added, with a significant glance
+round the place, 'has not held much in it worth remembering. It will
+pass from you like a dream in the midst of the many new interests which
+will encompass you now.'
+
+It was the wisdom of the world, not harshly nor urgently conveyed, but
+it sounded cruelly in the girl's ears. She rose to her feet, and
+somewhat wearily shook her head.
+
+'You do not know, you cannot understand,' she said faintly. 'I can never
+forget this place. I pray I may never wish to forget it. If you will
+excuse me, I shall get ready now, so as not to keep Mrs. Fordyce waiting
+when she comes.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+FAREWELL.
+
+
+The carriage was at the door, and they stood face to face, the young man
+and the maiden, in the little office up-stairs, to say farewell.
+
+'I am quite ready, Walter,' Gladys said in a still, quiet voice. 'I am
+going away.'
+
+'Are you? Well, good-bye.'
+
+He held out his hand. His face was pale, but his mouth was set like
+iron, and these apparently indifferent words seemed to force themselves
+from between his teeth. Sign of emotion or sorrow he exhibited none, but
+the maiden, who understood and who loved him,--yes, who loved him,--was
+not in the least deceived.
+
+'Have you nothing else to say than that, Walter? It is very little when
+I am going away,' she said wistfully.
+
+'No,' he replied in the same steady, even tone, 'nothing. You had better
+not keep them waiting, these grand people, any longer. They are not used
+to it, and they don't like it.'
+
+'Let them wait, and if they don't like it they can go away,' she
+answered, with unwonted sharpness. 'I want to say, Walter, that if I
+could have stayed here, I would. I would rather be here than anywhere.
+It once seemed very dreadful to me, but now I love it. But though I am
+going away, I will come to see you very often, very often indeed.'
+
+'Don't come,' he answered sharply. 'Don't come at all.'
+
+A vague terror gathered in her eyes, and her mouth trembled.
+
+'Now you are unkind, Walter, unkind and unreasonable. But men are often
+unreasonable, so I will forgive you. If I may not come here, will you
+promise to come to Bellairs Crescent and see me?'
+
+Then Walter flung up his head and laughed, that laugh which always
+stabbed Gladys.
+
+'To have the door slammed in my face by a footman or a smart servant?
+No, thank you.'
+
+'Very well. Good-bye. If you cast me off, Walter, I can't help it.
+Good-bye, and God bless you. I hope I shall see you sometimes, and if
+not, I shall try to bear it, only it is very hard.'
+
+She was a woman in keenness of feeling, a very child in guilelessness.
+She could not hide her pain.
+
+Then Walter, feeling it all so keenly, and hating himself with a mortal
+hatred for his savage candour, condescended to make an explanation.
+
+'In a week,' he began, 'you will view everything in a different light.
+You are going away to be a great lady, and you'll soon find that you
+want nothing so badly in this world as to forget that you ever knew this
+place, or me. It will be far better to understand and make up my mind to
+it at the very beginning. Perhaps some day it will be different, but in
+the meantime I know I am right, and you'll soon be convinced of it too,
+and perhaps thank me for it.'
+
+'If that is what you think of me, Walter, it will indeed be better as
+you say. Good-bye.'
+
+She scarcely touched his hand or looked at him as she turned away. She
+was wounded to the heart; and the poor lad, putting a fearful curb upon
+himself, suffered her to leave him. He did not even go down to the door
+to see the carriage leave, and in a few minutes the rattle of wheels
+across the stony street fell upon his ears like a last farewell. Then,
+there being none to witness his weakness, he laid his head down upon the
+battered old desk, and wept as he had not wept since his childhood. He
+had a proud spirit, and circumstances had made him morbidly sensitive.
+He was very young to indulge in a man's hopes and aspirations; but age
+is not always determined by years. Already he had dreamed his dreams,
+had his visions of a glorious future, in which he should build up a home
+for himself. Yet not for himself alone--it could be no home unless light
+was given to it by her who had been the day-star of his boyhood. The
+very loneliness and bitterness of his experience had caused his heart,
+capable of a strong and passionate affection, to centre with greater
+tenacity upon the gentle being who had shown to him the lovelier side of
+nature and life, and had awakened in him strivings after all that was
+highest and best. But this morbid sensitiveness, which is the curse of
+every proud spirit, and turns even the sweets of life to ashes in the
+mouth, had him in bitter bondage. He lashed himself with it, reminding
+himself constantly of his origin and his environment, and magnifying
+these into insuperable barriers which would for ever stand blankly in
+his way. Although common-sense told him that there was no other course
+open to Gladys than to accept the kindness offered her by the lawyer
+and his wife, and though in his inmost better heart he did not doubt
+her, it pleased his harder mood to regard himself as being despised and
+trampled on; there was a certain luxury in the indulgence which afforded
+him a melancholy pain. By and by, however, better thoughts came, as they
+always will if we give them the chance they seek. Out of his fearful
+dejection arose a manlier, nobler spirit, which betrayed itself in his
+look and manner. He rose from the stool, walked twice across the narrow
+office floor out to the warehouse, and finally down-stairs. In a word,
+he took an inventory of the whole place, and it suddenly came home to
+him, with a new accession of hope and strength, that it was his--that he
+was absolutely monarch of all he surveyed, and could make or mar it as
+he willed. It was not a stupendous heritage, but to one nameless and
+unknown it was much. Nay, it was his opportunity--the tide in his
+affairs which might lead him on to fortune. Wandering the length and
+breadth of his kingdom--only a drysalter's warehouse, but still his
+kingdom--hope took to herself white wings again, and, fluttering over
+him, built for him many a castle in the air--castles high enough to
+reach the skies. Then and there Walter Hepburn took courage and began to
+face his life--laid his plans, which had for its reward a maiden's smile
+and a maiden's heart. And for these men have conquered the world before,
+and will again. Love still rules, and will, thanks be to God, till the
+world is done.
+
+Meanwhile Gladys, all unconscious alike of his deep dejection and his
+happier mood, sat quite silently in the corner of the luxurious
+carriage, her eyes dim with tears. Her kind friend, noticing that she
+was moved, left her in peace. Her sympathy was true, and could be
+quiet, and that is much.
+
+'Suppose you sit up and look out, my dear?' she said at last. 'We are
+crossing Kelvin Bridge. Have you been as far West before?'
+
+Gladys sat up obediently, and looked from the carriage window upon the
+river tumbling between its banks.
+
+'Is this Glasgow?' she asked, wondering to see the trees waving greenly
+in the gentle April breeze.
+
+'Yes, my dear, of course; and we are almost home. I am sure you will be
+glad, you look so tired,' said Mrs. Fordyce kindly. 'Never mind; you
+shall have a cup of tea immediately, and then you shall lie down and
+sleep as long as you like.'
+
+'Oh, I never sleep in the day-time, thank you,' said Gladys; and as the
+carriage swept along a handsome terrace and into Bellairs Crescent,
+where the gardens were green with all the beauty of earliest summer, her
+face visibly brightened.
+
+'It is quite like the country,' she said. 'I cannot believe it is
+Glasgow.'
+
+'Sometimes we feel it dingy enough, my love. We are talking of the Coast
+already, but perhaps we shall fall in love with the Crescent a second
+time through you. Eh, my dear?' she said, with a nod. 'Well, here we
+are.'
+
+The carriage drew up before the steps of a handsome house, the door was
+opened, and a dainty maid ran down to take the wraps. Gladys looked at
+her curiously, and thought of Walter. Well, it was a great change.
+Gladys had an eye for the beautiful, and the arrangement of the hall,
+with its soft rugs, carved furniture, and green plants, with gleams of
+statuary here and there, rested and delighted her.
+
+'We'll just go to the drawing-room at once. My girls will be out of all
+patience for tea,' said Mrs. Fordyce. 'Nay, my dear, don't shrink. I
+assure you they are happy, kind-hearted girls, just like yourself.'
+
+Gladys long remembered her first introduction to the brighter side of
+life. She followed Mrs. Fordyce somewhat timidly into a large and
+handsome room, and saw at the farther end, near the fireplace, a dainty
+tea-table spread, and a young girl in a blue serge gown cutting a cake
+into a silver basket. Another knelt at the fire. Gladys was struck by
+the exceeding grace of her attitude, though she could not see her face.
+
+'My dears,' said Mrs. Fordyce quickly, 'here we are. I hope tea is
+ready? We are quite ready for it.'
+
+'It has been up an age, mamma; Mina and I were thinking to ring for some
+fresh tea. Is this Miss Graham?'
+
+It was the one who had been kneeling by the fire who spoke, and she came
+forward frankly and with a pleasant smile, though her eyes keenly noted
+every detail of the stranger's appearance and attire.
+
+'This is Clara, my elder daughter, my dear; and this is Mina. Is Leonard
+not home?'
+
+'Yes, but he won't come up. Leonard is our brother,' Clara explained to
+Gladys,--'rather a spoiled boy, and he is mortally afraid of new girls,
+as he calls them. But you will see him at dinner.'
+
+In spite of a natural stateliness of look and manner, Clara had a kind
+way with her. She took off their guest's cloak, and drew a comfortable
+chair forward to the tea-table, while her sister made out the tea.
+
+'Where's papa? Did he not come with you?' she asked her mother, leaving
+Gladys a moment to herself.
+
+'No; he went off at St. Vincent Street. He has been away from business
+all day, you know.'
+
+'Oh yes. This has been a sad day for you,' said Clara sympathetically,
+turning to Gladys. 'Mamma has told us how lonely you are, but we shall
+try to cheer you. Won't we, Mina?'
+
+'Suppose you begin by giving her some tea?' said Mrs. Fordyce. 'Then she
+must have a little rest. She has very long cared for others, she must
+have a taste of being cared for now.'
+
+Gladys could not speak a word. She felt at home. A vague, delicious
+sense of rest stole over her as she listened to these kind words, and
+felt the subtle, beautiful influences of the place about her. It was
+only a pleasant family room, which taste and wealth had appointed and
+adorned, but it seemed like a king's palace to the girl who had long
+walked in the darker places of the earth. Seeing her thus moved, mother
+and daughters talked to each other, discussing the pleasant gossip of
+the day, which always seems to gather round the table at five-o'clock
+tea.
+
+'Now, Clara, you will take Miss Graham up-stairs. I think you must allow
+us to call you Gladys, my dear,' said Mrs. Fordyce. 'I am going to leave
+you in charge of Clara. When you know us better, you will find out that
+it takes Mina all her time to take charge of herself.'
+
+Mina shook her finger at her mother, and a slight blush rose to her
+happy face.
+
+'Too bad, mamma, to prejudice Miss Graham against me. The difference
+between my sister and me,' she added, turning to Gladys, 'is that Clara
+is always proper and conventional, and I am the reverse. You can never
+catch her unawares or in an untidy gown, she is always just as
+immaculate as you see her now; while I am--well, just as the spirit
+moves me.' She swept a little mocking courtesy to her sister, who only
+smiled and shook her head, then taking Gladys by the arm, led her from
+the drawing-room.
+
+'You must not mind Mina. She often speaks without thinking, but she
+never wishes to hurt any one,' she said. 'We have both been so sorry for
+you since papa told us about you, and we hope you will feel happy and at
+home with us here.'
+
+'Oh, I am sure I shall, you are all so kind,' cried Gladys impulsively.
+It was natural that she should exaggerate any little courtesy or
+kindness shown to her, she had known so little of it in her life.
+
+'It is such a romance! To think you are an heiress, and that beautiful
+Bourhill is all your own,' continued Clara.
+
+'Do you know it?' interrupted Gladys, with more interest than she had
+yet betrayed.
+
+'Yes; I have been there. We have a house at Troon, and of course when we
+are there we drive a good deal. Papa pointed it out to us one day, and
+said it was sad to see it going to decay. We had no idea then that we
+should ever know you. This is your room; it is quite close to Mina's and
+mine. See, the river is just before the windows. I always think the
+Kelvin looks so pretty from here, because one cannot see its impurity.'
+
+'It is beautiful--a great change for me,' said Gladys dreamily, as her
+eyes roamed round the spacious and elegant guest-chamber. 'How pleasant
+it must be always to live among so many beautiful things! I have loved
+them all my life, but I have seen so few since I came from the fen
+country with my uncle.'
+
+'It was very strange that he, so rich, should keep you in that wretched
+place,' said Clara. 'How much better had he shared it all with you while
+he lived.'
+
+'Yes; but I think he was happier as it was, and it pleased him at the
+end, I know, to think that he had given me Bourhill.'
+
+'I am sure it did. Well, I shall go now, dear, and leave you to unpack.
+You will find the wardrobe and all the drawers empty. Mamma will be
+coming to you immediately, likely.'
+
+With a nod and a smile, Clara took herself off to the drawing-room
+again.
+
+'What do you think of Miss Graham of Bourhill?' asked Mina, with her
+mouth full of cake. 'Quite to the manner born. Don't you think so?'
+
+'Quite. And isn't she lovely? Wait till mamma has taken her to Redfern,
+and then you and I may retire, my dear; we shall be eclipsed.'
+
+'If so, let us be resigned. One thing I know, you don't believe in
+presentiments, of course, you matter-of-fact young person, but I feel
+that she is to be mixed up with us in some mysterious way, and that some
+day, perhaps, we may wish we had never seen Miss Graham of Bourhill.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE WEST END.
+
+
+Now Gladys had her opportunity of seeing the beautiful side of life. Her
+taste being naturally refined and fastidious, found a peculiar
+satisfaction in the beauty of her surroundings. It was a very real
+pleasure to her to tread upon soft carpets, breathe a pure air, only
+sweetened by the breath of flowers, and to rest her eyes with delicate
+combinations of colour and the treasures of art to be found in the
+lawyer's sumptuous house. Never had she more strikingly betrayed her
+special gift, of which Abel Graham had spoken on his death-bed, 'ability
+to adapt herself to any surroundings;' she seemed, indeed, as Mina
+Fordyce had said, 'to the manner born.'
+
+She endeared herself at once by her gentleness of manner to every inmate
+of the house, and very speedily conquered the boy Leonard's aversion to
+'new girls.' In less than a week they were chums, and she was a frequent
+visitor to his den in the attics, where he contrived all sorts of
+wonderful things, devoting more time to them than to his legitimate
+lessons, which his soul abhorred. But though she was invariably
+cheerful, ever ready to share and sympathise with all the varied
+interests of the house, there was a stillness of manner, a 'dreamy
+far-offness,' as Mina expressed it, which indicated that sometimes her
+thoughts were elsewhere.
+
+The three girls were sitting round the drawing-room fire one wet,
+boisterous afternoon, chatting cosily, and waiting for tea to come up.
+Between Clara and Gladys there seemed to be a peculiar understanding,
+although Mr. Fordyce's elder daughter was not the favourite of the
+family. Her manner was too stiff, and she had a knack at times of saying
+rather sharp, disagreeable things. But not to Gladys Graham. In these
+few days they had become united in the bonds of a love which was to
+stand all tests. Clara was sitting on a low chair, Gladys kneeling by
+her side, with her arm on her knee. So sitting, they presented a
+contrast, each a fine foil to the other. The stately, dark beauty of
+Clara set off the fairer loveliness of the younger girl; neither
+suffered by the contrast. These days of peace and restful, luxurious
+living had robbed Gladys of her wearied listlessness, had given to her
+delicate cheek a bloom long absent from it. Her simple morning gown,
+made by a fashionable _modiste_ who had delighted to study her fair
+model, seemed part of herself. She was a striking and lovely girl, of a
+higher type than the two beside her.
+
+'Oh, girls,' cried Mina, with a yawn, and tossing back her brown unruly
+locks with an impatient gesture, 'isn't it slow? Can't you wake up? You
+haven't spoken a word for half an hour.'
+
+'Do you never want to be quiet, Mina?' asked Gladys, with the gleam of
+an amused smile.
+
+'No, never. I'm not one of your pensive maidens. One silent member in a
+family is enough, or it would stagnate. Clara sustains the dignity, I
+the life, of the house, my dear. Oh, I wish somebody would come in. I
+guess half a score of idle young women in the other houses of this
+Crescent are consumed with the same desire. But nobody ever _does_ come
+in, by any chance, when you want them. When you don't, then they come in
+in shoals. I say, Clara, isn't it ages since we saw any of them from
+Pollokshields?'
+
+'Yes; but you know we ought to have gone to ask for Aunt Margaret long
+ago.'
+
+'I suppose so. We don't love our aunt, Gladys. It's the misfortune of
+many not to love their relations. Can you explain that mystery?'
+
+'Perhaps they are not very lovable,' suggested Gladys.
+
+'That's it exactly. Aunt Margaret is--Well, you'll see her some day, and
+then you'll admit that if she possesses lovable qualities she doesn't
+wear them every day. They are so rich, so odiously rich, that you never
+can forget it. She doesn't allow you to. And Julia is about as
+insufferable.'
+
+'Really, Mina, you should not speak so strongly. You know papa and mamma
+wouldn't like it,' protested Clara mildly; but Mina only laughed.
+
+'It is such a relief on a day like this to "go for" some one, as Len
+would say, and why not for one's relations? It's their chief use. And
+you know Julia Fordyce has more airs than a duchess. George is rather
+better, and he is so divinely handsome that you can't remember that he
+has a single fault.'
+
+Was it the firelight, or did the colour heighten rapidly in Clara's
+cheek?
+
+'Such nonsense you talk, Mina,' she said hastily.
+
+'It isn't nonsense at all. Have we never exhibited the photograph of our
+Adonis, Gladys?'
+
+'I don't think so,' answered Gladys, with a smile. 'Suppose you let me
+see it now?'
+
+'Of course. That was an unpardonable oversight, which his lordship would
+never forgive. He is frightfully conceited, as most handsome men
+unfortunately are. It isn't their fault, poor fellows; it's the girls
+who spoil them. Here he is.'
+
+She brought a silver frame from a cabinet, and, with an absurd
+assumption of devotion, dropped a kiss on it before she gave it to
+Gladys. Gladys sat up, and, holding the photograph up between the light,
+looked at it earnestly. It was the portrait of a man in hunting dress,
+standing by his horse, and certainly no fault could be found with his
+appearance. His figure was a model of manly grace, and his face
+remarkably handsome, so far as fine features can render handsome a human
+face; yet there was a something, it might be only a too-conscious idea
+of his own attractions, which betrayed itself in his expression, and in
+the eyes of Gladys detracted from its charm.
+
+'It is a pretty picture,' she said innocently. 'The horse is a lovely
+creature.'
+
+Then Mina threw herself back in her chair, and laughed till the tears
+ran down her cheeks--a proceeding which utterly perplexed Gladys.
+
+'Oh, Clara, isn't that lovely? If I don't tell George Fordyce that the
+first time I see him! It'll do him all the good in the world. Only,
+Gladys, he will never forgive you.'
+
+'Why? I have not said anything against him.'
+
+'No, you have simply ignored him, and that is an unpardonable offence
+against my lord. You must let me tell him, Gladys. It is really my duty
+to tell him, and we should always do our duty by our relations, should
+we not?'
+
+'I am sure I don't mind in the least if you do tell him,' replied Gladys
+serenely. 'Do you think I said anything very dreadful, Clara?'
+
+'Not I. Never mind Mina, dear. You should be learning not to mind
+anything she says.'
+
+'There's the bell. That's mother, I hope. We never miss mother more than
+at tea-time,' said Mina, jumping up. Love for her mother was the passion
+of her soul. It shone in her face, and betrayed itself in a hundred
+little attentions which touched Gladys inexpressibly. Clara was always
+more reserved, but though her feelings found slower expression they were
+not less deep and keen; and though Gladys felt at home and happy with
+every member of that singularly united household, it was to Clara, who
+was so seldom the favourite outside, that her heart went out in love.
+
+'It is not mother. It's callers, I do believe,' cried Mina, giving her
+hair a tug before the mirror, and shaking out her skirts, while her face
+brightened with expectation.
+
+'Mr. and Miss Fordyce.'
+
+Clara rose and went hastily forward to receive her cousins, while the
+irrepressible Mina strove to hide her laughter, though her eyes danced
+in the most suspicious manner. It was with rather more than ordinary
+interest that Gladys regarded the new-comers. They were certainly a
+handsome pair, and so closely resembling each other that their
+relationship was at once apparent.
+
+'To what do we owe this unexpected felicity?' inquired Mina banteringly.
+'On such a day, too.'
+
+'Yes, indeed; we quite expected to see you in the house we have just
+left,' said Julia a little stiffly.
+
+'Where, where?'
+
+'Evelyn Stuart's. Have you forgotten this is her first reception day?'
+
+'So it is, and we forgot all about it. Clara, whatever shall we do? Was
+there a crowd?'
+
+'Yes, an awful crowd.'
+
+While answering Mina, Miss Julia inclined her head in recognition of
+Gladys, to whom Clara introduced her. The slightest possible surprise
+betrayed itself in the uplifting of her straight brows, as her keen,
+flashing eyes took in every detail of the girl's appearance. Needless to
+say, the new inmate of the lawyer's household had been freely discussed
+by the Pollokshields Fordyces, and it was in reality curiosity to see
+her which had brought them to Bellairs Crescent that afternoon.
+
+'I should just say it was a crowd,' added George, giving his immaculate
+moustache a pull. 'I was sorry for Stuart, poor beggar. Really, though a
+fellow marries, he should not be subjected to an ordeal like you. I
+don't see anything to hinder a fellow's wife from receiving folks
+herself. It's an awful bore on a fellow, you know.'
+
+He spoke languidly, and all the time from under his drooping lids
+surveyed the slender figure and fair face of Gladys. She was so
+different from the brilliant and showy young ladies he met in the
+society they moved in, that he was filled with a secret admiration.
+
+'So the unfortunate young woman who marries you, George, may know what
+to expect. Do you hear that, girls? Be warned in time,' cried Mina.
+'Won't you take off your cloak, Julia, and stay a little? Mother and tea
+will be here directly.'
+
+'I daresay we have half an hour--have we, George? You are not going back
+to the mill, are you?'
+
+'Not I; my nose has been pretty much at the grindstone for the last
+month. And now, girls, what's the best of your news? We're waiting to be
+entertained. How do you like the West End of Glasgow, Miss Graham?'
+
+'Very much, thank you,' answered Gladys, and somehow she could not help
+speaking distantly. There was something about the young man she did not
+like. Had she looked at Clara just then she would have seen her eyes
+filled with a lovely, wavering light, while a half-trembling
+consciousness was infused into her whole appearance. These signs to the
+observant are not difficult to read. Clara loved her handsome cousin,
+and unfortunately he was not blind to the fact.
+
+'We are going to Troon first week in May, Julia,' she said quickly. 'Has
+Aunt Margaret thought or spoken of your going yet?'
+
+'She has spoken of it, but we haven't encouraged it,' replied Julia
+languidly, as she drew off one of her perfectly-fitting gloves, and
+displayed a long firm white hand, sparkling with diamonds. 'I know she
+has written to the housekeeper to have Seaview aired, but I suppose it
+depends on the weather.'
+
+'If you are all going down, it wouldn't be half bad, Julia. We must see
+what the mater says. Does Miss Graham go with you?'
+
+'Of course,' replied Clara, with a smiling glance at Gladys.
+
+She replied by an answering smile, so swift and lovely that George
+Fordyce looked at her with a sudden access of admiration. Gladys shrank
+just a little under the continued persistence of his gaze; and when he
+saw it, it added a new zest to his interest in her. He was accustomed to
+find his admiration or attention always acceptable to the young ladies
+of his acquaintance, and the demeanour of Gladys was at once new and
+interesting to him. He determined to cultivate her acquaintance, and to
+awaken that fair, statuesque maiden into life.
+
+Just then tea came up, and, rising lazily, he began to make himself
+useful to his cousin Clara, murmuring some nonsense to her over the
+tea-table, which deepened the lovely light in her eyes. He enjoyed
+seeing the delicate colour deepening in her face, and excused himself
+for bringing it there on the ground of cousinship. But when he carried
+her cup to Gladys, he remained by her side, while Julia entertained the
+other two with a description of the bride's drawing-room and reception
+gown.
+
+'It's an awful romance, Miss Graham, upon my word it is,' began George,
+standing with his back to the others, and looking down most impressively
+into the girl's face,--'your story, I mean, of course. Uncle Tom has
+told us how you, the heiress of Bourhill, have lived in the
+slums--positively the slums, wasn't it?'
+
+Now, though his words were not particularly well chosen or in good
+taste, his manner was so impressively sympathetic that Gladys felt
+insensibly influenced by it. And he _was_ very handsome, and it was
+quite pleasant to have him standing there, looking as if there was
+nobody in the world half so interesting to him as herself. For the very
+first time in her life Gladys felt the subtle charm of flattery steal
+into her soul.
+
+'I suppose you would call it the slums,' she answered. 'My uncle lived
+in Colquhoun Street.'
+
+'Don't know it, but I guess it was bad enough, and for you, too, who
+look fit for a palace. And did you live there all alone with the old
+miser?'
+
+'Don't call him that, please; he was very kind to me, and I cannot bear
+to hear him hardly spoken of, she said quickly. 'There were three of us,
+and we were very happy, though the place was so small and poor.'
+
+'Who was the third?'
+
+He managed to convey into his tone just sufficient aggressiveness as to
+suggest that he resented the idea of a third person sharing anything
+with her.
+
+'Walter Hepburn, my uncle's assistant.'
+
+Had she looked at him then, she must have been struck by the strange
+expression, coupled with a sudden flash, which passed over his face.
+
+'Ah yes, just so. Well, I'm glad the fates have been kind, and brought
+you at last where there's a chance of being appreciated,' he said
+carelessly. 'Nice little girls my cousins--awfully good-hearted little
+souls, though Mina's tongue is a trifle too sharp. Yes, miss, I'm
+warning Miss Graham against you,' he said when Mina uttered his name in
+a warning note.
+
+'Now, to punish you, I shall tell you my latest anecdote,' Mina said;
+and, heedless of the half-laughing, half-eager protest of Gladys, she
+related the incident of the portrait, with a little embellishment which
+made him appear in rather a ridiculous light.
+
+In the midst of the laughter which the relation provoked, Mrs. Fordyce
+entered the room.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+'THE DAYS THAT ARE NOT.'
+
+
+The last days of April came, the family in Bellairs Crescent were making
+preparations for an immediate departure to the Ayrshire coast, and as
+yet Gladys had not seen or heard anything of Walter. She had a longing
+to revisit the old home, and yet a curious reluctance held her back. She
+felt hurt, and even a trifle irritated against Walter; and though she
+understood, and in a measure sympathised with his feelings, she thought
+him needlessly morbid and sensitive regarding their new relation towards
+each other.
+
+'Gladys,' said Clara one day, when she had watched in silence the girl's
+sweet face, and noticed its half-sad, half-wistful expression, 'what is
+the matter with you? You are fretting about something. Tell me what it
+is. Do you not wish to go to Troon with us, or would you rather go to
+Bourhill? Do tell us what you would like best to do?'
+
+They were quite alone in the little morning-room, which had been given
+up to the girls of the house to adorn as they liked. It was a pretty
+corner, dainty, home-like, cosy, with a long window opening out to the
+garden, which was as beautiful as it is possible for a city garden to
+be.
+
+Gladys gave a little start, and coloured slightly under Clara's earnest
+gaze.
+
+'I am quite happy at the idea of going to Troon; remember I have never
+seen the sea,' she answered quickly. 'What makes you think I am
+unhappy?'
+
+'My dear, you look it. You can't hide it from me, and you are going to
+tell me this very moment what is vexing you.'
+
+Clara knelt down on the rug, and, with her hands folded, looked up in
+her friend's face. Gladys passed her hand lightly over the smooth braids
+of Clara's beautiful hair, and did not for a moment speak.
+
+'Did you ever have a great faith in any one who after a time
+disappointed you?' she asked suddenly.
+
+'No, I don't think so. I am not naturally trusting, Gladys. I have to be
+very sure before I put absolute faith in any one.'
+
+'I cannot believe that of you, Clara. How kind you have been to me, an
+utter stranger! You have treated me like a sister since the first happy
+day I entered the house.'
+
+'Oh, that is different. You know very well, you little fraud, that your
+very eyes disarm suspicion, as somebody says. You are making conquests
+everywhere. But now we are away from the point. _What_ is vexing you?
+Shall I make a guess?'
+
+'Oh, if you like,' answered Gladys, with interest.
+
+'Well, you are thinking of past days. You have not forgotten the
+companions of the old life, and it is grieving you, because it would
+appear that they have forgotten you.'
+
+'He might have come, only once,' cried Gladys rebelliously, not for a
+moment seeking to deny or admit in words the truth of Clara's words. 'We
+were a great deal to each other. It is hard to be forgotten so soon.'
+
+'Gladys dear, listen to me.'
+
+Clara's voice became quite grave, and she folded her hands impressively
+above her companion's.
+
+'You must not be angry at what I am going to say, because it is true.
+Has it not occurred to you that this young man, in thus keeping a
+distance from you, shows himself wiser than you?'
+
+'How?' asked Gladys coldly. 'It can never be wise to wound the feelings
+of another.'
+
+'My dear, though your simplicity is the loveliest thing about you, it is
+awfully difficult to deal with,' said Clara perplexedly. 'You must know,
+must admit, Gladys, that everything is changed, and that while you might
+be quite courteous, and even friendly after a fashion, with this Mr.
+Hepburn, anything more is quite out of the question. He must move in his
+own sphere, you in yours. People are happier in their own sphere. To try
+and lift them out of it is always a mistake, and ends in disaster and
+defeat. Would you have liked mamma to invite him here?'
+
+'He would not come,' said Gladys proudly. 'He would never come. He said
+so again and again.'
+
+'Then it seems to me that it is you who are lacking in proper pride,'
+said Clara calmly.
+
+'What is proper pride?'
+
+Gladys smiled with the faintest touch of scorn as she asked the
+question.
+
+'You know what it is just as well as I can tell you, only it pleases you
+to be perverse this morning,' said Clara good-humouredly, 'and I am not
+going to say any more.'
+
+'Yes you are. I want to understand this thing. Is it imperative that the
+mere fact that my uncle has left me money and a house should make me a
+different person altogether?'
+
+'It affects your position, not necessarily you. Don't be silly and
+aggravating, Gladys, or I must shake you,' said Clara, with the frank
+candour of a privileged friend. 'And really I cannot understand why you
+should be anxious to keep in touch with that old life, which was so
+awfully mean and miserable.'
+
+'It had compensations,' said Gladys quickly. 'And I do think, that if it
+is all as you say, there is more sincerity among poor people than among
+rich. There is no court paid, anyhow, to money and position.'
+
+'My dear, you are not at all complimentary to us,' laughed Clara. 'Your
+ingenuousness is truly refreshing.'
+
+'I am not speaking about you, and you know it quite well,' answered
+Gladys. 'But if the world is as fond of outward things as you say, I do
+not wish to know anything of it. I could not feel at home in it, I am
+sure.'
+
+'My dear little girl, wait till your place is put in order, and you take
+up your abode in it, Miss Graham of Bourhill, the envied and the admired
+of a whole county, and you will change your mind about the world. Just
+wait till the next Hunt Ball at Ayr, and we'll see what changes it will
+bring.'
+
+There was no refuting Clara's good-natured worldly wisdom, and Gladys
+had to be silent. But she pondered many things in her heart.
+
+'When do we go to Troon? Isn't it next week?'
+
+'Yes, on Tuesday.'
+
+'Do you think,' she asked then, with a slight hesitation, 'that Mrs.
+Fordyce would allow me to pay a little visit to my old home before I go,
+for the last time?'
+
+There was all the simplicity and wistfulness of a child in her manner,
+and it touched Clara to the quick.
+
+'Gladys, are you a prisoner here, dear? Don't vex me by saying things
+like that. Do you not know that you can go out and in just as you like?
+Of course you shall go. I will take you myself, if mamma cannot, and
+wait for you outside.'
+
+True to her promise, Clara ordered the brougham on Monday afternoon, and
+carried Gladys off to Colquhoun Street. Clara was, like most quiet
+people, singularly observant, and she noted with interest, not unmixed
+with pity, how nervous Gladys became as they neared their destination.
+Mingling with her pity was a great curiosity to see the young man whose
+image seemed to dwell in the constant heart of Gladys. It was a romance,
+redeemed from vulgarity by the beauty and the sweet individuality of the
+chief actor in it.
+
+'I shall not knock. Don't let James get down,' cried Gladys, when the
+carriage stopped at the familiar door. 'I shall just run in. I have a
+fancy to enter unannounced.'
+
+Clara nodded, and Gladys, springing out, opened and closed the familiar
+door. Her very limbs shook as she went lightly along the dark passage
+and pushed open the kitchen door. It was unchanged, yet somehow sadly
+changed. A desolateness chilled her to the soul as she looked round the
+wide, gaunt place, saw the feeble fire choking in the grate, and the
+remains of a poor meal on the uncovered table. The light struggling
+through the barred windows had never looked upon a more cheerless
+picture. All things, they say, are judged by contrast. Perhaps it was
+the contrast to what she had just left which made Gladys think she had
+never seen her old home look more wretched and forlorn.
+
+So lightly had she entered, and so lightly did she steal up the
+warehouse stair, that the solitary being making out accounts at the desk
+was not aware of her presence until she spoke. And then, oh how timid
+her look and tone, just as if she feared greatly her reception.
+
+'Excuse me coming in, Walter. I wanted so much to see you, I could not
+help coming. I will not hinder you long.'
+
+He leaped up in the greatness of his surprise, in his agitation knocking
+over the stool on which he had been sitting. His face was dusky red, his
+firm mouth trembling, as he touched for a moment the outstretched,
+daintily-gloved hand.
+
+'Oh, it is you? Won't you sit down? It is a battered old chair, but if
+you wait a moment I'll bring you another,' he said awkwardly.
+
+'No, don't. I have often sat on this box. I can sit on it again,' she
+said unsteadily. 'I won't sit on ten chairs, Walter, though you should
+bring them to me this moment.'
+
+She sat down, and her movement sent a faint whiff of perfume about her,
+dainty as herself. And then there was just a moment's painful silence.
+The awkwardness of the moment dwelt with them both; it would be hard to
+say which felt it more.
+
+'I suppose,' said Walter stiffly, 'you are getting on all right?'
+
+'Yes. I thought you would have come to see me before this, Walter,' said
+Gladys quietly.
+
+'You need not have thought so. I said I wouldn't come, that nothing
+would induce me to come,' he answered shortly.
+
+'We are going away into Ayrshire, so I thought I must come to say
+good-bye,' Gladys said then.
+
+'To your estate?'
+
+'No; to Troon, where the sea is.'
+
+'Oh, and will you stay long?'
+
+'Perhaps all the summer. How are you getting on here all alone, Walter?
+You must tell me that.'
+
+'Oh, well enough.'
+
+'Does Mrs. Macintyre come to work for you?'
+
+'Yes, morning and night she looks in. I'm going to make this thing pay.'
+
+He looked as if he meant it. His square jaw was firmly set, his whole
+look that of a man determined to succeed.
+
+'I hope you will, Walter. I feel sure of it,' she said brightly.
+
+'It'll be awful drudgery for a while,' he continued, almost in the
+confidential tones of yore. 'To have so much money, your uncle had the
+poorest way of doing business. He had the customers all under his thumb,
+and made them fetch and carry what they wanted themselves; in that way
+he saved a man's wages. I'm not giving anything on credit, and after
+they've once freed themselves, and can pay cash for what they get,
+they'll want it delivered to them, and quite right. Then I'll get a man
+and a horse and cart, and when I once get that, the thing will grow like
+a mushroom.'
+
+'How clever you are to think of all that!' said Gladys admiringly. 'I am
+quite sure you will succeed.'
+
+'I mean to,' he said soberly, but with a quiet determination which
+convinced Gladys how much in earnest he was.
+
+'But don't let success make you hard, Walter,' she said gently.
+'Remember how we used to plan what we should do for the poor if we were
+rich.'
+
+'Your opportunity is here, then,' he said sharply; 'mine is only to
+come.'
+
+The tone, more than the words, wounded her afresh. Oh, this was not the
+Walter of old! She rose from the old box a trifle wearily, and looked
+round her with slightly saddened air.
+
+'Have you heard anything of your sister?' she asked him.
+
+'No, nothing.'
+
+'She has never written to any one?'
+
+'No. I think she has gone to London to join a theatre. The girl who was
+her chum thinks so too.'
+
+'Are your father and mother well?'
+
+'As well as they deserve to be. They wanted to come here and live. Had
+they been decent and respectable, it wouldn't have been a bad
+arrangement. As they are, I simply wouldn't have it; I'd _never_ get on.
+Of course they cast my pride in my teeth, but God knows I have little
+enough to be proud of.'
+
+His mood cast its dark spell over the girl's sensitive heart, and she
+turned to go.
+
+'It is all so different,' she said in a low voice, 'but the difference
+is not in me. Shall we never meet now, Walter?'
+
+'It will be better not. If I ever succeed, and I have sworn to do it, we
+may then meet on more equal ground,' he said steadily, and not a sign of
+the unutterable longing in his heart betrayed itself in his set face.
+His pride was as cruel as the grave.
+
+'Till then it is good-bye, then, I suppose?' she said quietly.
+
+'Yes, till then; the day will come, or I shall know the reason why.'
+
+'But it may be too late then, Walter, for us both.'
+
+With these words, destined to ring their warning changes in his ears for
+many days, she left him, without touch of the hand or other farewell.
+
+'Well, dear,' said Clara, with a slightly quizzical smile, 'has it made
+you happier to revive the ghosts of the past?'
+
+'No; you were right, and I wrong,' said Gladys, as she sank into the
+cushioned seat. 'It was a great mistake.'
+
+But even Clara did not know how dark was the shadow which had settled
+down on the girl's gentle soul.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+THE SWEETS OF LIFE.
+
+
+From that day a change was observed in Gladys Graham. It was as if she
+had suddenly awakened from a dream, to find herself surrounded by the
+realities of life. Her listlessness vanished, her pensive moods became
+things of the past. None could be more interested in every plan and
+project, however small, in which the Fordyce household were concerned.
+She became lively, merry, energetic; it seemed impossible for her to be
+still.
+
+'Now, what do you suppose is the matter with Gladys, Clara?' said Mina,
+the morning of the day they were to leave town. 'You who pretend to be a
+philosopher and a reader of character ought to be able to solve that
+mystery.'
+
+'What do you see the matter with her?' inquired Clara, answering the
+question by another, as was her way when she did not want to commit
+herself to an expression of opinion.
+
+'Why, she is a different girl. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it. She
+carries that Len to outrageous lengths, and if you don't call her
+behaviour at Aunt Margaret's last night the most prominent flirtation,
+I don't know what it is.'
+
+'Just put it to Gladys, Mina. If she ever heard the word flirtation, I
+am positive she doesn't know what it means.'
+
+'Oh, fiddle-de-dee!--every woman, unless she is a fool, knows
+intuitively what flirtation means, and can put it in practice. But it
+struck me last night that Aunt Margaret rather encouraged George to pay
+attention to Gladys. Of course it was quite marked.'
+
+'Why should she encourage it?' asked Clara, with a slight inflection of
+huskiness in her voice.
+
+'Clara, really you are too obtuse, or pretend to be. Of course it would
+be a fine thing for them. She belongs to an old Ayrshire family, and
+poor Aunt Margaret adores lineage. If she could with any effrontery
+assume it herself, she would; but, alas! everybody knows where the
+Fordyces came from. They'll angle for our dear little ward this summer,
+and bait the hook with gold.'
+
+'Really, you are vulgar, Mina,' said Clara a trifle coldly, and, bending
+over an open trunk, busied herself with some of the trifles in the tray.
+'We are sure to forget a thousand things. Do you think everything is
+here which ought to go?' she said, deliberately changing the subject.
+
+'Oh, I don't know. We shall be glad of any excuse to come up in a week.
+If it is fearfully slow I'm coming back to keep Leonard company. Well, I
+suppose we must make haste. The cabs will be here directly.'
+
+'Not till after breakfast, surely. There is the gong. Are you ready?'
+
+'Yes; just put in this stud for me, like a dear. How elegant you look,
+just as if you had stepped from a bandbox. How do you manage to be so
+tidy, and yet always so graceful? When I am tidy I am stiff as a poker.'
+
+Clara laughed, and, having fastened the refractory collar-button, bent
+her stately head, and gave her sister a kiss.
+
+'Don't attempt to be too tidy, it will spoil your individuality.'
+
+ '"They were two sisters of one race,
+ She was the fairest in the face,"'
+
+sang Mina, as she bounded down-stairs--not disdaining, in spite of her
+eighteen years, to slide down the last few feet of the banisters; only
+she took care to see that nobody but Clara was in sight.
+
+It was a very happy breakfast-table, though Leonard, whose classes kept
+him in town, affected a melancholy mood.
+
+'I have only one piece of advice to give you, Gladys, in addition to my
+parting blessing,' he said teasingly. 'How much will you give for it?'
+
+'How much is it worth?' she flashed back in a moment, her eyes dancing
+with fun.
+
+'Untold gold, as you will find if you take it.'
+
+'I can't buy it at the price,' she answered demurely.
+
+'Well, I'll give it for nothing, in gratitude for the peace I shall
+enjoy this evening. Mamma, mayn't I come down Wednesday nights as well
+as Fridays?'
+
+'No, my dear, you mayn't,' replied Mrs. Fordyce, shaking her head. 'If
+you work hard all week, you will enjoy your Saturdays all the more.'
+
+'All right. Papa and I will have high jinks; see if we don't,' said the
+lad, with a series of little nods towards the newspaper which hid his
+father's face.
+
+Mr. Fordyce did not hear this remark, though he looked up in mild
+surprise at the laughter it provoked.
+
+'You seem very merry, Len, my boy. It is time you were off.'
+
+'Yes, I know. That's the way a fellow's treated in this house--not
+allowed five minutes to eat a decent breakfast. Well, I'm off. Good-bye,
+all.'
+
+'The advice, Leonard?' asked Gladys, when he came round to her chair.
+
+He bent down, whispered something in her ear, and ran off.
+
+'What did he say, Gladys. Do tell us?' cried Mina, in curiosity.
+
+'I must, because I don't understand it,' answered Gladys. 'He said,
+"_Don't_ let them take you for a walk on the Ballast Bank." What did he
+mean?'
+
+'Oh, the Ballast Bank is the only promenade Troon can boast of, and Len
+has a rooted aversion to it,' replied Mina. 'He is a most absurd boy.'
+
+In spite, however, of Leonard's advice, many a delightful blow did
+Gladys enjoy on the Ballast Bank.
+
+The spring winds had not yet lost their wintry touch on the Ayrshire
+coast. Sweeping in from the sea, they made sport with the golfers on the
+Links, and taxed their skill to the utmost. The long stretch of grey
+sand upon which the great green waves rolled in and broke with no gentle
+murmur, the wide expanse of the still wintry-looking sea, the enchanting
+pictures to be seen in the clear morning light, where the Arran hills
+stood out so bold and rugged against the sky, and at sunset, when the
+tossing waters were sometimes stilled into an exquisite rest, all these
+were revelations to the girl who had the soul and the eye of an artist,
+and she drank them in with no ordinary draught of enjoyment. She lived
+out of doors. Wind and weather could not keep her in the house. When the
+rain-drops blew fierce and wild in the gale, she would start across the
+garden, out by the little gate to the beach, and, close by the edge of
+the angry sea, watch the great waves rolling in to her feet, and as she
+looked, her eyes grew large and luminous, and she would draw great
+breaths of delight; the wideness of the sea satisfied her, its wildest
+moods only breathed into her soul an ineffable calm.
+
+In the course of a week the Pollokshields Fordyces also arrived at their
+Coast residence, and there began to be a quite unprecedented amount of
+friendly coming and going between the two families. It became evident
+before long that George Fordyce appeared to find some great attraction
+at The Anchorage, though in former years he had only presented himself
+at rare intervals during the months his people were at the sea-side. And
+those who looked on saw quite well how matters were drifting, and each
+viewed it in a different light. The most unconscious, of course, was
+Gladys herself. She knew that everybody was kind to her--George Fordyce,
+perhaps, specially so. He could be a very gallant squire when he liked.
+He was master of all the little attentions women love, and in his manner
+towards Gladys managed to infuse a certain deference, not untouched by
+tenderness, which she found quite gratifying. She had so long lived a
+meagre, barren existence that she seemed almost greedy of the lovely and
+pleasant things of life. She enjoyed wearing her beautiful gowns, living
+in luxurious rooms, eating dainty food at a well-appointed table. In all
+that there was nothing unnatural, it was but the inevitable reaction
+after what she had gone through. She began to understand that life has
+two sides, one for the rich and one for the poor, and she was glad,
+with an honest, simple gladness, that she had been permitted to taste
+the best last. She retained her simple, genuine manner; but her soul had
+had its first taste of power, and found it surpassing sweet. Beauty and
+riches had proved themselves valuable in her eyes, and there were times
+when she looked back upon the old life with a shudder. In the
+intoxication, of that first summer of her new life, memory of Walter
+grew dim in her heart. She thought of him but seldom, never of her own
+free will. Unconsciously she was learning a lesson which wealth and
+power so arrogantly strive to teach--to put away from her all unpleasant
+thoughts. Let us not blame her. She was very young, and experience has
+to lead the human heart by many tortuous ways to full understanding. So
+Gladys lived her happy, careless, girlish summer by the sea, enjoying it
+to the full.
+
+'Tom,' said Mrs. Fordyce to her husband one afternoon, as they sat at
+the drawing-room window watching the young folks in the garden, 'do you
+think there is anything serious between Gladys and George Fordyce?'
+
+'Eh, what? No, I don't think so.'
+
+'Well, I do. Just look at them at this moment.'
+
+They were sauntering arm in arm on the path within the shadow of the
+garden wall, Gladys with a bunch of pink sea daisies in her hand, a
+pretty bit of colour against her white gown. There was a tint as
+delicate in the fair cheek under the big sun hat, brought there,
+perhaps, by some of her companion's words. His attitude and bearing were
+certainly lover-like, and his handsome head was bent rather nearer the
+big sun hat than Mrs. Fordyce altogether approved.
+
+'Well, I must say, my dear, it looks rather like it, only I've heard the
+girls say that George is a great flirt.'
+
+'He is, but I don't think it's flirting in this case,' said Mrs. Fordyce
+seriously. 'I am afraid we, or at least I, have been very indiscreet.'
+
+'You wouldn't approve then, Isabel? George is a trifle vain and silly,
+but I never heard anything against his character.'
+
+'I suppose not. We would be the last to hear any such rumours. But it
+isn't fair to the girl; she has not had a chance. Do you know what
+people will say of us, Tom? That we took her away down here and shut her
+up among ourselves for the very purpose of matchmaking. It is a blessing
+our Leonard is only a boy, but it is bad enough that it should be our
+nephew.'
+
+'There's a good deal of truth in what you say, but the world must just
+wag its stupid tongue. If the thing is to be, we can't prevent it.'
+
+'We can, we must. She is only a child, Tom. I feel quite convicted of my
+own sinful want of observation. I have been thinking of it all day, and
+my mind is made up, provided you, as her guardian, will give your
+consent. She must go abroad. Do you remember Henrietta Duncan, who
+married the French officer? She is living in Bruges now, taking a few
+English ladies into her house. Gladys must go there.'
+
+Mr. Fordyce looked at his wife in profound astonishment. He had not
+often heard her speak in such a very determined manner.
+
+'Why, of course I can't have any objections, if the child herself is
+willing to go,' he said. 'Not that I believe it will do an atom of good.
+If there is a love affair in the matter, opposition is the very life of
+them. Don't you remember our own case?' he asked, referring, with a
+smile, to the old romance which had kept them true through years of
+opposition and discouragement.
+
+'I haven't forgotten it,' she said, with an answering smile, 'only it is
+impossible these two in so short a time can be seriously involved. I'll
+find out this very day.'
+
+'You are not in favour of it, Isabel, and a wilful woman must have her
+way.'
+
+'It's not altogether fear of the world's opinion, Tom; there's something
+about George I don't--nay, can't like. He is very handsome, and can be
+very agreeable, but I never feel that he is sincere, and he is
+profoundly selfish. Even his mother says that.'
+
+'Ay, well, she would need kind dealing, Isabel; she is a highly-strung
+creature,' said the lawyer thoughtfully, and the subject dropped.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+PLANS.
+
+
+While these golden days were speeding by the sea, Bourhill was being put
+in order for its young mistress. Her interest in the alterations was
+very keen; there were very few days in which they did not drive to the
+old house, and Mrs. Fordyce was surprised alike at the common-sense and
+the artistic taste she displayed in that interest.
+
+'Do you think, dear Mrs. Fordyce,' she asked one day, when they happened
+to be alone together at Bourhill,--'do you think the house could be
+ready for me by the end of September, when you return to Glasgow?'
+
+'It will be ready, of course; there is really very little to do now,'
+replied Mrs. Fordyce. 'But why do you ask?'
+
+'Why, because if it is ready, then I need not go up with you. You have
+been very kind--I can never, never forget it; but, of course, when I
+have a home of my own it would not be right of me to trespass any longer
+on your kindness,' said Gladys thoughtfully.
+
+Mrs. Fordyce could not forbear a smile.
+
+'How old are you, my dear? I do not know that I have ever heard your age
+exactly.'
+
+'I shall be eighteen next month.'
+
+'Eighteen next month?--not a very responsible age. Is it possible, my
+dear, that you feel perfectly fit to take possession here, that you
+would have no tremors regarding your lonely position and your
+responsibility?'
+
+'I have no such feeling, Mrs. Fordyce. I could live here quite well. Is
+there any reason why I should not?' she asked, observing the doubtful
+expression on the face of her kind friend.
+
+'It is quite impossible, my dear, whatever your feelings may
+be,--altogether out of the question that you should live here alone.'
+
+'But tell me why? I am not a child. I have always seemed to occupy a
+responsible position, where I have had to think and act for myself.'
+
+'Yes, you have; but your position is entirely altered now. It would not
+be proper for you to live in this great house alone, with no company but
+that of servants. Mr. Fordyce would but poorly fulfil his promise to
+your poor uncle if he entertained such an idea for a moment. If you are
+to live at Bourhill at all, you must have a responsible person to live
+with you. But we had other plans for you.'
+
+'Tell me what plans, please,' said Gladys, with that simple directness
+which made evasion of any question impossible to her, or to any
+conversing with her.
+
+'Mr. Fordyce and I have thought that it would be to your advantage to
+winter abroad. I have an old school-friend, who married a French
+officer, and who is now left widowed in poor circumstances in Bruges.
+You would be most happy and comfortable with Madame Bonnemain. She is
+one of the sweetest and most charming of women, musical and cultured;
+her companionship would be invaluable to you.'
+
+'I do not think I wish to go abroad, meanwhile. Would you and Mr.
+Fordyce think it ungrateful if I refused to go?'
+
+'Well, no,' replied Mrs. Fordyce, though with a slight accent of
+surprise. 'But can you tell me what is your objection?'
+
+'I want to come here and live just as soon as it is possible,' said
+Gladys, looking round the dismantled house with wistful, affectionate
+eyes. 'I want to have my very own house; I can never feel that it is
+mine until I live in it; and I have many plans.'
+
+'Would you mind telling me some of them?' said Mrs. Fordyce rather
+anxiously. She was a very practical person--attentive to the laws of
+conventionality, and she did not feel at all sure of the views
+entertained by her husband's ward.
+
+'I want to be a help to people, if I can,' said Gladys, 'especially to
+working girls in Glasgow--to those poor creatures who sew in the garrets
+and cellars. I know of them. I have seen them at their work, and it is
+dreadful to me to think of them. Sometimes this summer, when I have been
+so happy, I have thought of some I know, and reproached myself with my
+own selfish forgetfulness. You see, if I do not help where I _know_ of
+the need, I am not a good steward of the money God has given me.'
+
+'But tell me, my dear child, how would you propose to help?' asked Mrs.
+Fordyce, inwardly touched, but wishing to understand clearly what Gladys
+wished and intended to do. There seemed no indecision or wavering about
+her, she spoke with all the calm dignity of a woman who knew and owned
+her responsibilities.
+
+'I can help them in various ways. I can have them here sometimes,
+especially when they are not strong; so many of them are not strong,
+Mrs. Fordyce. Oh, I have been so sorry for them, and some of them have
+never, never been out of these dreadful streets. Oh, I can help them in
+a thousand ways.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce was silent, not knowing very well how to answer. She saw
+many difficulties ahead, yet hesitated to chill the girl's young
+enthusiasm, which seemed a beautiful and a heavenly thing even to the
+woman of the world, who believed that it could never come to fruition.
+
+'There is something else which might be done. What would you say to
+Madame Bonnemain coming here to live with you as housekeeper and
+chaperon?'
+
+'If you, knowing us both, think it would be a happy arrangement, I shall
+be happy,' Gladys said; and the wisdom of the reply struck Mrs. Fordyce.
+Certainly, in many respects Gladys spoke and acted like a woman who had
+tasted the experience of life.
+
+'My love, anybody could live with you, and unless sorrow and care have
+materially changed Henrietta Bonnemain, anybody could live with her,'
+she said cheerfully. 'Suppose we take a little trip to Belgium, and see
+what can be done to arrange it?'
+
+'Oh yes, that would be delightful. I shall know just at once whether
+Madame Bonnemain and I can be happy together. Is she a Scotch lady?'
+
+'To the backbone. She was born at Shandon, on the Gairloch, and we went
+to Brussels to school together. She never came back--married at
+eighteen, Gladys, and only a wife five years. She has had a hard life,'
+said Mrs. Fordyce, and her eyes grew dim over the memories of her youth.
+
+'Can we go soon, then?' asked Gladys fervently; 'just when they are
+finishing the house? Then we could bring Madame back with us.'
+
+'My dear, you will not let the grass grow under your feet, nor allow any
+one else to loiter by the way,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a laugh. 'Well,
+we shall see what Mr. Fordyce has to say to-night to these grand plans.'
+
+Some days after that conversation, Mrs. Macintyre was labouring over her
+washing-tub in her very limited domain in the back court off Colquhoun
+Street, when a quick, light knock came to her door.
+
+'Come in,' she said, not thinking it worth while to look round, or to
+lift her hands from the suds.
+
+'Good-morning, Mrs. Macintyre. How are you to-day?' she heard a sweet
+voice say, and in a moment she became interested and excited.
+
+'Mercy me, miss, is't you? an' me in a perfick potch,' she said
+apologetically. 'No' a corner for ye to step dry on, nor a seat to sit
+doon on. Could ye no' jist tak' a walk the length o' the auld place or I
+redd up a wee?'
+
+'No, no, Mrs. Macintyre,' replied Gladys, with a laugh. 'Never mind,
+I'll get a seat somewhere. I have come to see you very particularly, and
+I'm not going to take any walks till our business is settled. And are
+you quite well?'
+
+''Deed, I'm jist middlin',' said the good woman, and then, with one
+extraordinary sweep of her bare arm, she gathered all the soiled linen
+off the floor and pushed it under the bed, then vigorously rubbing up a
+chair, she spread a clean apron on it, and having persuaded Gladys to
+sit down, stood straight in front of her, looking at her with a species
+of adoring admiration.
+
+'Ye micht hae let a body ken ye were comin'. Sic a potch,' she said
+ruefully. 'My, but ye are a picter, an nae mistak'.'
+
+Gladys laughed, and the sound rang through the place like sweetest
+music.
+
+'Have you not been quite well? I think you are thinner,' she said
+kindly.
+
+'No, I've no' been up to muckle; fair helpless some days wi' rheumatics.
+The washin's no' extra guid for them, but a body maun dae something for
+meat. I've anither mooth to fill noo. My guid-brither, Bob Johnson, is
+deid since I saw ye, an' I've been obleeged to tak' Tammy--no' an ill
+loon. He's at the schule, or ye wad hae seen him.'
+
+'I don't suppose you would be sorry to leave this place and give up the
+washing if you could get something easier?' said Gladys.
+
+'No' me; a' places are the same to me. Hae ye been up by?' asked Mrs.
+Macintyre significantly.
+
+Gladys shook her head.
+
+'I came to see whether you would come and live in the lodge at my gate.
+It is a nice little house, and I would like to have you near me; you
+were such a kind friend in the old days.'
+
+Mrs. Macintyre drew her rough hand across her eyes, and turned somewhat
+sharply back to her wash-tub, and for the moment she gave no answer,
+good or bad.
+
+'What aboot Tammy?' she asked at length.
+
+'Oh, he could come with you, of course. He could go to school in
+Mauchline just as well as in Glasgow. Just say you'll come. I've set my
+heart on it, and nobody refuses me anything just now.'
+
+'I'll come fast enough,' said Mrs. Macintyre, rubbing away as for dear
+life at her wash-board, upon which the big salt tears were dropping
+surreptitiously. 'Me no' want to leave this place? I'm no' that fond
+o't. Sometimes it's a perfect wee hell in this stair; it's no' guid for
+Tammy or ony wean. 'Deed, it's no' guid for onybody livin' in sic a
+place; but if ye are puir, an' tryin' to live decent, ye jist have to
+pit up wi' what ye can pay for. Ay, I'll come fast enough, an' thank ye
+kindly. But ye micht get a mair genty body for yer gate. I'm a rough
+tyke, an' aye was.'
+
+'It is you I want,' replied Gladys; then, in a few words, she explained
+the very liberal arrangement she had in view for her old friend. After
+that, a little silence fell upon them, and a great wistfulness gathered
+in the girl's gentle eyes.
+
+'So ye hinna been up by?' said Mrs. Macintyre. 'Are ye gaun?'
+
+'Not to-day. Is Walter well?'
+
+'Ay, he is weel. He's a fine chap, an' he's in terrible earnest aboot
+something,' said Mrs. Macintyre thoughtfully, as she shook out the
+garment she had been rubbing. 'There's a something deep doon in thon
+heart no' mony can see. But the place is no' the place it was to him or
+to me. What way wull ye no' gang up? Eh, but he wad be fell glad to see
+ye, my lady'--
+
+'I am not going to-day,' replied Gladys quietly, and even with a touch
+of coldness. 'You can tell him, if you like, that I was here, and that I
+hoped he was well.'
+
+'Ay, I'll tell him. And are ye happy, my doo?'
+
+It was a beautiful and touching thing to see the rare tenderness in the
+woman's plain face as she asked that question.
+
+'Yes, I--I think so,' Gladys replied, but she got up suddenly from her
+seat, and her voice gave a suspicious tremor. 'Money can do a great
+deal, Mrs. Macintyre, but it cannot do everything--not everything.'
+
+'Aweel, no. I dinna pray muckle,--there's no' muckle encouragement for
+sic releegious ordinances this airt,--but I whiles speir at the Lord no'
+to mak' siller a wecht for ye to cairry. Weel, are ye awa?'
+
+'Yes; good-bye. When you come down to Bourhill, after I come back, we'll
+have long talks. I shall be so glad to have you there.'
+
+'Aweel, wha wad hae thocht it? Ye'll no' rue'd, my doo, if I'm spared,
+that's a' the thanks I can gie. An' wull ye no' gang up by?'
+
+There was distinct anxiety in her repetition of the question. But
+Gladys, with averted head, hastened towards the door.
+
+'Not to-day. Good-bye,' she said quickly; and, with a warm hand-shake,
+which anew convinced the honest woman that the girl in prosperity
+remained unchanged, she went her way.
+
+But instead of going back through the lane to Argyle Street, she
+continued up the familiar dull street till she reached the warehouse
+door. She stopped outside, and there being no one in sight, she laid her
+slender hand on the handle with a lingering--ay, a caressing touch, and
+then, as if ashamed, she turned about and quickly hurried out of sight.
+
+And no one saw that tender, touching little act except a grimy sparrow
+on the leads, and he flew off with a loud chirp, and, joining a
+neighbour on the old stunted tree, made so much noise that it was just
+possible he was delivering his opinion of the whole matter.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+ACROSS THE CHANNEL.
+
+
+For the first time in her life Gladys tasted the novelty of foreign
+travel. It was quite a lady's party, consisting of Mrs. Fordyce and her
+daughters, though Mr. Fordyce had promised to join them somewhere
+abroad, especially if they remained too long away; also, there were
+vague promises on the part of the Pollokshields cousins to meet them in
+Paris, after the main object of their visit to Belgium was accomplished.
+
+They stayed a week in London--not the London Gladys remembered as in a
+shadowy dream. The luxurious life of a first-rate hotel had nothing in
+it to remind her of the poor, shabby lodging on the Surrey side of the
+river, which was her early and only recollection of the great city. At
+the end of a week they crossed from Dover to Ostend, and in the warm,
+golden light of a lovely autumn evening arrived in quaint, old-world,
+sleepy Bruges. Madame Bonnemain herself met them at the station, a
+bright-eyed, red-cheeked, happy-faced little woman, on whom the care and
+the worry of life appeared to have sat but lightly during all these hard
+years. She was visibly affected at meeting with her old school-friend.
+
+'Why, Henrietta, you are not one bit changed; you actually look younger
+than ever,' exclaimed Mrs. Fordyce, when the first agitation, of the
+meeting was over. 'Positively, you look as young as you did in Brussels
+eight-and-twenty years ago. Just look at me. Yes, these are my
+daughters; and this is Gladys Graham, whom I am so anxious to see under
+your care.'
+
+The bright, sharp eyes of Madame Bonnemain took in the three girls at
+one comprehensive glance, then she shook her head with a half-arch,
+half-regretful smile.
+
+'A year ago such a prospect would have seemed to lift me to paradise.
+Times have been hard with me, Isabel--never harder than last year; but
+it is always the darkest hour before the dawn, as we used to say in
+Brussels, when the days seemed interminably awful just before vacation.
+Two carriages we must have for so many women. Ah, I am so glad my house
+is quite, quite empty.'
+
+Beckoning to the drivers of two rather rickety old carriages, somewhat
+resembling in form the old English chaise, she put all the girls in one,
+and seated herself beside Mrs. Fordyce in the other.
+
+'Now we can talk. The children will be happier without us. How good, how
+very good, it is to see you again, Isabel, and how my heart warms to you
+even yet.'
+
+'It was your own fault, Henrietta, that we did not meet oftener. You
+have always refused my invitations--sometimes without much ceremony,'
+said Mrs. Fordyce rather reproachfully.
+
+'Pride, my dear--Scotch pride; that is what kept me vegetating in this
+awful place when my heart was in the Highlands. Tell me about Gairloch
+and Helensburgh, and dear old Glasgow. I have never forgotten it,
+though I was too proud to parade my poverty in its streets.'
+
+'I will tell you nothing, Henrietta, till I hear what all this means.
+Have you really been worse off lately?'
+
+'My dear, for twelve months I have not had a creature in my house,' said
+Madame Bonnemain, and her face grew graver and older in its
+outline,--'positively not a creature. Bruges has gone down as a place
+for English residents, and I don't wonder at it.'
+
+'It is very beautiful, Henrietta,' said Mrs. Fordyce quickly,--'so
+quaint; everything about it a picture.'
+
+'People can't live on quaintness, my love, and the narrowness and
+tyranny of it is intolerable. I hate it. When I go away from Bruges I
+never want to set eyes on it again as long as I live.'
+
+Her eyes shone, her cheeks grew red, her little mouth set itself in
+quite a determined curve. Mrs. Fordyce perceived that she had some
+serious umbrage against the old Flemish town--a grudge which would never
+be wiped away. And yet it _was_ very picturesque, with its grey old
+houses, its quaint spires, its flat fields spreading away from the
+canal, its rows of stately poplar trees.
+
+'There is nothing really more terrible, Isabel, than the English life in
+a foreign town. It is so narrow, so petty--I had almost said so
+degraded. I should not have taken your pretty ward into my house here
+suppose you had prayed me to do it. Nothing could possibly be worse for
+a young girl; she could not escape its influence. No, I should never
+have taken her here.'
+
+'Why have you stayed so long, then, Henrietta, among such undesirable
+surroundings?'
+
+'Because it is cheap. There is no other reason in this world would keep
+anybody in Bruges,' replied Madame promptly.
+
+'But you have not yet told me why you cannot take the position offered
+you.'
+
+Then Madame turned her bright eyes, over-running with laughter, to her
+friend, and there was a blush, faint and rosy as a girl's, on her cheek.
+
+'Because, my dear, I have accepted another situation--a permanent one. I
+am going to marry again.'
+
+'Oh, Henrietta, impossible!'
+
+'Quite true, my dear.'
+
+'Another foreign gentleman, of course?'
+
+'Why of course? No, I am going to rise in the world. I am going to marry
+an English colonel, Isabel, and return to my own land. I believe I told
+him that was my chief reason for accepting him at first.'
+
+'But not at last?' hazarded Mrs. Fordyce, with a teasing smile.
+
+'Well, no; romance is not dead yet, Isabel. But I shall tell you my
+story by and by. Here we are.'
+
+The carriages rattled across the market-place, and drew up before one of
+the quaint, grey, green-shuttered houses. The _concierge_ rose lazily
+from his chair within the shadow of the court, and showed himself at the
+door. The ladies alighted, and were ushered into the small plain abode
+where Madame Bonnemain had so long struggled for existence. All were
+charmed with it and with her. She made them feel at home at once. Often
+Gladys looked at her, and felt her heart drawn towards her. Yes, with
+that bright, sympathetic little woman, she could be happy at Bourhill.
+But somewhat late that night Mrs. Fordyce came into her room and sat
+down by her bed.
+
+'My dear, are you asleep? We have come on a fruitless errand; Madame
+Bonnemain cannot come to you. She is going to be married almost
+immediately, so what are we to do now?'
+
+'It is a great disappointment,' said Gladys. 'I like her so much. Yes,
+what are we to do now?'
+
+'You must just come to us for another winter, Gladys; there is nothing
+else for it.'
+
+Gladys lay still a moment, revolving something in her mind.
+
+'Would it be proper for me to have an unmarried lady to live with me,
+Mrs. Fordyce?' she asked suddenly.
+
+'Quite, if she were old enough.'
+
+'How old?'
+
+'Middle-aged, at least.'
+
+'Then I know somebody who will do; it is a beautiful arrangement,' cried
+Gladys joyfully. 'In the little fen village where we lived, my father
+and I, there is a lady, Miss Peck--we lived in her house. She was very
+kind to us, and yet so poor; yes, I think she would come.'
+
+'Is she a lady, Gladys?'
+
+'If to be a lady is to have a heart of gold, which never thinks one
+unselfish thought, she is one, Mrs. Fordyce,' said Gladys warmly.
+
+'These are the attributes of a lady, of course, Gladys, but there are
+other things, my dear, which _must_ be considered. If this Miss Peck is
+to sit at your table, help you to guide your household, and be your
+constant companion, she must be a very superior person.'
+
+'She was well brought up. I think her father was a surgeon in Boston,'
+said Gladys; and these words at once relieved the lawyer's wife.
+
+'If that is so, she may be the very person for whom we are seeking. You
+are sure she is still there?'
+
+'Yes,' replied Gladys reluctantly. 'I wrote to her in the summer. Mr.
+Fordyce allowed me to send her some money,--not in charity, it was the
+payment of a just debt,--and when she replied I knew by her letter that
+she was still very poor. I have always meant to have her come to me at
+Bourhill, but it will be delightful if she can come altogether.'
+
+'You have a good heart, Gladys; you will not forget those who have
+befriended you.'
+
+'I hope not, I pray not; only sometimes I am afraid it is harder for
+some reasons to be rich than poor.'
+
+These words slightly surprised Mrs. Fordyce, though she did not ask an
+explanation of them.
+
+'Try to sleep, my child, and don't worry your dear brain with plans,'
+she said, and, with a motherly kiss, returned to the little _salon_ to
+enjoy the rare luxury of recalling old memories she had shared with the
+friend of her youth. They sat far on into the night, and before they
+parted Mrs. Fordyce was in full possession of the whole story of these
+weary and sordid years through which Henrietta Bonnemain had
+uncomplainingly borne her burden of poverty and care.
+
+'Then the Colonel turned up,' she concluded, with a curious little
+tender smile; 'just when my affairs were at the lowest ebb he came here
+to visit an old regimental friend who lives over the way. So we met, and
+both being unattached, we drew to each other, and next month we are to
+be married.'
+
+'Tell me about him, Henrietta, tell me all about him. I declare I am as
+silly and curious as a school-girl--far more curious about this new
+lover of yours than I ever was about the old.'
+
+'There is no comparison between the two, Isabel--none at all. Captain
+Bonnemain was a good man, and he loved me dearly, but it is nearly
+always a mistake to marry a foreigner. It seems a cruel thing to say,
+but I never felt to poor Louis as I felt to the noble Englishman who has
+done me so great an honour.'
+
+Her eyes were full of tears. Mrs. Fordyce saw that she was deeply moved.
+
+'I do not know what he sees in me. He is so handsome, so noble, and so
+rich, he might marry whom he willed. He has no relatives to be angry
+over it; and he says, if it pleases me, we can buy a place in Scotland,
+on the very shores of the Gairloch. Think of that, Isabel; think of your
+exiled Henrietta returning to _that_. God is too good, and I am too
+happy.'
+
+She bent her head and wept, and these tears betrayed what her exile had
+been to the Scotchwoman's heart. Mrs. Fordyce was scarcely less moved.
+It was a pathetic and beautiful romance.
+
+The Scotch travellers spent a happy week in the old Flemish town; and
+Gladys, who had the artist's quick eye for beauty of colour and
+picturesqueness of detail, carried away with her many little 'bits,' to
+be finished and perfected at home.
+
+Madame Bonnemain journeyed with them to Brussels many times, but
+declined their invitation to accompany them to Paris. They would all
+meet, she said, after a certain happy event was over, in the dear land
+over the sea.
+
+George Fordyce alone joined them in Paris, and, somewhat to his aunt's
+distress, constituted himself at once as cavalier to Gladys. Often, very
+often, the good lady was on the point of speaking plainly to him, but,
+remembering her husband's warning, decided to let matters take their
+course. She watched Gladys narrowly, however, but could discover nothing
+in her demeanour but a frank kindliness, almost such as she might have
+displayed towards a brother. George Fordyce, who had really learned to
+care for the girl, felt that the close companionship of these days in
+Paris had not advanced his cause. He did not know that her mind was so
+engrossed by great plans and high ideals for the life of the coming
+winter that she had no time to bestow on nearer interests. He was a
+prudent youth, and decided to bide his time.
+
+After a month's pleasant loitering abroad, they returned to London.
+George took his cousins home, and Mrs. Fordyce went with Gladys into
+Lincolnshire.
+
+And they found the fen village as of yore, in no wise changed, except
+that a few new graves had been added to the little churchyard. The
+little spinster still abode in her dainty cottage, not much changed,
+except to look a trifle more aged and careworn. The fastidious eye of
+the lawyer's accomplished wife could detect no flaw in the demeanour of
+Miss Peck, and she added her entreaties to those of Gladys. In truth,
+the poor little careworn woman was not hard to persuade. She had no ties
+save those of memory to bind her to the fen country, so she gave her
+promise freely, accepting her new home as a gift from God.
+
+'I shall come one more time here only,' Gladys said, 'to take papa away.
+Mr. Fordyce promised to arrange it for me. He must sleep with his own
+people; and when he is in the old churchyard I shall feel at home in
+Bourhill.'
+
+All these things were done before the year was out; and Christmas saw
+Gladys Graham settled in her new home, ready and eager to take up the
+charge she believed God had entrusted to her--the stewardship of wealth,
+to be used for His glory.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+A HELPING HAND.
+
+
+All this time nothing had been heard of Liz. She was no longer known in
+her old haunts--was almost forgotten, indeed, save by one or two. Among
+those who remained faithful to her memory was the melancholy Teen, and
+she thought of her hour by hour as she sat at her monotonous
+work--thought of her with a great wonder in her soul. Sometimes a little
+bitterness intermingled, and she felt herself aggrieved at having been
+so shabbily treated by her old chum. She had in her quiet way instituted
+a very thorough inquiry into all the circumstances of her flight, and
+had kept a watchful eye on every channel from which the faintest light
+was likely to shine upon the mystery, but at the end of six months it
+was still unsolved. Liz was as irrevocably lost, apparently, as if the
+earth had opened and swallowed her.
+
+Teen had come to the conclusion that Liz had veritably emigrated to
+London, and was there assiduously, and probably successfully, wooing
+fame and fortune. Sometimes the weary burden of her toil was beguiled by
+dreams of a bright day on which Liz, grown a great lady, but still true
+to the old friendship, should come, perhaps, in a coach and pair, up
+the squalid street and remove the little seamstress to be a sharer in
+her glory. In one particular Teen was entirely and persistently loyal to
+her friend. She believed that she had kept herself pure, and when doubts
+had been thrown on that theory by others who believed in her less, she
+had closed their tattling mouths with language such as they were not
+accustomed to hear from her usually reticent lips. These gossip-mongers,
+who flourish in the quarters of the poor and rich alike, speedily
+learned that it was just as well not to mention the name of Liz Hepburn
+to Teen Balfour. One day a visitor, in the shape of a handsomely-dressed
+young lady, did come to the little seamstress's door. Teen gave a great
+start when she saw the tall figure, and her face flushed all over. In
+the semi-twilight which always prevails on the staircases of these great
+grim 'lands' of houses, she had imagined her dream to come true.
+
+'Oh, it's you, miss?' she said, recognising Gladys Graham at last. 'I
+thought it was somebody else. Ye can come in, if ye like.'
+
+The bidding was ungracious, the manner of it as repellent as of yore;
+but Gladys, not easily repulsed, followed the little seamstress across
+the threshold, and closed the door. The heavy, close smell of the place
+made a slight faintness come over her, and she was glad to sink into the
+nearest chair.
+
+'Do you never open your window? It is very close in here.'
+
+'No, I never open it. It takes me a' my time to keep warm as it is.
+There's a perfect gale blaws in, onyhoo, at the chinks. Jist pit yer
+hand at the windy, an' ye'll see.'
+
+Gladys glanced pitifully round the place, and then fixed her lovely,
+compassionate eyes on the figure of the little seamstress, as she took
+up her position again on the stool by the fire and lifted her work.
+
+'You look just as if you had been sitting there continuously since I saw
+you last,' Gladys said involuntarily.
+
+'So I have, maistly,' replied Teen dully, 'an' will sit or they cairry
+me oot.'
+
+'Oh, I hope not; indeed, you will not. Have you had a hard summer?'
+
+'Middlin'; it's been waur. Five weeks in July I had nae wark; but I've
+been langer than that--in winter, too. In summer it's no' sae bad. When
+ye're cauld, ye feel the want o' meat waur.'
+
+'Have you really sometimes not had food?' asked Gladys in a shocked
+voice.
+
+'Whiles. Do _you_ ken onything aboot Liz?' she asked, suddenly breaking
+off, and lifting her large sunken eyes to the sweet face opposite to
+her.
+
+'No; that is one of the things I came about to-day. Have you not heard
+anything of her?'
+
+'No' a cheep. Naebody kens. I gaed up to Colquhoun Street one day to ask
+Walter, but he didna gie me muckle cuttin'. I say, he's gettin' on
+thonder.' She flashed a peculiar, sly glance at Gladys, and under it the
+latter's sensitive colour rose.
+
+'I always knew he would,' she replied quietly. 'And he has not heard
+anything, either? Do you ever see her father and mother?'
+
+'No; but it's the same auld sang. They're no' carin' a button whaur Liz
+is,' said Teen calmly.
+
+'Have you _no_ idea?' asked Gladys.
+
+'Not the least. I may think what I like, but I dinna ken a thing,'
+replied the girl candidly.
+
+'What do you think, then? You knew her so intimately. If you would help
+me, we might do something together,' said Gladys eagerly.
+
+Teen was prevented answering for a moment by a fit of coughing--a dry,
+hacking cough, which racked her weary frame, and brought a dark, slow
+colour into her cadaverous cheek.
+
+'Well, I think she's in London,' she replied at length. 'But it's only a
+guess. She'll turn up some day, nae doot; we maun jist wait till she
+does.'
+
+'I am very sorry for _you_. Will you let me help you? I am living in my
+own home now in Ayrshire. It is lovely there just now--almost as mild as
+summer. Won't you come down and pay me a little visit? It would do you a
+great deal of good.'
+
+Teen laid down her heavy seam and stared at Gladys in genuine amazement,
+then gave a short, strange laugh.
+
+'Ye're takin' a len' o' me, surely,' she said. 'What wad ye dae if I
+took ye at yer word?'
+
+'I mean what I say. I want to speak to you, anyhow, about a great many
+things. How soon could you come? Have you any more work than this to
+do?'
+
+'No; I tak' this hame the nicht,' replied Teen. 'I can come when I
+like.'
+
+'If I stay in town all night, would you go down with me to-morrow?'
+
+'Maybe; but, I say, what do ye mean?'
+
+She leaned her elbows on her knees, and, with her thin face between her
+hands, peered scrutinisingly into her visitor's face. There was a great
+contrast between them, the rich girl and the poor, each the
+representative of a class so widely separated that the gulf seems
+well-nigh impassable.
+
+'I don't mean anything, except that I want to help working girls. I so
+wished for Liz, she was so clever and shrewd; she could have told me
+just what to do. You can help me if you like; you must take her place.
+And at Bourhill you will have a rest--nothing to do but eat and sleep,
+and walk in the country. You will lose that dreadful paleness, which has
+always haunted me whenever I thought of you.'
+
+A curious tremor was visible on the face of the little seamstress, a
+movement of every muscle, and her nerveless fingers could not grasp the
+needle.
+
+'A' richt,' she replied rather huskily. 'I'll come. What time the morn?'
+
+'What time can you be ready? It is quite the same to me when I go. I
+have nothing to do.'
+
+'Well, I can be ready ony time efter twelve; but, I say, what if, when I
+come back, they've gi'en my wark to somebody else? That's certain; ye
+should see the crood waitin' for it--fechtin' for it almost like wild
+cats.'
+
+Gladys shivered, and heavy tears gathered in her eyes as she rose from
+her chair.
+
+'Never mind that. It will be my concern--that is, if you are willing to
+trust me?'
+
+Teen rose also, and for a moment their eyes met in a steady look. 'Yes,'
+she said, 'I trust ye, though I dinna, for the life o' me, ken what ye
+mean.'
+
+There was no demonstration of gratitude on the part of the little
+seamstress; Gladys even felt a trifle chilled and disheartened thinking
+of her after she had left the house. But the gratitude was there. That
+still, cold, self-constrained heart, being awakened to life, never slept
+again. Both lived to bless that bleak November day when the first
+compact had been made between them.
+
+From the city Gladys went by car to Kelvinside, and walked up to
+Bellairs Crescent. Habit is very strong; not yet could the girl, so long
+used to the strictest and most meagre economies, bear to indulge
+herself in small luxuries. The need of the world was always with her.
+She thought always of the many to whom such small sums meant riches. She
+was not expected at Bellairs Crescent, and she found her friends
+entertaining at afternoon tea. Some one was singing when she reached the
+drawing-room door, and when the song was over, she slipped in,
+surprised, and a little taken aback, to see so many people in the room.
+A number of them were known to her; there had been many pleasant
+gatherings at Troon in the summer, and, as was natural, Miss Graham of
+Bourhill, with her interesting personality and her romantic history, had
+received a great deal of attention from the Fordyces' large circle of
+friends. The warmth of the greeting accorded to her made the lovely
+colour flush high in her cheek, and her eyes sparkle with added
+brilliance.
+
+'Yes, I came up only at noon. I have been in the city since then,' she
+replied, in answer to many questions. 'Oh, how do you do, Mr. Fordyce? I
+did not expect to see you.'
+
+'Nor I you,' said George Fordyce impressively. 'I was dragged here by
+Julia against my will, and this is the reward of fraternal virtue.'
+
+It was a daring speech, and the manner conveyed still more than the
+words. The colour broke again over her face in a wavering flood, and her
+eyes down-dropped under his ardent gaze. These things were noted by
+several present, and conclusions rapidly drawn.
+
+'You must not talk nonsense to me,' she said, recovering herself, and
+speaking with her quaint, delightful dignity. 'Remember your promise at
+Paris.'
+
+'What promise? Did I make one?'
+
+'You know you did,' she said reproachfully. 'We agreed to be friendly,
+and between friends there should never be any foolish compliments.'
+
+'Well, I can't keep faith; it's impossible to see you and remember any
+such promise. Besides, it's sober truth,' he replied, growing bolder
+still. 'Let me get you some tea. Isn't it rather lively here? Doesn't it
+make you regret having buried yourself in the backwoods at the very
+beginning of the season?'
+
+'No; I don't care anything about the season,' replied Gladys truthfully.
+'Yes, you may bring me some tea, if you don't stay talking after you
+have brought it. How beautiful Clara is looking to-day.'
+
+'Clara--yes; she's a handsome girl,' said George, regarding his cousin
+with but a languid approval. She looked very handsome and stately in her
+trained gown of brown velvet, with a touch of yellow at the throat, but
+her expression was less bright than usual. The two who spoke of her at
+the moment did not guess that they were responsible for the sudden
+change from gay to grave in her demeanour.
+
+'Oh, Gladys, we were coming down on Saturday, Len and I,' whispered Mina
+at her elbow; 'but now you will stay, and that will do as well. How are
+you supporting life down there just now? and how is that sweet little
+oddity, Miss Caroline Peck?'
+
+'If you call her an oddity, Mina, I cannot talk to you,' said Gladys,
+with a laugh and a shake of the head. 'I am going home to-morrow. Could
+Leonard and you not go down with me?'
+
+'Going home to-morrow! Not if we know it. The people are just going
+away, and we shall have a delightful cosy chat. Here's that tiresome
+George; but _isn't_ he looking handsome? Really, one is proud to have
+such a cousin.'
+
+It was now half-past five, and the company began to disperse. In about
+ten minutes there were no guests left but Gladys and the two cousins
+from Pollokshields.
+
+'Now I can talk to you, my dear child,' said Mrs. Fordyce. 'Why didn't
+you let us know you were coming to town, and one of the girls, at least,
+would have come to meet you?'
+
+'I had something to do in the city, dear Mrs. Fordyce,' replied Gladys.
+'There is something troubling me a good deal just now.'
+
+'What is it? Nothing must be allowed to trouble Miss Graham of Bourhill.
+Her star should always be in the ascendant,' said Mina banteringly.
+
+'It is a mystery--a lost girl,' said Gladys rather gravely. 'Some one I
+knew in the old life, who has disappeared, and nobody knows where she
+has gone.'
+
+'How exciting! Has she not gone "ower the border an' awa', wi' Jock o'
+Hazeldean"?' asked Mina. 'Do tell us about her. What is her name?'
+
+'Lizzie Hepburn; she is the sister of Walter, who was with my uncle,'
+said Gladys gravely. 'It is the strangest thing.'
+
+'George, my dear, look what you are doing. Oh, my beautiful gown!'
+
+It was Mrs. Fordyce who thus turned the conversation. Her nephew,
+handing the cup of tea she had never found time to drink while her
+guests were present, had deliberately spilled it on the front of her
+tea-gown. The incident was laughed over in the end, and the only person
+present who thought of associating his awkwardness with the name Gladys
+had mentioned was Mina, the shrewdest of them all; but though she had
+many a strange and anxious thought on the subject, she held her peace.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+REAL AND IDEAL.
+
+
+The little seamstress had never been out of Glasgow in her life. Even
+the Fair holidays, signal for an almost universal exodus 'doon the
+water,' brought no emancipation for her. It may be imagined that such a
+sudden and unexpected invitation to the country filled her with the
+liveliest anticipation. By eight o'clock that night she had finished her
+pile of work, and immediately made haste with it to the warehouse which
+employed her. When she had received her meagre payment, and had another
+bundle rather contemptuously pushed towards her by the hard-visaged
+forewoman, she experienced quite a little thrill of pride in refusing
+it.
+
+'No, thank you, Mrs. Galbraith; I dinna need ony mair the day,' she
+said, and her face flushed under the forewoman's strong, steady stare.
+
+'Oh, what's up?'
+
+'I'm gaun into the country to visit a lady,' said Teen proudly.
+
+'Oh, all right; there's a hundred waiting on the job, but don't expect
+to be taken on the moment you like to show your face. We can afford to
+be as independent as you.'
+
+'I don't expect to need it,' said Teen promptly, though in truth her
+heart sank a little as she heard these words of doom.
+
+If Gladys failed her, she knew of no other place in that great and evil
+city where she could earn her bread. She even felt a trifle despondent
+as she retraced her steps to her garret, but, trying to throw it off,
+she set herself immediately on entering the house to inspect her
+wardrobe. This was a most interesting occupation, and, after much
+deliberation, she took her best black skirt to pieces, and proceeded to
+hang it as nearly as possible in the latest fashion. Then she had her
+hat to retrim, and a piece of clean lace to sew on her neckband. At four
+o'clock her last candle expired in its socket, and she had to go to bed.
+At the grey dawn she was astir again, and long before the brougham had
+left Bellairs Crescent with Gladys, Teen was waiting, tin box in hand,
+on the platform of St. Enoch's Station.
+
+Mrs. Fordyce accompanied Gladys to the station, and when Teen saw them
+she felt a wild desire to run away. Gladys Graham sitting on a chair in
+the little attic, talking familiarly of the Hepburns, and Gladys Graham
+outside, were two very different beings. Gladys glanced sharply round,
+and, espying her, smiled reassuringly, and advanced with frank
+outstretched hand.
+
+'Ah, there you are! I am glad to see you. Mrs. Fordyce, this is
+Teen--Christina Balfour. I must begin to call you Christina; I think it
+is much prettier. Isn't this a pleasant day? The country will be looking
+lovely.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce smiled and bowed graciously to the seamstress, but did not
+offer her hand. Her manner was kind, but distant; her very smile
+measured the gulf between them. Teen felt it just as plainly as if she
+had spoken it in words, and felt also intuitively that her presence
+there was not quite approved of by the lawyer's wife. That, indeed, was
+true. There had been a long and rather warm discussion over the little
+seamstress that morning in Bellairs Crescent, and Mrs. Fordyce had
+discovered that, with all her gentleness and simplicity, Gladys was not
+a person to abandon a project on which she had set her heart.
+
+'My dear Gladys,' she took the opportunity of whispering when Teen was
+out of hearing, 'I am more than ever perplexed. She is not even
+interesting--nothing could be more hopelessly vulgar and commonplace.'
+
+Gladys never spoke.
+
+'Do tell me what you mean to do with her,' she pursued, with distinct
+anxiety in her manner.
+
+'Don't let us speak about it, Mrs. Fordyce,' said Gladys rather coldly.
+'It is impossible you can understand. I have been like her; I know what
+her life is. You must let me alone.'
+
+'I am afraid you are going to be eccentric, my dear,' said Mrs. Fordyce.
+'I cannot help regretting that Madame Bonnemain was prevented coming to
+Bourhill. She would have set her foot down on this.'
+
+'Then she would have been mistress of Bourhill,' answered Gladys, with a
+faint smile, 'and we should certainly have disagreed.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce looked at her curiously.
+
+'There is a great deal of character about you, Gladys. I am afraid you
+are rather an imposition. To look at you, one would think you as gentle
+as a lamb.'
+
+'Dear Mrs. Fordyce, don't make me out such a terrible person,' said
+Gladys quickly. 'Is it so odd that I should wish to brighten life a
+little for those whom I know have had so very little brightness?'
+
+'No; it is not your aim, only your method, I object to, my dear. It will
+never do to fill Bourhill with such people. But I will say no more.
+Experience will teach you expediency and discretion.'
+
+'We shall see,' replied Gladys, with a laugh, and for the first time she
+experienced a sense of relief at parting with her kind friend.
+
+Mrs. Fordyce was a kind-hearted woman, and did a great many good deeds,
+though on strictly conventional lines. She was the clever organiser of
+Church charities, the capable head of the Ladies' Provident and Dorcas
+Society, to which she grudged neither time nor money; but she did not
+believe in personal contact with the very poor, nor in the power or
+efficacy of individual sympathy and effort. She thought a great deal
+about Gladys that day, pondering and puzzling over her action--a trifle
+nettled, if it must be told, at the calm, quiet manner in which her
+disapproval had been ignored. Gladys was indeed proving herself a very
+capable and independent mistress of Bourhill.
+
+Meanwhile the two girls, whom fortune had so differently favoured,
+journeyed together into Ayrshire. A strange shyness seemed to have taken
+possession of Teen; she sat bolt upright in the corner of the carriage,
+clutching her tin box, and looking half-scared, half-defiant; even the
+red feather in her hat seemed to wear an aggressive air. In her soul she
+fervently rued the step she had taken, and thought with longing of her
+own little room, and with affectionate regret of the bundle she had so
+proudly returned to Mrs. Galbraith.
+
+'What are you thinking of, Teen? You don't look at all happy,' said
+Gladys, growing a trifle embarrassed by the continued silence.
+
+'I'm no'; I wish I hadna come,' was the flat reply, which made the
+sensitive colour rise in the fair cheek of Gladys.
+
+'Oh no, you don't; you are only shy. Wait till you have seen Bourhill;
+you will think it the loveliest place in the world,' she said
+cheerfully.
+
+'Maybe,' answered Teen doubtfully. 'I feel gey queer the noo, onyhoo.'
+
+This was not encouraging. Gladys became silent also, and both felt
+relieved when the train stopped at Mauchline Station.
+
+The girl, whose only idea of the country was her acquaintance with the
+straight, conventional arrangement of city parks and gardens, looked
+about her with genuine wonder.
+
+'My,' she said, as they crossed over the little footbridge at the
+station, 'sic a room folk have here! Are there nae hooses ava?'
+
+'Oh, lots,' replied Gladys quite gaily, relieved to see even a faint
+interest exhibited by her guest. 'We shall drive through Mauchline
+presently; it is such a pretty, quaint little town.'
+
+A very dainty little phaeton, in charge of an exceedingly smart young
+groom, waited at the station gate for Miss Graham. Teen regarded it and
+her with open-mouthed amazement. Again it seemed impossible that this
+gracious, self-possessed lady, giving her orders so calmly, and
+according so well in every respect with her changed fortunes, could be
+the same girl who accompanied Liz and herself to the Ariel Music Hall
+not much more than a year ago.
+
+'My,' she said again, when Gladys took the reins and the pony started
+off, 'it's grand, but queer.'
+
+'It is all very nice, I think,' said Gladys whimsically. 'Did I tell you
+that Mrs. Macintyre, who used to live in the Wynd, is at the lodge at
+Bourhill? But perhaps you did not know Mrs. Macintyre?'
+
+'I have heard o' her frae Liz,' Teen replied; 'but I didna ken that she
+was here.'
+
+'She only came a month ago. She is a great treasure to me. I wonder if
+you have thought why I wished you to come here?'
+
+'I've wondered. Ye can tell me, if ye like,' said Teen.
+
+'Well, you see, I have always been sorry about you, somehow, ever since
+that day I saw you in the Hepburns' house; I really never forgot your
+pale face. I want you here for your own sake, first, to try and make you
+look brighter and healthier, and I want your advice and help about
+something I am more interested in than anything.'
+
+'My advice an' help!' repeated Teen almost blankly, yet secretly
+flattered and pleased. The idea that her advice and help should be
+desired by any one was something so entirely new that she may be excused
+being almost overcome by it.
+
+'Yes,' answered Gladys, with a nod. 'It's about the girls--the girls you
+and I know about in Glasgow, who have such a poor time, and are
+surrounded with so much temptation. Do you remember that night long ago
+when Lizzie Hepburn and you took me to the Ariel Music Hall?'
+
+'Yes, I mind it fine. I was thinkin' o't no' a meenit syne.'
+
+'Well, don't you think that the girls we saw there might have some
+place a little pleasanter and safer for them to be in than a music
+hall?'
+
+'Yes,' answered Teen, with unwonted seriousness. 'It's no' a guid place.
+I've kent twa-three that gaed to the bad, an' they met their bad company
+there. But what can lassies dae? Tak' Liz, for instance, or me. Had we
+onything to keep us at hame? The streets, or the music hall, or the
+dancin', ony o' them was better than sittin' in the hoose.'
+
+'Oh, I know. Have I not thought of it all?' cried Gladys, with a great
+mournfulness. 'But don't you think if they had some pleasant place of
+their own, where they could meet together of an evening, and read or
+work or amuse themselves, they would be happier?'
+
+'There are some places. I ken some lassies that belang to Christian
+Associations. Liz an' me gaed twice or thrice wi' some o' the members,
+but'--
+
+'But what?' asked Gladys, bending forward with keen interest.
+
+'We didna like it. There was ower muckle preachin', and some of the
+ladies looked at us as if we were dirt,' responded Teen candidly. 'Ye
+should hae heard Liz when we cam' oot. It was as guid as a play to hear
+her imitatin' them.'
+
+Gladys looked thoughtful, and a trifle distressed. Curiously, at the
+moment she could not help thinking of the many societies and
+associations with which Mrs. Fordyce was connected, and of her demeanour
+that day at St. Enoch's Station--an exact exemplification of Teen's
+plain-spoken objection.
+
+'Liz said she was as guid as them, an' she wadna be patronised; an'
+that's what prevents plenty mair frae gaun. A lot gang just to serve
+themselves, because they get a lot frae the ladies. My, ye can get
+onything oot o' them if ye ken hoo to work them.'
+
+This was a very gross view of the case, which could not but jar upon
+Gladys, though she was conscious that there was a good deal of truth in
+it. Somehow, in the light of Teen Balfour's unvarnished estimate of
+philanthropic endeavour, her dreams seemed to become all at once
+impossible of fulfilment.
+
+'I do not think they mean, the ladies, to patronise. Do you not think
+the girls imagine, or at least exaggerate?'
+
+'Maybe; but Susan Greenlees--a lassie I ken, that works in a
+print-mill--telt me one o' them reproved her for haein' a long white
+ostrich feather in her hat, and Susan, she just says, "Naebody askit you
+to pay for it," an' left.'
+
+Gladys relapsed into silence; and Teen, all unconscious of the cold
+water she had thrown so copiously on a bright enthusiasm, sat back
+leisurely, and looked about her interestedly.
+
+'Here we are,' said Gladys, at length rousing herself up, though with an
+evident effort; 'and there is Mrs. Macintyre at the gate. You have never
+seen her, you say? Hasn't she a nice kind face?'
+
+Gladys drew rein when they had passed through the gate, and introduced
+the two. Mrs. Macintyre, who looked like a different being in her warm
+grey tweed gown, neat cap, and black apron, gave the pale city girl a
+hearty hand-shake, and prophesied that Bourhill air would soon bring a
+rose into her cheek. Gladys nodded, and said she hoped so, then drove on
+to the house. And when they went up the long flight of steps and into
+the wide, warm, beautiful hall, Teen's shyness returned to her, and if
+it had been possible she would have turned and fled.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+THE UNEXPECTED.
+
+
+It did not occur to Gladys to give her guest quarters at the lodge
+beside Mrs. Macintyre, where, it might have been thought, she would be
+more at home. Having invited her to Bourhill, she treated her in all
+respects like any other guest. Teen, after the first fit of shyness wore
+off, accepted it all as a matter of course, and conducted herself in a
+calm and undisturbed manner, which secretly astonished Gladys. All the
+while, however, her new surroundings and experiences made a profound
+impression on the awakened mind of the city girl. Nothing escaped the
+keen vision of her great dark eyes. Every detail of the beautiful old
+house was photographed on her memory; she could have told how many
+chairs were in the drawing-room, and described every picture on the
+dining-room walls. Between her and little Miss Peck--the brisk,
+happy-hearted spinster, who appeared to have taken a new lease of
+life--there was speedily established a very good understanding, which
+was also a source of amazement to Gladys. She had anticipated exactly
+the reverse.
+
+'My dear, she is most interesting,' said Miss Peck, when the first
+evening was over, and Teen had gone to bed, not to sleep, but to lie
+enjoying the luxury of a down-bed and dainty linen, and pondering on
+this wonderful thing that had happened to her,--'most interesting. What
+depths in her eyes--what self-possession in her demeanour! My dear, you
+can make anything of that girl.'
+
+Miss Peck was given to romancing and enthusiasm, but the contrast
+between her opinion and that expressed by Mrs. Fordyce made Gladys
+smile. She did not feel herself as yet very particularly drawn towards
+her guest, whose reserve of manner was sometimes as trying as her
+outspokenness on other occasions.
+
+'I am glad you like her, Miss Peck. I confess that sometimes I do not
+know what to make of her. But, you see, she is the only one who can be
+of any use to me; she knows all about working girls and their ways. If
+only I could find poor Lizzie Hepburn! She always knew exactly what she
+meant, and she was clever enough for anything,' said Gladys, with a
+sigh.
+
+'But tell me, my dear, what is it you wish to do? I don't know that I
+quite comprehend.'
+
+'Indeed, I am not quite clear about it yet myself, though, of course, I
+have an idea I want to help them, especially the friendless ones. If it
+could be arranged, I should like to establish a kind of friendly Club
+for them in Glasgow, where they could all meet, and where those who have
+no friends could lodge; then I should like to have a little holiday
+house for them here, if possible.'
+
+'My dear, that is a great undertaking for one so young.'
+
+'Do you think so? I must try it, and you must help me, dear Miss Peck,
+for Mrs. Fordyce won't. She doesn't approve at all of my having invited
+Christina Balfour down here.'
+
+'My dear, the world never does approve of anything done out of the
+conventional way,' said Miss Peck, with a quiet touch of bitterness. 'I
+think you have a very noble aim, and the heart of an angel; only there
+will be mountains of difficulty in the way.'
+
+'We must overcome them,' answered Gladys quickly.
+
+'And you will meet with much discouragement, and a great deal of
+ingratitude,' pursued the little spinster, hating herself for her
+discouraging words, but convinced that it was her duty to prepare her
+dear charge for the worst.
+
+'Not more than I can bear,' Gladys answered. 'And I am quite sure that,
+with all these drawbacks, I shall also receive many bright, encouraging
+things to help me on.'
+
+'Yes, my dear, you will. God will reward you in His own best way,' said
+Miss Peck, with tears in her eyes.
+
+Gladys sat late by the fire that night, pondering her new scheme, and
+developing its details with great rapidity. She found the greatest
+comfort and pleasure in such planning; for, though she was the envied of
+many, there were times, though unconfessed, when she was weighed down by
+her own loneliness, when a sense of desolation, as keen as any she had
+ever experienced in Colquhoun Street, made all the lovelier things of
+life seem of no account.
+
+Next morning Gladys drove her guest into Troon, and at sight of the
+great sea, its breast troubled with wintry storms, tossing and rolling
+in wildest unrest, Teen appeared for the first time really moved.
+
+'It's fearsome,' she said in an awe-stricken whisper,--'fearsome!
+Michty me, look at the waves! It's fearsome to look at.'
+
+'How odd that it should strike you so!' exclaimed Gladys. 'It always
+rests and soothes me; the wilder it is, the deeper the quiet it infuses
+into my soul. See the tall shadow yonder through the mists, the
+mountains of Arran; and that is Ayr, across Prestwick Bay; and these
+rocks jutting out into the sea, the Heads of Ayr. Do you see that house
+with the flagstaff, at the top of the Links? It is Mr. Fordyce's house,
+The Anchorage, where I lived all summer. It is splendid here to-day.
+Stand still, Firefly, you impatient animal; we are not ready to go yet.'
+
+'I wad be feared to live in that hoose,' said Teen. 'The waves micht
+come up in the nicht an' wash it away. Jist look at that yin the noo.'
+
+A great green wave, with its angry crest of foam, came rolling in with
+apparently resistless force, and spent itself on the pebbly shore with a
+sullen roar.
+
+'"Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther,"' said Gladys, with a faint
+smile, and a momentary uplifting of her eyes to the grey wintry sky.
+'"He holdeth the sea in the hollow of His hand."'
+
+'Some day, when it is very fine, I shall take you to Ayr,' said Gladys,
+as she turned the pony's head. 'I have often thought how I should like
+to bring Liz here. I cannot tell you how I feel about her; I think about
+her almost continually.'
+
+'So dae I, though I think, mind, she's been very shabby to me; but she
+was my chum,' said Teen, with an unusually soft look on her face. 'She
+didna care a button what she said to a body, but at the same she wad dae
+onything for ye.'
+
+'And you still think she is in London?'
+
+'Yes,' answered Teen, without a moment's hesitation 'Learnin' to be an
+actress, as sure as I sit here.'
+
+'Somehow I don't think it. I have an odd feeling at times about her, as
+if she were not so far away from us as we imagine.'
+
+'She's no' in Glesca, onyway. She couldna be in Glesca withoot me
+kennin',' replied Teen confidently. 'There's some that think she gaed
+aff wi' a beau, but they never said it twice to me. I kent Liz better
+than that. She could watch hersel'.'
+
+'Did you know him, the man you call her beau?' inquired Gladys, with a
+slight blush.
+
+'Ay, I kent him,' said Teen, looking away over the landscape as if she
+suddenly found it of new and absorbing interest.
+
+'And have you seen him since?'
+
+'Ay.'
+
+'Did you speak to him, or ask him if he knew anything about her?'
+
+'No' me; it's nane o' my business to meddle; but maybe I wad ask him if
+I had a chance,' said Teen, with a peculiar pressure of the lips.
+
+'Who is he, Teen? Do you know his name?'
+
+'Ay, fine that; but it wad dae nae guid to say,' replied Teen guardedly.
+'I dinna think he had onything to dae wi' her gaun away, onyway.'
+
+Gladys perceived that Teen was determined to be utterly loyal to her
+friend, and admired her for it.
+
+That very afternoon, however, Teen saw occasion to change her mind on
+the subject. After lunch, while Gladys was busy with letter-writing,
+Teen went out to pay a visit to Mrs. Macintyre at the lodge. She was
+walking very leisurely down the avenue, admiring the brilliant glossy
+green of the laurels and hollies, when the tall figure of a man in a
+long ulster came swinging round the curve which hid the gates from view.
+Teen gave a great start, and the dusky colour leaped in her face when
+she recognised him. His cheek flushed too with distinct annoyance, and
+surprise was also visible on his face.
+
+'What are you doing here?' he asked, without the shadow of other
+greeting.
+
+Teen looked up at him with a kind of quiet insolence in her heavy dark
+eyes.
+
+'That's my business,' she said calmly, and picked to pieces the leaf she
+had in her hand.
+
+'Are you staying here?' he asked then, with undisguised uneasiness,
+which secretly delighted Teen. If there was a human being she mortally
+disliked and distrusted, it was Mr. George Fordyce.
+
+'Yes, I'm stayin' at the big hoose.'
+
+'With Miss Graham?'
+
+Teen nodded, and a faint, melancholy smile, half of scorn, half of
+amusement, touched her thin lips.
+
+'How the deuce did you manage that?' he inquired angrily. 'I can't
+understand it.'
+
+'Nor I; ye can ask her, if ye like,' responded Teen calmly; then quite
+suddenly she dropped her mask of indifference, and, laying her thin,
+worn fingers on his arm, lifted her penetrating eyes swiftly to his
+uneasy face. 'I say, where's Liz?'
+
+'How should I know? How dare you question me?' he asked passionately. 'I
+shall warn Miss Graham against you, that you are not a proper person to
+have in her house. You are not fit to breathe the same air with her.'
+
+'Maybe no'; but as fit as you,' she answered scornfully. 'I see through
+it a'; but if ye have harmed Liz, my gentleman, ye'll no' get off wi'
+it. Ye'll answer for it to me.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce had called her vulgar and commonplace; she did not look so
+now; passion transformed her into a noble creature. The man of the
+world, accustomed to its homage and adulation, cowed before the little
+seamstress of the slums. While she walked away from him, as if scorning
+to bandy further words, he looked after her in consternation. She had
+not only surprised, she had made a coward of him for the moment. He
+seemed to see in the slight, insignificant form of the city girl the
+Nemesis who would sooner or later bring his evil deeds home, and thwart
+what was at the present moment the highest ambition of his life.
+
+His step lagged as he continued his way towards the house, within whose
+walls dwelt the woman whom love and ambition prompted him to make his
+wife. It was not, however, the reluctance of a dishonoured soul to seek
+communion with one so absolutely pure, it was merely the hesitation of a
+prudence wholly selfish. He rapidly reviewed the situation, considered
+every possibility and every likely issue, and took his resolve. He could
+not afford to wait. If Gladys was ever to be his, she must be won at
+once. If she cared sufficiently for him to pledge herself to him, he
+believed that she would stand by him and take his word, whatever slander
+might assail his name. He had not anticipated this crisis when, in a
+careless, idle mood, he had left the mill, and followed the impulse
+which sent him to Bourhill.
+
+By the time he reached the steps before the door every trace of
+disturbance had vanished, and he was once more the urbane, handsome,
+debonair gentleman who played such havoc among women's hearts.
+
+Miss Graham being at home, he was at once shown into the drawing-room,
+and left there while the maid took his name to her mistress. Meanwhile
+Teen, instead of going into the lodge, passed through the gates, and
+walked away up the road. She was utterly alone, the only sign of life
+being a flock of sheep in the distance, trotting on sedately before a
+tall shepherd and a collie dog. Teen never saw them. She was fearfully
+excited, believing that she had at last discovered the clue to her
+missing friend.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+THE FIRST WOOER.
+
+
+Gladys was writing a long letter to her guardian, setting forth in
+eloquent terms what she wished to do for the working girls of the East
+End, and asking him for some sympathy and advice, when the housemaid
+knocked at the door.
+
+'A gentleman for me, Ellen? Yes, I shall be there presently,' she said,
+without looking at the card on the salver. 'Is Miss Peck in the
+drawing-room?'
+
+'No, ma'am; she is taking her rest. Shall I tell her?'
+
+'Oh no. Who is it?'
+
+She added another word to her letter, and then read the name on the
+card. The maid standing by could not help seeing the lovely access of
+colour in the fair cheek of her mistress, and, as was natural, drew her
+own conclusions.
+
+Gladys rose at once, and proceeded up-stairs. She did not, as almost
+every other woman in the circumstances would have done, go to her own
+room to inspect her appearance or make any change in her toilet. And, in
+truth, none was needed. Her plain black serge gown, with its little
+ruffle at the neck, which would have made a dowdy of almost anybody but
+herself, was at once a fitting and becoming robe. Her lovely hair, which
+in the early days had hung in straight heavy plaits over her back, was
+now wound about her head, and kept in place by a band and knot of black
+velvet. She moved with the calm mien and serious grace of a woman at
+ease with herself and all the world. A faint hesitation, however,
+visited her when she stood without the closed door of the drawing-room.
+That curious prevision, which most of us experience at times, that
+something unusual was in store, robbed her for a moment of her usual
+self-possession; but, smiling and inwardly chiding herself for her own
+folly, she opened the door and entered the presence of her lover. She
+knew him to be such, it was impossible to mistake his demeanour and his
+attitude towards her. There was the most lover-like eagerness in his
+look and step as he came towards her, and under his gaze the girl's
+sweet eyes drooped and her colour deepened.
+
+'This is quite a surprise,' she said gaily. 'Why did you not bring some
+of the girls with you?'
+
+'I haven't seen them for ages, and Julia has a dance on to-night for
+which she is saving herself. Besides, perhaps, I wanted to come quite
+alone.'
+
+'Yes?' she said in a voice faintly interrogatory. 'And you had to walk
+from the station, too? If you had only wired in the morning, I could
+have come or sent for you.'
+
+'But, you see, I did not know in the morning I should be here to-day. It
+is often the unexpected that happens. I came off on the impulse of the
+moment. Are you glad to see me?'
+
+It was a very direct question; but Gladys had now quite recovered
+herself, and met it with a calm smile.
+
+'Why, of course; how could I be otherwise? But, I say, you said a moment
+ago you had not seen any of the girls for ages; it is only forty-eight
+hours since we met in your aunt's drawing-room.'
+
+'So it is,' he said innocently. 'I had quite forgotten, which shows how
+time goes with me when you are out of town. Are you really going to bury
+yourself here all winter?'
+
+'I am going to live here, of course. It is my home, and I don't want any
+other. A day in Glasgow once a week is quite enough for me.'
+
+'Hard lines for Glasgow,' he said, tugging his moustache, and looking at
+her with a good deal of real sentiment in his handsome eyes. She was
+looking so sweet, he felt himself more in love than ever; and there was
+a certain 'stand-offishness' in her manner which attracted him as much
+as anything. He had not hitherto found such indifference a quality among
+the young ladies of his acquaintance.
+
+'I have just been writing to your Uncle Tom, telling him I want to spend
+a great deal of money,' she began, rather to divert the conversation
+than from any pressing desire for his opinion, 'and I don't feel at all
+sure about what he will say. Your aunt does not approve, I know.'
+
+'May I ask how you are going to spend it?' he inquired, with interest.
+
+'Oh yes. I want to institute a Club for working girls in Glasgow, and a
+holiday house for them here.'
+
+'But there are any amount of such things in Glasgow already, and I
+question if they do any good. I know my mother and Ju are always down on
+them, and there's truth in what they say, too, that we are making a god
+out of the working class. It is quite sickening what is done for them,
+and how ungrateful they are.'
+
+Gladys winced a little, and he perceived that he had spoken rather
+strongly.
+
+'I know there is a good deal done, but I think sometimes the methods are
+not quite wise,' she said quietly. 'I am going to run my Club, as the
+Americans say, on my own lines. You see, I am rather different, for I
+have been a poor working girl myself, and I know both what they need and
+what will do them most good.'
+
+'You seem rather proud of the distinction,' he said involuntarily. 'Most
+women in your position would have made a point of ignoring the past.
+That is what half of Glasgow is trying to do all the time--forget where
+they sprang from. Why are you so different?'
+
+'I do not know.' Her lips curled in a fine scorn. 'As if it mattered,'
+she said half-contemptuously,--'as if it mattered what anybody had
+sprung from. I was reading Burns this morning, and I felt as if I could
+worship him if for nothing more than writing these lines--
+
+ "The rank is but the guinea stamp,
+ The man's the gowd for a' that."'
+
+'That's all very good in theory,' he said a trifle lazily; 'and besides,
+it is very easy for you to speak like that, with centuries of lineage
+behind you. I suppose the Grahams are as old as the Eglintons, or the
+Alexanders, or even the great Portland family itself, if you come to
+inquire into it. Yes, it is very easy for you to despise rank.'
+
+'I don't despise it, and I am very proud in my own way that I do belong
+to such an old family; but, all the same, it doesn't really matter.
+There is nothing of any real value except honour and high character,
+and, of course, genius.'
+
+'When you speak like that, Gladys, and look like that, upon my word, you
+make a fellow afraid to open his mouth before you,' he said quickly, and
+there was something very winning in the humility and deference with
+which he uttered these words.
+
+Gladys was not unmoved by them, and had he followed up his slight
+advantage, he might have won her on the spot; but at the propitious
+moment Ellen brought in the tea-tray, and the conversation had to drift
+into a more general groove.
+
+'To return to my project,' said Gladys, when the maid had gone again, 'I
+have one of my old acquaintances among the working girls here just now.
+I expect she will help me a good deal. She was the friend of poor Lizzie
+Hepburn, whom we have lost so completely. Is it not strange? What do you
+think _can_ have become of her?'
+
+'I'm sure I couldn't say,' he replied, with all the indifference at his
+command.
+
+Gladys, busy with the tea-cups, noticed nothing strange in his manner,
+nor did his answer disappoint her much. She was quite aware that he did
+not take an absorbing interest in the questions which engrossed so much
+of her own thought.
+
+'The saddest thing about it is that nobody seems to care anything about
+what has become of her,' she said, as she took the dainty Wedgewood
+teapot in her hand. 'Just think if the same thing had happened to your
+sister or either of your cousins, what a thing it would have been.'
+
+'My dear Gladys, the cases are not parallel. Such things happen every
+day, and nobody pays the least attention. And besides, such people do
+not have the same feelings as us.'
+
+Gladys looked at him indignantly.
+
+'You only say so because you know nothing about them,' she said quickly.
+'I do assure you the poor have quite as keen feelings as the rich, and
+some things they feel even more, I think. Why, only to-day I had an
+instance of it in the girl I have staying here. Her loyalty to Liz is
+quite beautiful. I wish you would not judge so harshly and hastily.'
+
+'I will think anything to please you, Gladys,' said George fervently.
+'You must forgive me if I am a trifle sceptical. You see, a fellow has
+his opinions moulded pretty much by his people, and mine don't take your
+view of the lower classes.'
+
+Again he was unfortunate in his choice of words. Gladys particularly
+disliked the expression, 'lower classes,' and his apologetic tone did
+not appease her.
+
+'They judge them harshly because they know nothing about them, and never
+will. One has to live among them, as I have done, to learn their good
+qualities. It is the only way,' she said rather sadly.
+
+George set down his cup on the tray, and lingered at the table, looking
+down at her with a glance which might have disconcerted her.
+
+'You are so awfully good, Gladys,' he said, quite humbly for him. 'I
+wonder you can be half as civil as you are to a reprobate like me.'
+
+'Are you a reprobate?' she asked, with a faint, wondering smile.
+
+'I'm not as good as I should be,' he added frankly. 'But, you see, I've
+never had anybody put things in the light you put them in. If I had, I
+believe it would have made all the difference. Won't you take me in
+hand?'
+
+He threw as much significance as he dared into his last question; but
+Gladys apparently did not catch his meaning.
+
+'I don't like to hear you speak so,' was the unexpected reply. 'It is
+like throwing the blame on other people. A man ought to be strong enough
+to be and to do good on his own account.'
+
+'If you tell me what you would like me to do, I'll do it, upon my word,'
+he said earnestly.
+
+'Oh, I have no right to do that, but since you ask, I will say that you
+have not very far to seek your opportunities. Your Uncle Tom told me the
+other day you employed nearly seven hundred men and women at your mills.
+If that is not a field for you to work in, I don't know what is.'
+
+George Fordyce bit his lip ever so slightly, and half turned away. This
+was bringing it home indeed, and the vision of himself taking up a new
+_role_ among his own workpeople rather disconcerted him.
+
+'Now you are offended,' said Gladys quickly; 'and, please, it is not my
+fault. You asked me what you should do.'
+
+'Offended with you! No such thing. You could never offend me. Can't you
+see, Gladys, that the very reason I would be better is _you_, and you
+alone. I want to please you, because I want to win you.'
+
+There was no doubt at all about his meaning now. The passion with which
+he spoke brought a blush to the girl's cheek, and she rose hurriedly
+from her chair.
+
+'Oh, you must not say such things to me, please.'
+
+'Why not? Every man has the right to speak when he loves a woman as I
+love you. Could not you care for me, Gladys? I know I am not half good,
+but I'll try to be better for your sake.'
+
+'I have liked you very well. I do like you,' she answered, with a
+trembling frankness,--'only, I think, not quite in that way.'
+
+'If you like me at all, I shall not despair. It will come in time. Give
+me the hope that you'll try to think of me in that way,' he pleaded
+passionately; and Gladys slightly shook her head.
+
+'Try?' she repeated. 'I do not know much, but it seems to me that that
+should be without trying.'
+
+'But you need not give me a final answer now. Let me wait and try to win
+you--to be more worthy of you. I know I am not that yet, but you know
+we've got on awfully well together--been such chums--I'm sure it would
+all come right.'
+
+He looked very handsome and very winning, pleading his cause with an
+earnestness which left no doubt of his sincerity. Gladys allowed him to
+take her hand, and did not draw herself away.
+
+'If you will let me alone a long time--a year, at least--and never speak
+of it, I will give you an answer then. It is a very serious thing, and
+one must be quite sure,' she said slowly; and that answer was more than
+George Fordyce had dared to hope for. There was more deliberation and
+calmness in her disposal of the question than would have satisfied most
+men, but he had fared better than he expected, and left the house
+content.
+
+As for Gladys, she felt restless and unhappy, she did not know why; only
+she knew that never had her thoughts reverted with such lingering
+persistence to the past, never had its memories seemed more fraught with
+sweetness and with pain. She was an enigma, she could not understand
+herself.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+UNDER DISCUSSION.
+
+
+Teen took quite a long walk along the bleak country road, and on her way
+back dropped in at the lodge.
+
+Mrs. Macintyre and the redoubtable 'Tammy'--a very round and chubby
+urchin, as unlike a denizen of the slums as could well be imagined--were
+sitting at tea by the cosy hearth, and there was a warm welcome and a
+cup for the visitor at once.
+
+'Come awa', my wummin; I saw ye gang by,' said the good soul cheerily.
+'My, but ye hae a fine colour; jist gang ben an' look at yersel' in the
+room gless. Ye're no' like the same lassie.'
+
+Teen smiled rather incredulously, and did not go 'ben' to verify the
+compliment.
+
+'It's a fine place this,' she said, as she dropped into a chair. 'A
+body's never tired. I wonder onybody bides in the toon when there's sae
+much room in the country.'
+
+The wideness of the landscape, its solitary freedom, and its quiet,
+impressed the city girl in no ordinary way. After the crush and struggle
+of the overcrowded streets, which she had not until now left behind, it
+was natural she should be so impressed.
+
+'I walkit as far as frae the Trongate to the Briggate, an' I saw
+naething but twa-three sheep an' a robin red-breist sittin' in the
+hedge,' she said musingly. 'It's breist was as red as it had been
+pented. I didna ken ye could see them leevin'?'
+
+'Oh, there's thoosan's o' them,' quoth Tammy enthusiastically. 'In the
+spring that hedge up the road will be thick wi' nests, filled wi' eggs
+o' a' kinds.'
+
+'Which ye'll leave alane, my man, or I'll warm ye,' said his aunt, with
+a warning glance. 'Ay, my wummin, this is a hantle better nor the
+Trongate or the Briggate o' Glesca. An' what's the young leddy aboot
+this efternune?'
+
+'Writin' letters, I think. Has she said onything to you, Mrs. Macintyre,
+aboot makin' a Club for lassies in the toon?'
+
+'Tammy,' said Mrs. Macintyre, 'tak' the wee jug an' rin up to the dairy,
+an' ask Mrs. Grieve if she'll gie ye a hap'nyworth o' mair cream.'
+
+She did not urgently require the cream, but it was necessary at the
+moment to get rid of Tammy, who was a remarkably shrewd boy, with very
+long ears and a wonderful understanding.
+
+Just as Tammy departed, rather unwillingly it must be told, the carriage
+from the house came bowling down the avenue, and Mrs. Macintyre ran out
+to open the gate. From her seat by the fire Teen could see over the low
+white window-blind that George Fordyce sat in it alone.
+
+'There's something up,' said Mrs. Macintyre. 'D'ye see that?'
+
+She held up a shining half-crown, which in his gracious mood the hopeful
+lover had bestowed upon the gatekeeper.
+
+'I wonder if that's to be the Laird o' Bourhill?' she said
+meditatively. 'Ye wadna see him as he gaed by?--a very braw man, an'
+rich, they say--a Fordyce o' Gorbals Mill. Hae ye heard o' them?'
+
+'Ay, often.' Teen's colour seemed to have deepened, but it might be only
+the fire which glowed upon it. 'Ye dinna mean to say that _that_ micht
+happen?'
+
+'What for no'?' queried Mrs. Macintyre easily, as she cut a slice from
+the loaf and held it on a fork before the fire. 'She's bonnie an' she's
+guid, besides being weel tochered. She'll no' want for wooers. I say,
+did ye ken Walter Hepburn, that carries on auld Skinny's business noo in
+Colquhoun Street?'
+
+'Yes, well enough,' answered Teen slowly.
+
+'There was a time when I wad hae said the twa--him an' Miss Gladys, I
+mean--were made for ane anither, but it's no' noo. He seems to hae
+forgotten her, an' maybe it's as weel. She maun mak' a braw mairriage,
+an' Fordyce is a braw fellow. I wish ye had noticed him.'
+
+'Oh, I've seen him afore,' said Teen, with an evident effort, and
+somehow the conversation did not flow very freely, but was purely a
+one-sided affair, Teen simply sitting glowering into the fire, with an
+expression on her face which indicated that she was only partially
+interested in the gatekeeper's cheery talk. It was rather a relief when
+Tammy returned with the 'wee jug' full of cream, and his own mind full
+of the arrival of a new calf, a great event, which had happened at the
+dairy that very afternoon.
+
+Mrs. Macintyre was, on the whole, disappointed with her guest, and saw
+her depart after tea without regret. She was altogether too reticent and
+silent for that garrulous person's liking. She would have been very much
+astonished had she obtained a glimpse into the girl's mind. Never,
+indeed, in all her life had Teen Balfour been so troubled and so
+anxious. Once or twice that evening Gladys caught her looking at her
+with a glance so penetrating and so anxious that it impressed her with a
+sort of uneasiness. She did not feel particularly happy herself. Now
+that her lover had gone, and that the subtle charm of his personality
+and presence was only a memory, she half regretted what had happened
+that afternoon. She felt almost as if she had committed herself, and she
+was surprised that she should secretly chafe over it.
+
+'Teen,' she said quite suddenly, when they were sitting alone at the
+library fire after supper, when Miss Peck had gone to give her
+housekeeping orders for the morning, 'had you ever a lover?'
+
+This extraordinary and unexpected question drove the blood into the
+colourless face of Teen, and she could not for the moment answer.
+
+'Well, yes,' she said at length, with a faint, queer smile. 'Maybe I've
+had twa-three o' a kind.'
+
+'Two or three?' echoed Gladys in a surprised and rather disapproving
+voice. 'That is very odd. But, tell me, have you ever seen anybody who
+wished to marry you, and whom you wished to marry?'
+
+'There was a lad asked me yince,' answered Teen, 'but he was only
+seventeen--a prentice in Tennant's, wi' aicht shillin's a week. I've
+never had a richt offer.'
+
+'Then what do you mean by saying you have had two or three lovers?'
+queried Gladys, in wonder.
+
+'Oh, weel, I've keepit company wi' a lot. They've walkit me oot, an'
+ta'en me to the balls an' that--that's what I mean.'
+
+Gladys was rather disappointed, perceiving that it was not likely she
+would get much help from the experience of Teen.
+
+'I think that is rather strange, but perhaps it is quite right, and it
+is only I who am strange. But, tell me, do you think a girl always can
+know just at once whether she cares enough for a man to marry him?'
+
+'I dinna ken; there's different kinds o' mairriages,' said Teen
+philosophically. 'I dinna think there's onything in real life like the
+love in "Lord Bellew's Bride," unless among the gentry.'
+
+'Do you really think not?' asked Gladys, with a slight wistfulness. 'I
+have not read "Lord Bellew," of course, but I do believe there is that
+kind of love which would give up all, and dare and suffer anything. I
+should not like to marry without it.'
+
+'Dinna, then,' replied Teen quite coolly. Nevertheless, as she looked at
+the sweet face rendered so grave and earnest by the intensity of her
+thought, her eye became more and more troubled.
+
+'Among oor kind o' folk there's a' kind o' mairriages,' she began. 'Some
+lassies mairry thinkin' they'll hae an easier time an' a man to work for
+them, an' they sometimes fin' oot they've only ta'en somebody to keep;
+some mairry for spite, an' some because they'd raither dee than be auld
+maids. I dinna think, mysel', love--if there be sic a thing--has ony
+thing to do wi't.'
+
+It was rather a cynical doctrine, but Teen implicitly believed what she
+was saying.
+
+'Are _you_ thinkin' on mairryin'?' she asked then; and, without waiting
+for an answer, continued in rather a hurried, troubled way, 'I wadna if
+I were you--at least, for a while. Wait or ye see what turns up. Ye'll
+never be better than ye are, an' men are jist men. I wadna gie a brass
+fardin' for the best o' them.'
+
+Gladys did not resent this plain expression of opinion, because she
+perceived that a genuine kindliness prompted it.
+
+'I am quite sure I shall not marry for a very long time,' Gladys
+replied; then they fell to talking over the other subject, which was so
+interesting to them both.
+
+Underneath all her cynical philosophy there was real kindness as well as
+shrewd common-sense in the little seamstress. She was in some respects
+one of the best advisers Gladys could possibly have taken into her
+confidence.
+
+These sweet, restful days were a benediction to the weary, half-starved
+heart of the city girl, and under their benign influence she became a
+different creature. Little Miss Peck, who adored Gladys, sometimes
+observed, with a smile of approval, the grateful, pathetic look in
+Teen's large solemn eyes when they followed the sweet young creature who
+had shown her a glimpse of the sunny side of life. It was not a glimpse,
+however, which Gladys intended to be merely transient. She had in view a
+scheme which was to be of permanent value to the poor little seamstress.
+
+In the course of that week Gladys had occasion to be over-night in
+Glasgow, for the purpose of attending a concert with the family in
+Bellairs Crescent. It was a very select and fashionable affair, at which
+the _elite_ and beauty of Glasgow were present. Gladys enjoyed the gay
+and animated scene as much as the music, which was also to her a rare
+treat. When they left the hall it was nearly eleven o'clock, and they
+had to wait some time in the vestibule till their carriage should move
+towards the door. It was a fine mild night, and the girls, with their
+soft hoods drawn over their heads, and their fleecy wraps close about
+their throats, stood close by the great doors, chatting merrily while
+they waited. The usual small crowd of loafers were hanging about the
+pavements, and as usual Gladys was saddened by the sight of the dejected
+and oftentimes degraded-looking denizens of the lower quarters of the
+city. It might be that, in contrast with the gay and handsomely-dressed
+people from the West End, their poverty seemed even more pitiable.
+
+'Now, Gladys, no such pained expression, if you please,' said the
+observant Mina. 'Don't look as if you carried all the sins and sorrows
+of Glasgow on your own shoulders. Good, here is the brougham; and pray
+observe the expression on the countenance of James. Is it not a
+picture?'
+
+Gladys could not but laugh, and they tripped across the pavement to the
+carriage. When they were all in, and Mr. Fordyce had given the word to
+the coachman, a woman suddenly swerved from the pavement and peered in
+at the carriage window. At the moment the impatient horses moved swiftly
+away, and when Gladys begged them to stop it was too late; the woman was
+lost in the crowd.
+
+Gladys, however, had seen her face, and recognised it, in spite of the
+change upon it, as the face of Walter's sister Liz.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+GLADYS AND WALTER.
+
+
+The fleeting vision of Liz Hepburn's familiar face appeared to fill
+Gladys with excitement and unrest. As Mina looked at her flushed cheeks
+and shining eyes, she felt a vague uneasiness visit her own heart. They
+did not speak of her as they drove home, but when the girls gathered, as
+was their wont, round the cheerful fire in the guest-chamber before
+retiring for the night, Gladys asked them a question.
+
+'Did you see her? She looked very ill, and very distressed. Do you not
+think so? Oh, I fear she has been in trouble, and I must do all I can to
+find out about her. If you will allow me, I shall remain another day in
+town, and I can send a telegram to Miss Peck in the morning.'
+
+Mina, on her knees beside her chair, her plump bare arm showing very
+white and fair against the black lace of Gladys's gown, looked up at her
+with a slightly troubled air.
+
+'Gladys, I wish you wouldn't bother about that girl. You lay things far
+too much to heart. It can't possibly concern you now. Let her own people
+look after her.'
+
+Gladys received this remark with rather an indignant look.
+
+'Mina, that is not like you. You only assume such hard-heartedness. If
+you saw her face as I saw it, it must haunt you. Her eyes were quite
+wild and despairing, I cannot forget them.'
+
+'Oh, I think you exaggerate,' said Mina lightly. 'I saw her very well.
+It was the usual calm, rather insolent stare these girls give. I do not
+think she looked either very ill or very desperate, and she seemed
+comfortably clothed. What do you think, Clara?'
+
+'Oh, I didn't see her,' answered Clara, with a slight yawn. 'Yes, Gladys
+dear, I do think you worry too much over things. What can that girl
+possibly be to you? Of course we are very sorry for her; still, if she
+is in trouble, she has brought it on herself. It will never do for you
+to mix yourself up with all sorts and conditions. I say, wasn't Sims
+Reeves heavenly to-night, and "Come into the garden, Maud," more
+entrancing than ever? To think what immense power that man wields in his
+voice! He can do with his audience as he likes. He was in splendid
+form.'
+
+Gladys remained silent. The concert had given her a rare pleasure, but
+it was obliterated at the moment by the incident of the face at the
+carriage window.
+
+'We had better get to bed, girls, or mamma will be sending Katherine to
+us presently,' said Mina, as she picked herself up from the rug.
+'Good-night, dear, and don't worry. If you wrinkle up your brows like
+that over every trifle, you will be old before your time.'
+
+Gladys faintly smiled, and bade them good-night. She 'worried' a good
+deal more than either of them imagined.
+
+'I say, Clara, I do wish we could induce Gladys to leave that girl
+alone,' Mina said to her sister, as she threw off her evening gown and
+began to brush out her hair. 'I have the oddest feeling about it, just
+as if it would make mischief. Haven't you?'
+
+'No; but you needn't try to dissuade Gladys from anything she has set
+her mind upon. I never saw anybody so "sot," as Artemus Ward would say;
+she's positive to the verge of obstinacy. But what makes you have any
+feeling in the matter I can't imagine; you never even saw the girl in
+your life.'
+
+'No, but I feel interested in her, all the same. And, I say'--
+
+She broke off there rather suddenly, and meditatively brushed her hair
+for a few seconds in silence.
+
+'Did you notice that afternoon we had the tea, after all the people were
+gone, you remember that Cousin George spilled the contents of a cup on
+mamma's gown?'
+
+'Yes, I remember that, of course, but what can it have to do with Gladys
+and this Hepburn girl?'
+
+'Did nothing occur to you in connection with his unusual awkwardness?
+Don't you remember what we were talking of at the time?'
+
+'No,' replied Clara, and she paused with her bodice half pulled over her
+lovely shoulders, and a slow wonder on her beautiful, placid face.
+
+'Well, Gladys was telling us at the very moment about the disappearance
+of this Hepburn girl, as you call her, and I happened to be looking at
+Cousin George while she was speaking, and, Clara, I can't for the life
+of me help thinking he knows something about it.'
+
+No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Mina saw that she had
+made a profound mistake. The red colour leaped into her sister's face,
+dyeing even the curves of her stately throat.
+
+'I think you are a wicked, uncharitable girl, Mina,' she said, with icy
+coldness. 'I wonder you are not ashamed to have such a thought for a
+moment. I only beg of you not to let it go any further. It may do more
+harm than you think.'
+
+So saying, Clara gathered up all her wraps and marched off to her own
+room, leaving her sister feeling rather hurt and humiliated, though not
+in the least convinced that she had simply given rein to an uncharitable
+imagination. Mina was indeed so much troubled that she went off her
+sleep--a most unusual experience for her; and the morning failed to
+banish, as it often benignly banishes, the misgivings of the night.
+
+Once more Gladys made a pilgrimage to the old home where Walter dwelt
+alone, working early and late, the monotony of his toil only brightened
+by one constant hope. It was a strange existence for the lad on the
+threshold of his young manhood, and many who knew something of his way
+of life wondered at the steady and dogged persistence with which he
+pursued his avocation. He appeared to have reached, while yet not much
+past his boyhood, the grave, passionless calm which comes to most men
+only after they have outlived the passion of their youth. He was
+regarded as a sharp, hard-working young man, with a keen eye for
+business, and honourable and just, but conspicuously hard to deal
+with--one whose word was as his bond, and who, being so absolutely
+reliable himself, suffered no equivocation or crooked dealings in
+others. By slow but certain degrees he had extricated himself from the
+strange network which old Abel Graham had woven about the business, and
+established it upon the basis of sound, straightforward dealing. The old
+customers, in spite of certain advantages the new system offered,
+dropped away from him one by one, but others took their place. When
+Walter balanced his books at the end of the first year, he had reason to
+be not only content, but elated, and he was enabled to carry out at once
+certain extensions which he had quite expected would only be justifiable
+after the lapse of some years. But, while prospering beyond his highest
+anticipations, what of the growth of the true man, the development of
+the great human soul, which craves a higher destiny than mere grovelling
+among the sordid things of earth? While supremely unconscious of any
+change in himself, there was nevertheless a great change--a very great
+change indeed. It was inevitable. A life so narrow, so circumscribed, so
+barren of beauty, lived so solitarily, away from every softening
+influence, was bound to work a subtle and relentless change. The man of
+one idea is apt to starve his soul in his effort to make it subservient
+to the furtherance of his solitary aim. To be a successful man, to win
+by his own unaided effort a position which would entitle him to meet
+Gladys Graham on equal ground, such was his ambition, and it never did
+occur to him that this very striving might make him unfit in other ways
+to be her mate. His isolated life, absolutely unrelieved by any social
+intercourse with his fellows, made him silent by choice, still and
+self-contained in manner, abrupt of speech. In his unconsciousness it
+never occurred to him that it is the little courtesies and graces of
+speech and action which commend a man first to the notice of the woman
+he wants to win. He was, though he did not know it, a melancholy
+spectacle; but his awakening was at hand.
+
+Gladys made her second call at the house in Colquhoun Street, as before,
+early in the day. It seemed very familiar, though it was many months
+since she had passed that way. It seemed a more hopeless and squalid
+street than she had yet thought it. She picked her steps daintily
+through the greasy mud, holding her skirts high enough to show a most
+bewitching pair of feet, cased in Parisian boots, only there was nobody
+visible to admire them but a grimy butcher's boy, with a basket on his
+head, and he stared with all his might.
+
+The warehouse door, contrary to the old custom, stood wide open, as if
+inviting all comers. Gladys gave a glance along the passage which led to
+the living-rooms, but was not moved to revisit them. She went at once up
+the grimy staircase, giving a little light cough as she neared the
+landing, a herald of her coming. She heard quite distinctly the grating
+of the stool on the floor, and a step coming towards her--a step which
+even now sounded quite familiarly in her ears.
+
+'It is I--Gladys,' she said, trying to speak quite naturally, but
+conscious of a shrinking embarrassment which made her cheeks nervously
+flush. 'The door was open, so I came right in. How are you, Walter?'
+
+In his face shone something of the old bright friendliness, but as she
+looked at the shabby youth, with his unshaved face and threadbare
+clothes, her fastidious eye disapproved of him just as it had
+disapproved of him when they met, boy and girl, for the first time in
+the rooms below.
+
+'I am quite well,' he answered in his quick, abrupt unsmiling manner.
+'But why do you always come without any warning? If you let me know, I
+should be ready for you. I am always busy in the morning, and a fellow
+who has so much hard work to do can't always be in trim to receive
+ladies.'
+
+It was rather an ungracious greeting, which Gladys was quick enough to
+resent. The gentle meekness of the girl had merged itself into the
+dignity of the woman, which insists upon due deference being paid.
+
+'I am quite sorry if I intrude, Walter,' she said rather stiffly. 'I
+shall not keep you long. All the same, I am coming in to sit down for a
+little, as I have something very particular to speak to you about.'
+
+'Come in. Of course you know I am glad to see you,' he said hurriedly;
+and Gladys could not help rather enjoying his evident confusion. If he
+felt nervous and awkward in her presence, it was no more than he
+deserved to feel, since _she_ was so entirely unchanged.
+
+'I am glad you have the grace to be civil, at least,' she said, with a
+bewildering smile, which vanished, however, when she seated herself on
+the battered old office-stool; all her anxiety and troubled concern made
+her face grave to sadness as she put the question--
+
+'Do you know that your sister is in Glasgow?'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+A TROUBLED HEART.
+
+
+Walter did not know. His expression of surprise, tinged with alarm and a
+touch of shame, answered her before he spoke.
+
+'How do you know that?' he asked.
+
+'I saw her last night in Berkeley Street, just outside the Crown Halls,
+where we were at a concert,' said Gladys. 'Is it possible you have never
+seen her?'
+
+'No; and I don't believe it was her you saw. You must have made a
+mistake,' replied Walter quickly.
+
+'It was no mistake, because she looked into our carriage, and I saw her
+quite plainly. Besides, do you think that any one who has seen Liz once
+would ever forget her face? I have never seen one like it.'
+
+'I don't know anything about it, and I care less,' Walter said with
+unpromising hardness.
+
+Gladys did not know that the simple announcement she had brought to him
+in all faith, believing even that he might be in a sense relieved and
+glad to hear it, tortured him to the very soul. He felt so bitter
+against Gladys at the moment that he could have ordered her away. Her
+dainty presence, her air of ladyhood, her beautiful ways, almost
+maddened him; but Gladys was quite unconscious of it.
+
+'Have you not been at your father's house lately, then?' she asked. 'Of
+course she must be there. How glad they will be to have her safely at
+home again! Do you think she would be glad to see me if I went to-day?'
+
+'No, she wouldn't, even if she were there, which I know is not the case.
+I was there myself yesterday, and they had never heard anything about
+her. I wish to heaven you would leave us alone, and let us sink into the
+mire we are made for! We don't want such fine ladies as you coming
+patronising us, and trying to make pious examples of us. We are quite
+happy--oh, quite happy--as we are.'
+
+He spoke with an awful bitterness, with a passion which made him
+terrible to look upon, but Gladys only shrank a little, only a little,
+under this angry torrent. Her vision was clearer than a year ago. She
+read the old friend now with unerring skill, and looked at him steadily
+with gentle, sorrowful eyes.
+
+'You are very angry, Walter, and you think it is with me, but I know
+better, and you cannot prevent me trying to find out what has become of
+poor Lizzie. I loved her, and love has certain rights, even you will
+admit that.'
+
+Her gentle words relieved the tension of his passion, and he became
+calmer in a moment.
+
+'If it is true that she is in Glasgow, it is easy knowing what has
+become of her,' he said, with an ironical smile. 'Take my advice, and
+let her alone. She never was company for you, anyhow, and now less than
+ever. Let her alone.'
+
+'Oh, I can't do that, Walter. You have no idea how much I have thought
+about her. It has often kept me from sleeping, I assure you. I have so
+many blessings, I wish to share them. To make others happy is all the
+use money is for.'
+
+Walter was secretly touched, secretly yearning over her with a passion
+of admiration--ay, and of sympathy, but his passive face betrayed
+nothing. He listened as he might have listened to a customer's
+complaint, yet with even a slighter exhibition of interest. Strange that
+he should thus be goaded against his better impulses to show so harsh a
+front to the being he passionately loved, unless it was part of the
+_role_ he had mapped out for himself.
+
+'I heard that you had invited Teen Balfour to your estate; is she there
+yet?' he asked; and Gladys did not know whether he asked in scorn or in
+jest.
+
+'Yes, she is at Bourhill still, and will remain for some time. Have you
+got anybody in Mrs. Macintyre's place? It was rather selfish of me,
+perhaps, to take her away without consulting you.'
+
+'It didn't affect me in the least, I assure you. Mrs. Macintyre was not
+indispensable to my comfort. So you like being a fine rich lady? Don't
+you remember how I prophesied you would, and how indignant you were?
+After all, there is a good deal of worldly wisdom in the slums.'
+
+'You prophesied that I should in a week forget, or wish to forget, this
+place, and that has not come true, since I am here to-day,' she said,
+trying to smile, though her heart was sore. 'Won't you tell me now how
+you are getting on? Excuse me saying that I don't think you look very
+prosperous or very happy.'
+
+'Nevertheless, the thing will pay; there isn't any doubt about the
+prosperity. As for the happiness,' he added, with a shrug of the
+shoulders, 'I don't think there is much real happiness in this world.'
+
+'Oh yes, there is,' she cried eagerly, 'a great deal of it, if only one
+will take the trouble to look for it. It is in little things, Walter,
+that happiness is found, and you might be very happy indeed, if you
+would not delight in being so bitter and morose. It is so very bad for
+you. Some day, when you want to throw it off, you will not be able to do
+so, because it will have become a habit with you. I must tell you quite
+plainly what I think, because it makes me so unhappy to see you like
+this. You always remind me of Ishmael, whose hand was against every man.
+What has changed you so terribly?'
+
+'Circumstances. Yes, I am the victim of circumstances.'
+
+'There is no such thing,' said Gladys calmly. 'That is a phrase with
+which people console themselves in misfortunes they often bring upon
+themselves. If you would only think of the absurdity of what you are
+saying. You have admitted your prosperity; and the other troubles, home
+troubles, which I know are very trying, need not overwhelm you. You are
+much less manly, Walter, now you are a man, than I expected you to be.
+You have quite disappointed me, and without reason.'
+
+He was surprised, and could not hide it. The gentle, simple, shrinking
+girl had changed into a self-reliant, keen-sighted woman, and from the
+serene height of her gracious womanhood calmly convicted him of his
+folly and his besetting weakness, and, manlike, his first impulse, thus
+convicted, was to resent her interference.
+
+'Whatever I may do, it can't affect you now, you are so far removed from
+me,' he said, without looking at her; and Gladys, disappointed, and a
+little indignant, rose to go.
+
+'Very well; good-bye. It is always the same kind of good-bye,' she said
+quietly. 'If ever, when you look back upon it, it should grieve you,
+remember it was always your doing, yours alone. But even yet, though you
+may not believe it, Walter, your old friend will remain quite
+unchanged.'
+
+His face flushed, and he dashed his hand with a hasty gesture across his
+eyes.
+
+'I am not changed,' he said huskily. 'You need not reproach me with
+that. You know nothing about the struggle it is for me here, nor what I
+have to fight against. It was you who taught me first to be discontented
+with my lot, to strive after something higher. I sometimes wish now that
+we had never met.'
+
+'Whatever happens, Walter, I shall never wish that; and I hope one day
+you will be sorry for ever having said such a thing,' she said, with a
+proud ring in her clear, sweet voice. 'I hope--I hope one day everything
+will be made right; just now it all seems so very wrong and hard to
+bear.'
+
+She left him hurriedly then, just as she had left him before, at the
+moment when he could have thrown himself at her feet, and revealed to
+her all the surging passion of his soul.
+
+Gladys felt so saddened and disheartened that she could not bear to
+return to Bellairs Crescent, to the inevitable questioning which she
+knew awaited her there. If the Fordyces were kind, they were also a
+trifle fussy, and sometimes nettled Gladys by their too obvious and
+exacting interest in her concerns. She ran up to the office in St.
+Vincent Street, and told Mr. Fordyce she was going off to Mauchline by
+the one-o'clock train, and begged him to send a boy with an explanation
+to the Crescent. Mr. Fordyce was very good-natured, and not at all
+curious; it never occurred to him to try and dissuade her from such a
+hurried departure, or pester her with questions about it. He simply set
+her down to write her note at his own desk, then took her out to lunch,
+and finally put her in her train, all in his own easy, pleasant,
+fatherly way, and Gladys felt profoundly grateful to him.
+
+Her arrival being unexpected, there was no one to meet her at Mauchline
+Station, but the two-and-a-half-mile walk did not in the least
+disconcert her. It seemed as if the clear, cool south wind--the wind the
+huntsman loves--blew all the city cobwebs from her brain, and again
+raised her somewhat jaded spirits. She could even think hopefully of
+Liz, and her mind was full of schemes for her redemption, when she
+espied, at a short distance from her own gates, the solitary figure of
+Teen, with her hand shading her eyes, looking anxiously down the road.
+She had found life at Bourhill insufferably dull without its mistress.
+
+'Have ye walkit a' that distance?' she cried breathlessly, having run
+all her might to meet her. 'Ye'll be deid tired. What way did ye no'
+send word?'
+
+'Because I came off all in a hurry this morning,' answered Gladys, with
+a smile; for the warm welcome glowing in the large eyes of the little
+seamstress did her good. 'And how have you been--you and Miss Peck, and
+all the people?'
+
+'Fine; but, my, it's grand to see ye back,' said Teen, with a boundless
+satisfaction. 'It's no' like the same place when ye are away. An' hoo's
+Glesca lookin'--as dreich as ever?'
+
+'Quite. And oh, Teen, I have found Liz at last. I saw her last night in
+Berkeley Street.'
+
+'Saw Liz in Berkeley Street? Surely, never!' repeated Teen, aghast.
+
+'It is quite true. I think she cannot have been away from Glasgow at
+all. We must try and find her, you and I, and get her down here.'
+
+'I'll get her, if she's in Glesca!' cried Teen excitedly. 'Did ye speak
+to her? What did she look like?'
+
+'Very ill, I thought, and strange,' answered Gladys slowly. 'She only
+peeped into our carriage window as we drove away from the concert hall.'
+
+'It's queer,' said Teen musingly,--'very queer. I feel as if I wad like
+to gang back to Glesca this very day, and see her.'
+
+'You might go to-morrow, if you like,' said Gladys. 'I daresay you will
+find her much quicker than I should; she would not be so shy of you.'
+
+Teen turned her head and gave Gladys a strange, intent look, which
+seemed to ask a question. The girl was indeed asking herself whether it
+might not be better to let the whole matter rest. She suspected that
+there might be in this case wheels within wheels which might seriously
+involve the happiness of her who deserved above all others the highest
+happiness the world can give. The little seamstress was perplexed,
+saddened, half-afraid, torn between two loves and two desires. She
+wished she knew how much or how little George Fordyce was to Gladys
+Graham, yet dared not to ask the question.
+
+But so great was the absorbing desire of Gladys to find means of
+communication with Liz that she would not let the matter rest. Next day
+the visit of the little seamstress to Bourhill was brought apparently to
+a very sudden end and she returned to town--not, however, to sue for
+work at the hands of the stony-visaged forewoman, but to carry out the
+behest of the young lady of Bourhill.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+AN AWAKENING.
+
+
+The interview with Gladys upset Walter for the day. When she was gone,
+he found it impossible to fix his attention on his books or any of the
+details of his business. He could not even sit still, but wandered
+restlessly up and down his domain, trying to unravel his own thoughts.
+The subtle fragrance of her presence, like some rare perfume, seemed to
+pervade the place, and her words continued to haunt him, till he felt
+angry and impatient with her, with himself, with all the world. He had
+now two persons in his employment--a man who delivered goods on a
+hand-barrow, and a lad who filled a position similar to that which had
+been Walter's own in Abel Graham's days.
+
+When this lad returned after the dinner hour, Walter left him in charge,
+and took himself into the streets, pursued by that vague restlessness he
+could neither understand nor shake off. Looking in at the mirrored
+window of a great shop in St. Vincent Street, he saw the image of
+himself reflected, a tall, lean figure, shabbily clad--an image which
+filled him with a sudden loathing and contempt. He stood quite still,
+and calmly appraised himself, taking in every meagre detail of his
+appearance, noting the grimy hue of the collar he had worn three days,
+the glazed front of the frayed black tie, the soft, greasy rim of the
+old hat. Yes, he told himself, he was a most disreputable-looking
+object, with nothing in his appearance to suggest prosperity, or even
+decent comfort. A grim humour smote him suddenly, and thrusting his hand
+into his pocket, he brought it out full of money, and rapidly counted
+it. Then he opened the door of the fashionable tailor's, and walked in.
+He was regarded, as was to be expected, a trifle superciliously by the
+immaculately-attired young gentlemen therein.
+
+'I want a suit of clothes,' he said in his straight, abrupt fashion,--'a
+good suit; the best you have in your shop.'
+
+The young gentlemen regarded him and each other with such significance
+in their glances that their shabby-looking customer turned on his heel.
+
+'I can be served elsewhere, I guess, without so much hesitation,' he
+said, and in an instant he was intercepted with profuse apologies, and
+patterns of the best materials in the shop laid before him.
+
+'I'll take this,' said Walter, after refusing several.
+
+'It is very expensive, sir--beautiful material, but a suit made to
+measure will be five guineas,' said the young gentleman suggestively.
+
+'I'll take it,' said Walter calmly. 'And I want an overcoat, and a hat,
+and some other things. Show me what you have.'
+
+The fascination of choosing new garments for personal wear was upon
+Walter Hepburn, and he spent a whole hour in the shop, selecting an
+outfit which did credit to his taste and discernment. Before that hour
+was over he had risen very considerably in the opinion of those who
+served him--his choice invariably falling on what was not only most
+expensive, but in the best taste.
+
+'Now, how much is to pay? I'll pay ready money to-day, and send for the
+things when they are ready, which I hope will be soon.'
+
+'Very well, sir; but there is no hurry, I assure you,' said the young
+gentleman suavely. 'Payment on delivery is always quite satisfactory.'
+
+'I'll pay to-day,' Walter replied, with his hand in his pocket; and when
+the bill was presented he ran his eye over it without a change of face.
+
+'Twelve pounds eight shillings and twopence,' he said slowly, and
+counted out the bank notes carelessly, as if the handling of them was
+his daily work. Then, having made arrangements for fitting, he went his
+way, leaving a very odd impression on the minds of the shop people. Had
+he heard their surmises and comments, he would have felt at once amused
+and chagrined.
+
+From St. Vincent Street he sauntered back to Argyle Street, and took a
+Bridgeton car. Thoughts of Liz were crowding thick and fast upon him,
+and he found himself scanning the faces of the people in the crowded
+streets, and even looking up expectantly each time the car stopped,
+assuring himself he would not be in the least surprised were his sister
+to appear suddenly before him. He was ill at ease concerning her. If it
+were true that she was in Glasgow, then his first fears concerning her
+were likely to have some foundation. It was curious that all resentment
+seemed to have died out of his mind, and that he felt nothing but an
+indescribable longing to see her again. Strange and unnatural as it may
+seem, he had not for a very long time felt any such kindly affection
+towards his parents. He did his duty by them so far as the giving of
+money was concerned, but they lay upon his heart like a heavy weight,
+and he lived in dread of some calamity happening, for they were seldom
+sober. He could not help asking himself sometimes whether he was
+justified in giving them so liberal an allowance, since relief from all
+pecuniary anxiety seemed to have only made them more dissipated and
+abandoned. It was very seldom indeed that his father now wrought a day's
+work. These were heavy burdens for the young man to bear, and he may be
+forgiven his morbid pride, his apparent hardness of heart. It is a
+common saying that living sorrows are worse than death--they eat like a
+canker into the soul. It was his anxiety about Liz which took Walter to
+the dreary house in Bridgeton at that unusual hour of the day. He
+thought it quite likely that if she were in Glasgow they would have seen
+or heard something of her. He made a point of visiting them once a week,
+and his step was never buoyant as he ascended that weary stair, nor when
+he descended it on his homeward way, for he was either saddened and
+oppressed anew with their melancholy state, or wearied with reproaches,
+or disgusted with petty grumblings and unsavoury details of the
+neighbours' shortcomings and domestic affairs. It is a tragedy we see
+daily in our midst, this gradual estrangement of those bound by ties of
+blood, and who ought, but cannot possibly be bound by ties of love. Love
+must be cherished; it is only in the rarest instances it can survive the
+frost of indifference and neglect. The drink fiend has no respect of
+persons; the sanctity of home and God-given affections is ruthlessly
+destroyed, high and holy ambitions sacrificed, hearts remorselessly
+broken, graves dug above the heavenliest hopes.
+
+Walter Hepburn was always grave, oftentimes sorrowful, because with the
+years had come fuller knowledge, keener perception, clearer visions that
+the sorrows of his youth were sorrows which could darken his young
+manhood and shadow all his future. It was a profound relief to him that
+day to find his mother tidier than usual, busy with preparations for the
+mid-day meal. He never knew how he should find them; too often a visit
+to that home made him sick at heart.
+
+'Ye are an early visitor, my man,' his mother said, in surprise. 'What's
+brocht ye here at sic a time?'
+
+'Is Liz here?' he inquired, with a quick glance round the kitchen.
+
+'Liz! No.'
+
+In her surprise at this unexpected question, Mrs. Hepburn paused, with
+the lid of the broth-pot in her hand, looking wonderingly into her son's
+face.
+
+'What gars ye ask that?'
+
+'I heard she was in Glasgow, that's why,' Walter answered cautiously.
+'Where's the old man? Not working, surely?'
+
+'Ay; he's turned over a new leaf for three days, workin' orra at
+Stevenson's; they're short o' men the noo. He'll be in to his denner the
+noo. Wull ye tak' a bite wi' us? It's lang since ye broke breid in this
+hoose.'
+
+'I don't mind if I do,' replied Walter, laying off his hat and drawing
+the arm-chair up to the fire. 'So you have never seen Liz? The person
+that saw her must have made a mistake.'
+
+'Wha was't?'
+
+'A lady. You don't know her. Have you never heard anything about her at
+all, then?'
+
+'No' a cheep. She's in London, they say--the folk that pretend to ken
+a'thing. I'm sure I'm no' carin'.'
+
+'And my father's really working this week? Oh, mother, if only he would
+keep steady, it would make all the difference. You look better
+yourself, too. Are you not far better without drink?'
+
+'Maybe. We've made a paction, onyway, for a week, till we see,' said
+Mrs. Hepburn, with a slow smile. 'The way o't was this. We fell oot wan
+day, an' he cuist up to me that I couldna keep frae't, an' I jist says,
+says I, "Ye canna keep frae't yersel'," an' it's for spite we're no'
+touchin't. I dinna think mysel' he'll staun' oot past Seterday.'
+
+Walter could not forbear a melancholy smile.
+
+'It's not a very high motive, but better spite than no motive at all,'
+he answered. 'D'ye think, mother, that Liz can be in Glasgow?'
+
+'Hoo should I ken? There's yer faither's fit on the stair, an' the
+tatties no' ready, but they'll be saft in a jiffy. He canna wait a
+meenit for his meat. As I say, he thinks it should be walkin' doon the
+stair to meet him. Ay, my man, it's you I'm on.'
+
+She made a great clatter with knives and spoons on the table, and then
+made a rush to pour the water off the potatoes.
+
+'Hulloa, Wat, what's up?' inquired the old man, as genuinely surprised
+as his wife had been to see his son.
+
+'I heard Liz was in Glasgow, and I came to see if she was here,'
+answered Walter. 'So you're working again? I must say work agrees with
+you, father; you look a different man.'
+
+'Oh, I'm no' past wark. If I like, I can dae my darg wi' ony man,' he
+replied rather ironically. 'Pit oot the kale, Leezbeth, or we'll be
+burnt to daith. Are ye slack yersel' that ye can come ower here at wan
+o'clock in the day?'
+
+'I'm slacker than I was,' said Walter, 'but I can't complain, either.'
+
+'An' what was that ye said aboot Liz, that she was here in Glesca?
+Weel, if she is, she's never lookit near. It's gentry bairns we hae,
+Leezbeth; let's be thankfu' for them.'
+
+This mild sarcasm did not greatly affect Walter, he was too familiar
+with it.
+
+'I heard she had been seen, but perhaps it was a mistake. It must have
+been, or she would surely have come here. You are working at
+Stevenson's, mother says; will it be permanent?'
+
+'I'll see. It depends on hoo I feel,' replied the old man complacently.
+'I've been in waur places, an' the gaffer's very slack. He disna work a
+ten-hoors' day ony mair than the rest o's.'
+
+'Though you are paid for it, I suppose?' said Walter.
+
+'Ay, but naebody but a born fule will kill himsel' unless he's made
+dae't,' was the reply.
+
+'I wouldn't keep a man who didn't do a fair day's work for a fair day's
+wage, nor would you,' said Walter. 'I believe that nobody would make
+more tyrannical masters than working men themselves, just as women who
+have been servants themselves make the most exacting mistresses.'
+
+'This is Capital speakin' noo, Leezbeth,' said his father very
+sarcastically. 'It's kind o' amusin'. We're the twa sides, as it
+were--Capital and Labour. Ye've no' been lang o' forgettin' whaur ye
+sprang frae, my man.'
+
+Walter's father had been a skilful workman in his day, with an
+intelligence above the average; had he kept from drink, there is no
+doubt he would have risen from the ranks. Even yet gleams of the old
+spirit which had often displayed itself at workmen's meetings and
+demonstrations would occasionally shine forth. Walter was thankful to
+see it, and after spending a comparatively pleasant hour with them, he
+went his way with a lighter and happier feeling about them than he had
+experienced for many a day.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+TOO LATE!
+
+
+George Fordyce was listening to a maternal lecture the morning after a
+dance, at which he had been distributing his attentions very freely
+among the most attractive of the young ladies present. The breakfast was
+nearly an hour late, and mother and son partook of it alone, Mr. Fordyce
+being in London on business, and the fair Julia not yet out of bed.
+
+'It's all your nonsense, mother,' said George imperturbably. 'I didn't
+pay special court to anybody except Clara. She was the best dancer in
+the room and very nearly the handsomest girl.'
+
+'You should have pity on Clara, my dear,' his mother said indulgently.
+'You know she is fond of you; she can't hide it, poor thing, and it is a
+shame to pay her too much attention in public, when it can't come to
+anything.'
+
+'I can't help it if girls will be silly,' was the complacent reply.
+'Clara is all very well as a cousin, but I'd like more spirit in a
+wife.'
+
+'It strikes me you will get enough of it if you should be successful
+where we wish you to be successful,' said his mother, with a keen glance
+across the table. 'Gladys Graham is a very self-willed piece of
+humanity. Your Aunt Isabel told me only yesterday of her absurd fad to
+have common girls visiting her at Bourhill. It is quite time somebody
+took her firmly in hand, or she will become that insufferable kind of
+person, a woman with a mission to set the world right.'
+
+George emptied his coffee-cup, and returned his mother's look with one
+equally steady and keen.
+
+'There is no use going on at me, mother. I've done all I can do in the
+meantime. I asked her, and she'--
+
+'Did not refuse you, I hope?' exclaimed Mrs. Fordyce, with a gasp.
+
+'Well, not quite; she said I must leave her alone for a long time, and I
+mean to. It isn't pleasant for a fellow to be sat on by a
+girl--especially,' he added, with a significant shrug, 'when he isn't
+used to it.'
+
+'I wish you would tell me when all this happened. You have been very
+close about it, George,' his mother said reproachfully.
+
+'I wish I had remained close; but now that I've let the cat out, I may
+as well tell the whole tale. It was only a fortnight ago--that Saturday
+afternoon I was down at Bourhill. I had no intention of committing
+myself when I went, but somehow I got carried away, and asked her. I
+believe I should have had a more favourable answer, but a confounded
+maid came in with tea--as they always do when nobody wants them.'
+
+'And what did she say?' queried Mrs. Fordyce, in breathless interest.
+
+'Faith, I can't remember exactly,' George replied, and his mother was
+more than astonished to see his cheek flushing. 'I know she asked me to
+wait, and not to bother her. I believe she'll have me in the end.
+Anyhow, I mean to have her, and it's the same thing, isn't it?'
+
+'I hope it may be; but if you take my advice, my dear, don't leave her
+alone too much, in case somebody else more enterprising and not so
+easily repulsed should step in before you. If I were a man I wouldn't
+walk off for a girl's first No.'
+
+'You don't know a blessed thing about what you're talking of, mother,'
+replied George, with calm candour. 'If you were a man, and had a girl
+looking at you with a steady stare, and telling you to get out, well, I
+guess you'd get out pretty quick, that's all.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce laughed.
+
+'Well, perhaps so; but it is very important that you should follow up
+your advantage, however slight it may be. It would be a most desirable
+alliance. Think of her family; it would be a splendid connection. You
+would be a county gentleman, to begin with.'
+
+'And call myself Fordyce Graham? Eh, mother?' said George lazily. 'There
+are worse sounding names. But Gladys herself affects to have no pride in
+her long descent; that very day she was quoting to me that rot of Burns
+about rank being only the guinea stamp, and all that sort of thing. All
+very well for a fellow like Burns, who was only a ploughman. It has done
+Gladys a lot of harm living in the slums; it won't be easy eradicating
+her queer notions, I can tell you.'
+
+'Oh, after she is married, if you take her well in hand, it will be easy
+enough,' said his mother confidently. 'She did not give you a positive
+refusal, then?'
+
+'No; but I'm not going to make myself too cheap,' said George; 'it
+seldom pays in any circumstances--in dealings with women, never. They
+set all the more store by a fellow who thinks a good deal of himself.'
+
+'Then you should be very successful,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a smile.
+'Well, remember that nothing will give your father and me greater
+pleasure than to hear that you are engaged to Gladys Graham.'
+
+'Well, I'd better get out of this. Twenty minutes to eleven! By Jove,
+wonder what the governor would say if he were to pop in just now?
+Thunder's not in it.'
+
+So the amiable and self-satisfied George took himself off to the mill,
+and all day long thought much of his mother's advice, and somehow he
+felt himself being impelled towards paying another visit to Bourhill.
+Out of that visit arose portentous issues, which were to have the
+strongest possible influence upon the future of Gladys Graham. He found
+her in a lonely and impressionable mood, and left the house, to his own
+profound astonishment, an accepted lover.
+
+That very evening, after he was gone, Gladys sat by the fire in her
+spacious drawing-room, turning upon her third finger the diamond ring
+George Fordyce had transferred from his own hand to hers, whispering as
+he did so that she should soon have one worthier of her. Watching the
+flashing of the stone in the gleaming firelight, she wondered to see
+tears, matching the diamonds in brilliance, falling on her gown. She did
+not understand these tears; she did not think herself unhappy, though
+she felt none of that passionate, trembling joy which happy love, as she
+had heard and read of it, is entitled to feel. She realised that she had
+taken a great and important step in life, and that it seemed to weigh
+upon her, that was all. In her loneliness she longed passionately for
+some sympathetic soul to lean upon. Miss Peck had gone back to the fen
+country to see a dying friend, and for some days she had heard nothing
+of Teen, who was pursuing in Glasgow her search for the lost and
+mysterious Liz. In the midst of the strange reverie she heard footsteps
+on the stair, and presently a knock came to the door. As it was opened,
+the silver chimes of the old brass clock rang seven.
+
+'Mr. Hepburn.'
+
+Gladys sprang up, struck by the familiar name, yet not expecting to
+behold her old companion in the flesh, and there he was, standing
+modestly, yet with so much manliness and courage in his bearing, that
+she could not forbear a little cry of welcome as she ran to him with
+outstretched hands. It seemed as if her prayer for the sympathy of one
+who understood her was answered far beyond any hope or expectations she
+had cherished regarding it.
+
+'Oh, Walter, I am so very glad to see you! It is so good of you to come.
+I have so often wished to see you here. Come away, come away!'
+
+The accepted lover, at that moment being whirled back by express train
+to Glasgow, would not have approved of those warm words, nor of the
+light shining all over the girl's sweet face as she uttered them. But he
+would have been compelled to admit that in Gladys's old companion of the
+slums he had no mean rival. The St. Vincent Street tailor had done his
+duty by his eccentric customer, and not only given him value for his
+money, but converted him, so far as outward appearance goes, into a new
+man. Philosophers and cynics have from time to time had their fling at
+the tyranny of clothes, but it still remains an undisputed fact that a
+well-dressed man is always much more comfortable and self-respecting
+than an ill-dressed one. When Walter Hepburn beheld the new man the
+tailor had turned out, a strange change came over him, and he saw in
+himself possibilities hitherto undreamed of. He realised for the first
+time that he looked fitter than most men to win a woman's approval, and
+I am quite safe in saying that Gladys owed this totally unlooked-for
+visit entirely to the St. Vincent Street tailor.
+
+'So very glad to see you,' she repeated, and she thought it no treachery
+to her absent lover to keep hold of the hand she had taken in greeting.
+'And looking so nice and so handsome! Oh, Walter, now I am no longer
+unhappy about you, for I see you have awakened at last to a sense of
+what you ought to be.'
+
+It was a tribute to clothes, but it sank with unalloyed sweetness into
+the young man's heart.
+
+'You are very kind to me, Gladys, and I do not deserve any such welcome.
+I was afraid, indeed, that you might refuse to see me, as you would be
+perfectly justified in doing.'
+
+'Oh, Walter,' she said reproachfully, 'how dare you say such a thing?
+Refuse to see you, indeed! Do sit down and tell me everything. Do you
+know, it is just my dinner hour, and you shall dine with me; and how
+delightful that will be. I thought of sending down to say I didn't wish
+any dinner, it is so lonely eating alone.'
+
+'Where is the lady who lives with you? You had a lady, hadn't you?'
+
+'Yes--Miss Peck. She has gone back to Lincoln to see her aunt who is
+dying, and I am quite alone, though to-morrow I expect one of Mr.
+Fordyce's daughters. And now, tell me, have you heard anything of Liz?'
+
+The voice sank to a grave whisper, and her eyes grew luminous with
+anxiety and sympathetic concern.
+
+'Nothing,' Walter answered, with a shake of his head, 'and I have been
+inquiring all round, too. My father and mother have never seen or heard
+anything of her. I think you must have made a mistake that night in
+Berkeley Street.'
+
+'If it was not Liz, it was her ghost,' said Gladys quite gravely. 'I
+cannot understand it. But, come, let us go down-stairs. You ought to
+offer me your arm, Walter. I cannot help laughing when I think of Mrs.
+Fordyce, she would be so horrified were she to see me now. She tries so
+hard to make me quite conventional, and she isn't able to do it.'
+
+'She may be right, though,' said Walter, and though he would have given
+worlds for the privilege, he dared not presume to take Gladys at her
+word and offer her his arm. But they went into the dining-room side by
+side; and at the table, Gladys, though watching keenly, detected very
+little of the old awkwardness, none at all of that blunt rudeness of
+speech and manner which had often vexed her sensitive soul. For the
+first time for many many months Walter permitted himself to be at ease
+and perfectly natural in his manner, and the result was entirely
+satisfactory; self-consciousness is fatal to comfort always. Gladys wore
+a black gown of some shimmering soft material, with a quaint frill of
+old lace falling over the low collar, a bunch of spring snowdrops at her
+belt, and her lovely hair bound with the black velvet band which none
+could wear just in the same way--a very simple, unostentatious home
+toilet, but she looked, Walter thought, like a queen. Possessed of a
+wonderful tact, Gladys managed, while the meal progressed, to confine
+the conversation to commonplace topics, so that the servant who attended
+should not be furnished with food for remark. Both were glad, however,
+to return to the drawing-room, where their talk could be quite
+unrestrained.
+
+'And now you are going to tell me everything about this wonderful
+metamorphosis,' she said merrily,--'every solitary thing. When did it
+dawn upon you that even a handsome man is utterly dependent on his
+tailor?'
+
+There was at once rebuke and approval conveyed in this whimsical speech,
+which made Walter's face slightly flush.
+
+'It dawned upon me one day, looking in at a shop window where I could
+see myself, that I was a most disreputable-looking object, quite
+eligible to be apprehended as an able-bodied vagrant.'
+
+'How delightful! I hope the shock was very bad, because you deserved it.
+Now that you have come back clothed and in your right mind, I am not
+going to spare you, Walter, and I will say that after my last visit to
+Colquhoun Street I quite lost hope. It is always the darkest hour before
+the dawn, somebody has said.'
+
+'If I'd thought you cared'--Walter began, but stopped suddenly; for
+Gladys turned from the table, where she was giving her attention to some
+drooping flowers, and her look was one of the keenest wonder and
+reproach.
+
+'Now you are weak, Walter, trying to bring your delinquencies home to
+me,' she said, with the first touch of sharpness he had ever seen in
+her. 'It has been your own fault entirely all along, and I have never
+had a solitary bit of sympathy for you, and I don't know, either, what
+you meant by going on in any such manner.'
+
+'I didn't understand it myself then; I seemed goaded on always to be a
+perfect brute when you came. But I believe I understand it now, and
+perhaps it would be better if I did not.'
+
+He spoke with considerable agitation, which Gladys affected not to
+notice, while her white fingers touched the drooping blossoms tenderly,
+as if sympathising with them that their little day was over.
+
+'Suppose you enlighten me, then?' she said, gaily still; then suddenly
+seeing his face, her own became very white.
+
+'I don't dare,' he said hoarsely, 'it is too much presumption; but it
+will perhaps make you understand and feel for me more than you seem to
+do. Don't you see, Gladys, that it is my misery to care for you as
+happier men care for the woman they ask to marry them?'
+
+There was a moment's strained silence, then Gladys spoke in a low,
+sobbing voice,--
+
+'It is, as I said, Walter, too late, too late! I have promised to marry
+another man.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.
+
+
+All the eagerness died out of Walter's face, and he turned away
+immediately as if to leave the room. But Gladys prevented him; her face
+still red with the hot flush his passionate words had called up, she
+stood before him, and laid her hand upon his arm.
+
+'You will not go away now, Walter, just when I hope we are beginning to
+understand each other. Do sit down for a little. There is a great deal
+left to us,--we can still be friends,--yes, a great deal.'
+
+'It will be better for me to go away,' he said, not bitterly nor
+resentfully, but with a quiet manliness which made the heart of Gladys
+glow with pride in him, though it was sore with another feeling she did
+not quite understand.
+
+'By and by, but not yet,' she said coaxingly. 'Besides, you cannot get a
+train just now, even if you were at the station this moment. You shall
+be driven into Mauchline in time for the nine-fifteen, and that is an
+hour hence. I cannot let you go now, Walter, for I do not know when I
+shall see you again.'
+
+She spoke with all the frank, child-like simplicity of the old time, and
+he turned back meekly and took his seat again, though it seemed for the
+moment as if all brightness and energy had gone out of him. Her hands
+trembled very much as they resumed their delicate task among the
+flowers, and her sweet mouth quivered too, though she tried to speak
+bravely and brightly as before.
+
+'Do tell me, Walter, what you are thinking of doing now that your
+business has become so prosperous. Don't you think you have lived quite
+long enough in that dingy Colquhoun Street?'
+
+'Perhaps so. I had thoughts of leaving it, but it is a great thing for a
+man to be on the premises. Your uncle would not have approved of my
+leaving the place so soon. Colquhoun Street was good enough for him all
+his days,' said Walter, striving to speak naturally, and only partially
+succeeding.
+
+'Ah, yes, poor man; but just think how much he denied himself to give me
+all this,' she said, with a glance round the beautiful room. 'How much
+happier he and I would have been with something a little lower than
+this, and a little higher than Colquhoun Street. It often makes me sad
+to think of the poverty of his life and the luxury of mine.'
+
+'But you were made for luxurious living,' was Walter's quick reply. 'You
+never looked at home in the old place. This suits you down to the
+ground.'
+
+'Do you think so?' Gladys gave a little melancholy smile. 'Yet so
+contradictory are we, that sometimes I am not at all happy nor contented
+here, Walter.'
+
+'You ought to be very happy,' he replied a trifle sharply. 'You have
+everything a woman needs to make her happy.'
+
+'Perhaps so, and yet'--
+
+She paused, and hummed a little scrap of song which Walter did not
+catch.
+
+'I am becoming quite an accomplished violinist, Walter,' she said
+presently. 'I have two lessons every week; once Herr Doeller comes down,
+and once I go up. Would you like to hear me play, or shall we talk?'
+
+'I don't know. It would really be better for me to go away. I can walk
+to the station; the walk will do me good.'
+
+'I will not allow you to walk nor go away, Walter, even if you are as
+cross as two sticks; and I must say I feel rather cross myself.'
+
+They were playing with edged tools, and Gladys was keenly conscious of
+it. Her pulses were throbbing, her heart beating as it had never beat in
+the presence of the man to whom she had plighted her troth that very
+day. A very little more, and she must have given way to hysterical
+sobbing, she felt so overwrought; and yet all the while she kept on her
+lips that gay little smile, and spoke as if it were the most natural
+thing in the world that they should be together. But when Walter
+remained silent, she came forward to the hearth quickly, and, forgetting
+that what was fitting in the old days was not permissible in the new,
+she slipped on one knee on the rug, and suddenly, laying her head down
+on his knee, began to cry.
+
+'Gladys, get up! For God's sake, get up, or I can't hold my tongue. This
+is fearful!'
+
+The word was none too strong. The solitary and absorbing passion of his
+life, a pure and honest love for that beautiful girl, surged in his
+soul, and his face betrayed the curb he was putting on himself. He had
+had but a poor upbringing, and his code of honour had been self-taught,
+but he was manly enough to be above making love to another man's
+promised wife.
+
+'Don't make it any harder for me,' he said hoarsely. 'I know you are
+sorry for me. You have been always an angel to me, even when I least
+deserved it; but this is not the way to treat me to-night. Let me away.'
+
+'Let me be selfish, Walter, just this one night,' she said, in a low,
+broken voice. 'I don't know why I am crying, for it is a great joy to me
+that you are here, and that I know now, for ever, that you feel as you
+used to do before this cruel money parted us; there are not in all the
+world any friends like the old. Forgive me if I have vexed you.'
+
+She rose up and met his glance, which was one of infinite pity and
+indescribable pathos. The greatest sorrow, the keenest disappointment
+which had ever come to Walter, softened him as if with a magic touch,
+and revealed to her his heart, which was, at least, honest and true in
+every throb.
+
+'You can never vex me, though I have often vexed you. I need scarcely
+say I hope you will be happy with the one you have chosen. You deserve
+the very best in the world, and even the best is not good enough for
+you.'
+
+A faint smile shone through the tears on the girl's face.
+
+'What has changed you so, Walter? It is as if a whirlwind had swept over
+you.'
+
+'I have never changed in that particular,' he answered half gloomily. 'I
+have always thought the same of you since the day I saw you first.'
+
+'Oh, Walter, do you remember our little school in the evenings, with
+Uncle Abel dozing in the chimney-corner, and your difficulties over the
+arithmetic? Very often you asked me questions I could not answer, though
+I am afraid I was not honest enough always to say I did not know.
+Sometimes I gave you equivocal answers, didn't I?'
+
+'I don't know; all I know is, that I shall never forget these days,
+though they can never come again, answered Walter. 'I am learning German
+this winter, and I like it very much.'
+
+'How delightful! If you go on at this rate, in a very short time I shall
+be afraid to speak to you, you will have grown such a grand and clever
+gentleman.'
+
+Walter gave his head a quick shake, which made the waved mass of his
+dark hair drop farther on his brow. A fine brow it was, square, solid,
+massive, from beneath which looked out a pair of clear eyes, which had
+never feared the face of man. He looked older than his years, though his
+face was bare, except on the upper lip, where the slight moustache
+appeared to soften somewhat the sterner line of the mouth. Yes, it was a
+good, true face, suggestive of power and possibility--the face of an
+honest man. Then his figure had attained its full height, and being
+clothed in well-made garments, looked very manly, and not ungraceful.
+Gladys admired him where he stood, and inwardly contrasted him with a
+certain other youth, who devoted half his attention to his personal
+appearance and adornment. Nor did Walter suffer by that comparison.
+
+'Must you go away?' she asked wistfully, not conscious how cruel she was
+in seeking to keep him there when every moment was pointed with a
+sorrowful regret, a keen anguish of loss which he could scarcely endure.
+'And when will you come again?'
+
+'Oh, I don't know. I can't come often, Gladys; it will be better not,
+now.'
+
+'It is always better not,' she cried, with a strange petulance. 'There
+is always something in the way. If you knew how often I want to talk to
+you about all my plans. I always think nobody quite understands us like
+those whom we have known in our early days, because then there can
+never be any pretence or concealment. All is open as the day. Is it
+impossible that we can still be as we were?'
+
+'Quite impossible.' His answer was curt and cold, and he was on his feet
+again, moving towards the door.
+
+'But why?' she persisted, with all the unreason of a wilful woman. 'May
+a woman not have a friend, though he should be a man?'
+
+'It would not be possible, and _he_ would not like it,' he said
+significantly; and Gladys flushed all over, and flung up her head with a
+gesture of defiance.
+
+'He shall not dictate to me,' she said proudly. 'Well, if you will go,
+you will, I suppose, but you shall not walk; on that point I am
+determined.' She rang the bell, gave her order for the carriage, and
+looked at him whimsically, as if rejoicing in her own triumph. 'I am
+afraid I am becoming quite autocratic, Walter, so many people have to do
+exactly as I tell them. If you will not come, will you write to me
+occasionally, then? It would be delightful to get letters from you, I
+think.'
+
+Never was man so subtlely flattered, so tempted. Again he bit his lip,
+and without answering, he took a handsome frame from the piano, and
+glanced indifferently at the photograph he held.
+
+'Is this the man?' he asked at hazard, and when Gladys nodded, he looked
+at it again with keener interest. It was the same picture of George
+Fordyce in his hunting-dress which Gladys had first seen in the
+drawing-room at Bellairs Crescent.
+
+'A grand gentleman,' he said, with a faint note of bitterness in his
+tone. 'Well, I hope you will be happy.'
+
+This stiff, conventional remark appeared to anger Gladys somewhat, and
+for the first time in her life she cast a reproach at him.
+
+'You needn't look so resigned, Walter. Just cast your memory back, and
+think of some of the kind things you have said to me when we have met
+since I have left Colquhoun Street. If you think I can forget, then you
+are mistaken. They will always rankle in my mind, and it is only natural
+that I should feel grateful, if nothing else, to those who are a little
+kinder and more attentive to me. A woman does not like to be ignored.'
+
+At that moment a servant appeared to say the carriage waited, and Walter
+held out his hand to say good-bye. Hope was for ever quenched in his
+heart, and something in his eyes went to the heart of Gladys, and for
+the moment she could not speak. She turned silently, motioned him to
+follow her from the room, and then stood in the hall, still silently,
+till he put on his greatcoat. Woman-like, in the midst of her strange
+agitation she did not fail to notice that every detail of his attire was
+in keeping, and that pleased well her fastidious taste. When the servant
+at last opened the door, the cool wind swept in and ruffled the girl's
+hair upon her white brow.
+
+'Good-bye, then. You will write?' she said quickly, and longing, she did
+not know why, to order the servant to withdraw.
+
+'If there is anything to write about, perhaps I will,' he answered,
+gripped her hand like a vice, and dashed out. Then Miss Graham, quite
+regardless of the watchful eyes upon her, went out to the outer hall,
+and her sweet voice sounded through the darkness, 'Good-bye, dear
+Walter,' and, putting her white fingers to her lips, she threw a kiss
+after him, and ran into the house, all trembling, and when she reached
+the drawing-room she dropped upon her knees by a couch and fell to
+weeping, though she did not know why she wept.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+THE WANDERER.
+
+
+It was half-past ten before Walter alighted from the train at St.
+Enoch's Station. It was a fine dry evening, with a sufficient touch of
+frost in the air to make walking pleasant. As he made his way out of the
+station, and went among the busy crowd, he could not help contrasting
+that hurrying tide of life with the silence and the solitude he had
+left. The experience of the last few hours seemed like a dream, only he
+was left with that aching at the heart--that strong sense of personal
+loss which even a brave man sometimes finds it hard to bear manfully.
+For till now he had not realised how near and dear a part of his life
+was the sweet girl now lost to him for ever. Although it had often
+pleased him, in the bitterness of his mood, to say that an inseparable
+barrier had arisen between them, he had in his heart of hearts not
+believed it, but cherished the secret and strong hope that their
+estrangement was but temporary, and that in the end the old days which
+in their passing had often been shadowed, but which now to memory looked
+wholly bright and beautiful, would receive their crown. And now his
+dream was over, and again he felt himself alone in the world--more
+terribly alone than he had yet been. He was not a vain man, though he
+believed in his own ability, or, looking back, he might have taken no
+small comfort from the demeanour of Gladys towards him. He had not been
+untouched by it, her womanly tenderness had sunk into his soul; but he
+saw in it only the natural outcome of a kind heart, which felt always
+keenly the sorrow of others. He believed so absolutely in her singleness
+of heart, her honesty of purpose, that he accepted her decision as
+final. Since she had plighted her troth to another, it was all over, so
+far as Walter himself was concerned. He knew so little of women that it
+never occurred to him that sometimes they give such a promise hastily,
+accepting what is offered from various motives--very often because what
+they most desire is withheld. It must not be thought that in having
+accepted George Fordyce, Gladys was intentionally and wilfully deceiving
+him. His impassioned pleading had touched her heart. At a time when she
+was crying out for something to satisfy her need, in an unguarded
+moment, she had mistaken an awakened, fleeting impression for love, and
+passed what was now in her eyes an irrevocable word. She was no
+coquette, who gives a promise the one day to be carelessly withdrawn the
+next. George Fordyce had been fortunate in gaining the promise of a
+woman whose word was as her bond. There are circumstances in which even
+such a bond may become null and void, but Gladys did not dream of the
+tragedy which was to release her from her vow.
+
+Walter felt in no haste to go home; nay, the very thought of it was
+intolerable to him. He saw it all before him, in sharp contrast to
+another home, which had shown him how lovely wealth and taste can make
+human surroundings, and he loathed the humble shelter of the old place,
+which memory hallowed only to wound, and from which the angel of hope
+had now flown.
+
+With his hand in one pocket, his hat drawn a little over his brow, he
+sauntered, with heavy and reluctant step, up Renfield Street, in the
+direction of Sauchiehall Street. He did not know what tempted him to
+choose the opposite direction from his home. We are often so led,
+apparently aimlessly, towards what may change the very current of our
+lives. The streets, though quieter as he walked farther West, were by no
+means deserted, and just on the stroke of eleven the people from the
+theatres and public-houses made the tide of life flow again, apparently
+in an endless stream. Quite suddenly, under the brilliant light thrown
+by the illumination of a fashionable tavern, Walter saw standing on the
+edge of the pavement, talking to another girl, his sister Liz. He could
+not believe his eyes at first, for he had never credited the assertion
+of Gladys that she had really seen her, but believed it had been a
+mistake. But there she was, well dressed, stylish, and beautiful
+exceedingly. Even in that first startled look he was struck by the
+exquisite outline, of her face, the absolute purity of her colour,
+except where it burned a brilliant red on her cheeks.
+
+He stepped back into a doorway, and stood silently waiting till they
+should separate, or move away. To his relief, they, separated at last,
+the stranger moving towards him, Liz proceeding westward. He followed
+her, keeping a few steps behind her, watching her with a detective's
+eye. Once a man spoke to her, but she gave no answer, and somehow that
+to Walter was a relief. He felt himself growing quite excited, longing
+to overtake and speak to her, yet afraid. At the corner of Cambridge
+Street she stood still, apparently looking for a car; then Walter
+stepped before her, and laid his hand on her arm.
+
+'Liz,' he said, and in spite of himself his voice shook, 'what are you
+doing here?'
+
+Liz gave a great start, and her pallor vanished, the red mounting high
+to her brow.
+
+'I--I don't know. It's you, Wat? Upon my word, I didna ken ye; ye are
+sic a swell.'
+
+'I heard you were in Glasgow, but I didn't believe it. Where have you
+been all this time?'
+
+'To Maryhill; I'm bidin' there the noo,' Liz answered defiantly, though
+she was inwardly trembling.
+
+'Maryhill?' Walter repeated, and his eye, sharp with suspicion, dwelt
+searchingly on her face. 'What are you doing there?'
+
+'That's my business,' she answered lightly. 'I needna ask for you; I see
+you are flourishin'. Hoo's the auld folk? I say, here's my car.
+Guid-nicht.'
+
+She would have darted from him, but he gripped her by the arm.
+
+'You won't go, Liz, till I know where and how you are living. I have the
+right to ask. Come home with me.'
+
+Liz was surprised, arrested, and the car, with its noisy jingle, swept
+round the corner.
+
+'Hame wi' you!' she repeated. 'Maybe, if ye kent, ye wadna ask me, wadna
+speak to me,' she said, with a melancholy bitterness, and then her
+cough, more hollow and more racking than of yore, prevented further
+speech.
+
+Walter drew her hand within his arm, and she, feebly protesting,
+allowed him to lead her back the way she had come. And then, as they
+walked, a strange, constrained silence fell upon them, each finding it
+difficult, well-nigh impossible, to bridge the gulf of these sad months.
+
+'Are you not going to tell me anything about yourself, Liz?' he asked at
+length, and the kindness of his tone, unexpected as it was, secretly
+amazed and touched her.
+
+'Naething,' she answered, without a moment's hesitation. 'An' though
+I've come back to Glesca, I'm no' seeking onything frae ony o' ye; I can
+fend for mysel'.'
+
+Walter remained silent for a little. The subject was one of extreme
+delicacy, and he did not know how to pursue it. He feared that all was
+not with his sister as it should be, but he feared the result of further
+questions.
+
+'What's the guid o' me gaun hame wi' you the nicht? I canna bide there,'
+she said presently, in a sharp, discontented voice. 'An' here ye've
+gar'd me miss the last car.'
+
+'Where are you staying in Maryhill?'
+
+'I have a place, me an' anither lassie,' she said guardedly. 'If ye are
+flush, ye micht gie me twa shillin's for a cab. I'm no' able to walk.'
+
+At that moment, and before he could reply, a slim, slight, girlish
+figure darted across the street, and, with a quick, sobbing breath, laid
+two hands on the arm of Liz. It was the little seamstress, who had
+haunted the streets late for many nights, scanning the faces of the
+wanderers, sustained by the might of the love which was the only passion
+of her soul. At sight of Teen, Liz Hepburn betrayed more emotion than in
+meeting with her brother.
+
+'Eh, I've fund ye at last! I said I was bound to find ye if ye were in
+Glesca,' Teen cried, and her plain face was glorified with the joy of
+the meeting. 'Oh, Liz, what it's been to me no' kennin' whaur ye were!
+But, I say, hoo do you twa happen to be thegither?'
+
+'I've twa detectives efter me, it seems,' said Liz, with a touch of
+sullenness, and she stood still on the edge of the pavement, as if
+determined not to go another step. 'I say, do you twa hunt in couples?'
+
+She gave a little mirthless laugh, and her eye roamed restlessly up the
+street, as if contemplating the possibility of escape.
+
+'Come on hame wi' me, Liz,' said Teen coaxingly, and she slipped her
+hand through her old friend's arm and looked persuasively into her face,
+noting with the keenness of a loving interest the melancholy change upon
+it. 'Ye're no' weel, an' ye'll be as cosy an' quate as ye like wi' me.'
+
+'Has _your_ ship come in?' asked Liz, with faint sarcasm, but still
+hesitating, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of two pairs of
+questioning, if quite friendly, eyes.
+
+'Ay, has it,' replied the little seamstress cheerfully. 'Shouldn't she
+come hame wi' me, Walter? She wad be a' richt there, an' you can come
+an' see us when ye like.'
+
+Walter stood in silence another full minute. It was a strange situation,
+strained to the utmost, but his faith in the little seamstress was so
+great that he almost reverenced her. He felt that it would be better for
+Liz to be with a friend of her own sex, and he turned to her pleadingly.
+
+'It's true what Teen says, you are not well. Let her take you home. I'll
+get a cab and go with you to the door, and I'll come and see you
+to-morrow. We are thankful to have found you again, my--my dear.'
+
+The last words he uttered with difficulty, for such expressions were not
+common on his lips; but some impulse, born of a vast pity, in which no
+shadow of resentment mingled, made him long to be as tender with her as
+he knew how. The manner of her reception by these two, whom she had
+wronged by her long silence, affected Liz deeply, though she made no
+sign.
+
+'I dinna see what better I can dae, if ye'll no' stump up for the cab to
+Maryhill,' she said ungraciously. 'A' the same, I wish I had never seen
+ye. Ye had nae business watchin' for me, ony o' ye. I'm my ain mistress,
+an' I'm no' needin' onything aff ye.'
+
+The little seamstress nodded to Walter, and he hailed a passing cab. All
+the time, even after they were inside the vehicle, she never relaxed her
+hold of Liz, but they accomplished the distance to Teen's poor little
+home in complete silence. Liz felt and looked like a prisoner; Walter's
+face wore a sad and downcast expression; the little seamstress only
+appeared jubilant.
+
+It was nearly midnight when they ascended the long stair to the little
+garret, and Liz had to pause many times in the ascent to recover her
+breath and to let her cough have vent. She grumbled all the way up; but
+when Teen broke up the fire and lit the gas she sank into an old
+basket-chair with a more contented expression on her face.
+
+'Noo, ye'll hae a cup o' tea in a crack,' Teen said blithely. 'I've
+gotten a new teapot, Liz; the auld yin positively fell to bits. Wull ye
+no' bide an' drink a cup, Walter?'
+
+'Not to-night; I think you would be better alone. But I'll come
+to-morrow and see you, Liz. Good-night; I am sure you will be
+comfortable here.'
+
+'Oh ay, I dinna doot. I say, ye are a toff, an' nae mistake; ye micht
+pass for a lord,' she said, with a kind of scornful approbation. 'Ye're
+risin' in the scale while I'm gaun doon; but I've seen something o'
+life, onyhoo, an' that's aye something.'
+
+She gave him her hand, which was quite white and unsoiled, languidly,
+and bade him a careless good-night. As Walter went out of the kitchen,
+she was surprised, but not more so than he was himself, that two tears
+rolled down his cheeks. He dashed them away quickly, however, and when
+the little seamstress accompanied him to the door, he was quite calm
+again.
+
+'You'll take care of her and not let her away, and I'll be eternally
+obliged to you. I trust you entirely,' he said quickly.
+
+Teen nodded sagaciously.
+
+'If she gangs oot o' this hoose, she tak's me wi' her,' she said, with a
+determined curve on her thin lips.
+
+'And whatever you need, come to me,' he said, with his hand in his
+pocket; but Teen stopped him with a quick gesture.
+
+'I have ony amount o' money I got frae Miss Gladys.'
+
+'Keep it for yourself. You must spend my money on Liz, and see that she
+wants for nothing. It strikes me a doctor is the first thing she needs,
+but I'll be back to-morrow. Good-night, and thank you, Teen. You are a
+good little soul.'
+
+'Middlin',' replied Teen, with a jerk, and closed the door.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+A FAITHFUL FRIEND.
+
+
+The little seamstress was in a quiver of happy excitement, which
+betrayed itself in her very step as she returned to the kitchen.
+
+Liz lay back in the old basket-chair with her eyes closed, and the
+deadly paleness of her face was very striking.
+
+'Ye arena weel, Liz,' she said brusquely. 'It's the stair; ye never
+could gang up a stair, I mind, withoot bein' oot o' breath. Never mind;
+the kettle's bilin', an' ye'll hae yer tea in a crack.'
+
+She busied herself about the table with nervous hands, astonished at her
+own agitation, which did not appear to have communicated itself to Liz,
+her demeanour being perfectly lifeless and uninterested.
+
+Teen's stock of household napery did not include a tablecloth, but,
+desirous of doing honour to her guest, she spread a clean towel on the
+little table, and set out the cups with a good deal of cheerful clatter.
+
+'What'll ye tak'? I have eggs, Liz--real country eggs. I brocht them up
+frae the country mysel',' she said, thinking to rouse the lethargy of
+her companion. 'I very near said I saw them laid; onyway, I saw the hens
+that laid them. Ye'll hae an egg, eh?'
+
+'Yes, if ye like. I havena tasted since eleeven this morning, an' then
+it was only a dram,' said Liz languidly.
+
+Teen stood still on the little strip of rag-carpet before the fender,
+and regarded her friend with a mingling of horror and pity. Whatever had
+been the tragedy of the past few months, Liz had not thereby bettered
+herself. With a little choking sob, Teen made greater haste with her
+preparation, and put upon the table a very tempting little meal, chiefly
+composed of dainties from Bourhill, a very substantial basket having
+been sent up to the little seamstress by order of Miss Graham. Liz threw
+off her hat, and, drawing her chair up to the table, took a long draught
+from the teacup.
+
+'Eh, that's guid,' she said, with a sigh of satisfaction. Ye're better
+aff than me, efter a', Teen, an' I wish I was in yer place.'
+
+'Ye'll bide here noo ye have come, onyhoo,' said the little seamstress
+cheerily. 'My ship has come in; but we'll speak upon it efter. I say,
+isn't Walter lookin' fine? He wad pass for a lord, jist as you said.'
+
+'His looks are a' richt--he maun be makin' money. I say, where is the
+lassie that used to bide there? The auld man's deid, isn't he?'
+
+'Ay,' answered Teen; 'deid lang syne. Oh, she's turned into a graund
+leddy, livin' on an estate in the country. He left a fortin. See, eat up
+that ither egg, an' there's plenty mair tea. Look at that cream, isn't
+it splendid?'
+
+'Fine,' said Liz; and as she ate and enjoyed the generous food her
+colour came again, and she looked a little less ghastly and ill, a
+little more like the Liz of old. Pen cannot tell the joy it was to the
+loyal heart of the little seamstress thus to minister to her friend's
+great need, though in the midst of her deep satisfaction was a secret
+dread, a vague and vast pity, which made her afraid to ask her a single
+question. It needed no very keen perception to gather that all was not
+well with the unhappy girl.
+
+'Weel, I've enjoyed that,' she said, pushing back from the table at
+last. 'I've eaten ye oot o' hoose and hame, but as yer ship's come in,
+it'll no' maitter. Tell me a' aboot it.'
+
+'Oh, there's no' much to tell,' answered Teen, with a touch of her
+natural reserve. 'I've made a rich frien', that's a'.'
+
+'A man?' asked Liz, with interest.
+
+'No; a lady,' replied Teen rather proudly. 'But hae ye naething to tell
+me aboot yersel'?'
+
+'Oh, I have thoosands to tell, if I like, but I'm no' gaun to tell ye a
+thing,' replied Liz flatly; but her candour did not even make Teen
+wince. She was used to it in the old days, and expected nothing else.
+
+'Oh, jist as ye like,' she answered serenely. 'But, tell me, did ye ever
+gang to London?'
+
+'No,' replied Liz, 'I never went to London. Did ye think I had?'
+
+'Yes. We--that is, some o's thocht--Walter an' me, onyway--that ye had
+gane to the theatre in London to be an actress. It was gey shabby, I
+thocht, to gang the way ye did, withoot sayin' a cheep to me, efter a'
+the plans we had made,' said Teen, with equal candour.
+
+'Maybe it was,' said Liz musingly, and, with her magnificent eyes fixed
+on the fire, relapsed into silence again, and Teen saw that her face was
+troubled. Her heart yearned over her unspeakably, and she longed for
+fuller confidence, which Liz, however, had not the remotest intention of
+giving.
+
+'I dinna think, judgin' frae appearances, that ye have bettered
+yoursel', said the little seamstress slowly.
+
+'Ye think richt. I made wan mistake, Teen--the biggest mistake o' a','
+she replied, and her mouth became very stern and bitter, and a dull
+gleam was visible in her eyes.
+
+Teen waited breathlessly, in the hope that Liz would still confide in
+her, but having thus delivered herself, she again relapsed into silence.
+
+'What way are ye bidin' at Maryhill?' she asked after a bit, and the
+same note of suspicion which had been in Walter's questions sounded
+through her voice. It made the colour rise in the sharply-outlined cheek
+of Liz, and she replied angrily,--
+
+'It's news ye're wantin', an' ye're no' gaun to get it. Ye brocht me
+here again' my wull, but ye'll no' cross-question me. I can gang hame
+even yet. It's no' the first time I've gane hame in the mornin',
+onyway.'
+
+Teen wisely accepted the inevitable.
+
+'Ye're no' gaun wan fit oot o' this hoose the nicht,' she replied
+calmly, 'nor the morn either, unless I ken whaur ye are gaun. I dinna
+think, Liz, ye hae dune very weel for yersel' this while; ye'd better
+let me look efter ye. Twa heids are aye better than yin.'
+
+'Ye're gaun to be the boss, I see,' said Liz, with a faint smile, and in
+her utter weariness she let her head fall back again and closed her
+eyes. 'If I wis to bide here the morn, an' Wat comes, he'd better no'
+ask me ower mony questions, because I'll no' stand it frae neither you
+nor him, mind that.'
+
+'Naebody'll ask you questions, my dear,' said Teen, and, lifting back
+the table, she folded down the bed, and shook up the old wool pillows,
+wishing for her friend's sake that they were made of down. Then she
+knelt down on the old rag-carpet, and began to unlace Liz's boots,
+glancing ever and anon with sad eyes up into the white face, with its
+haggard mouth and dark closed eyes.
+
+'Ye are a guid sort, Teen, upon my word,' was all the thanks she got. 'I
+believe I will gang to my bed, if ye'll let me; maybe, if ye kent a', ye
+wad turn me oot to the street.'
+
+'No' me. If the a's waur than I imagine, it's gey bad,' replied the
+little seamstress. 'Oh, Liz, I'm that gled to see you, I canna dae
+enough.'
+
+'I've been twice up your stair, Teen; once I knockit at the door an'
+then flew doon afore you could open't. Ye think ye've a hard time o't,
+but there's waur things than sewin' jackets at thirteenpence the dizen.'
+
+Teen's hands were very gentle as she assisted her friend off with her
+gown, which was a very handsome affair, all velvet and silk, and gilt
+trimmings, which dazzled the eye.
+
+Thus partially undressed, Liz threw herself without another word on the
+bed, and in two minutes was asleep. Then, softly laying another bit of
+coal on the fire, Teen lifted the table back to the hearth, got out pen,
+ink, and paper, and set herself to a most unusual task, the composition
+and writing of a letter. I should be afraid to say how long it took her
+to perform this great task, nor how very poor an accomplishment it was
+in the end, but it served its purpose, which was to acquaint Gladys with
+the rescue of Liz. Afraid to disturb the sleeping girl, Teen softly
+removed a pillow from the bed, and placing it on the floor before the
+fire, laid herself down, with an old plaid over her, though sleep was
+far from her eyes. A great disappointment had come to the little
+seamstress; for though she had long since given up all hope of welcoming
+back Liz in the guise of a great lady, who had risen to eminence by dint
+of her own honest striving, she only knew to-night, when the last
+vestige of her hope had been wrested from her, how absolute and
+unassailable had been her faith in her friend's honour. And now she knew
+intuitively the very worst. It needed no sad story from Liz to convince
+the little seamstress that she had tried the way of transgressors, and
+found it hard. Mingling with her intense sorrow over Liz was another
+and, if possible, a more painful fear--lest this deviation from the
+paths of rectitude might be fraught with painful consequences to the
+gentle girl whom Teen had learned to love with a love which had in it
+the elements of worship. These melancholy forebodings banished sleep
+from the eyes of the little seamstress, and early in the morning she
+rose, sore, stiff, and unrefreshed, from her hard couch, and began to
+move about the house again, setting it to rights for Liz's awakening.
+She, however, slept on, the heavy sleep of complete exhaustion; and
+finally, Teen, not thinking it wise to disturb her, laid herself down on
+the front of the bed to rest her tired bones. She too fell asleep, and
+it was the sunshine upon her face which awakened her, just as the church
+bells began to ring.
+
+With an exclamation which awoke her companion, she leaped up, and ran to
+break up the fire, which was smouldering in the grate.
+
+'Mercy me! it's eleeven o'clock; but it's Sunday mornin', so it doesna
+matter,' she said almost blithely, for in the morning everything seems
+brighter, and even hard places less hard. 'My certy, Liz, ye've sleepit
+weel. Hae ye ever wakened?'
+
+'Never; I've no' haen a sleep like that for I canna tell ye hoo lang,'
+said Liz quite gratefully, for she felt wonderfully rested and
+refreshed.
+
+In an incredibly short space of time the little seamstress had the
+kettle singing on the cheery hob, and toasted the bread, while Liz was
+washing her face and brushing her red locks at the little looking-glass
+hanging at the window.
+
+They were sitting at their cosy breakfast, talking of commonplace
+things, when Walter's double knock came to the door. Teen ran to admit
+him, and, with a series of nods, indicated to him that his sister was
+all right within. There was a strained awkwardness in their meeting. Liz
+felt and resented the questioning scrutiny of his eyes, and had not Teen
+thrown herself into the breach, it would have been a strange interview.
+As it was, she showed herself to be a person of the finest and most
+delicate tact, and more than once Walter found himself looking at her
+with a kind of grateful admiration, and thinking what an odd mistake he
+had made in his estimate of her character.
+
+When the breakfast was over, Teen, under pretence of going to inquire
+for a sick neighbour, took herself off, and left the brother and sister
+alone. It had to come sooner or later, she knew, and she hoped that Liz,
+in her softer mood, would at least meet Walter half-way.
+
+When the door was closed upon the two there was a moment's silence,
+which Walter broke quite abruptly; it was not his nature to beat about
+the bush.
+
+'Are you going to tell me this morning where you have been all this
+time?'
+
+'No,' she answered calmly, 'I'm not.'
+
+This was unpromising, but Walter tried not to notice her defiant manner
+and tone.
+
+'Very well; I won't ask you, since you don't want to tell. You haven't
+been prospering, anyhow. Now, any one can see that; but we'll let
+bygones be bygones. I'm in a good way of doing now, Liz, and if you like
+to come along to Colquhoun Street and try your hand at housekeeping, I'm
+ready.'
+
+Liz was profoundly amazed, but not a change passed over her face.
+
+'Ye're no' feared,' was her only comment, delivered at last in a
+perfectly passionless voice.
+
+'Feared! What for?' he asked, trying to speak pleasantly. 'You're my
+sister, and I need a housekeeper. I'm thinking of leaving Colquhoun
+Street, and taking a wee house somewhere in the suburbs. We can talk it
+over when you come.'
+
+Then Liz sat up and fixed her large, indescribable eyes full on her
+brother's face.
+
+'An' will ye tak' me withoot askin' a single question, Wat?'
+
+'I can't do anything else,' he answered good-humouredly.
+
+'But I've lost my character,' she said then, in a perfectly
+matter-of-fact voice.
+
+Although he was in a manner prepared for it, this calm announcement made
+him wince.
+
+'You can redeem it again,' he said in a slightly unsteady voice. 'I
+don't want to be too hard on you, Liz. You never had a chance.'
+
+Liz leaned back in her chair again and closed her eyes. She was, to
+outward appearance, indifferent and calm, but her breast once or twice
+tumultuously heaved, and her brows were knit, as if she suffered either
+physical or mental pain.
+
+'You'll come, won't you, Liz, either to-day or to-morrow? You know the
+place,' he said rather anxiously.
+
+'No,' she answered quietly; 'I'm no' comin'.'
+
+'Why? I'm sure I will never cast up anything. I'm in solemn earnest,
+Liz. I'll do the best I can for you, and nobody shall cast a stone at
+you when I am by. I've lived to myself too long. Come and help me to be
+less selfish.'
+
+The girl's breast again tumultuously heaved, and one deep, bursting sob
+forced itself from her lips; but all her answer was, to shake her head
+wearily, and answer,--
+
+'No.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+WHAT WILL SHE DO?
+
+
+Walter looked at her perplexedly, not knowing what to say.
+
+'Why will you not come?' he asked at length quite gently.
+
+'I've disgraced ye enough,' she answered, a trifle sharply. 'Ye dinna
+ken what ye are daein', my man, askin' me to come an' bide wi' you. I've
+mair respect for ye than ye hae for yersel'. I'm much obleeged, a' the
+same, but I'm no' comin'.'
+
+He perceived that the highest motive prompted her, and it convinced him
+as nothing else could have done that, if she had erred, she had also
+repented sincerely.
+
+'What will you do, then?' he asked. 'Will you,' he added
+hesitatingly--'will you go to the old folk?'
+
+She gave a short, hard laugh.
+
+'No' me. There wad be plenty castin' up there, if ye like. No; I hae nae
+desire to see them again this side the grave.'
+
+It was a harsh speech; but, knowing what the past had been, Walter could
+not blame her. As he stood looking through the little window, beyond the
+forest of roofs to where the sun lay warm and bright on far-off country
+slopes, he thought of the sore bitterness of life. He might well be at
+war with fate; it had not given him much of the good which makes life
+worth living. It was all very well for Gladys Graham, the spoiled child
+of a happy fortune, to reprove him for railing at the cruelty of
+circumstances; her suffering, even when the days were darkest with her,
+had been of a gentler and less hopeless kind.
+
+'Liz,' he said, turning to his sister again, after what had seemed to
+her an interminable silence, 'if you won't come to me, promise me you'll
+stay here. I have not asked any questions about your way of doing, but I
+can guess at it. Promise me that you will give it all up and stay here.'
+
+'Sponging off Teen, like?' she asked sarcastically.
+
+'No, no; I have plenty of money. You shall want for nothing,' he said,
+with a touch of irritation. 'She's a good little soul, Teen, and I won't
+forget her. I'm sure you and she could be quite comfortable here; you
+have always been good friends.'
+
+'Yes,' answered Liz indifferently, 'that's true.'
+
+'Will you promise, then,' he asked anxiously, 'to stay here in the
+meantime?'
+
+'No,' she answered, 'I'll promise naething, because, if it comes up my
+back, I'll rise an' gang oot this very day.'
+
+Walter's face flushed a little with anger. She was very perverse, and
+would give him no satisfaction whatever. He was at a disadvantage,
+because he really knew very little of her nature, which was as deep and
+as keen of feeling as his own.
+
+'Then am I to go away and live in torture about you, Liz? I've a good
+mind to shut you up where you can't get out.'
+
+'They wad be queer bolts and bars that kept me in,' she said, with a
+slight smile. 'Ye are very guid to tak' sae muckle thocht aboot me, and
+if it'll relieve yer mind, ye can believe that whatever I'm aboot, it's
+honest wark, and that if I need anything, I'll come to you.'
+
+'You mean that, Liz?'
+
+'Yes, I mean it; an' if I div say a thing I dinna gang back frae it,'
+she said, and again his mind was relieved. It was but natural that he
+should feel an absorbing desire to know exactly what her experience had
+been during the time she had been away from them, but since she seemed
+determined to keep silence regarding it, he could only keep silence too.
+
+Presently Teen returned, and there was a furtive look of anxiety in her
+eyes as she regarded them, inly wondering what had transpired in her
+absence.
+
+'Liz will bide with you in the meantime,' said Walter, affecting a
+cheerfulness he did not feel. 'I have been asking her to come and be my
+housekeeper, but she won't promise in the meantime.'
+
+'Oh, she'll be fine here the noo,' answered the little seamstress, with
+a significance which did not convey anything to them, though it meant
+something to her. She was thinking as she spoke of the probable result
+of the letter she had just carried to the post, and which would be
+delivered at Bourhill in the morning. She was not mistaken in her
+calculations regarding it; for next morning, between eleven and twelve,
+when the two were sitting by the fire keeping up a rather disjointed
+conversation, during which Liz had exhibited distinct signs of
+restlessness, a light, quick knock came to the door.
+
+'That's her!' cried Teen, springing up, her sallow face all aglow. 'I
+kent she wad come; yes, it's jist her.'
+
+Liz sat up, her whole demeanour defiant, her face wearing its most
+ungracious look.
+
+She had not the remotest idea who was meant by 'her,' and it is certain
+that had there been any other means of exit than the door in the
+building, she would have taken herself off there and then. What was her
+astonishment to behold presently a lissom, graceful figure and a sweet
+face, which seemed familiar, though she could not for the moment believe
+that they really pertained to Gladys Graham. And the face wore such a
+lovely look of gladness and wonder and sorrow all mingled, that Liz was
+struck dumb.
+
+'Oh, Lizzie, I am so glad to see you. How could you stay away so long,
+when you must have known we were all so anxious about you? But we will
+forgive you quite, now that you have come back.'
+
+She took the unwilling hand of Walter's sister in her firm, warm clasp,
+and, bending forward, kissed her, as she had done once before, on the
+brow. Then the face of Liz became a dusky red, and she started back,
+saying hoarsely,--
+
+'Don't! Never dae that again. Oh, my God, if ye kent, ye wadna let yer
+eyes licht on me, far less that.'
+
+'I know that we are very glad to see you again, and that you look very
+ill, dear Lizzie,' said Gladys, her voice tremulous with her deep
+compassion; 'and I have come to take you away to Bourhill. Here is
+somebody quite ready, I think, to go.'
+
+She turned with a smile to the little seamstress, whose face still wore
+that intense, glorified look.
+
+'Bourhill?' repeated Liz. 'Where's that?'
+
+'That's my home now,' said Gladys gleefully. 'See what you have missed,
+being away so long. Has Teen not told you of all its glories? I thought
+she was so enthusiastic over it, she could not hold her tongue. Never
+mind, you shall soon see it for yourself.'
+
+'I'm very much obleeged to ye, but I'm no' comin',' said Liz, with the
+same firmness which had set aside Walter's scheme concerning her.
+
+'Why not? Nobody ever refuses me anything,' Gladys said.
+
+'It wad be a sin for me to gang,' replied Liz quietly. 'I'm no' fit to
+speak to the like o' you. At least, that's what them ye belang to wad
+say.'
+
+'I've nobody belonging to me to dictate to me, Liz, and I'm not afraid
+to trust you. You may have sinned, I don't know, but you have had many
+temptations. I want to show you a happier life. Tell her, Teen, how
+lovely it is at dear Bourhill.'
+
+'I couldna,' answered Teen in a choking voice. 'It's like heaven, Liz.'
+
+'Then it'll be ower guid for me,' said Liz wearily, 'an' I'll better
+bide whaur I am. But, I say, ye are queerer than ever, an' I thocht ye
+gey queer last time I saw ye.'
+
+'Never mind what you think of me. Say you will come with me to-day. I
+came for the very purpose of taking you away,' said Gladys cheerfully.
+'Do you remember that absurd story about "Lord Bellew's Bride" you were
+reading the first time I saw you? My own fortune is very nearly as
+wonderful as that of "Lord Bellew's Bride."'
+
+Liz faintly smiled.
+
+'Eh, sic lees there is in papers! It shouldna be printed. Things like
+yon never happen in real life--never, never!' She spoke with passionate
+emphasis, which indicated that she keenly felt what she said.
+
+'Ye'll be gaun to get mairret next?' she added, looking at Gladys, who
+smiled and nodded, with slightly heightened colour.
+
+'Well, what is to be done? Are you going down with me to-day?' she
+asked, looking from one to another, and tapping her dainty foot a trifle
+impatiently on the floor.
+
+'I canna come the day, for my claes are a' at Maryhill,' said Liz.
+
+'But I'll gang for them, Liz,' put in the little seamstress quickly.
+'They can be easy got frae Maryhill afore nicht. It's only twelve
+o'clock the noo.'
+
+'There need not be any such hurry; I think I shall stay in town all
+night,' said Gladys, 'and you can arrange it together, either to go with
+me or alone. Teen can manage it; she knows all about the trains, having
+been there before. I shall be sure to be home not later than to-morrow
+night, and if anything should prevent me getting down then, there is
+Miss Peck, Teen, who, you know, will make you very welcome.'
+
+'Yes, I ken,' nodded Teen. 'If ye only kent what like a place it is,
+Liz, ye wad be jumpin'.'
+
+'I'm sure I dinna ken what way ye want me doon there,' said Liz,
+relapsing into her weary, indifferent manner. 'I canna understand it.'
+
+'Can't you?' asked Gladys merrily. 'Well, I want you, that's all. I want
+to have the pleasure of seeing you grow strong and well again. Nobody
+shall meddle with you. You shall do just as you like, and you two will
+be companions to each other.'
+
+Teen looked reproachfully at her friend, wondering to see her so
+undemonstrative, never even uttering a single word of thanks for the
+kindness so freely offered. She shook hands with Gladys in silence, and
+allowed her to depart without further remark.
+
+'You'll make sure that she comes down, Teen?' said Gladys, when they
+were outside the door. 'Poor thing, she looks dreadfully ill and
+unhappy. Where _do_ you think she has been?'
+
+Teen mournfully shook her head, and her large eyes filled with tears.
+
+'I'll no' let her away,' she answered firmly. 'If she'll no' come doon
+to Bourhill, I'll see that she disna gang onywhere else withoot me.'
+
+'You are a faithful friend,' said Gladys quickly. 'Has she--has she seen
+her brother?'
+
+Teen wondered somewhat at the hesitation with which the question was
+asked.
+
+'Ay; he was here yesterday.'
+
+'And what did he say, Teen? Oh, I hope he was very gentle with her.'
+
+'I wasna in a' the time, but I'm sure that kinder he couldna hae been.
+He wanted her to gang to Colquhoun Street an' bide, but she wadna.'
+
+'Well, I hope she will come to Bourhill, and I think she will.
+Good-bye.'
+
+'Weel, hae ye gotten me weel discussed?' queried Liz sarcastically, when
+the little seamstress returned to the kitchen. 'I canna understand that
+lassie by onybody.'
+
+'Nor I a'thegither, but I ken she's guid,' she answered simply. 'Ye will
+gang to Bourhill, Liz?'
+
+'Maybe; I'll see. I say, do ye ken wha she's gaun to mairry?'
+
+'I have an inklin',' replied Teen, and said no more, though her face
+became yet more gravely troubled.
+
+'Liz,' she said suddenly, 'will ye tell me wan thing afore we gang doon
+to Bourhill, if we gang?'
+
+'What is't?'
+
+'Had Fordyce onything to dae wi' you gaun awa' when you did?'
+
+'Mind yer ain business,' replied Liz, with the utmost calmness, not even
+changing colour. 'I'm no' gaun to tell ye a single thing. My concerns
+are my ain, an' if ye're no' pleased, weel, I can shift.'
+
+The girl's matter-of-fact, unruffled demeanour somewhat allayed Teen's
+burning anxiety, and, afraid to try Liz too far, lest she should insist
+on leaving her, she held her peace.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+A REVELATION.
+
+
+'Your Aunt Isabel was here this afternoon, George,' said Mrs. Fordyce to
+her son, when he came home from the mill that evening. 'She came over to
+tell me Gladys is in town. I said I thought you did not expect her.'
+
+'No, I did not,' George replied. 'What's she up for?--anything new?'
+
+'Oh, one of her fads. Something about one of these girls from the slums.
+Your aunt seemed to be rather distressed. She thinks Gladys is going
+quite too far, and she really took the opportunity, when the girls had
+all gone to a studio tea, to come over to consult me. We both think you
+are quite entitled to interfere.'
+
+George shook his head.
+
+'It is all very easy for you to say that, but I tell you Gladys won't
+stand that sort of thing.'
+
+'But, my dear, she must be made to stand it. I must say her conduct is
+most unwomanly. If she is to be your wife, she must be taught that you
+are to be considered in some ways. You must be very firm with her,
+George; it will save no end of trouble afterwards.'
+
+Mrs. George Fordyce was a large stout person, of imposing presence, and
+she delivered herself of this admirable sentiment most impressively; but
+though her son quite agreed with her, and wished with all his heart that
+the girl of his choice were a little less erratic and self-willed, he
+was wise enough to know that any attempt at coercion would be the very
+last thing to make her amenable to reason.
+
+'What girl is it now?' he asked, with affected carelessness, but furtive
+anxiety. 'The same one who has been staying at Bourhill?'
+
+'No; something far worse--a dreadful low creature, who has been missing
+for some time. If Gladys were not as innocent as a baby she would know
+that she is a creature not fit to be spoken to. Really, George, that
+Miss Peck is utterly useless as a chaperon. I wish we knew what to do.
+It is one of the most exasperating and delicate affairs possible.'
+
+'That girl!' repeated George, so blankly that his mother looked at him
+in sharp amazement. 'Heavens! then it's all up, mother.'
+
+'All up? What on earth do you mean?'
+
+'What I say. Is it a girl called Hepburn?' he asked half desperately,
+afraid to tell his mother, and yet feeling that she, and she alone,
+might help him.
+
+'I believe so. Yes, Hepburn was certainly the name your aunt mentioned.
+Well, what then?'
+
+'Simply that if Gladys has got in tow with this girl, and takes her down
+to Bourhill, I'm ruined.'
+
+'How?'
+
+There was eager inquiry, anguish even, in the question. Mrs. Fordyce was
+a vain and silly woman, but she had a mother's feelings, and suffered,
+as every mother must, over her son's dishonour.
+
+'This girl was one of our hands, and--and--well, you understand, she had
+a pretty face, and I was foolish about her. I never meant anything
+serious; but, you see, if Gladys gets to know about it, she is so
+absurdly quixotic, she is quite fit enough not to speak to me again.'
+
+'You were foolish about her?' repeated Mrs. Fordyce slowly, and her
+comely face became rather pale, as she keenly eyed her son's troubled
+face. 'Does that mean that you were responsible for her disappearance?'
+
+'Well, I suppose I was in the first instance,' he said frankly. 'Of
+course I was a fool for myself, but a man isn't always responsible,
+but'--
+
+'Oh, hold your tongue, George Fordyce!' said his mother, her voice sharp
+with her angry pain. 'Not responsible, indeed! I am quite ashamed of
+you. It is a most disgraceful thing, and I don't know what your father
+will say.'
+
+'There is no reason why he should say anything; he needn't be told,'
+said George a trifle sullenly. 'Of course I regret it, as every man does
+who makes such a deuced fool of himself. And the girl can't complain; it
+was more her fault, anyhow.'
+
+'Oh, George, don't be a coward as well as a scoundrel,' said his mother,
+with more sharpness in her tone than she had ever before used towards
+her idolised son. 'Don't tell me it is the woman's fault. That is the
+poor excuse all men make when they get themselves into scrapes. I am
+very sorry for her, poor thing, and I think I'll go and see her myself.'
+
+George remained silent, standing gloomily at the window, looking on the
+approach, with its trimly-cut shrubs and spring flowers, blooming in
+conventional lines. His mother had not received his information quite
+as he expected, and he felt for the moment utterly 'down on his luck.'
+
+'You have indeed ruined yourself with Gladys, and with any other girl
+who has any respect for herself,' she said presently, with increased
+coldness, 'and I must say you richly deserve it.'
+
+So saying, she left the room, and as she went up-stairs, two tears
+rolled down her cheeks. She was not a woman of very deep feelings,
+perhaps, but she had received a blow from which it would take her some
+time to recover. She sat down in her own room, and tried to think out
+the matter in all its bearings. She felt glad that her husband and
+daughter were not to dine at home, for after the first shock was over,
+worldly wisdom began to assert itself, and she pondered upon the best
+means of avoiding the scandal which appeared inevitable. She was not
+very hopeful. Had Gladys been an ordinary girl, entertaining less
+exalted ideas of honour and integrity, everything might have been
+smoothed over. Women, as a rule, are too lenient towards the follies of
+men, especially when the offenders are young and handsome; but Gladys
+was an exception to almost every rule. The only chance lay in the
+knowledge being kept from her, yet how was that possible, Liz Hepburn
+being at that very moment an invited guest at Bourhill? She made some
+little alteration in her dress, and went down, perfectly calm, and
+outwardly at ease, to a _tete-a-tete_ dinner with her son. When they
+were left alone at the table she suddenly changed the subject from the
+commonplace to the engrossing theme occupying both their minds, and,
+leaning towards him, said quietly,--
+
+'There is only one thing you can do now. It is your only chance, and if
+it fails, you can only retire gracefully, and accept your _conge_ as
+your deserts.'
+
+'I don't know what you mean,' he retorted a trifle ungraciously, for in
+his intense selfishness he had been able to convince himself that his
+mother had been rather hard upon him.
+
+'I would advise you to go over to the Crescent to-night and see Gladys,
+and tell her what you have heard. Let her understand--as gently and
+nicely as you can, but be quite firm over it--that you, as her future
+husband, have some right to express an opinion about the people she
+makes friends of. You can lay stress on her own youth and ignorance, and
+don't be dictatorial. Do you understand me?'
+
+'Yes, but it won't be an easy task,' he said gloomily.
+
+'No, but it's your only chance--a very forlorn hope, I confess, it
+appears to me; but you can't afford to neglect it if you want to win
+Gladys, and it would be a most desirable marriage.'
+
+These words were the keynote to Mrs. Fordyce's plan of action. To secure
+Gladys as a daughter-in-law at any price was her aim, and she had
+already stifled her womanly indignation over her son's fall, and even
+comforted herself by the cheap reflection that George had never been
+half so fast as dozens of other young men who were received into the
+best society. She had worshipped at the shrine of wealth and social
+position so long that all her views of life were centred upon a solitary
+goal, and consequently ran in a narrow and distorted groove.
+
+'If the girl can be prevented going down to Bourhill, all may be well.
+Do you think she is one likely to hold her tongue?'
+
+'I don't know anything about her. She'll speak, just as other women
+speak, when it comes up her own back, I suppose. The chances are, if
+Gladys and she have met, she's told the whole story already.'
+
+'Oh no, she hasn't, because Gladys knew your aunt was coming here this
+afternoon, and sent a message that you might come over after dinner. She
+wouldn't have done that if she'd known that pretty story. You'd better
+go away to the Crescent at once.'
+
+'I'm not very fond of the job,' said George, fortifying himself with a
+glass of whisky and water. 'I've a good mind to throw the whole bally
+thing up, and go off to the Antipodes. Marrying is an awful bore,
+anyhow; women are such a confounded nuisance.'
+
+His mother listened to these lofty sentiments in silence, though she
+inwardly felt that it would relieve her feelings considerably to
+administer a sound box in the ear.
+
+'I'm trying to help you, George, against my better judgment, but you
+don't appear to be very grateful,' she said severely. 'I've a good mind
+to let you bear the brunt of your folly, as you deserve; and you know
+very well that if your father knew about it, his anger would be
+terrific. I'm afraid you'd have to take to the Antipodes then, because
+the door would be shut upon you here. I would advise you to do what you
+can to redeem yourself, and your utmost to keep Gladys. Tell me
+something about the girl. Do you think she would accept a sum of money
+to leave Glasgow and hold her tongue?'
+
+'No,' he answered, 'I don't.'
+
+'Why, she must be very different from other girls of her class.'
+
+'I don't know what are the characteristics of her class, but I know
+jolly well that if you offer money to her, she'll astonish you.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce looked with yet keener disfavour into her son's face.
+
+'If she's that kind of girl, you must have promised her marriage.'
+
+'Well, I daresay I did, but she might have known it was only talk,' he
+said, trying to speak coolly, though his mother's gaze made him
+decidedly uncomfortable. 'But I'm sick of the subject. I'll away over to
+Kelvinside, and have it either off or on. If the thing's out, I'll
+brazen it out; it's the only way.'
+
+'You don't seem to realise the seriousness of the position, I'm sure I
+don't know what has made you go so far astray--not the training or
+example in this house. You have grievously disappointed me.'
+
+'Oh, mother, don't preach. I've confessed to you, and it isn't fair to
+be so awfully down upon me,' he retorted irritably. 'I don't think you
+or the governor have had much to complain of as far as my conduct is
+concerned, and I'm not going to stay here to be bullied and snubbed for
+making a little slip. I tell you, you don't know what other fellows are.
+I've a good mind to open your eyes for you.'
+
+'I don't want them opened, thank you; and if that is the spirit in which
+you are going to the Crescent, you deserve to fail, as you are sure to
+do. I am not sure whether I shall not tell your father, after all,' she
+said icily.
+
+'I don't care if you do,' he retorted, and banged out in ill-humour,
+which, however, gradually cooled down as he walked rapidly to the
+station.
+
+Finding no train for the city due for ten minutes, he threw himself into
+a hansom, and drove all the way, reaching his aunt's house before eight
+o'clock. Although he ran up the steps at once, he did not immediately
+ring, but even went back into the street, and took a turn up to the end
+of the houses, surprised and irritated at his own nervous apprehension.
+Glancing up to the house when he again came opposite to it, he saw the
+three long windows of the drawing-room lighted, and pictured the scene
+within. It was a new and unwelcome sensation for him to feel any
+reluctance in entering a drawing-room where there were three charming
+girls, and at last, calling himself a fool, he ran up the steps a second
+time, and gave the bell a furious pull.
+
+'Is Miss Graham here, Hardy?' he asked the maid, an old servant of his
+aunt's, who opened the door.
+
+'Yes, sir.'
+
+'Anybody in the library?'
+
+'No, sir. Mr. Fordyce is sleeping on the dining-room sofa.'
+
+'Oh, all right. Just take my card to Miss Graham, and ask her if she
+would be so kind as to come down to the library for a few minutes.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+TETE-A-TETE.
+
+
+'How extraordinary!' exclaimed Gladys. 'Your cousin is in the library,
+why does he not come up?'
+
+There was something so matter-of-fact in the question, that Mrs. Fordyce
+and her daughters could not refrain from exchanging glances.
+
+'Well, my dear, I suppose he does not come up because he wishes to have
+you a little while to himself,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a smile, 'and I
+must say I quite sympathise with him. Run away down, and don't stay too
+long; tell him not to be selfish.'
+
+'But I don't think I want to go down. It is so strange, I think, for him
+not to come up here as usual. Why should there be any difference made?'
+inquired Gladys, as she rose with seeming reluctance to her feet.
+
+'It is you who are strange, I think,' said Mina whimsically. 'You would
+require a very cool lover, Gladys, you are so cool yourself.'
+
+'It is a pity one must have a lover,' said Gladys quite soberly, as she
+walked out of the room.
+
+'Girls,' said Mrs. Fordyce, 'Gladys is an enigma, and I give her up; she
+is so different from any one I have ever met. Do you really think she
+cares anything for your cousin?'
+
+'If she doesn't, why has she promised to marry him?' inquired Clara
+rather quickly. 'I think it is rather absurd to ask the question.'
+
+'Well, I must say I should not particularly like to be in his shoes,'
+said Mina; and added, with light sarcasm, 'But it will do dear George
+good. Gladys will not fall down and worship him, like the rest of her
+sex. How I should like to be invisible at this moment in the library.'
+
+But though Mina had had her wish she would not have seen anything very
+exciting, the greeting which passed between Gladys and her lover being
+remarkably cool. George Fordyce was not quite himself. Had Gladys been
+more absorbingly interested in him she could not have failed to observe
+the furtive look of anxiety with which he advanced to meet her; his
+demeanour was as different from the ordinary eagerness of a
+newly-accepted lover as could well be imagined. Nor did she betray these
+signs of maidenly shyness and trembling joy which in the circumstances
+she might have been expected to feel.
+
+'Good-evening,' she said gaily. 'Why did you not come up, instead of
+sending a message to me, as if you were a person asking a subscription?
+I thought it so odd.'
+
+George's courage rose. The gay unconcern of her demeanour convinced him
+that as yet nothing had lowered him in her estimation; with a little
+careful diplomacy, the dangerous currents might yet be avoided, and all
+go well.
+
+'Is it so odd that I should wish to have you for a little while to
+myself?' he asked, and, putting his arm round her shoulders, took the
+kiss she could not deny him, though she almost immediately drew herself
+away.
+
+'Do come up to the drawing-room. Why should we stay down here? Don't you
+think it rather silly?'
+
+'I don't care whether it is silly or not,' he answered daringly. 'I
+don't mean to go up, or allow you to leave this room, for a good half
+hour at least.'
+
+Gladys laughed a little, and dropped on one knee on a stool before the
+quaint fireplace, where the logs burned and crackled in a cheerful
+blaze.
+
+'And I have a crow to pick with you, madam,' said the lover, made bolder
+by the perfect freedom of the girl's demeanour. 'I don't like
+second-hand messages. You might at least have sent me a nice little note
+by the hand of Aunt Isabel this afternoon.'
+
+'I didn't think of it, or I might,' answered Gladys quite soberly, and
+the ruddy firelight lay warm and bright on her sweet face, and gave a
+deeper tinge to the gold of her hair. As George Fordyce stood as near to
+her as he dared, being deterred by a certain high dignity in her
+bearing, he was struck, not only by the perfect beauty of her features,
+but by the singular firmness mingling with the archness of her look.
+Twelve months had done a great deal for Gladys, and there was nothing of
+the child left, though the new womanliness was a most gracious and
+lovely thing.
+
+'I had such a busy morning down town; and oh, I have a great deal to
+tell you, only you must promise to be sympathetic, because I have had a
+great deal to bear to-day, and have almost quarrelled with your aunt and
+the girls.'
+
+'Yes?' he said, with all the fine indifference he could command. 'And
+what was it all about?'
+
+He knew it must come sooner or later, and braced himself up to carry
+matters through with as high a hand as possible.
+
+'About that poor girl of whom I told you, Lizzie Hepburn. She has come
+back, looking so very ill and unhappy, and of course I asked her down to
+Bourhill, and your aunt and cousins are so vexed about it, I am quite
+puzzled. It is so unlike them to blame one for wishing to be kind.
+Please, can you explain it?'
+
+She raised her eyes to his face with something of the old child-like
+wistfulness in their depths, and it showed George Fordyce to be a very
+clever man indeed that he was able to meet that clear gaze without
+flinching.
+
+'Well, you see, dear, I think it is regard for you which made Aunt
+Isabel appear a little harsh. She knows the world, and you do not, and,
+you know, a young and lovely girl, living without natural protectors, as
+you are, cannot be too careful.'
+
+'Oh, that is just how they talk,' she cried petulantly, 'but it does not
+convey any meaning to me. Why should I not be kind to this poor girl?
+She can't eat me, or hurt me in the smallest degree. You must make it a
+great deal plainer to me before I see the smallest particle of reason in
+it.'
+
+Here was a dilemma! The very irony of fate could not have devised a more
+trying and awkward position for any man. To say he felt himself on the
+brink of a volcano conveys but a faint idea of his peculiar state of
+mind.
+
+'My own darling, it is extremely difficult to make it any clearer
+without giving offence, but I think you ought to have some idea of what
+is fitting. Can you not believe that we, who love you so dearly, would
+advise you to do nothing but what is right and best for you?'
+
+This admirable plea, so earnestly and persuasively uttered, somewhat
+touched Gladys, though her face still wore a perplexed and even troubled
+look.
+
+'Well, but how can it do me any harm to have these girls at Bourhill? Is
+it because they are poor that I must not have them?'
+
+'Well, not exactly; though, of course, it is not customary for young
+ladies like you to invite such people to be your guests just in the same
+way as you would invite Clara or Mina; and I question very much, dear,
+if it is any real kindness to them, it is so apt to make them
+discontented with their own sphere.'
+
+This was another clever stroke, this view of the case not having been as
+yet presented to Gladys. Hitherto the talk had all been of the influence
+such companionship was likely to have on her, and the new phase of the
+situation made her more thoughtful still.
+
+'I never thought of that,' she said slowly, 'and I don't think it had
+that effect on Christina Balfour--in fact, I am sure of it. She is like
+a different creature, so much brighter and happier; and I am sure a week
+or two at Bourhill will do wonders for poor Lizzie Hepburn. If you saw
+her you would be quite sorry for her. She is such an interesting girl,
+so beautiful, and she has a great deal of character, quite different
+from Christina. I have asked them down, and of course I can't retract my
+invitations; they may have gone down to Miss Peck already, for aught I
+know. Promise to come down to Bourhill and see poor Lizzie, then I am
+sure you will say I have done quite right.'
+
+A cold sweat broke over George Fordyce, and he was fain to take several
+turns between the window and the door to recover himself. He could
+almost have laughed aloud at the awful absurdity of the whole situation,
+only it had its tragic side too. He felt that his chance was almost
+over. He could not expect Liz Hepburn's visit to Bourhill to be barren
+of consequences the most serious; but he would wear the mask as long as
+possible, and make one more endeavour to save himself. He came back to
+the hearth, and, laying his hand hurriedly on the heart of the girl he
+loved with all the tenderness that was in him, he said, in that
+pleading, winning way so few women could resist,--
+
+'My darling, if I ask you, won't you take Aunt Isabel's advice? I know I
+haven't any right yet to dictate to you, even if I wished to do it, but
+won't you believe that we only advise what is the very best for you?
+Couldn't you, instead of having the girls at Bourhill, send them to some
+other country place? It would only cost a very little more.'
+
+'But that wouldn't be the same thing at all,' said Gladys wilfully. 'And
+if I were to retract my invitation now, they would never have the same
+faith in me again. I would not on any account disappoint them.'
+
+'Even to please me?' he queried, with a slightly injured air.
+
+'Even to please you,' she repeated, in the same wilful tone.
+
+'And will it always be the same?' he asked then. 'Will you never allow
+me to have any say in your affairs?'
+
+'I hoped you would help me to do good to people,' she said slowly,
+giving utterance for the first time to the feeling of disappointment and
+misgiving which sometimes oppressed her when she thought of her relation
+towards George Fordyce.
+
+'My dear, you will get all your thanks in one day,' he said dryly. 'I
+know the class you have to deal with. They'll take all you have to give
+them, and laugh in your face. They have no such quality as gratitude in
+them.'
+
+Gladys curled her lips in scorn.
+
+'How unhappy you must be to have so little faith in humankind. That has
+not been my experience; but we shall never agree on that point. Shall we
+go up-stairs now?'
+
+Her perfect independence of and indifference to his opinion, betrayed in
+the careless ease of her manner as she rose from the hearth, exasperated
+him not a little.
+
+'No, I am not coming up-stairs,' he answered, as rudely as he dared.
+
+'What shall I say to Mrs. Fordyce, then? That you are out of temper?'
+she asked, with a sly gaiety which became her well, though it only
+further exasperated him.
+
+'You can say anything you like, I am very sorry indeed that my opinion
+is of so little value in your eyes, Gladys, and I ask your pardon if I
+have presumed too much in offering you a crumb of advice.'
+
+'Oh, don't be cross because we don't happen to agree on that particular
+point,' she said sunnily. 'Each individual is surely entitled to his
+opinion. I am not cross because you would not agree with me. Come away
+up-stairs.'
+
+'No, I'm not coming up to-night. Make my apologies to them. Gladys, upon
+my word, you are perfectly bewitching. I wish you knew how passionately
+I love you. I don't believe you care a tithe as much for me as I do for
+you.'
+
+He would have held her again, but she moved away from him, and her face
+did not brighten as it ought to have done at such a lover-like speech.
+
+'Will you promise me one thing, Gladys, before I go?' he pleaded, and he
+had never been more in earnest in his life. 'Promise me that if anybody
+speaks ill of me to you, you will at least give me a chance to clear
+myself before you condemn me.'
+
+'Oh, I can promise that fast enough, because nobody ever speaks ill of
+you to me. It is quite the reverse, I assure you. I have to listen to
+your praises all day long,' she said, with a teasing smile. 'You ought
+to show your gratitude for such disinterested kindness by coming up to
+the ladies.'
+
+'I'm not going up to-night,' he reiterated. 'Give them my kind regards.
+Are you really off?'
+
+'I must, if you won't come.'
+
+He held open the door for her, and as she passed out, stole another kiss
+with all a lover's passion, telling himself it might be the last. But it
+did not make her pulses thrill nor her heart beat more quickly, and she
+saw him depart without a regret.
+
+'You don't mean to say that is George away?' they cried, when the outer
+hall door closed, and almost immediately Gladys entered the drawing-room
+alone.
+
+'Yes, he has gone,' Gladys answered calmly.
+
+'What have you been doing to him to set him off like that?' asked Mina.
+'Have you had a quarrel?'
+
+'No,' replied Gladys innocently; 'but I think he is rather cross.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce shook her finger reprovingly at the girl, and said
+regretfully,--
+
+'My dear, you are incorrigible. I could almost regret Henrietta
+Bonnemain's marriage, because she is the only woman in this world who
+could have managed you.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+CHUMS.
+
+
+Never did mother watch more tenderly over a wayward child than the
+little seamstress over Liz, and though Liz was quite conscious of the
+espionage she did not resent it. She seemed to have no desire to leave
+the little house, and when Teen, in the course of that afternoon,
+offered to go to the house in Maryhill for her clothes, she made no
+demur, nor did she offer to accompany her.
+
+'If the lassie I'm lodgin' wi' is in, Teen, ye can tell her I'm no'
+comin' back. I'm very gled to get quit o' her, onyway,' she said, as
+Teen buttoned on her shabby black jacket.
+
+'What's her name? Had ye better no' write a line, for fear she'll no'
+gie me the things?'
+
+'Oh, she'll gie ye them withoot ony bother; they wadna bring her abune
+ten shillin's, onyhoo. An', I say, dinna tell her onything aboot me,
+mind. She'd think naething o' comin' onywhere efter me.'
+
+'Oh, I'll no' tell. Clashin' was never my sin,' said Teen. 'But her
+name?--ye havena telt me that yet.'
+
+'Oh, weel, she ca's hersel' Mrs. Gordon, but I dinna believe she's a
+wife at a'. She's in the ballet at the Olympic the noo.'
+
+'An' what way is she bidin' at Maryhill?'
+
+'Oh, her man's there. She says she's mairret to yin o' the officers, but
+I've never set een on him.'
+
+'Is she a nice lassie?'
+
+'Oh, weel enough. She's no' mean, onyhoo, but she's gey fast. She was
+tryin' to get me ta'en on at the Olympic. If she says onything, jist
+tell her I've changed my mind.'
+
+'An' are ye no' awn onything for the lodgin's?' queried Teen, who had a
+singular conscientiousness regarding debt, even of a microscopic kind.
+
+'No; I paid up when I had it. I dinna owe her onything.'
+
+Teen was silent as she put her long hat-pin through the heavy masses of
+her hair and pulled her fringe a little lower on her brow; but she
+thought a great deal. Bit by bit the story was coming out, and she had
+no difficulty in filling up for herself the melancholy details.
+
+'Noo I'm ready. Ye'll no' slope when I'm oot, Liz?' she said warningly;
+and Liz laughed a dreary, mirthless laugh.
+
+'I ken when I'm weel aff. I wish to goodness I had come to you when I
+was sick o' Brigton, instead o' gaun where I gaed.'
+
+Teen stood still in breathless silence, wondering if full revelation was
+about to be made. When Liz saw this, the old spirit of contrariness
+entered into her again, and she said crossly,--
+
+'What are ye waitin' on noo?'
+
+'Naething,' replied Teen meekly. 'Weel, I'm aff. I'll be back afore
+dark. Ye can hae the kettle bilin', an' I'll bring in a sausage or a red
+herrin' for oor tea.'
+
+It was not without some faint, excited curiosity that Teen found herself
+at the door of the house of which Liz had given her the address. It was
+a one-roomed abode, three stairs up a tall tenement, in one of these
+dreary and uninteresting streets which are only distinguishable from one
+another by their names. In answer to her knock, a shrill female voice
+cried, 'Come in,' an invitation which the little seamstress somewhat
+hesitatingly obeyed. It was now after sundown, and the freshness of the
+daylight had faded, leaving a kind of semi-twilight in the room, which
+was of a fair size, and comfortably, though not luxuriously, furnished.
+On the end of the fender sat the solitary occupant, in a ragged and
+dirty old dressing-gown of pink flannel, her feet in dilapidated
+slippers, and her hair in curl-papers along her forehead. Although she
+saw that her visitor was quite a stranger to her, she did not offer to
+rise, but simply raising her pert, faded, but still rather pretty face,
+said inquiringly,--
+
+'Well?'
+
+'Are you Mrs. Gordon? I've come for Lizzie Hepburn's things. She's no'
+comin' back here.'
+
+'Oh, all right. Shut the door, and come in. What's up with her? Gone off
+with a handsomer man, eh?' queried Mrs. Gordon, as she bit her thread
+through, and held up a newly-trimmed dress bodice for admiration.
+
+'No; she's gaun into the country the morn,' answered Teen, while the
+ballet-dancer gave several very knowing nods.
+
+'That's a pity, for her luck's turned. You can tell her she'll be taken
+on if she likes to turn up at the Olympic to-morrow morning at ten
+sharp. I arranged it for her on Saturday night.'
+
+'She said I was to tell you she had changed her mind aboot the theatre,'
+said Teen. 'She's no' weel enough for it, onyhoo. She'll be better in
+the country.'
+
+'Are you her sister?'
+
+'Oh no, only her chum.'
+
+'Well, I say, perhaps you can tell me something about her. She was as
+close as the grave, though we've been pals for a while; she'd not tell
+me a single thing. Why is she out on her own hook? Is there a man in the
+business?'
+
+'I dinna ken ony mair than you,' said Teen, looking rather uncomfortable
+over this cross-examination. 'An' if ye'll tell me where her box is, I
+maun be gaun. I promised no' to be long.'
+
+'It's there, at the end of the bed,' said Mrs. Gordon serenely, jerking
+her thumb in that direction. 'I see you mean to be close too. Not that
+it matters a cent to me; I've no earthly interest in her affairs. You
+can tell her, if you like, that Captain Dent was inquiring
+affectionately for her this morning. I met him on my way back from
+rehearsal.'
+
+Teen listened in silence, mentally deciding that she would not tell her
+any such thing.
+
+'And you can tell her, if you like, that I'll be glad to see her any
+time before the twenty-third. The Eighty-Fifth are ordered to Ireland,
+and of course my husband will wish me to go with him.'
+
+A slow smile, in which there was the faintest touch of sarcasm, was in
+Teen's face as she glanced at the tawdry figure sitting on the fender
+end.
+
+'A' richt; I'll tell her. An' guid-nicht to ye; I'm very much obleeged,'
+she said, and, taking Liz's tin box in her hand, she left a trifle
+hastily, as if afraid she should be longer detained.
+
+She found Liz sitting where she had left her, in the same listless
+attitude, and her eyes were red about the rims, as if she had had a
+crying fit. The fire was very low, and the kettle standing cold where
+Teen had left it on the hearthstone.
+
+'I forgot a' aboot the kettle, Teen,' she said apologetically. 'I'm a
+lazy tyke; but dinna rage. Weel, ye've got the box. Did ye see Emily?'
+
+'Yes, if that's her name. She's a queer yin,' said Teen, as she let the
+box drop, and grasped the poker to improve the condition of the fire.
+'Ye dinna seem to hae telt her much, Liz, ony mair than me.'
+
+'No; it's aye best to keep dark. I dinna mean onything ill, Teen, but
+naebody shall ever ken frae me whaur I've been or what I've suffered
+since I gaed awa'. Ay, what I've suffered!'--she repeated these words
+with a passionate intensity, which caused Teen to regard her with a kind
+of awe. 'But maybe my day'll come, an' if it does, I winna forget,' she
+said, more to herself than to her companion; then, catching sight of
+Teen's astonished face, she broke into a laugh, and said, in quite a
+different tone,--
+
+'Weel, is't the morn we're gaun among the swells? An' hoo d'ye pit in
+the time in the country?'
+
+'Ye'll see,' replied Teen, with quiet satisfaction. 'The days are ower
+short, that's the only fault they hae. Efter we get oor supper, what wad
+ye say to gang roond to Colquhoun Street and see Wat, to tell him we're
+gaun to Bourhill?'
+
+'No, I'm no' gaun. He micht say we werena to gang. I say, Teen, he's in
+love wi' her. Onybody can see it in his e'e when he speaks aboot her.'
+
+'I ken that; but it's nae use,' said Teen, 'she's gaun to mairry
+somebody else.'
+
+'Is she? D'ye ken wha?'
+
+'Ay; your auld flame,' said Teen, apparently at random, but all the
+while keenly watching her companion's face. She saw Liz become as pale
+as death, though she smiled a sickly smile, and tried to speak as
+indifferently as possible.
+
+'Ye dinna mean it? Weel, I'd hae thocht she wad hae waled better. Hoo
+sune are we gaun the morn?'
+
+She asked the question with eagerness, and from that moment the little
+seamstress observed that her whole manner changed. She suddenly began to
+display a new and absorbing interest in the preparations for their
+departure, and plied Teen with questions regarding the place and her
+former experiences there. The little seamstress, being a person of a
+remarkably shrewd and observant turn, saw in this awakened interest only
+another link in the chain which now appeared to her almost complete. Her
+former elation over their trip to Bourhill gave place to a painful
+anxiety lest it should hasten events to a crisis in which the happiness
+of Gladys might be sadly involved; but it was now too late to help
+matters, and, with a bit of philosophical calmness, she said within
+herself, 'What is to be maun be,' and went on with her preparations for
+the morrow's journey.
+
+They set out, accordingly, about noon next day, carrying their
+belongings in the inevitable tin box, and arrived at Mauchline Station
+quite early in the afternoon--a lovely afternoon, when all the spring
+airs were about, and a voice of gladness over the spring's promise in
+the note of every bird singing on the bending boughs. With what keenness
+of interest did the little seamstress watch the effect of country sights
+and sounds upon Liz, and how it pleased her to see the slow wonder
+gather in her eyes as they wandered across the wide landscape over the
+rich breadths of the ploughed fields, in which the sowers were busy, to
+the sheltering woods glistening greenly in the sun, and the blue hills
+in the hazy distance seeming to shut in the world. It was her pride and
+pleasure to point out to her companion, as they walked, each familiar
+and cherished landmark, and though Liz did not say much, it was evident
+that she was in a manner lifted out of herself. The pure, fragrant air
+blowing about her, the wide and wonderful beauty of green fields and
+sunny slopes, filled the soul of Liz with a vague, yearning wonder which
+was almost pain. It brought home to her sharply a sense of all she had
+lost in the great and evil city; it was like a revelation of some
+boundless good of which she had hitherto lived in ignorance, and it
+awakened in her a bitter regret, which was in very truth rebellious
+anger, that the beauty of the earth should have so long been hid from
+her.
+
+'It's a shame,' she said,--'a horrid shame, that we should never hae
+kent there was a place like this ootside o' Glesca. Wha is't made
+for?--the rich, I suppose, as the best things are.'
+
+'Oh no,' said Teen quite gently. 'There are plenty puir folk in the
+country, an' bad folk tae. Mrs. Galbraith says there's as muckle drink
+drucken in Poosie Nancie's on Seterday nicht as in Johnnie Shields' in
+the Wynd, but some way it seems different. Look, see, thonder's the big
+gate o' Bourhill. Eh, I wonder if Miss Gladys is hame?'
+
+'I say, Teen, ye are very fond o' her, surely?' said Liz curiously.
+'Since when? Ye didna like her sae weel that nicht I left ye to tak' her
+hame frae the Ariel.'
+
+'No, but I didna ken her then. Yes, I'm fond o' her, an' there's
+naething I wadna dae for her. I wad let her walk abune me if it wad dae
+her ony guid,' said the little seamstress, her plain face glorified once
+more by the great love which had grown up within her till it had become
+the passion of her life.
+
+'Ye needna fash; that's the way I've heard lassies speak aboot men, an'
+ye get a' yer thanks in ae day,' said Liz bitterly. 'The best thing
+onybody can dae in this world is to look efter number one. It's the only
+thing worth livin' for. I wish I had never been born, an' I hope I'll
+no' live lang, that's mair.'
+
+'Oh, Liz, wheesht!'
+
+'What for should I wheesht? It's no' the first time I've been doon at
+the Broomielaw takin' a look roon for a likely place to jump in quietly
+frae. That'll be my end, Teen Ba'four, as sure as I'm here the day; then
+they'll hae a paragraph in the _News_, an' bury me in the Puirhoose
+grave. It's a lively prospect.'
+
+Teen said nothing, only made a vow within herself that she would do what
+she could to avert from the girl she loved such a melancholy fate.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+IN VAIN.
+
+
+Miss Caroline Peck had received that very morning a letter from Mrs.
+Fordyce of Bellairs Crescent--a letter which had put her all in a
+flutter. It was a letter of warning, counsel, and reproof concerning
+Miss Peck's duty towards her young charge, and laying a strong
+injunction upon her to be exceedingly judicious in her treatment of the
+eccentric guests whom Gladys had again invited to Bourhill. It was not a
+wise epistle at all, though Mrs. Fordyce had regarded it with
+complacency as a triumph of diplomatic letter-writing. Instead of
+stating plainly the whole facts, and pointing out how desirable it was
+that Gladys should not be thrown too much into the company of the girls
+from the East End, it threw out certain dark hints, which only mystified
+and distressed poor little Miss Peck, and made her anticipate with
+apprehension the arrival of the pair. It was a letter which, moreover,
+could not possibly do the smallest good, seeing Miss Peck, was not only
+far too fond of her young charge to cross her in the slightest whim, but
+that she secretly approved of everything she did. Of Mrs. Fordyce, Miss
+Peck, was mortally afraid and that very kind-hearted person would have
+been amazed had she known how the little spinster, metaphorically
+speaking, shrank into herself in her presence. The solemn warning she
+had received did not, however, prevent her giving the two girls a warm
+welcome when they presented themselves at the house that afternoon.
+
+'Miss Graham has not come home, Christina,' she said fussily, as she
+shook hands with them both, 'but I feel sure she will be here to-night.
+Meantime I must do what I can to make you comfortable. Come with me to
+your old room, Christina, and you shall have tea directly.'
+
+Though she had directed all her remarks to Teen, she did not fail at the
+same time to make the keenest scrutiny of her companion, whose
+appearance filled the little spinster with wonder. She was certainly a
+very handsome girl, and there was nothing forward or offensive in her
+manner--nay, rather, she seemed to feel somewhat shy, and kept herself
+in the background as much as possible. Acting slightly on Mrs. Fordyce's
+advice, Miss Peck gave the girls their tea, with its delightful adjuncts
+of new-laid eggs and spring chicken, in her own sitting-room, and she
+quite prided herself on her strength of mind as she decided to advise
+Gladys to give them their meals by themselves, except on a rare
+occasion, when she might wish to give them a treat. After tea, during
+which Miss Peck and the little seamstress sustained the conversation
+entirely between them, Liz apparently being too shy or too reticent to
+utter a word, the two girls went out for a walk. In their absence, to
+the great delight of Miss Peck, Gladys arrived home in a dogcart, hired
+from the Mauchline Hotel.
+
+'You have something to tell me, haven't you?' cried Gladys eagerly, as
+she kissed her old friend. 'The girls have arrived, I am sure. And what
+do you think of poor Lizzie? Is she not all I told you?'
+
+'She is certainly a fine-looking girl, but she has said so little that I
+don't know anything else about her.'
+
+'But you have been very kind to them, I hope? I want you to be specially
+kind to Lizzie. I am afraid she has had a very hard time of it lately,
+and she is not strong.'
+
+'My dear,'--Miss Peck laid her little hand, covered with its
+old-fashioned rings, on the arm of her young charge, and her kind face
+was full of anxiety,--'tell me why she has had a hard time. I hope she
+is a good girl, Gladys? You have the kindest heart, my darling, but you
+must look after your own interests. I hope she has given you quite a
+satisfactory account of herself?'
+
+'Dear Miss Peck,' said Gladys, with a light laugh, 'she has not given me
+any account of herself at all, nor have I asked it. But, tell me, do you
+think she looks like a wicked girl?'
+
+'Well, no, not exactly; but I--I--have had a letter from Mrs. Fordyce
+this morning,' said the little spinster, with the most unsophisticated
+candour, 'and really, from it one might think your new _protegee_ quite
+an objectionable person.'
+
+Gladys looked distinctly annoyed. She had a very sweet disposition, but
+was a trifle touchy regarding her own independence. Sundry rather sharp
+passages which had occurred between Mrs. Fordyce and herself on this
+very subject made her now readier to resent this new interference.
+
+'I really wish Mrs. Fordyce would mind her own business,' she said, and
+that was such a very harsh sentence to fall from the lips of Gladys that
+Miss Peck looked rather startled. 'She has really no right to be writing
+letters to you dictating what I shall do in my own house. Do you belong
+to me, or to her, I wonder?'
+
+The momentary resentment died away as she asked this question with the
+old whimsical smile.
+
+'I think she means it for your good, dear,' said the little spinster
+meekly, 'and I think in some particulars she is right. I never dictate
+to you, and for that very reason you will listen to what I am going to
+say. I think you should not make too much of these girls when they are
+here. Be kind to them, of course, and give them every comfort, but let
+them eat alone and be companions to each other. I am sure, dear, that
+would make them much happier, and be better for us all.'
+
+'Do you think so?' Gladys asked, with all the docility of a child. 'Very
+well, dear Guardy, I will do as you think. But where are they now? I
+must bid them welcome.'
+
+'They have gone for a walk to the birch wood. And how have you been
+since you went up to town? Have you been very gay, and seen a great deal
+of a certain gentleman?'
+
+'No, I saw him once only, and we did not agree,' replied Gladys calmly.
+'Do you know, dear Miss Peck, I think it was the greatest mistake for us
+to get engaged? I don't know in the least what made me do it, and I wish
+I hadn't.'
+
+Miss Peck stood aghast, but presently smiled in a relieved manner.
+
+'Oh, nonsense, my love--only a lover's tiff. When it blows over, you
+will be happier than ever.'
+
+'I don't like tiffs,' Gladys answered, as she ran up-stairs to take off
+her wraps.
+
+The lover's tiff seemed to be rather a serious affair, for a week passed
+away and no letter came from George; nor did Gladys write any. She felt
+secretly wounded over it, and though she often recalled that hour spent
+in the library at Bellairs Crescent, she could not remember anything
+which seemed to justify such a complete estrangement. Never since she
+came to Bourhill had so long a time elapsed without communicating with
+one or other of the Fordyce family, but as the days went by and they
+made no sign, the girl's pride rose, and she told herself that if they
+pleased to take offence because she reserved to herself the right to ask
+whom she willed to her own house, they should receive no advances from
+her. But she was secretly unhappy. Her nature craved sunshine and peace,
+and the conduct of her lover she could not possibly understand. In all
+her imaginings how far was she always from the truth! She did not dream
+that he believed his death-knell had been rung, and that he attributed
+her silence to her righteous and inexorable indignation over the story
+she had heard from the lips of Liz Hepburn. He never for one moment
+doubted that she had told, and between conscience and disappointed love
+he had a very lively week of it. All this time none could have been more
+discreet and reticent than the girl who was the cause of all this
+heart-burning. Her behaviour was exemplary. She was docile, courteous,
+gentle in demeanour and speech, grateful for everything, but
+enthusiastic over nothing, differing in this respect from Teen, who
+appeared to walk on air, and carried her exaltation of spirit in her
+look and tone. But Liz was dull and silent, content to walk and drive,
+and breathe that heavenly air which ought to have been the very elixir
+of life to her, but otherwise appearing lifeless and uninterested.
+Gladys was very kind and even tender with her, but just a little
+disappointed. She watched her keenly, not knowing that all the while Liz
+was in turn watching her, and at last she breathed a hint of her
+disappointment into the ear of the little seamstress.
+
+'Do you think Lizzie is enjoying Bourhill, Teen? She looks so
+spiritless; but perhaps it is her health, though I think her looking a
+little better than when she came.'
+
+'It's no' her body, it's her mind,' said Teen slowly. 'She has something
+on her mind.'
+
+'Has she never said anything yet to you about where she was, or what she
+was doing, all the time she was lost?' asked Gladys anxiously.
+
+'Naething,' answered Teen, with a melancholy shake of her head. 'But I
+think it's on that she's thinkin', an' whiles I dinna like her look.'
+
+'I'm going to speak to her myself about it, Teen. Perhaps it is
+something it would do her good to tell. Like you, I am often struck by
+her look, it is so dreadfully sad. Yes, I shall speak to her.'
+
+The little seamstress looked hesitatingly at the bright, radiant face of
+Gladys, and it was upon her lips to say it might be better to let the
+matter rest. But, with her old philosophical reflections that anything
+she might say could not possibly avert the march of fate, she held her
+peace.
+
+Just after lunch that afternoon, as Gladys was writing some letters in
+her favourite window, she saw Liz sitting by herself in the drowsy
+sunshine on the lawn, and her face wore such a dejected, melancholy look
+that it was evident some hidden sorrow was eating into her heart.
+Closing her desk, Gladys ran down-stairs, caught up a garden hat from
+the hall, and crossed the green lawn to Liz.
+
+'Dear me, how doleful you look!' she cried gaily. 'How can you look so
+dreadfully doleful on such a bright day? Now tell me every simple,
+solitary thing you are thinking.'
+
+A swift, rather startled glance crossed Liz's face, and she gave rather
+a forced laugh.
+
+'That wadna be easy. I don't think I was thinking onything, except a
+meenit syne, when I lookit up an' wished I was that laverock in the
+lift.'
+
+'But why? It is much nicer to be a girl, I think. Tell me, Lizzie, don't
+you feel stronger since you came here? I think you look it.'
+
+'I'm weel enough,' responded Liz dully; 'an' it's a lovely place--a
+lovely place. I'll never forget it, never as long as I live.'
+
+It was the first note of enthusiasm Gladys had heard regarding Bourhill,
+and it pleased her well.
+
+'I hope you won't, and that you'll come often to see it.'
+
+'I dinna think I'll ever come again; it's no' likely. Hoo lang are we to
+bide?'
+
+'As long as you like,' answered Gladys frankly,--'till you are quite
+strong, anyhow. Teen is in no hurry to go back to Glasgow; are you?'
+
+'Sometimes it's very quiet,' said Liz candidly.
+
+'But what are you going to do when you return?'
+
+Liz shook her head, but her lips gave forth no answer.
+
+'I hope you will go to your brother, as he wished,' said Gladys, and she
+could not for the life of her help a curious restraint creeping into her
+voice. 'It would be so very nice for him to have you; it is dreadful for
+him to live quite alone, as he does. Why won't you go?'
+
+'He kens what way,' replied Liz quietly.
+
+Gladys was perplexed. There was nothing particularly encouraging in the
+girl's look or manner, but she thought the time had come to put the
+question which had so often trembled on her lips. It was a proof of
+Gladys Graham's fine and delicate nature that she had not ere this
+sought to probe into Liz Hepburn's secret, if she had one.
+
+'Lizzie,' she said gently, 'I hope you won't be angry at what I say; but
+often, looking at you, I see that you are unhappy. I have never sought
+to pry into your concerns, but perhaps, if you were to tell me something
+about yourself, you would feel more at rest.'
+
+'D'ye think sae?' she asked, with a faint, ironical smile, which Gladys
+did not like. 'If it eased me, it micht keep you frae sleepin'. I'm very
+much obleeged to you for no' haein' pestered me wi' questions. I dinna
+ken anither in the world but Teen that wad hae treated me as you have.
+But my life's my ain, an' if I suffer, I'm no' askin' pity. I can bear
+the brunt o' what I've brocht on mysel.'
+
+It was a flat repulse, but it was gently spoken, and did not vex the
+sensitive soul of Gladys.
+
+'Very well, Liz,' she said kindly, 'I'll never ask any more; but
+remember that if I can help you at any time, I am ready, always ready,
+for your sake and for Walter's.'
+
+'He worships the very ground you walk on,' said Liz calmly. 'I wonder
+what way him an' me was born? Is't true ye are gaun to be married to
+Fordyce o' Gorbals Mill?' As she asked this direct question, she flashed
+her brilliant eyes full on the girl's sweet face.
+
+'I suppose I am, sometime,' Gladys answered rather confusedly. 'At
+least, I have promised.'
+
+'Ay,' said Liz, 'but there's mony a slip atween the cup an' the lip; and
+in time, they say, a'body gets their deserts, even here.'
+
+With this enigmatical speech Liz got up and crossed the lawn, with
+averted face, Gladys looking after her with a puzzled wonder in her
+eyes, thinking she was certainly a very strange girl, and that it was
+hopeless to try to make anything out of her.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+GONE.
+
+
+Towards the end of the second week Liz began to exhibit certain signs of
+restlessness, which ought to have warned those concerned in her welfare
+that the quiet and seclusion of Bourhill were beginning to pall upon
+her. As she improved in her bodily health her mind became more active,
+and she began to pine for something more exciting than country walks and
+drives. They were not altogether unobservant of the growing change in
+her, of course, but attributed it to a returning and healthful interest
+in the simpler pleasures of life. All this time George Fordyce had not
+come to Bourhill, nor had any letters passed between him and his
+promised wife. It would be too much to say that Gladys was quite
+indifferent to this; if her feelings were not very deeply involved, her
+pride was touched, and the first advances were not at all likely to
+emanate from her. Liz had lived in secret dread, mingled with a kind of
+happy anticipation, of meeting George Fordyce at Bourhill, and as the
+days went by, and there was no sign or talk of his coming, she began to
+wonder very much what it all meant. She was a remarkably shrewd person,
+and it did occur to her to connect her visit and the absence of Miss
+Graham's lover. One day, however, she put a question to Teen as they
+sauntered through the spring woods on the hill behind the house.
+
+'I say, is't true that she is gaun to mairry Fordyce, Teen? It's no'
+like it. What way does he never look near?'
+
+Teen looked keenly into her companion's face, to which that fortnight of
+complete rest and generous living had restored the bloom of health.
+Without planning very much, or artfully seeking to mislead the little
+seamstress, Liz had thrown her entirely off the scent. Such careless
+mention of her old lover's name, and her apparent indifference as to
+whether they should or should not meet at Bourhill, had entirely
+convinced Teen that he had no share in that part of Liz's life which she
+had elected to keep a sealed book.
+
+'It's quite true that they are engaged,' she replied tranquilly; 'but
+maybe he's awa' frae hame. But nane o' them hae been here for a long
+time.'
+
+'She disna seem to be much in earnest,' put in Liz flatly. 'I dinna
+believe mysel' that she cares a button for ony o' the lot; do you?'
+
+'I dinna ken,' answered Teen truthfully. 'It disna maitter to us,
+onyway.'
+
+'Maybe no'. Let's sit doon here a meenit, Teen; the sun's fine an'
+warm,' said Liz, and plumped down among the bracken, while Teen stood
+still under the jagged branches of an old fir tree, and looked 'her
+fill,' as she expressed it, of the lovely world at her feet. It was
+still a spring world, clothed in a most delicate and exquisite garb of
+green, waiting only for the touch of later summer to give it a deeper
+hue. There were many touches of white and pink bloom, showing in
+exquisite contrast where the hawthorn and the gean were in flower. Nor
+was the ground left with its more sombre hues unrelieved; the blue
+hyacinth, the delicate anemone, the cowslip, and the primrose grew
+thickly on every bare hillside and in all the little valleys, making the
+air heavy with their rich perfume.
+
+And all the fields now made glad the hearts of those who had in faith
+dropped their seed into the brown soil, and the whole earth, down to the
+sun-kissed edge of the sea, rejoiced with a great joy. Nor was the sea
+less lovely, with the silvery sheen of early summertide on its placid
+bosom, and the white wings of many boats glistening in the sun.
+
+'It's jist like heaven, Liz,' said the little seamstress, to whom these
+things were a great wonder, revealing to her a depth and a meaning in
+life of which she had not before dreamed. But to these hidden
+lovelinesses of Nature the eyes of Liz were closed; her vision being too
+much turned in upon herself, was dimmed to much that would have made her
+a happier and a better girl.
+
+'It's bonnie enough, but oh, it gets stale, Teen, efter a wee. If I were
+as rich as her I wadna bide here--no' if they paid me to bide!'
+
+'What for no'?'
+
+'Oh, it's that flat. Naething ever happens. Gie me the toon, I say;
+there's some life there, onyway.'
+
+'I wadna care if I never saw the toon again,' said Teen gravely, for her
+friend's words troubled her.
+
+'Hoo lang d'ye mean to bide here, Teen?' queried Liz presently. 'It'll
+be a fortnicht the morn since we cam'.'
+
+Teen did not at once reply. She had not dared to count the days,
+grudging their sweet passing, and it jarred upon her to hear Liz state
+the exact period, as if it had appeared to her very long.
+
+'This is the nineteenth; it was the twenty-third, wasn't it, that Mrs.
+Gordon said she was leavin' Glesca?'
+
+'I've forgotten. Yes, I believe it was the twenty-third,' answered Teen
+listlessly, not being interested in the time.
+
+'My, she'll see a lot, gaun to Ireland wi' a regiment. It's a lively
+life. I wish I was her.'
+
+Teen turned sharply round, and looked with reproachful eyes into her
+companion's face.
+
+'I thocht ye was gled to get away from her, Liz? I dinna ken what ye
+mean.'
+
+'Oh, I was doon in the mooth, because I wasna weel,' said Liz lightly.
+'Seriously, though, hoo lang are ye gaun to bide doon here, Teen?'
+
+'I wad bide aye if I had the chance, but I suppose we canna bide very
+much langer. Maybe we'd better see what Miss Gladys says.'
+
+'Ay, I suppose sae,' said Liz a trifle dryly. 'Whatever you may think, I
+dinna think it's fair that she should hae sae much an' you an' me sae
+little. We're livin' on her charity, Teen.'
+
+'Yes, but she disna mak' ye feel it,' retorted Teen quickly. 'An' she
+disna think it charity, either. She says aye the money's no' hers, she
+has jist gotten a len' o't to gie to ither folk.'
+
+'Wad she gie me a thoosand, d'ye think, if I were to speir?' asked Liz;
+and Teen looked vexed at these idle words. She did not like the
+sarcastic, flippant mood, and she regarded Liz with strong disapproval
+and vague uneasiness in her glance.
+
+'I dinna like the way ye speak, Liz,' she said quietly. 'But, I say, if
+ye were in Glesca the noo, what wad ye dae?'
+
+'Dae? It's what wad I no' dae,' cried Liz. 'I'm no' the kind to sterve.'
+
+'Ye wasna very weel aff when we got ye,' Teen could not refrain from
+saying.
+
+'Oh, ye needna cast up what ye did. I never asked you, onyway. Ye ken
+you and Wat hauled me awa' wi' you against my wull,' said Liz rather
+angrily, being in a mood to cavil at trifles. 'I kent hoo it wad be, but
+I'll tak' jolly guid care ye dinna get anither chance o' castin' up
+onything o' the sort to me.'
+
+Teen remained silent, not that she was particularly hurt by that special
+remark, but that she was saddened and perplexed by the whole situation.
+She had sustained another fearful disappointment, and she saw that
+Bourhill had utterly failed to work the charm on Liz which Teen herself
+experienced more and more every day. If she were not altogether blind to
+its loveliness, at least it did not touch any deeper feeling than mere
+eye pleasure; but more serious and disappointing still was the tone in
+which she spoke of Gladys. In her weak and weary state of health, she
+had at first appeared touched and grateful for the unceasing kindness
+and consideration heaped upon her, but that mood had passed apparently
+for ever, and now she appeared rather to chafe under obligations which
+Teen felt also, though in a different way, love having made them sweet.
+For the first time in her life she felt herself shrinking inwardly from
+the friend she had always loved since the days when they had played
+together, ragged, unkempt little girls, in the city streets. She looked
+at the brilliant beauty of her face. She saw it marred by a certain
+hardness of expression, a selfish, discontented look, which can rob the
+beauty from the loveliest face, and her heart sank within her, because
+she seemed dimly to foresee the end. The little seamstress did not know
+the meaning of a lost ideal, the probability is that she had never heard
+the word, but she felt all of a sudden, standing there in the May
+sunshine, that something had gone out of her life for ever. That very
+night she spoke to Gladys, seizing a favourable opportunity, when Liz
+had gone to enjoy a gossip with that garrulous person, Mrs. Macintyre,
+at the lodge.
+
+'I say, Miss Gladys, hae ye noticed onything aboot Liz this day or twa?'
+she queried anxiously.
+
+'Nothing,' replied Gladys blithely, 'except that she looks more and more
+like a new creature. Have you noticed anything?'
+
+'Naething very particular; but I am feared that she's wearyin' here, an'
+that she wants to get away back to Glesca,' said Teen, with a slight
+hesitation, it must be told, since such an insinuation appeared to
+savour of the deepest ingratitude.
+
+'Oh, do you think so? I thought she was quite happy. She certainly looks
+much brighter and better, and feels so, I hope.'
+
+'Oh yes, she's better; that's the reason, I suppose. She was aye active
+an' energetic, Liz,' said Teen, feeling impelled to make some kind of
+excuse for her old chum. 'We've been here twa weeks; maybe it's time we
+left?'
+
+'Oh, nonsense! What is two weeks? Suppose you stayed here all summer,
+what would it be? Nothing at all. But what do you think Lizzie has in
+her mind? Has she anything in view in Glasgow?'
+
+'They'd be clever that fathomed her mind; it's as deep as the sea,' said
+Teen, with an involuntary touch of bitterness, for she could not help
+feeling that her faithful love and service had met with but a poor
+return.
+
+'She can't think we will allow her to go back to Glasgow without knowing
+what she is going to do; we had too much anxiety on her account before,'
+said Gladys, with decision. 'There is no doubt her brother's house is
+the place for her. I must talk to her myself.'
+
+'Dinna dae't the nicht, Miss Gladys, or she'll think I've been tellin'
+on her,' suggested the little seamstress. 'Liz is very touchy aboot a
+lot o' things.'
+
+'Well, perhaps a better plan would be to write to Walter to come down
+and see her,' said Gladys thoughtfully. 'Yes, I shall just do that. How
+pleased he will be to see her looking so well! Perhaps he will be able
+to persuade her to go to housekeeping with him now, and in that case,
+Teen, you will stay on here. Miss Peck says she can't do without you
+anyhow, you are such an invaluable help with sewing and all sorts of
+things; perhaps we could make a permanent arrangement, at least which
+will last till I get my scheme for the Girls' Club all arranged. I must
+say it does not progress very fast,' she added, with a sigh. 'We always
+do so much less than we expect and intend, and will, I suppose, fall
+short to the very end. If you like to stay here, Teen, as sewing maid or
+anything else to Miss Peck, it will make me very happy.'
+
+She regarded the little seamstress with a lovely kindness in her look,
+and what could poor Teen do, but burst into happy tears, having no words
+wherein to express a tithe of what she felt.
+
+No further allusion was made that night to the question of the girls
+leaving, and all retired to rest as usual in the house of Bourhill. In
+the night, however, just when the faint streaks of the summer dawn were
+visible in the summer sky, Liz Hepburn rose very softly from the side of
+the sleeping Teen, and, gathering her things together in an untidy
+bundle, stole out of the room and down-stairs.
+
+The Scotch terrier, asleep on his mat at the foot of the stair, only
+looked up sleepily and wagged his tail as she stepped over him and stole
+softly through the hall. The well-oiled bolts slipped back noiselessly,
+and she ran out down the steps, leaving the door wide to the wall.
+
+And so they found it at six o'clock in the morning, just when Liz was
+stepping into the first train at a wayside station many miles from
+Bourhill.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+THE MATRONS ADVISE.
+
+
+'I think we had better go down and see what Gladys is about,' said Mrs.
+Fordyce at the breakfast-table. 'Could you go down with me this
+afternoon, Tom?'
+
+'I daresay I could,' replied the lawyer. 'Surely we haven't heard
+anything about her for a long time?'
+
+'I should just think we hadn't,' said Mina, with energy. 'Perhaps by
+this time she has gone off with somebody. We've shamefully neglected
+her.'
+
+'George hasn't been down either, Julia told me yesterday,' said Mrs.
+Fordyce thoughtfully. 'There must have been a quarrel, girls. Did Gladys
+say anything more before she went away that day?'
+
+'Nothing; but they are both so proud, neither will give in first. I
+certainly don't think, mother, that Gladys's feelings are very seriously
+involved. She takes the whole thing very calmly.'
+
+'George should not be too high and mighty at this early stage, my dear,'
+said Mrs. Fordyce. 'He will find that Gladys has a mind of her own, and
+will not be dictated to. All the same,' she added, with a faint sigh, 'I
+admit that he was right to find fault with her having those girls at
+Bourhill. Tom dear, I really think it is your duty, as guardian, to
+interfere.'
+
+'We can go down, anyhow, and see what she is about,' replied the lawyer;
+and that afternoon, accordingly, they went out to Mauchline.
+
+Not being expected, they had to hire from the hotel, and arrived just as
+Gladys and Miss Peck were enjoying their afternoon tea. She was
+unfeignedly glad to see them, and showed it in the very heartiness of
+her welcome. It was somewhat of a relief to Mrs. Fordyce to find Gladys
+alone with Miss Peck. She had quite expected to meet the objectionable
+girls in the drawing-room, but there were no evidences of their presence
+in the house at all, nor did Gladys allude to them in any way.
+
+She had a thousand and one questions to ask about them all, and appeared
+so affectionately interested in everything pertaining to the family,
+that Mr. Fordyce could not forbear casting a rather triumphant glance at
+his wife.
+
+'As the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet has come to the
+mountain,' he said in his good-natured way. 'You should have heard the
+doleful conversation about you at breakfast this morning. Were your ears
+not ringing?'
+
+'No, I had something more serious to take up my attention,' said Gladys
+a trifle soberly. 'I hope you have come to stay a few days--until
+to-morrow, at least?'
+
+'Are all your other guests away?' inquired Mrs. Fordyce, with the
+faintest trace of hardness in her voice.
+
+'Christina Balfour is here still. Her companion left this morning rather
+suddenly,' said Gladys, and it was evident that she felt rather
+distressed. 'In fact, she ran away from Bourhill.'
+
+'Indeed!' exclaimed Mrs. Fordyce, in astonishment. 'Why should she have
+run away? It would have been quite sufficient, surely, for her to have
+said she wished to return to Glasgow. You were not keeping her here
+against her will, I presume?'
+
+'No,' replied Gladys a trifle unsteadily. 'I cannot say she has treated
+us well. It was a very silly as well as a wrong proceeding to get up in
+the middle of the night and leave the door wide open, as she did. She
+has disappointed me very much.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce looked at Gladys in a kind of wonder. Her candour and her
+justness were as conspicuous as her decision of character. It evidently
+cost her pride no effort to admit that she had made a mistake, though
+the admission was proof of the correct prophecy made by Mrs. Fordyce
+when the hot words had passed between them concerning Liz at Bellairs
+Crescent. Mrs. Fordyce, however, was generous enough to abstain from
+undue triumph.
+
+'Well, well, my dear, we all make mistakes, though we don't all admit so
+readily as you have done that they are mistakes,' she said
+good-humouredly. 'I suppose the girl felt the restraint of this quiet
+life too much. What was her occupation before she came down? I don't
+know that I heard anything about her.'
+
+'She was once a mill girl with Mr. Fordyce,' answered Gladys. 'She is
+the girl who disappeared, don't you remember?--Walter Hepburn's sister.'
+
+'Oh!'
+
+The lawyer drew a long breath.
+
+'Perhaps it is just as well she has disappeared again. I did not know
+_that_ was the girl all the talk was about. Well, are you not tired of
+this quiet life yet?'
+
+'Oh no; I like it very much. But when will you allow the girls to come
+down, Mrs. Fordyce? I think it is too bad that they have never yet paid
+me a proper visit at Bourhill.'
+
+'They are talking of London again--wheedling their poor dear papa, as
+they do every May. I think you must go with us again, my dear.'
+
+'Yes, I should like that,' replied Gladys, with brightening face; and
+Mrs. Fordyce perceived that she had sustained a very severe
+disappointment, which had made her for the time being a trifle
+discontented with her own fair lot.
+
+She took an early opportunity, when Gladys conducted her to the
+guest-chamber, to put another question to her.
+
+'Gladys, how long is it since George was here?'
+
+'I have never seen him since that night in your house, when he didn't
+come up to the drawing-room,' answered Gladys calmly.
+
+'But he has written, I suppose?'
+
+'No; nor have I.'
+
+'My dear girl, this is very serious,' said Mrs. Fordyce gravely. 'What
+was the difference about? You will tell me, my dear? I have your best
+interests at heart, but I cannot help thinking it is rather soon to
+disagree.'
+
+'I don't think we disagreed, only I said I should ask whom I like to
+Bourhill. Surely that was within my rights?' said Gladys proudly.
+
+'Oh yes, to a certain degree, but not when you harbour questionable
+characters--yes, I repeat it, questionable characters, such as the girl
+who ran off this morning I hope you counted your spoons to-day, Gladys?'
+
+Gladys could have laughed, only she was too miserable.
+
+'Oh, what absurd mistakes you make!' was all she said.
+
+'Not so very absurd, I think. Well, as I said, I think George only
+showed that he had a proper regard for you and your peculiar position
+here. We know the world, my love; you do not. I think now, surely, you
+will allow us to be the judges of what is best for you?'
+
+'I think he has behaved shamefully to me, not having come, or even
+written, for so long, and I don't think I can forgive him. Think, if he
+were to treat me so after I was his wife, how dreadful it would be. It
+would certainly break my heart.'
+
+'My dear, the cases are not parallel. When you are his wife your
+interests will be identical, and there never will be any dispute.'
+
+Gladys shook her head. She did not feel at all sure of any such thing.
+
+'I cannot help thinking, my dear child, that the sooner you are married
+the better it will be for you. You are too much isolated here, and that
+Miss Peck, good little woman though she is, is only an old sheep. I must
+for ever regret the circumstances which prevented Madame Bonnemain
+coming to Bourhill.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce felt the above conversation to be so unsatisfactory that
+she occupied herself before dinner in writing a letter to her nephew, in
+which she treated him to some very plain-speaking, and pointed out that
+unless he made haste to atone for past shortcomings, his chance of
+winning the heiress of Bourhill was not worth very much.
+
+This letter reached the offender when he was seated at his father's
+breakfast-table with the other members of the family. He slipped it into
+his pocket, and his mother, keenly watching him, observed a curious
+look, half surprise, half relief, on his face. She was not therefore in
+the least surprised when he came to her immediately after breakfast for
+a moment's private conversation.
+
+'I've had a letter from Aunt Isabel, written at Bourhill last night; you
+can read it if you like.'
+
+She took it from him eagerly, and perused it with intense interest. Like
+her son, she had really abandoned hope, and had accepted the silence of
+Gladys as her lover's final dismissal.
+
+'This is extraordinary, George,' she said excitedly. 'The girl has been,
+and gone, evidently, and never uttered a word. Can you believe it?'
+
+'I must. Gladys would not be fretting, as Aunt Isabel says she is, if
+she knew all that. What shall I do?'
+
+His mother thought a moment. She had been very unhappy during the last
+two weeks, daily dreading the revelation of the miserable story which
+would make her idolised boy the centre of an unpleasant scandal. Her
+relief was almost too great, and it was a few minutes before she could
+collect her thoughts and gather up the scattered threads of her former
+ambition.
+
+'You may have a chance yet. It is a slender one; but still I advise you
+to make instant use of it. Go down and make it up with Gladys, at any
+cost. If she has heard nothing, and is at all pliable, press for an
+early marriage.'
+
+She gave the advice in all good faith, and without a thought of the
+great moral wrong she was committing. The supreme selfishness of her
+motherly idolatry blinded her to the cruel injustice she was meting out
+to the innocent girl whose heritage she coveted for her son. Yet she
+counted herself a Christian woman, and would have had nothing but
+indignant scorn for the individual who might presume to question her
+right to such a title.
+
+This is no solitary or exceptional case. Such things are done daily,
+and religion is made the cloak to cover a multitude of sins. Mrs.
+Fordyce had so long striven to serve both God and Mammon that she had
+lost the fine faculty which can discern the dividing line. In other
+words, her conscience was dead, and allowed her to give this deplorable
+advice without a dissenting word.
+
+'It would be deuced awkward,' said the amiable George, 'if anything were
+to come out after.'
+
+'After marriage, you mean? Oh, there would be a scene, a few hysterics
+perhaps, and there the matter would be at an end. A wife can't afford to
+be so punctilious as a maiden fancy free. She has herself too much to
+lose.'
+
+George accepted the maternal advice, and went out to Mauchline after
+business hours that very day.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+A GREAT RELIEF.
+
+
+Next afternoon Gladys herself drove the lawyer and his wife from
+Bourhill to the station.
+
+'Now, my dear,' said Mrs. Fordyce, as they were about to part, 'I shall
+allow the girls to come down on Saturday, on condition that you return
+with them at the end of a week, prepared to accompany us to London.'
+
+Gladys nodded, with a bright smile.
+
+'Yes, I shall do everything you wish. I believe I am rather tired of
+having my own way, and I should not mind having a change, even from
+Bourhill.'
+
+As they stood lingering a little over their good-byes, a train from
+Glasgow came puffing into the station, and, with a sudden gleam of
+expectation, Mrs. Fordyce glanced anxiously at the alighting passengers.
+
+'My dear, why, there is George! actually George himself.'
+
+Gladys cast a startled glance in the direction indicated and the colour
+mounted high to her brow, then faded quite, leaving her rather
+strikingly pale.
+
+'Why does he come here?' she asked quickly, 'I have not asked him.'
+
+'Unless you have broken off your engagement with him, Gladys, he has a
+right to come whether you ask him or not. Tom dear, here is our train
+now, and we must run over that bridge. We dare not miss it, I suppose?'
+
+'I daren't, seeing I have to take the chair at a dinner in the Windsor
+Hotel to-night,' replied the lawyer; 'but if you like to remain a little
+longer, why not, Isabel?'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce hesitated a moment. Her nephew was giving up his ticket to
+the collector at the little gate, and their train was impatiently
+snorting at the opposite platform.
+
+'I had better go,' she decided quickly, as her husband began to run off.
+Turning to Gladys, she gave her a hasty kiss, and observed seriously,--
+
+'Be kind to poor George, Gladys; he is very fond of you, and you can
+make anything of him you like. Write to me, like a dear, this evening,
+after he is away.'
+
+She would have liked a word in her nephew's private ear also, but time
+forbade it. She waved her hand to him from the steps of the bridge, but
+he was so occupied looking at Gladys that he did not return her
+salutation.
+
+Gladys stepped composedly into the phaeton, and, sitting up in rather a
+dignified way, accorded him a very calm, cool greeting. His demeanour
+was significant of a slight nervousness as he approached the carriage,
+not at all sure of his ground.
+
+'I am in luck, Gladys,' he said, trying to speak with a natural gaiety.
+'Have I your permission to take a seat beside you?'
+
+'If you are going to Bourhill, of course you may,' she replied quite
+calmly; then, turning to the groom, she said, without any hesitation,
+'You can walk home, William. Put my letters in at the post as you pass,
+and bring me five shillings' worth of stamps.'
+
+The groom touched his hat, took the money and the letters, and walked
+off, indulging in a grin when his face was turned away from the
+occupants of the carriage.
+
+'Shall I take the reins, Gladys?' inquired George, with a very bright
+look on his face. He perceived that, though there might be 'rows,' as he
+mentally expressed it, they would be of a mild nature, easily explained;
+the bolt had _not_ fallen, if anything was to be gathered from her
+demeanour.
+
+'No, thank you. I dislike sitting idle in a carriage. I always drive
+myself,' she said calmly, and, with a rather tighter hand than usual on
+the reins, she turned the ponies' heads, and even gave each a sharp
+flick with the whip, which sent them up the leafy road at a very smart
+pace.
+
+'I have come to make my peace, Gladys, and it's awfully good of you to
+send the fellow away,' George began impressively. 'I'm in luck, I tell
+you. I pictured to myself a long dusty walk through the sunshine.'
+
+'I sent him away because we had a long drive this morning, and I wanted
+Castor and Pollux to have an easier load to pull up the hill,' she
+replied. 'I suppose if I had allowed you to walk instead of William, it
+would have been rather rude.'
+
+Her manner, though very calm and unruffled, was rather unpromising.
+George looked at her a trifle anxiously, as if hardly sure how to
+proceed.
+
+'Are you awfully angry with me, Gladys? I always expected a letter from
+you. I thought you were so angry with me that I was afraid to write.'
+
+'You were quite wrong, then. I was not angry at all. But why should I
+have written when you did not?'
+
+This was rather unanswerable, and he hesitated a moment over his next
+words. He had to weigh them rather carefully for the ears of this
+singularly placid and self-possessed young lady, whose demeanour was so
+little index to her state of mind.
+
+'Well, if I admit I was in the wrong all the time, though I really, upon
+my word, don't know very well what the row was about, will you forgive
+me?' he asked in his most irresistible manner, which was so far
+successful that the first approach to a smile he had seen since they met
+now appeared on her lips.
+
+'You know very well what it was all about; you have not forgotten a word
+that passed, any more than I have,' she answered. 'But you ought to have
+written all the same. I am generous enough to admit, however, that you
+had more reason on your side than I was induced to admit that night. The
+experiment I tried has not been a success. Have you heard that Lizzie
+Hepburn has run away from us?'
+
+He swallowed the choking sensation in his throat, and answered, with
+what indifference he could command,--
+
+'Yes, I heard it.'
+
+'And is that why you have come?' she asked, with a keen, curious glance
+at him,--'to crow over my downfall That is not generous in the least.'
+
+'My darling, how can you think me capable of such meanness? Would it not
+be more charitable to think I came to condole and sympathise with you?'
+
+'It would, of course,' she admitted, with a sigh; 'but I am rather
+suspicious of everybody. I am afraid I am not at all in a wholesome
+frame of mind.'
+
+She looked so lovely as she uttered these words, her sweet face wearing
+a somewhat pensive, troubled look, that her lover felt that nothing
+would ever induce him to give her up. They had now left the town
+behind, and were on the brow of the hill where four roads meet. To the
+right stood the cosy homestead of Mossgiel, and to the left the whole
+expanse of lovely country, hill and field and wood, which had so often
+filled the soul of Burns with the lonely rapture of the poet's soul.
+Gladys never passed up that way without thinking of him, and it seemed
+to her sometimes that she shared with him that deep, yearning depression
+of soul which found a voice in the words--
+
+ 'Man was made to mourn.'
+
+The road was quite deserted. Its grassy slopes were white with the
+gowan, and in the low ragged hedges there were clumps of sweet-smelling
+hawthorn. All the fields were green and lovely with the promise which
+summer crowns and autumn reaps; and it was all so lovely a world that
+there seemed in it no room for care or sadness or any dismal thing.
+Being thus alone, with no witness to their happiness but the birds and
+the bees, the pair of lovers ought to have found it a golden hour; but
+something appeared still to stand between them, like a gaunt shadow
+keeping them apart.
+
+'I have been awfully miserable, Gladys. You see, I didn't know what to
+do; you are so different from any girl I have ever met. I never know
+exactly what will please you and what will aggravate you. Upon my word,
+you have no idea what an amount of power you have in those frail little
+hands.'
+
+Gladys smiled and coloured a little. She was not quite insensible to
+flattery; she was young enough to feel that it was rather pleasant, on
+the whole, to have so much power over a big handsome fellow like George
+Fordyce.
+
+'I wish you would not talk so much nonsense,' she said quickly; but her
+tone was more encouraging, and with a sudden inspiration George
+followed up his advantage. He put his arm round the slender waist, to
+the great amazement of Castor and Pollux, who, finding the firm hand
+relax on the reins, had no sort of hesitation about coming to an
+immediate stop.
+
+'But, all the same, I'm going to keep hold of these little hands,' he
+said passionately, 'because they hold my happiness in their grasp, and
+I'm not going to allow them to torture me very much longer. How soon can
+you be ready to marry me, Gladys?'
+
+'To marry you! Oh, not for ages. Let me go. Just look at the ponies!
+They are utterly scandalised,' she cried, her sweet face suffused with
+red. But he did not release her until he had stolen a kiss from her
+unwilling lips, a kiss which seemed to him to bridge entirely the slight
+estrangement which had been between them.
+
+She sat very far away from him, and, gathering up the reins again,
+brought Castor and Pollux to their scattered senses; but her face was
+not quite so grim and unreadable as before. After all, it was something
+to be of so much importance to one man. The very idea of her power over
+him had something intoxicating in it, thus proving her to be a very
+woman.
+
+'I am going to London very soon with your Aunt Isabel and the girls,'
+she said, trying to lead the conversation into more commonplace grooves.
+
+'And couldn't you see about your trousseau when you are there? Isn't
+London the place to get such things?' he asked. But Gladys calmly
+ignored this speech.
+
+'I have engaged Christina Balfour to remain at least all summer at
+Bourhill. She can be useful to Miss Peck in many ways, and she is
+devoted to the place. Poor Lizzie has fearfully disappointed me. What
+would you advise me to do about her?'
+
+'Nothing. There is nothing you can possibly do now but leave her alone,'
+he answered at once. 'Do you think it is wise to keep the other one
+here?'
+
+'Oh yes; why not? I am really going to perfect that scheme for the
+working girls soon. Meantime, I think I have got a little disheartened;
+I am afraid I am not very brave. I hoped that you would help me in
+that.'
+
+She turned to him with a look which no man living could resist.
+
+'My darling, I'll do anything you wish. I'm not half good enough for
+you,' he cried, uttering this solemn truth with all sincerity. 'Only
+give me the right to be interested in all that interests you, and you'll
+find you can make of me what you like.'
+
+Gladys was silent a moment, on her face a strange look. She was
+thinking, not of the lover pleading so passionately at her side, but of
+one who, while loving her not less dearly, had sufficient manliness and
+strength of will to go his way alone--conquering, unassisted,
+difficulties which would appear unsurmountable to most men. George
+Fordyce, looking at her, wondered at the cloud upon her brow.
+
+'Promise me, my darling, that you won't keep me waiting too long. Surely
+three months is long enough for the making of the best trousseau any
+woman can want? Won't you promise to come to me in autumn, and let us
+have a lovely holiday, coming back in winter to work together in real
+earnest?'
+
+She turned her head to him slowly, and her eyes met his with a long,
+questioning, half-pathetic look.
+
+'In autumn? That is very soon,' she said. 'But, well, perhaps I will
+think about it, only you must let me be till I have made up my mind.
+Why, here we are already at home.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+A DISCOVERY.
+
+
+It was some days before Gladys could summon courage to write to Walter
+about his sister. Had she known the consequences of that delay she would
+have been profoundly unhappy; it gave Liz the chance, which she took
+advantage of, to get clear away from the city.
+
+Through these bright days of the early summer Walter kept plodding on at
+his business, but life had lost its charm. He was, indeed, utterly sick
+at heart; all incentive to push on seemed to be taken from him, and the
+daily round was gone through mechanically, simply because it waited his
+attention on every hand. As is often the case when success becomes no
+longer an object of concern, it became an assured matter. Everything he
+touched seemed to pay him, and he saw himself, while yet in his young
+manhood, rapidly becoming rich. But this did not make him happy--ah, how
+utterly inadequate is wealth to the making of happiness how many have
+bitterly proved!--on the contrary, it made him yet more restless, moody,
+and discontented. Looking ahead, he saw nothing bright--a long stretch
+of grey years, which held nothing beautiful or satisfying or worthy of
+attainment--a melancholy condition of mind, truly, for a young,
+prosperous, and healthy man. In the midst of this deep depression came
+the letter from Gladys conveying the news of Liz's sudden and strange
+flight from Bourhill. He smiled grimly when he read it, and, putting it
+in his pocket, returned to his work as if it concerned him not at all.
+Nevertheless, in the course of the afternoon, he left his place of
+business and took the car to Maryhill. Gladys had given him the address
+of Mrs. Gordon, with whom Liz had formerly lodged, and he felt himself
+impelled to make some listless inquiries there regarding her. The result
+was quite unsatisfactory. The landlady regarded him with considerable
+suspicion, and did not appear disposed to give him any information. But
+after repeated questioning, Walter elicited from her the fact that Mrs.
+Gordon had gone to Dublin with the Eighty-Fifth Regiment, and she
+believed Miss Hepburn was with her. Walter thanked the woman and went
+his way, scarcely affected one way or the other, at least to outward
+seeming. Liz was lost. Well, it fitted in with the rest of his dreary
+destiny; her ultimate fate, which could not be far off, weaved only some
+darker threads into the grey web of life.
+
+Next morning Gladys received an answer to her letter, and it made her
+feel very strange when she read it. It ran thus:--
+
+ 'COLQUHOUN STREET, _Thursday Night_.
+
+ 'DEAR MISS GRAHAM,--I received your kind letter this morning, and I
+ thank you for acquainting me with my sister's departure from
+ Bourhill. The news did not surprise me at all. I was only astonished
+ that she stayed so long. This afternoon I called at the address
+ you gave me, and the landlady informed me that Mrs. Gordon has gone
+ to Dublin with the Eighty-Fifth Regiment, taking my sister with
+ her. After this there is nothing we can do. Poor Liz is lost, and
+ we need not blame her too hardly. You reproved me once for calling
+ myself the victim of circumstances, but I ask you to think of her
+ as such with what kindness you can. Of one thing we may be sure,
+ her punishment will far exceed her sin.--Thanking you for all your
+ past kindness, and wishing you in the future every good thing, I
+ am, yours sincerely, WALTER HEPBURN.'
+
+It was a sad letter, conveying a great deal more than was actually
+expressed. Gladys threw it from her, and, laying her head on her hands,
+sobbed bitterly.
+
+'My dear,' cried the little spinster, in sympathetic concern, 'don't
+break your heart. You have done a great deal--far more, I assure you,
+than almost any one else would have done. You cannot help the poor girl
+having chosen the way of transgressors.'
+
+'It is not Liz I am crying for at present, Miss Peck,' said Gladys
+mournfully; 'it is for Walter. It is a heartbreaking letter. I cannot,
+dare not, comfort him. I must take it to Christina to read.'
+
+She picked it up, and ran to the stillroom, where the happy and placid
+Teen sat by the open window with some sewing in her hand, love making
+the needle fly in and out with a wondrous speed. Her resentment against
+Liz for her ingratitude had taken the edge off her grief, and she was
+disposed to be as hard upon her as the rest of the world.
+
+'Oh, Teen, I have had a letter from Walter. I shall read it to you. It
+is dreadful!' Gladys cried; and, with trembling voice, she read the
+epistle to the little seamstress. '_Isn't_ it dreadful? Away to Dublin!
+What will she do there?'
+
+Teen laid down her sewing and looked at Gladys with the simplest wonder
+in her large eyes. She could scarcely believe that a human being could
+be so entirely innocent and unsuspecting as Gladys Graham, for it was
+quite evident she did not really know what Walter meant by saying Liz
+was lost.
+
+'He says her punishment will be greater than her sin, whatever he means.
+Do you know what he means?'
+
+'Ay, fine,' was Teen's reply, and her mouth trembled.
+
+'Tell me, then. I want to understand it,' cried Gladys, with a touch of
+impatience. 'There have been things kept from me; and if I had known
+everything I could have done more for her, and perhaps she would not
+have run away.'
+
+'There was naething kept frae ye; if ye hadna been a perfect bairn in
+a'thing, ye wad hae seen through a'thing. That was why a' the folks--yer
+grand freen's, I mean--were sae angry because ye had Liz here. But I
+believed in her mysel' up till she ran awa'. Although a lassie's led
+awa' she's no' aye lost; but I doot, I doot--an' noo Liz is waur than we
+thocht.'
+
+Gladys stood as if turned to stone. Slowly a dim comprehension seemed to
+dawn upon her; and it is no exaggeration to say that it was a shock of
+agony.
+
+'Do you mean to say that the poor girl is really bad, that she has
+deliberately chosen a wicked life?' she asked in a still, strained
+voice.
+
+Teen gravely nodded, and her lips trembled still more.
+
+'And what will be the end of it? What will become of her, Teen?'
+
+'The streets; an' she'll dee in a cellar, or an hospital, maybe, if
+she's fortunate enough to get into wan; an' it'll no' be lang either,'
+said Teen, in a quite matter-of-fact way, as if it were the merest
+commonplace detail. 'She has nae strength; wan winter will finish her.'
+
+Here the composure of the little seamstress gave way, and, dropping her
+heavy head on the sunny window-sill, she too wept passionately over the
+ruin of the girl she had loved. But Gladys wept no more. Standing there
+in the long yellow shaft cast by the sunshine, memory took her back to a
+never-to-be-forgotten night, when an old man and a maiden child had
+toiled through the streets of Glasgow after midnight, and how the throng
+of the streets had bewildered the wondering child, and had made her ask
+questions which never till this time had been satisfactorily answered.
+
+'I begin to understand, Teen,' she said slowly, with a shiver, as if a
+cold wind had passed over her. 'Life is even sadder than I thought. I
+wonder how God can bear to have it so. I cannot bear it even in
+thought.'
+
+She went out into the sunny garden, and, casting herself on the soft
+green sward, wept her heart out over the new revelation which had come
+to her. Never had life seemed so bitter, so mysterious, so unjust. What
+matter that she was surrounded by all that was lovely and of good
+report, when outside, in the great dark world, such things could be? For
+the first time Gladys questioned the goodness of God. Looking up into
+the cloudless blue of the summer sky, she wondered that it could smile
+so benignly upon a world so cursed by sin. Little Miss Peck, growing
+anxious about her, at last came out, and bade her get up and attend to
+the concerns of the day waiting for her.
+
+'You know, my dear, we can't stand still though another perverse soul
+has chosen the broad road,' she said, trying to speak with a great deal
+of worldly wisdom. 'I see it is very hard upon you, because you have
+never been brought into contact with such things, but as you grow older,
+and gain more experience, you will learn to regard them philosophically.
+It is the only way.'
+
+'Philosophically?' repeated Gladys slowly. 'What does that mean, Miss
+Peck? If it means that we are to think lightly of them, then I pray I
+may be spared acquiring such philosophy. Is there nothing we can do for
+Lizzie even yet, Miss Peck?'
+
+She broke off suddenly, with a pathetic wistfulness which brought the
+tears to the little spinster's eyes.
+
+'Is there no way we can save her? Teen says she will die in a cellar or
+an hospital. Can you bear to think of it, and not try to do something?'
+
+Miss Peck hesitated a moment. It was an extremely delicate subject, and
+she feared to touch upon it; but there was no evading the clear,
+straight, questioning gaze of Gladys.
+
+'I fear it is quite useless, my dear. It is almost impossible to reform
+such girls. I had a cousin who was matron of a home for them in
+Lancashire, and she gave me often rather a discouraging account of the
+work among them. You see, when a woman once loses her character she has
+no chance, the whole world is against her, and everybody regards her
+with suspicion. Sometimes, my love, I have felt quite wicked thinking of
+the inequality of the punishment meted out to men and women in this
+world. Women are the burden-bearers and the scapegoats always.'
+
+Gladys rose up, weary and perplexed, her face looking worn and grey in
+the brilliant sunshine.
+
+Her heart re-echoed the words of the little spinster; for the moment the
+loveliness of the earth seemed a mockery and a shame.
+
+'Why is it so?' was the only question she asked.
+
+Miss Peck shook her head. That great question, which has perplexed so
+many millions of God's creatures, was beyond her power of solution. But
+from that day it was seldom out of the mind of Gladys, robbing all the
+sweetness and the interest from her life.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+A WOMAN'S HEART.
+
+
+The second summer of Gladys Graham's changed life was less happy than
+the first. Her young enthusiasm had received many chills, and somehow
+the wealth with which she had anticipated so large a blessing to herself
+and others, seemed a less desirable possession than when it first came
+into her hands. Doing good was not simply a question of will, but was
+often surrounded by so many difficulties that it could not be
+accomplished, at least after the manner she had planned. Her experience
+with Liz Hepburn had disheartened her inexpressibly, and for the time
+being she felt inclined to let her scheme for the welfare of the working
+girls fall into abeyance. In May she left Bourhill in possession of Miss
+Peck and the regretful Teen, and departed to London, apparently with
+relief, in company with the Fordyces. Her state of mind was entirely
+favourable to the furtherance of the Fordyce alliance, and when, early
+in June, George joined the party in London, she allowed him to take for
+granted that she would marry him in the autumn, and even permitted Mrs.
+Fordyce to make sundry purchases in view of that great event. All the
+time, however, she felt secretly uneasy and dissatisfied. She was by no
+means an easy person to manage, and tried her lover's patience to the
+utmost. Her sweetness of disposition seemed to have deserted her for the
+time being; she was irritable, unreasonable, exacting, as different from
+the sunny-hearted Gladys of old as could well be imagined. The only
+person who was at all shrewd enough to guess at the cause of this grave
+alteration was the discriminating Mina, who pondered the thing often in
+her mind, and wondered how it was likely to end. She did not believe
+that the marriage would ever come off, and her guessing at all sides of
+the question came nearer the truth than she herself believed. Gladys
+appeared in no hurry to return to Scotland; nay, after six weeks in
+London, she pleaded for a longer exile, and induced Mrs. Fordyce to
+extend their trip to Switzerland; and so the whole beautiful summer was
+loitered away in foreign lands, and it was the end of August before
+Gladys returned to Bourhill. During her long absence she had been a
+faithful correspondent, writing weekly letters to Miss Peck and Teen;
+but when she returned that August evening to her own, she was touched
+inexpressibly by the wistful looks with which these two, the most
+faithful friends she possessed, regarded her. They thought her changed.
+She was thinner and older looking; her grace and dignity not less
+marked, her beauty not impaired, only the brightness, the inexpressible
+air of vivacity and spontaneous gladness seemed to have disappeared. She
+smiled at their tearful greeting, a quick, fleeting, almost melancholy
+smile.
+
+'Why do you look at me so strangely?' she asked, with the slightest
+touch of impatience. 'Do you see anything odd about me?'
+
+'No, oh no, my child,' answered Miss Peck quickly. 'We are so thankful
+to have you home again; we thought the day would never come. Have we not
+counted the very hours this week, Christina?'
+
+'Ay, we hae; but I dinna think she's fell gled to be hame hersel',' said
+Teen, and her dark eye was shadowed, for she felt that a subtle change
+had overcast the bright spirit of Gladys, and she did not know what it
+might portend.
+
+'Oh, such nonsense you two talk,' cried Gladys lightly. 'Dear Miss Peck,
+just ask them to hurry up dinner. I am famishing to taste a real home
+dinner. Well, Teen, how have you been all this summer? I must say you
+look like a new creature. I believe you are quite beautiful, and we
+shall have somebody falling in love with you directly. I don't suppose
+you have heard or seen anything of poor Lizzie?'
+
+'No, naething. Walter was here, Miss Gladys, last week, seeking ye.'
+
+The colour rose in the face of Gladys, and she averted her head to hide
+her softened, luminous eyes from the gaze of Teen.
+
+'And did you tell him I was coming home this week?'
+
+'I didna. We only spoke aboot Liz, an' some aboot his ain affairs. Miss
+Peck saw him maist o' the time. He's gaun to sell his business, and gang
+awa' to America or Australia.'
+
+'Oh!' exclaimed Gladys sharply. 'Why should he do any such thing, when
+he is getting on so well?'
+
+'I am sure I dinna ken,' replied Teen quietly, though she knew--ay, as
+well as Gladys--what it all meant. 'His faither's deid; he de'ed efter a
+week's illness, jist at the Fair time, an' he's gaun to tak' his mither
+wi' him. She's bidin' at Colquhoun Street the noo.'
+
+'A great deal seems to have happened since I went away,' said Gladys,
+with something of an effort. 'Is he going to do this soon?'
+
+'Yes, I think immediately; at least, he cam' doon here to say guid-bye
+to you. But Miss Peck can tell ye mair nor me; she spoke a long time
+till him.'
+
+A question was on the lips of Gladys, but she held it back, and again
+changed the theme.
+
+'And what does he think about poor Lizzie? I suppose he has never gone
+to Dublin to seek for her?'
+
+'No, I dinna think it.'
+
+'It is all very sad. Don't you think life very sad, Teen?' asked Gladys,
+with a great wistfulness, which made the eyes of the little seamstress
+become suddenly dim.
+
+'Ay, it is. Oh, Miss Gladys, excuse me for sayin't, but if ye had seen
+his face when I telt him ye were maybe to be mairried in September or
+October, ye wadna dae't.'
+
+'Why not? That could not possibly make any difference to me, Christina,'
+replied Gladys quite coldly, though a slight tremor shook her. 'Well, I
+must go and change my gown. Bourhill is looking lovely to-day, I think.
+I have seen many beautiful places since I went away, but none so
+satisfying as this; you will be glad to hear I still think Bourhill the
+sweetest spot on earth.'
+
+And, with a smile and a nod, she left the little seamstress to her work;
+but it lay unheeded on her lap, and her eyes were heavy with a grey mist
+which came up from her heart's bitterness. Yes, life did indeed appear
+sad and hard to Teen, and all things moving in an entirely contrary
+way.
+
+Miss Peck came bustling into her darling's dressing-room very shortly,
+and began to fuss about her in her tender, nervous fashion, as if it
+were not possible for her to show her gladness at having her back.
+Gladys did not say very much for a little; but at last, when she was
+brushing at her soft shining hair, she turned round suddenly, and looked
+into the old lady's face with rather an odd look on her own.
+
+'Now, sit down, Miss Peck, and tell me every single, solitary thing
+about Walter.'
+
+The little lady gave a nervous start. She had just been wondering how to
+introduce this subject.
+
+'Christina has told you that he has been here. My dear, I was very sorry
+for him. He is a splendid young fellow, and I wish'--
+
+She paused there, nor did Gladys ask her to finish her sentence.
+
+'Teen tells me he is giving up his business. Do you think that is a wise
+step, Miss Peck?' Gladys asked, with a fine indifference which rather
+surprised the old lady.
+
+'It may be wise for him, my dear. He seems to feel he cannot remain any
+longer in this country.'
+
+'Did he ask any questions about me?'
+
+'Yes, Gladys, a few.'
+
+'Well, I hope you did not give him any unnecessary information?' said
+Gladys rather sharply.
+
+'My dear, I told him everything I could think of. I did not think you
+would wish anything kept back from your old friend. His interest is very
+genuine.'
+
+'I suppose so,' said Gladys coolly, as she began to coil her long
+tresses round her shapely head; 'we must take it for granted, anyhow.
+And what did he give you in exchange for all your interesting
+information? Did he condescend to tell you anything about himself?'
+
+Miss Peck was wounded by the tone; such bitter and sarcastic words she
+had never heard fall from those gentle lips before.
+
+'We had a long talk, Gladys, and I imagined--perhaps it was only
+imagination--that it relieved and made him happier to talk to me. His
+father is dead, and he has taken his mother home to his own house, and
+she will go with him abroad.'
+
+'Where to? Is it quite decided? or has he already gone away?'
+
+'Not yet, I think.'
+
+'Did he ask where I was?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'For a particular address?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'Well, I think the least he might have done was to write and let me know
+all this.'
+
+'My dear child, be reasonable,' said the little spinster, in gentle
+reproof. 'He came expecting to see you, and he left a kind message for
+you. I don't see that it would have done either you or him any good to
+write a letter; your ways must lie so far apart now. I told him we
+expected your marriage shortly.'
+
+'I have never said it will take place,' said Gladys calmly. 'I wish
+people would leave me and my concerns alone.'
+
+Miss Peck could see the girl's face in the long glass, the red spot
+burning on her cheeks, and the beautiful lips angrily quivering, and she
+became more and more perplexed. Of late Gladys had become a being
+difficult to understand.
+
+'What is the use of talking in that manner, Gladys?' she said, with a
+faint show of sternness. 'I saw Mr. Fordyce in town the other day, and
+he told me it is quite likely the marriage will take place on the eighth
+of October. It is quite impossible that it could be definitely fixed
+without you.'
+
+'I suppose so. And what did Walter say when you told him my marriage-day
+was fixed?' inquired Gladys, as she tied the ribbon on her hair.
+
+'I shall not tell you what he said,' answered the little spinster, quite
+severely for her. 'You are in a mood which would make you laugh at an
+honest heart's suffering.'
+
+'You think very highly of me, Guardy, I must say,' said Gladys a trifle
+unsteadily. 'But why do you speak of an honest man's suffering? Do you
+mean to say it made Walter suffer to hear I was going to be married?'
+
+'My dear, he loves you as his own soul. I can never forget how he looked
+and spoke of you,' said the little spinster. 'He is a good and noble
+man, and God will bless him wherever he goes.'
+
+There was a few minutes' silence, then Gladys walked over to the window,
+and drawing aside the lace hangings, allowed the red glory of the
+setting sun to flood the whole room. Standing there, with her white
+shapely arm against the delicate lace, she looked out in silence upon
+the lovely prospect which had so often filled her soul with delight. A
+shadow, dark as a storm-cloud, had fallen upon that sunny scene, and she
+saw no beauty in it.
+
+'I have loved this place well, Guardy--loved and longed for it. It has
+been an idol to me, and my punishment is here. I wish I had never seen
+it. I wish I had never left the city, never been parted from the old
+friends. I am a miserable woman. I wish I had never been born.'
+
+With a quick gesture she let the curtain drop, and throwing herself on
+the end of the couch, buried her face in the pillows.
+
+Here again it was Miss Peck's privilege to administer some crumbs of
+comfort to the sad heart of the woman, even as she had once comforted
+the child. Stooping over her, she laid her hand tenderly on the bent
+golden head.
+
+'My dear, it is not yet too late. If you do not love this man, it will
+be a great sin to marry him--a wrong done to yourself and to him. If
+there is a chord in your heart responsive to Walter's, don't stifle it.
+What is anything in this world in comparison with happiness and peace of
+mind?'
+
+'Nothing, nothing,' Gladys answered, with mournful bitterness. 'But it
+is too late. It is Walter's fault, not mine; he left me in my
+desolation, when I needed him most. I did everything I could to show him
+that I could never forget him, and he repulsed me every time, until it
+was too late. If he is unhappy, it is no more than he deserves, and I am
+not going to be so dishonourable as to draw back now from my plighted
+word. George has always been kind to me, he has never hurt my feelings,
+and I will try and repay him by being to him a good and faithful wife.'
+
+'A good and faithful wife!'
+
+The little spinster repeated these words in a half-mournful whisper, as
+she walked slowly to and fro the room.
+
+Ah, not thus was it meet for a heart like Gladys Graham's to anticipate
+the most momentous crisis of a woman's life. She felt powerless to
+help, but Heaven was still the Hearer and Answerer of prayer, and with
+Heaven Miss Peck left the case.
+
+She prayed that her darling's way might be opened up, and that she might
+be saved from committing so great a wrong, which would bring upon her
+the curse of a loveless marriage.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+THE MAGDALENE.
+
+
+Summer seemed no longer to smile upon Bourhill. That sunny evening was
+the last for many days. A wild, chill, wintry blast ushered in
+September, if the Lammas spates had tarried, when they came they brought
+destruction in their train. All over the country the harvest was
+endangered, in low-lying places carried away, by the floods. Whole
+fields lay under water, and there were many anxious hearts among those
+who earned their bread by tillage of the soil. These dull days were in
+keeping with the mood prevailing at Bourhill. Never had the atmosphere
+of that happy house been so depressed and melancholy; its young mistress
+appeared to have lost her interest in life. Many anxious talks had the
+little spinster and the faithful Teen upon the theme so absorbingly
+interesting to both--unsatisfactory talks at best, since none can
+minister to a mind diseased. One day a letter came which changed the
+current of life at Bourhill. How often is such an unpretending missive,
+borne by the postman's careless hand, fraught with stupendous issues? It
+came in a plain, square envelope, bearing the Glasgow post-mark, and the
+words 'Royal Infirmary' on the flap. Gladys opened it, as she did most
+things now, with but a languid interest, which, however, immediately
+changed to the liveliest concern.
+
+'Why, Miss Peck, it is a letter, see, about poor Lizzie Hepburn. I must
+go to her at once, I and Teen. Where is she? If we make haste, we shall
+catch the eleven-o'clock train.'
+
+She handed Miss Peck the letter, and sprang up from a half-finished
+breakfast. The little spinster perused the brief communication with the
+deepest concern.
+
+ WARD XII., ROYAL INFIRMARY, GLASGOW,
+ '_September_ 6, 188 .
+
+ 'MADAM,--I write to you at the request of one of the patients under
+ my care, a young woman called Lizzie Hepburn, who, I fear, is
+ dying. She appears very anxious to see you, and asked me to write
+ and ask you to come. I would suggest that, if at all possible, you
+ should lose no time, as we fear she cannot last many days, perhaps
+ not many hours.--Yours truly,
+
+ 'CHARLOTTE RUTHERFURD.'
+
+'This is from one of the nurses, I suppose,' said the little spinster
+pityingly. 'Poor girl, poor thing! the end has come only a little sooner
+than we anticipated.'
+
+Gladys did not hear the last sentence. She was already in the hall
+giving her orders, and then off in search of Teen, whose duties were not
+very clearly defined, and who had no particular place of habitation in
+the house. It said a great deal for Teen's prudence and tact that her
+rather curious positions in the house--the trusted companion of the
+housekeeper and the friend of the young lady--had not brought her into
+bad odour with the servants. She was a favourite with them all, because
+she gave herself no airs, and was always ready to lend a hand to help at
+any time, disarming all jealousy by her unpretentious, willing, cheerful
+ways. Gladys found her in the drawing-room, dusting the treasures of the
+china cabinet.
+
+'Oh, Teen, there is a letter about poor Lizzie at last!' she cried
+breathlessly. 'It is from the Infirmary; the nurse says she is very ill,
+perhaps dying, and she wishes to see me. You would like to go, I am
+sure, and if we make haste we can get the eleven train.'
+
+Teen very nearly dropped the Sevres vase she held in her hand in her
+sheer surprise over this news.
+
+'There is no time to talk. Make haste, if you wish to go; we must be off
+in fifteen minutes,' cried Gladys, and ran off to her own room to make
+ready for her journey, Miss Peck fussing about her as usual, anxious to
+see that she forgot nothing which could protect her from the storm. It
+was indeed a wild morning, a heavy rain scudding like drift before the
+biting wind, and the sky thickly overcast with ink-black clouds; but
+they drove off in a closed carriage, and took no hurt from the angry
+elements. They did not speak much during the journey. In addition to her
+natural excitement and concern for the poor lost girl, Gladys was also
+possessed by a strange prevision that that day was to be a turning-point
+in her history.
+
+'Surely Walter will have seen his sister; he cannot have left Glasgow so
+soon,' she said, as they drove from St. Enoch's Station, by way of the
+old High Street, to the Infirmary. These streets, with their constant
+stream of life, were all familiar to the eyes of Gladys. Many an hour in
+the old days she had spent wandering their melancholy pavements,
+scanning with a boundless and yearning pity the faces of the outcast and
+the destitute, feeling no scorn of them or their surroundings, but only
+a divine compassion, which had betrayed itself in her sweet face and
+shining, earnest eyes, and had arrested many a rude stare, and awakened
+a vague wonder in many a hardened breast. She was not less compasionate
+now, only a degree more hopeless. Since she had been so far removed from
+the sins and sorrows, the degradations and grinding poverty of the great
+city, she had, while not thinking less seriously or sympathetically of
+it all, felt oppressed by the impotence of those standing on the outside
+to lift it up to any level of hope.
+
+'The loud, stunning tide of human care and crime,' as Keble has it, beat
+more remorselessly and hopelessly on her ears as she looked up to the
+smoke-obscured sky that wet and dismal day. She felt as if heaven had
+never been so far away. Almost her faith had lost its hold. These sad
+thoughts, which gave a somewhat worn and wearied look to her face, were
+arrested by their arrival at the Infirmary gates. It was not the
+visiting hour, but a word of explanation to the porter secured them
+admittance, and they found their way to the portion of the old house
+where Lizzie Hepburn lay. The visiting surgeons and physicians had just
+left, so there were no impediments put in their way, and one of the
+housemaids speedily brought Nurse Rutherfurd to them. She was a
+pleasant-faced, brisk little body, whose very presence was suggestive of
+skill and patience and kindly thought for others.
+
+'Oh yes, you are Miss Graham, and have come to see poor Lizzie,' she
+said. 'Will you just come in here a moment? Her brother is with her. I
+will tell her you have come.'
+
+She took them into a little room outside the ward door, and lingered
+only a moment to give them some particulars.
+
+'She has been here three weeks,' she explained; 'she was over in the
+surgical wards first, and then came to us; it was too late for us to do
+any good. The doctor said this morning that she will probably slip away
+to-day.'
+
+The little seamstress turned away to the grey window and wept silently;
+Gladys remained composed, but very pale.
+
+'And her brother is with her? Is this the first time?' she asked.
+
+'Yes; it was only when we told her there was no hope that she mentioned
+the names of anybody belonging to her. She spoke of you yesterday, and
+asked only this morning that her brother might be sent for. Shall I tell
+her you have come?'
+
+'If you please. Tell her her old chum is with me; she will quite
+understand,' said Gladys quietly, and the nurse withdrew. Not a word
+passed between her and Teen while they were alone.
+
+The nurse was not many moments absent, and the two followed her in to
+the long ward. It was a painful sight to Gladys, who had never before
+been within the walls of an hospital. Teen, however, looked about her
+with her usual calm self-possession, only her heart gave a great beat
+when the nurse stopped at a bed surrounded and shut off by
+draught-screens from sight of the other beds. She knew, though Gladys
+did not, why the screens had been placed there. The nurse drew one
+aside, and then slipped away. There was absolute silence there when
+these four met again. Walter, who had been sitting with his face buried
+in his hands, rose from the chair and offered it to Gladys, but he did
+not look at her, nor did any sort of greeting pass between them. Gladys
+mechanically sat down, then Walter walked away slowly out of the ward.
+With a low cry, Teen flung herself on her knees, laying her face on the
+white, wasted hand of Liz as it lay outside the coverlet. The figure in
+the bed, raised up in a half-sitting posture, had an unearthly beauty in
+the haggard face, a brilliance in the eye, which struck her chilly to
+the heart; it was like Liz, and yet strangely unlike. Gladys felt a
+strange thrill pass over her as she bent towards her, trying to smile,
+and to say a word of kindly greeting. It brought no answering smile to
+the dying girl's face, and the only sign of recognition she betrayed was
+to raise her feeble hand and touch the bowed head of the little
+seamstress with a tender touch, never bestowed in the days of health and
+strength.
+
+'Weel,' she said, looking at Gladys, and speaking in the feeblest
+whisper, 'I'm gled ye've come. I couldna dee withoot seem' ye. Ye bear
+me nae grudge for takin' French leave? Ye can see I've suffered for it.
+I say, is't true that ye are to be mairried to George Fordyce? Tell me
+that plain. I must ken.'
+
+These words were spoken with difficulty at intervals, and so feebly that
+Gladys had to bend forward to catch the sound. She felt that there was
+not only anxiety, but a certain solemnity in the question, and she did
+not evade it, even for a moment.
+
+'They have fixed my marriage for the eighth of October,' she answered;
+and the manner of the reply struck even Liz, and her great hollow eyes
+dwelt yet more searchingly on the girl's sweet face.
+
+'It'll no' be noo,' she said. 'I've lain here ever since the nurse telt
+me she heard it was to be, wonderin' whether I should tell. If ye hadna
+been what ye are I wad never hae telt; but, though I hae suffered, I
+wad spare you. It was him that brocht me to this.'
+
+Gladys neither started nor trembled, but sat quite motionless, staring
+at the sad, beautiful face before her, as if not comprehending what was
+said to her.
+
+'It was him that led me awa' first, an' when a lassie yince gets on that
+road, it's ill keepin' straicht. He said he wad mairry me, an' I
+believed it, as mony anither has afore me. Wheesht, Teen; dinna greet.'
+
+The sobs of the little seamstress shook the narrow bed, and appeared to
+distress Liz inexpressibly. Presently she glanced again at the face of
+Gladys, and was struck by its altered look. It was no longer sympathetic
+nor sweet in its expression, but very pale and hard and set, as if the
+iron had entered into the soul within.
+
+'Is this quite true?' she asked, and her very voice had a hard, cold
+ring.
+
+'When ye're deein', ye dinna perjure yersel',' replied Liz, with a faint
+return of the old caustic speech. 'If ye dinna believe me, ask him. Is
+Wat away? Teen, ye micht gang an' bring him back.'
+
+The little seamstress rose obediently, and when they were alone behind
+the screens, Liz lifted her feeble hand again and touched the arm of
+Gladys.
+
+'Oh, dinna tak' him! He's a bad man--bad, selfish, cruel; dinna tak'
+him, or ye'll rue'd but yince. I dinna want to excuse mysel'. Maybe I
+wasna guid, but afore God I lo'ed him, an' I believed I wad be his wife.
+Eh, d'ye think that'll be onything against me in the ither world? Eh,
+wummin, I'm feared! If only I had anither chance!'
+
+That pitiful speech, and the unspeakable pathos on the face of Liz,
+lifted Gladys above the supreme bitterness of that moment.
+
+'Oh, do not be afraid,' she cried, folding her gentle hands, whose very
+touch seemed to carry hope and healing. 'Jesus is so very tender with
+us; He will never send the erring away. Let us ask Him to be with you
+now, to give you of His own comfort and strength and hope.'
+
+She knelt down by the bed, unconscious of any listener save the dying
+girl, and there prayed the most earnest and heartfelt prayer which had
+ever passed her lips. While she was speaking, the other two had returned
+to the bed-side, and stood with bowed heads, listening with a deep and
+solemn awe to the words which seemed to bring heaven so very near to
+that little spot of earth. The dying girl's strength was evidently fast
+ebbing; the brilliance died out of her eyes, and the film of death took
+its place. She smiled faintly upon them all with a glance of sad
+recognition, but her last look, her last word, was for Gladys, and so
+she passed within the portals of the unseen without a struggle, nay,
+even with an expression of deep peace upon her worn face.
+
+A wasted life? Yes; and a death which might have wrung tears of pity
+from a heart of stone.
+
+But the Pharisee, who wraps the robe of his respectability around him,
+and, with head high in the air, thanks God he is not as other men are,
+what spark of divine compassion or human feeling has he in his soul?
+
+Yet what saith the Scriptures?--'He that is without sin among you, let
+him first cast a stone at her.'
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+THE BOLT FALLS.
+
+
+From that sad death-bed Gladys passed out into the open air alone.
+
+'When you are ready, Teen,' she said, 'you can go home, and tell Miss
+Peck I shall come to-day, sometime. I have something to do first.'
+
+She neither spoke to nor looked at Walter, but passed out into the open
+square before the Cathedral, and down the old High Street, with a
+steady, purposeful step. The rain had ceased, but a heavy mist hung low
+and drearily over the city, and the wind swept across the roofs with a
+moaning cadence in its voice. The bitter coldness of the weather made no
+difference to the streets. Those depraved and melancholy men and women,
+the bold-looking girls and the wretched children, were constantly before
+the vision of Gladys as she walked, but she saw them not. For once in
+her life her unselfish heart was entirely concentrated upon its own
+concerns, and she was in a fever of conflicting emotions--a fever so
+high and so uncontrollable that she had to walk to keep it down. It was
+close upon the hour of afternoon tea at Bellairs Crescent when Gladys
+rang the bell.
+
+'Is Mrs. Fordyce at home, Hardy?' she asked the servant; 'and is she
+alone--no visitors, I mean?'
+
+'Quite alone, with Miss Mina, in the drawing-room, Miss Graham,'
+announced the maid, with a smile, but thinking at the same time that the
+girl looked very white and tired. 'Miss Fordyce is spending the day at
+Pollokshields, and will dine and sleep there, we expect.'
+
+Gladys nodded, gave her cloak and umbrella into the maid's hand, and
+went up-stairs, not with her usual springing step, but slowly, as if she
+were very tired.
+
+Hardy, who had a genuine affection for the young mistress of Bourhill,
+looked after her with some concern on her honest face.
+
+'She doesn't look a bit like a bride,' she said to herself. 'There's
+something gone wrong.'
+
+With a little exclamation of joyful surprise, Mina jumped up from her
+stool before the fire.
+
+'Oh, you delightful creature, to take pity on our loneliness on such a
+day. Mother, do wake up; here is Gladys.'
+
+'Oh, my dear, how are you?' said Mrs. Fordyce, waking up with a start.
+'When did you come up? Were you not afraid to venture on such a day?'
+
+'I had to come,' Gladys made reply, and she kissed them both with a
+perfectly grave face. 'Will you do something for me, Mrs. Fordyce?'
+
+'Why, certainly, my dear. But what is the matter with you? You look as
+melancholy as an owl.'
+
+'Will you send a servant to Gorbals Mill, to ask your nephew to come
+here on his way home from business? I want to see him very
+particularly.'
+
+It was a very natural and simple request, but somehow Mrs. Fordyce
+experienced a sense of uneasiness as she heard it.
+
+'Why, certainly. But will a telegram not do as well? It will catch him
+more quickly. He is often away early just now; there is so much to see
+about at Dowanhill.'
+
+At Dowanhill was situated the handsome town house George Fordyce had
+taken for his bride, but the allusion to it had no effect on Gladys
+except to make her give her lips a very peculiar compression.
+
+'How stupid of me not to think of a telegram! Will you please send it
+out at once?'
+
+'From myself?'
+
+'Yes, please.'
+
+She brought Mrs. Fordyce her writing materials, the telegram was
+written, and the maid who brought in the tea took it down-stairs.
+
+'Gladys, you look frightfully out of sorts,' said Mina quickly. 'What
+have you been about? Have you been long in town?'
+
+'Since twelve. I have come from the Infirmary just now, walking all the
+way.'
+
+'Walking all the way!--but from the Western, of course?'
+
+'No, from the Royal; it seemed quite short. Oh, that tea is delicious!'
+
+She drank the contents of the cup at one feverish draught, and held it
+out for more. Both mother and daughter regarded her with increased
+anxiety in their looks.
+
+'My dear, it is quite time you had some one to exercise a gentle
+authority over you. To walk from the Royal Infirmary here! It is past
+speaking of. Child, what do you mean? You will be ill on our hands next,
+and that will be a pretty to-do. Surely you came off in post-haste this
+morning without your rings?' she added, with a significant glance at
+the girl's white hand, from which she had removed the glove.
+
+Gladys took no notice of the remark; but Mina, observant as usual, saw a
+look she had never before seen creep into the girl's eyes.
+
+'But you have never told us yet what you were doing at the Infirmary?'
+she said suggestively; but Gladys preserved silence for a few minutes
+more.
+
+'Please not to ask any questions,' she said rather hurriedly. 'You will
+know everything very soon, only let me be quiet now. I know you will,
+for you have always been good to me.'
+
+A great dread instantly seized upon those who heard these words, and
+Mrs. Fordyce became nervous and apprehensive; but she was obliged to
+respect such a request, and they changed the subject, trying dismally to
+turn the talk into a commonplace groove. But it was a strain and an
+effort on all three, and at last Gladys rose and began to walk up and
+down the room, giving an occasional glance out of the window, as if
+impatient for her lover's coming, but it was an impatience which made
+Mrs. Fordyce's heart sink, and she feared the worst.
+
+George was no laggard lover; within the hour he rang the familiar bell.
+Then the nervous restlessness which had taken possession of Gladys
+seemed to be quietened down, and she stood quite still on the
+hearth-rug, and her face was calm, but deadly pale.
+
+'Shall we go before George comes up?' asked Mrs. Fordyce, involuntarily
+rising; but Gladys made answer, with a shade of imperious command,--
+
+'No, I wish you to remain. Mina can go, if she likes.'
+
+Mina had not the opportunity. A quick, eager footstep came hurrying
+up-stairs, and the door was thrown open with a careless hand.
+
+'You here, Gladys?' he exclaimed, with all the eagerness and delight he
+might have been expected to display, but next moment the light died out
+of his face, and he knew that the bolt had fallen. Even those who blamed
+him most must have commiserated the man upon whom fell that lightning
+glance of unutterable loathing and contempt.
+
+'I have sent for you to come here, because it was here I saw you first,'
+she said, and her voice rang out clear and sweet as a bell. 'You know
+why I have sent for you?--to give you back these things, the sign of a
+bond which ought never to have been between us. How dared you--how dared
+you offer them to me, after your monstrous cruelty to that poor girl
+from whose death-bed I have just come?'
+
+She threw the rings down upon the table; they rolled to the floor,
+sparkling as if in mockery as they went, but none offered to touch them.
+
+Mina opened the door hurriedly, and left the room. Mrs. Fordyce turned
+away also, and a sob broke from her lips.
+
+Gladys stood quite erect, the linen at her stately throat not whiter
+than her face, her clear eyes, brilliant with indignation, fixed
+mercilessly on her lover's changing face. He was, indeed, a creature to
+be pitied even more than despised.
+
+'Gladys, for God's sake, don't be too hasty! Give me opportunity for
+explanation. I admit that I did wrong, but there are extenuating
+circumstances. Let me explain, I entreat you, before you thus blight my
+life, and your own.'
+
+'What explanation is there to give? If it is true that you ruined that
+poor girl,--and do you think that a lie can be uttered on a
+death-bed,--what more is there to say? Gather up these baubles, and take
+them away.'
+
+Her bearing was that of a queen. Well might he shrink under that
+matchless scorn, yet never had she appeared more beautiful, more
+desirable in his eyes. He made one more attempt.
+
+'Take time, Gladys. I deny nothing; I only ask to be allowed to show
+you, at least, that I am a repentant man, and that I will atone for all
+the past by a lifetime of devotion.'
+
+'To whom?'
+
+'To you. I have been a wild, foolish, sinful fellow, if you like, but
+never wholly bad,' he said eagerly. 'And, Gladys, think of the fearful
+scandal this will be. We dare not break off the marriage, when it is so
+near.'
+
+'I dare; I dare anything, George Fordyce. And I pray God to forgive you
+the awful wrong you did to that poor girl, and the insult you were base
+enough to offer me in asking me to be your wife--an insult, I fear, I
+can never forgive.'
+
+'Aunt Isabel, will you not help me?' said he then, turning desperately
+to his aunt. 'Tell Gladys what you know to be true, that there are
+hundreds of men in this and other cities who have married girls as pure
+and good as Gladys, and whose life before marriage would not bear
+investigation, yet they make the best of husbands. Tell her that she is
+making a mountain out of little, and that it will be madness to break
+off the marriage at this late date.'
+
+Mrs. Fordyce slowly turned towards them. The tears were streaming down
+her face, but she only sadly shook her head.
+
+'I cannot, George. Gladys is right. You had better go.'
+
+Then George Fordyce, with a malignant scowl on his face, put his heel on
+the bauble which had cost him a hundred guineas, crushed it into powder,
+and flung himself out of the room. Then Gladys, with a low, faint,
+shuddering cry, threw herself upon the couch, and gave way to the
+floodtide of her grief and humiliation and angry pain.
+
+Mrs. Fordyce wisely allowed it to have full vent, but at last she seated
+herself by the couch, and laid her hand on the girl's flushed and heated
+head.
+
+'Now, my dear, be calm. It is all over. You will be better soon, my
+poor, dear, darling child.'
+
+Gladys sat up, and her wet eyes met those of her kind friend, who had
+allowed her upright and womanly heart to take the right, if the
+unworldly side.
+
+'Just think how merciful it was of God to let me know in time. In a few
+weeks I should have been his wife, and then it would have been
+terrible.'
+
+'It would,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a sigh; 'but you would just have had
+to bury it, and live on, as many other women have to do, with such
+skeletons in the cupboard.'
+
+'I don't suppose I should have died, but I should have lived the rest of
+my life apart from him. Is it true what he says, that so many are bad? I
+cannot believe it.'
+
+'Nor do I. There are some, I know, who have had an unworthy past, but
+you must remember that all women do not look at moral questions from
+your exalted standpoint. There are even girls, like Julia, for instance,
+who admire men who are a little fast.'
+
+'How dreadful! That must lower the morality of men. It shall never be
+said of me. If I cannot marry a man who entertains a high and reverent
+ideal of manhood and womanhood, I shall die as I am.'
+
+'He will be difficult to find, my dear,' said Mrs. Fordyce sadly. 'This
+is a melancholy end to all our high hopes and ambitions. It will be a
+frightful blow to them at Pollokshields.'
+
+'I am not sorry for them. They will think only of what the world will
+say, and will never give poor Lizzie one kindly thought. If it is a
+blow, they deserve it; I am not sorry for them at all.'
+
+'And you are not in the least disconcerted at the nine days' wonder the
+breaking of your engagement will make?'
+
+'Not in the least. What is it, after all? The buzzing of a few idle
+flies. I have no room for anything in my heart but a vast pity for the
+poor dead girl who was more sinned against than sinning, and a profound
+thankfulness to God for His unspeakable mercy to me.'
+
+She spoke the truth; and in her own home that night, upon her knees, she
+poured forth her heart in fervent prayer, and mingling with her many
+strange feelings was a strange and unutterable sense of relief, because
+she was once more free.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+THE WORLD WELL LOST.
+
+
+Gladys returned to her own home that night, and when she again left it
+it was in altered and happy circumstances. Those who loved her so dearly
+watched over her the next days with a tender and solicitous concern, but
+they did not see much, in her outward demeanour at least, to give them
+cause for alarm. She was certainly graver, preoccupied, and rather sad;
+but, again, her natural gaiety would over-flow more spontaneously than
+it had done for long, thus showing that pride and womanly feeling had
+been wounded; the heart was perfectly whole.
+
+She lived out of doors during the splendid September weather, taking an
+abounding interest in all the harvest-work, finding comfort and healing
+in simple things and homely pleasures, and feeling that never while she
+lived did she wish to set foot in Glasgow again. There was only one tie
+to bind her to it--one spot beneath its heavy sky dear to her; how much
+and how often her thoughts were concentrated upon that lowly place none
+knew save herself.
+
+Since that melancholy morning in the ward of the Royal Infirmary she had
+not heard of or seen Walter, but she knew in her inmost heart that she
+should see him, and waited for it with a strange restfulness of heart,
+therefore it was no surprise to her when he came one sunny evening up
+the avenue to the house. She saw him coming, and ran out to meet
+him--something in the old childish fashion--with a look of eager welcome
+on her face. His dark face flushed at her coming, and he gave his head a
+swift turn away, and swallowed something in his throat. When they met he
+was grave, courteous, but a trifle distant; she was quick to note the
+change.
+
+'I knew you would come to see me again, Walter,' she said, as they shook
+hands with the undemonstrative cordiality of tried friends. 'I am very
+glad to see you.'
+
+'Are you? Yet it was a toss-up with me whether I should come or not,' he
+said, looking at the graceful figure, and noticing with some wonder that
+she was all in black, relieved only by the silver belt confining her
+silk blouse at the waist; 'but I thought I had better come and say
+good-bye.'
+
+'Good-bye! Are you going away, then, somewhere?' she asked in a quiet,
+still voice, which betrayed nothing.
+
+'Yes; I have taken my passage to Australia for the fourteenth of
+October, sailing from London. I leave on Monday, however, for I have
+some things to see to in London.'
+
+'On Monday? And does your mother accompany you?'
+
+'No; she is too old for such an undertaking. I have arranged for her to
+board with a family in the country. She has been there some weeks now,
+ever since I sold off, and likes it very much. It is better for me to go
+alone.'
+
+'I suppose so. Are you tired with your walk, Walter, or can you go on a
+little farther? It is a shame that you have never seen anything of
+Bourhill. Surely you will at least sleep here to-night? or must you run
+away again by the nine-fifteen?'
+
+'I can stay, since you are good enough to wish it,' he said a trifle
+formally; 'and you know I shall be only too happy to walk anywhere you
+like with you.'
+
+'How accommodating!' said Gladys, with a faint touch of ironical humour.
+'Well, let us go up to the birch wood. We shall see the moon rising
+shortly, if you care about anything so commonplace as the rising of a
+moon. To Australia? And when will you come back, Walter?'
+
+'I can't say--perhaps never.'
+
+'And will it cost you no pang to turn your back on the land of brown
+heath and shaggy wood, which her children are supposed to adore?' she
+asked, still in her old bantering mood.
+
+'She has not done much for me; I leave few but painful memories behind,'
+he answered, with a touch of kindness in his voice. 'But I will not say
+I go without a pang.'
+
+They remained silent as Gladys led the way through the shrubbery walk,
+and up the steep and somewhat rugged way to the birch wood crowning the
+little hill which sheltered Bourhill from the northern blast. It was a
+still and beautiful evening, with a lovely softness in the air,
+suggestive of a universal resting after the stress of the harvest. From
+the summit of the little hill they looked across many a fair breadth of
+goodly land, where the reapers had been so busy that scarce one field of
+growing corn was to be seen. All the woods were growing mellow, and the
+fulness and plenty of the autumn were abroad in the land.
+
+'It's dowie at the hint o' hairst, at the wa' gaun o' the swallow,'
+quoted Walter in a low voice, and his eye grew moist as it ranged across
+the beautiful landscape with something of that unutterable and painful
+longing with which, the exile takes his farewell of the land he loves.
+
+'Walter,' said Gladys quite softly, as she leaned against the straight
+white trunk of a rowan tree, on which the berries hung rich and red, 'I
+have often thought of you since that sad day. Often I wished to write,
+but I knew that you would come when you felt like it. Did you
+understand?'
+
+'I heard that your marriage was broken off, and I thanked God for that,'
+Walter answered; and Gladys heard the tremor in his voice, and saw his
+firm, hue mouth take a long, stern curve.
+
+'It did not surprise you?' she asked in the same soft, far-off voice,
+which betrayed nothing but the gentlest sisterly confidence and regard.
+
+'No, but I suffered agony enough till I heard it. When, one lives
+through such dark days as these were, Gladys, faith in humankind becomes
+very difficult. I feared lest your scruples might be overcome.'
+
+'I am sorry you had such a fear for me, Walter, even for a moment, but
+perhaps it was natural. And when will you come back from this dreadful
+Australia, did you say?'
+
+'Perhaps never.'
+
+He did not allow himself to look at her face, because he did not dare;
+but he saw her pick the berries from a red bunch she had pulled, and
+drop them one by one to the ground. Never had he loved her as he did
+then in the anguish of farewell, and he called himself a fool for not
+having gone, as prudence prompted, leaving only a written message
+behind.
+
+'And is that all you have to say to me, Walter, that you are going to
+Australia--on the fourteenth, is it?--and that you will never come
+back?'
+
+'It is all I dare to say,' he answered, nor did he look at her yet,
+though there was a whimsical, tender little smile on the lovely mouth
+which might have won his gaze.
+
+'And you are quite determined to go alone?'
+
+'Well, you see,' he began, glad of anything to get on commonplace
+ground, 'I might get plenty of fellows, but it's an awful bore, unless
+they happen just to be the right sort.'
+
+'Yes, that is quite true, there are so few nice fellows,' said Gladys
+innocently. 'Don't you think you might get a nice girl to go with you,
+if you asked her properly?'
+
+Then Walter flashed a sad, proud look at her--a look which Gladys
+fearlessly met, and thought at that very moment that she had never seen
+him look so well, so handsome, so worthy of regard. Sorrow had wrought
+her perfect work in him, and he had emerged from the shadow of blighted
+hope and frustrated ambition a gentler, humbler, ay, and a holier man
+than he had yet been. Suddenly that look of sad, quiet wonder, which had
+a touch of reproach in it, quite broke Gladys down, and she made no
+effort to stem the tears which might make him sad or glad, she did not
+care.
+
+'Gladys,' he began hurriedly, 'it is more than man is fit to bear, to
+see these tears. If they mean nothing more than a natural regret at
+parting from one whom circumstances have strangely thrown in your way,
+perhaps too often, tell me so, and I shall thank you, even for that
+kindly regret; but if they mean that I may come back some day--worthier,
+perhaps, than I am to-day'--
+
+'That day will never come,' broke in Gladys quietly. 'But if you will
+take me to Australia with you, Walter, I am ready to go this very day.'
+
+His face grew dusky red, his eyes shone, he looked at her as if he
+sought to read her soul.
+
+'Do you know what you are saying, Gladys? If you go, it can only be in
+one way--as my wife.'
+
+'Well?'
+
+She took a long breath, but was allowed to say no more until a long time
+after, when she raised her face from her lover's breast, and demanded
+that he should take her home.
+
+'It is an awful thing we have done, Gladys,' he said, touching her dear
+head for the twentieth time, and looking down into her eyes, which were
+luminous with the light of love,--'an awful thing for me, at least. We
+shall have to flee the country, and they will say I have abducted the
+heiress of Bourhill.'
+
+'Oh, do! Run off with me, as the Red Reiver and all these nice,
+interesting sort of people used to do long ago. Let us abscond, and not
+tell a single living soul, except the faithful Teen.'
+
+But Walter shook his head.
+
+'It is what I should like to do above everything, but I must resist the
+temptation. No, my darling; for your sake, everything must be most
+scrupulously conventional, if a little hurried. I shall pay your
+guardian a visit to-morrow morning, which will somewhat astonish him.'
+
+Gladys looked at him with a sudden access of admiration. To hear him
+speak in that calm, masterful tone pleased her as nothing else could
+have done.
+
+'But you won't let them frighten you, and abscond without me? That would
+be too mean,' she said saucily.
+
+Walter made no verbal reply, and so, hand in hand, they turned to leave
+the moonlit woods, and there was a look on the face of Walter such as
+you see on the faces of reverent worshippers who have found rest and
+peace to their souls.
+
+'Poor Liz!' he said under his breath, as he uplifted his eyes to the
+clear sky, as if seeking to penetrate its mystery, and find whither that
+wayward soul had fled.
+
+Gladys laid her soft cheek against his arm, and silence fell upon them
+again. But the heart of each was full to the uttermost, and they asked
+no more.
+
+It was, indeed, the world well lost for love.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+On the morning of the ninth of October, this announcement appeared in
+the marriage list of the _Glasgow Herald_, and was read and discussed at
+many breakfast-tables:--
+
+'At Bourhill, Ayrshire, on the 8th instant, Walter Hepburn to Gladys
+Graham.'
+
+It may be added that it was a source of profound wonder to many, and of
+awful chagrin to a few. In the house of the Pollokshields' Fordyces the
+announcement was discreetly tabooed, though George must have felt it
+keenly, seeing Gladys had suffered so little over the unhappy
+termination of their engagement that she could substitute another
+bridegroom though retaining the same marriage-day.
+
+On the fourteenth the young couple set sail for the land of the Southern
+Cross, and were absent exactly twelve months, the reason for their
+return being that they wished their first-born child to see the light
+first in Bourhill. And they never left it again; for Walter made use of
+the Colonial connection he had made to build up a new business in
+Glasgow, which has prospered far above his expectation. So fortune has
+blessed him in the end, and he can admit now that the bitterness of the
+old days was not without its purpose.
+
+The faithful Teen, no longer melancholy, reigns in a snug house of her
+own, not a hundred miles from Mauchline, but retains her old adoration
+for Bourhill and its bonnie, sweet mistress.
+
+There are occasional comings and goings between the Bellairs Crescent
+Fordyces and Bourhill, and the family are united in approving the
+marriage of Gladys now, though they had their fling at it with the rest
+of the folk when it was a nine days' wonder. But that is the way of the
+world mostly, to go with the crowd, which jumps on a man when he is
+down, and gives him a kindly pat or a cringing salute, as may seem most
+advisable, when he is up.
+
+But the wise man takes no account of such, pursuing his own path with
+integrity and perseverance, cherishing the tried friends, and keeping
+warm and close in his heart, like a dove in its nest, the love which,
+through sunshine and storm, remains unchanged.
+
+
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+Transcriber's note: Printer's errors retained.
+
+
+
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