en 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 h