lled 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