o 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 shar