m
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 depre