d 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