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 of her as such with what kindness you can. Of one thing we may be sure, her punishment will far exceed her sin.--Thanking you for all your past kindness, and wishing you in the future every good thing, I am, yours sincerely, WALTER HEPBURN.' It was a sad letter, conveying a great deal more than was actually expressed. Gladys threw it from her, and, laying her head on her hands, sobbed bitterly. 'My dear,' cried the little spinster, in sympathetic concern, 'don't break your heart. You have done a great deal--far more, I assure you, than almost any one else would have done. You cannot help the poor girl having chosen the way of transgressors.' 'It is not Liz I am crying for at present, Miss Peck,' said Gladys mournfully; 'it is for Walter. It is a heartbreaking letter. I cannot, dare not, comfort him. I must take it to Christina to read.' She picked it up, and ran to the stillroom, where the happy and placid Teen sat by the open window with some sewing in her hand, love making the needle fly in and out with a wondrous speed. Her resentment against Liz for her ingratitude had taken the edge off her grief, and she was disposed to be as hard upon her as the rest of the world. 'Oh, Teen, I have had a letter from Walter. I shall read it to you. It is dreadful!' Gladys cried; and, with trembling voice, she read the epistle to the little seamstress. '_Isn't_ it dreadful? Away to Dublin! What will she do there?' Teen laid down her sewing and looked at Gladys with the simplest wonder in her large eyes. She could scarcely believe that a human being could be so entirely innocent and unsuspecting as Gladys Graham, for it was quite evident she did not really know what Walter meant by saying Liz was lost.