Walter sprang up, an immense load lifted from his mind. If that were all, he had needlessly tormented himself. 'Did she say that? Then it's all right. Of course that's where she's gone. Don't you think so?' 'Maybe. It's likely; only I think she micht hae telt me. We made up to gang thegither when we had saved the screw. She had a beau, but I raither think it's no' wi' him she's awa'; Liz could watch hersel'. But I'll fin' oot.' 'Did you know him? Who was he?' asked Walter. 'Oh, fine I kent him, but I'm no' at liberty to tell. It wadna dae ony guid till we see, onyhoo.' 'If you find out anything, will you let me know?' 'Yes, I'll dae that. Hoo are ye gettin' on yersel'? An' thon queer deil o' a lassie? I canna mak' onything o' her.' 'I'm getting on fine, thank you,' Walter answered rather shortly. 'Good-night to you, and thank you. Maybe Liz will write to you.' 'Very likely. I'll let ye ken, onyway. If she writes to onybody it'll be to me,' Teen answered, with a kind of quiet pride. 'She telt me a'thing she didna keep to hersel'. But I dinna think mysel' there's a beau in this business. The theatre wad be mair like it; she had aye a desire to be an actress.' 'Indeed!' said Walter, in surprise. He had never before heard such a thing hinted at, but no doubt it was true. He really knew very little about his sister, although they had always been the best of friends. His heart was not quite so heavy as he retraced his steps to Colquhoun Street. If Liz, tired of the grey monotony and degradation of home, had only gone forth into the world to seek something better for herself, all might yet be well. He took comfort in dwelling upon her strength and decision of character, and came to the conclusion that he had judged her too hastily, and that she was a most unlikely person to throw away her reputation. What an immense relief that thought gave him was known only to himself and God. Ten was pealing from the city bells when he reached home. When he entered the kitchen, a strange scene met his view. His master was propped up by pillows, and evidently suffering painfully from his breathing, and over his pinched features had crept that grey shadow which even the unpractised eye can discern and comprehend. The young doctor stood sympathetically by, conscious that he had given his last aid and must stand aside. Gladys knelt by the bed with folded hands, her golden head bowed in deep and bitter silence. She saw her last friend drifting towards the mystic sea, and felt as if the blackness of midnight surrounded her. 'Surely, doctor, this is a sudden and awful change?' Walter said to the doctor; but he put up his hand. 'Hush!' he said, pointing to the dying man, who essayed through his struggling breath to speak.