“Here we are, Mysie,” he said cheerily, striding towards her, with real welcome in his voice, and she clung to him like a child, so glad that he had been true to his word.  “I have a cab waiting,” he rattled on brightly.  “Just come along, and we’ll soon be at your digs, and we’ll talk as we drive along,” and he piloted her to a waiting cab; and getting in beside her, it moved off, as she heard him say “Grassmarket” to the driver.

But she had little interest in anything, now that Peter was here.  She felt a sense of security in his company that she had never felt before.  She trusted him, now that all her bearings were lost.  The fear of the city, and the strangeness of her experiences, made her turn to him as her only prop upon which she could lean; and she clung to his arm as they drove along, the cab rattling over the stones and through what seemed to Mysie interminable streets of houses.

“Did you manage to get away all right, without anyone knowing?” he asked, as he felt her trembling hands upon his arm.

“Yes, I think sae,” she replied.  “I never saw onybody.  I jist let on that I was gaun hame, an’ gaed owre the muir, an’ got the train.  I didna see onybody that I kent.”

“That was right, Mysie,” he said.  “I was afraid you might decide at the last moment not to come.”

“I did feel awfu’ frightened,” she confessed, “an’ I could fain hae bidden at hame; but I can never gang hame noo,” she added with a slight tremor in her voice, at the realization of all it meant.  “I can never gang hame noo!” and the tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke.

What a noise, and what a multitude of houses, she thought.  She would never be able to go out and find her way back.  She would get lost in all this noise and hurry and confusion.

“I have taken a little house for you, Mysie,” said Peter, in explanation of his plans.  “I have also a woman engaged to help you for a time, to look after you till you get acquainted with the place; and I’ll come home to you every evening, and spend as much of my time with you as I can, superintending your lessons.  I am going to teach you myself for a while, and we’ll live together and be as happy as we can.  But first of all, you must get better,” he said, as a fit of coughing seized her.  “You’ve got a bad cold.  Luckily, the old man allows me plenty of money, so that we need not worry.”

Mysie sat lost in wonder at it all, and presently the cab stopped, and Peter helped her out, paid the fare and, taking her arm, led her up a long flight of stairs—­stairs that seemed to wind up and up till she felt dizzy, before he came to a halt at one of the many doors opening on the landing, entering which she found herself in a neat little room and kitchen, simply furnished, but clean and tidy.

“This is Mrs. Ramsay, my landlady,” he said as they entered, leading Mysie forward to where a middle-aged woman of kindly demeanor stood with a smile of welcome for them.  Mrs. Ramsay stepped forward and began to help Mysie to take off her hat.  With a few words she soon made the girl feel more at ease, and then left them to get tea ready.