‘Who are these ladies, Uncle Abel?’ she asked at length.  ’Why are so many people in the streets so late?  I thought everybody would be in bed but us.’

’They are the night-birds, child.  Don’t ask any more questions, but shut your eyes and hold fast by me.  We’ll be home in no time,’ said the old man harshly, because his conscience smote him for what he was doing.

Gladys again became silent, but she could not shut her eyes.  Soon they turned into another street, in which were even more people, though evidently of a different order.  The women were less showily dressed, and many of them had their heads bare, and wore little shawls about their shoulders.  As they walked, the crowd became greater, and the din increased.  Some children Gladys also saw, poorly clad and with hungry faces, running barefoot on the stony street.  But she kept silence still, though growing every moment more frightened and more sad.

‘Surely this is a terrible place, Uncle Abel,’ she said at last.  ’I have never seen anything like it in my life.’

’It isn’t savoury, I admit; but I warned you.  This is Argyle Street on a Saturday night; other nights it is quieter, of course.  Oh, he won’t harm 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.