Walter drew her hand within his arm, and she, feebly protesting, allowed him to lead her back the way she had come.  And then, as they walked, a strange, constrained silence fell upon them, each finding it difficult, well-nigh impossible, to bridge the gulf of these sad months.

‘Are you not going to tell me anything about yourself, Liz?’ he asked at length, and the kindness of his tone, unexpected as it was, secretly amazed and touched her.

‘Naething,’ she answered, without a moment’s hesitation.  ‘An’ though I’ve come back to Glesca, I’m no’ seeking onything frae ony o’ ye; I can fend for mysel’.’

Walter remained silent for a little.  The subject was one of extreme delicacy, and he did not know how to pursue it.  He feared that all was not with his sister as it should be, but he feared the result of further questions.

‘What’s the guid o’ me gaun hame wi’ you the nicht?  I canna bide there,’ she said presently, in a sharp, discontented voice.  ‘An’ here ye’ve gar’d me miss the last car.’

‘Where are you staying in Maryhill?’

‘I have a place, me an’ anither lassie,’ she said guardedly.  ’If ye are flush, ye micht gie me twa shillin’s for a cab.  I’m no’ able to walk.’

At that moment, and before he could reply, a slim, slight, girlish figure darted across the street, and, with a quick, sobbing breath, laid two hands on the arm of Liz.  It was the little seamstress, who had haunted the streets late for many nights, scanning the faces of the wanderers, sustained by the might of the love which was the only passion of her soul.  At sight of Teen, Liz Hepburn betrayed more emotion than in meeting with her brother.

’Eh, I’ve fund ye at last!  I said I was bound to find ye if ye were in Glesca,’ Teen cried, and her plain face was glorified with the joy of the meeting.  ‘Oh, Liz, what it’s been to me no’ kennin’ whaur ye were!  But, I say, hoo do you twa happen to be thegither?’

‘I’ve twa detectives efter me, it seems,’ said Liz, with a touch of sullenness, and she stood still on the edge of the pavement, as if determined not to go another step.  ‘I say, do you twa hunt in couples?’

She gave a little mirthless laugh, and her eye roamed restlessly up the street, as if contemplating the possibility of escape.

‘Come on hame wi’ me, Liz,’ said Teen coaxingly, and she slipped her hand through her old friend’s arm and looked persuasively into her face, noting with the keenness of a loving interest the melancholy change upon it.  ‘Ye’re no’ weel, an’ ye’ll be as cosy an’ quate as ye like wi’ me.’

‘Has your ship come in?’ asked Liz, with faint sarcasm, but still hesitating, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of two pairs of questioning, if quite friendly, eyes.

‘Ay, has it,’ replied the little seamstress cheerfully.  ’Shouldn’t she come hame wi’ me, Walter?  She wad be a’ richt there, an’ you can come an’ see us when ye like.’