‘It’s news ye’re wantin’, an’ ye’re no’ gaun to get it.  Ye brocht me here again’ my wull, but ye’ll no’ cross-question me.  I can gang hame even yet.  It’s no’ the first time I’ve gane hame in the mornin’, onyway.’

Teen wisely accepted the inevitable.

‘Ye’re no’ gaun wan fit oot o’ this hoose the nicht,’ she replied calmly, ’nor the morn either, unless I ken whaur ye are gaun.  I dinna think, Liz, ye hae dune very weel for yersel’ this while; ye’d better let me look efter ye.  Twa heids are aye better than yin.’

‘Ye’re gaun to be the boss, I see,’ said Liz, with a faint smile, and in her utter weariness she let her head fall back again and closed her eyes.  ‘If I wis to bide here the morn, an’ Wat comes, he’d better no’ ask me ower mony questions, because I’ll no’ stand it frae neither you nor him, mind that.’

‘Naebody’ll ask you questions, my dear,’ said Teen, and, lifting back the table, she folded down the bed, and shook up the old wool pillows, wishing for her friend’s sake that they were made of down.  Then she knelt down on the old rag-carpet, and began to unlace Liz’s boots, glancing ever and anon with sad eyes up into the white face, with its haggard mouth and dark closed eyes.

‘Ye are a guid sort, Teen, upon my word,’ was all the thanks she got.  ’I believe I will gang to my bed, if ye’ll let me; maybe, if ye kent a’, ye wad turn me oot to the street.’

‘No’ me.  If the a’s waur than I imagine, it’s gey bad,’ replied the little seamstress.  ’Oh, Liz, I’m that gled to see you, I canna dae enough.’

‘I’ve been twice up your stair, Teen; once I knockit at the door an’ then flew doon afore you could open’t.  Ye think ye’ve a hard time o’t, but there’s waur things than sewin’ jackets at thirteenpence the dizen.’

Teen’s hands were very gentle as she assisted her friend off with her gown, which was a very handsome affair, all velvet and silk, and gilt trimmings, which dazzled the eye.

Thus partially undressed, Liz threw herself without another word on the bed, and in two minutes was asleep.  Then, softly laying another bit of coal on the fire, Teen lifted the table back to the hearth, got out pen, ink, and paper, and set herself to a most unusual task, the composition and writing of a letter.  I should be afraid to say how long it took her to perform this great task, nor how very poor an accomplishment it was in the end, but it served its purpose, which was to acquaint Gladys with the rescue of Liz.  Afraid to disturb the sleeping girl, Teen softly removed a pillow from the bed, and placing it on the floor before the fire, laid herself down, with an old plaid over her, though sleep was far from her eyes.  A great disappointment had come to the little seamstress; for though she had long since given up all hope of welcoming back Liz in the guise of a great lady, who had risen to eminence by dint of her own honest striving, she only knew to-night, when the last vestige of her