‘D’ye think sae?’ she asked, with a faint, ironical smile, which Gladys did not like.  ‘If it eased me, it micht keep you frae sleepin’.  I’m very much obleeged to you for no’ haein’ pestered me wi’ questions.  I dinna ken anither in the world but Teen that wad hae treated me as you have.  But my life’s my ain, an’ if I suffer, I’m no’ askin’ pity.  I can bear the brunt o’ what I’ve brocht on mysel.’

It was a flat repulse, but it was gently spoken, and did not vex the sensitive soul of Gladys.

‘Very well, Liz,’ she said kindly, ’I’ll never ask any more; but remember that if I can help you at any time, I am ready, always ready, for your sake and for Walter’s.’

‘He worships the very ground you walk on,’ said Liz calmly.  ’I wonder what way him an’ me was born?  Is’t true ye are gaun to be married to Fordyce o’ Gorbals Mill?’ As she asked this direct question, she flashed her brilliant eyes full on the girl’s sweet face.

‘I suppose I am, sometime,’ Gladys answered rather confusedly.  ’At least, I have promised.’

‘Ay,’ said Liz, ‘but there’s mony a slip atween the cup an’ the lip; and in time, they say, a’body gets their deserts, even here.’

With this enigmatical speech Liz got up and crossed the lawn, with averted face, Gladys looking after her with a puzzled wonder in her eyes, thinking she was certainly a very strange girl, and that it was hopeless to try to make anything out of her.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXXIX.

GONE.

Towards the end of the second week Liz began to exhibit certain signs of restlessness, which ought to have warned those concerned in her welfare that the quiet and seclusion of Bourhill were beginning to pall upon her.  As she improved in her bodily health her mind became more active, and she began to pine for something more exciting than country walks and drives.  They were not altogether unobservant of the growing change in her, of course, but attributed it to a returning and healthful interest in the simpler pleasures of life.  All this time George Fordyce had not come to Bourhill, nor had any letters passed between him and his promised wife.  It would be too much to say that Gladys was quite indifferent to this; if her feelings were not very deeply involved, her pride was touched, and the first advances were not at all likely to emanate from her.  Liz had lived in secret dread, mingled with a kind of happy anticipation, of meeting George Fordyce at Bourhill, and as the days went by, and there was no sign or talk of his coming, she began to wonder very much what it all meant.  She was a remarkably shrewd person, and it did occur to her to connect her visit and the absence of Miss Graham’s lover.  One day, however, she put a question to Teen as they sauntered through the spring woods on the hill behind the house.

‘I say, is’t true that she is gaun to mairry Fordyce, Teen?  It’s no’ like it.  What way does he never look near?’