‘Why do you look at me so strangely?’ she asked, with the slightest touch of impatience.  ‘Do you see anything odd about me?’

‘No, oh no, my child,’ answered Miss Peck quickly.  ’We are so thankful to have you home again; we thought the day would never come.  Have we not counted the very hours this week, Christina?’

‘Ay, we hae; but I dinna think she’s fell gled to be hame hersel’,’ said Teen, and her dark eye was shadowed, for she felt that a subtle change had overcast the bright spirit of Gladys, and she did not know what it might portend.

‘Oh, such nonsense you two talk,’ cried Gladys lightly.  ’Dear Miss Peck, just ask them to hurry up dinner.  I am famishing to taste a real home dinner.  Well, Teen, how have you been all this summer?  I must say you look like a new creature.  I believe you are quite beautiful, and we shall have somebody falling in love with you directly.  I don’t suppose you have heard or seen anything of poor Lizzie?’

‘No, naething.  Walter was here, Miss Gladys, last week, seeking ye.’

The colour rose in the face of Gladys, and she averted her head to hide her softened, luminous eyes from the gaze of Teen.

‘And did you tell him I was coming home this week?’

‘I didna.  We only spoke aboot Liz, an’ some aboot his ain affairs.  Miss Peck saw him maist o’ the time.  He’s gaun to sell his business, and gang awa’ to America or Australia.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Gladys sharply.  ’Why should he do any such thing, when he is getting on so well?’

‘I am sure I dinna ken,’ replied Teen quietly, though she knew—­ay, as well as Gladys—­what it all meant.  ’His faither’s deid; he de’ed efter a week’s illness, jist at the Fair time, an’ he’s gaun to tak’ his mither wi’ him.  She’s bidin’ at Colquhoun Street the noo.’

‘A great deal seems to have happened since I went away,’ said Gladys, with something of an effort.  ‘Is he going to do this soon?’

‘Yes, I think immediately; at least, he cam’ doon here to say guid-bye to you.  But Miss Peck can tell ye mair nor me; she spoke a long time till him.’

A question was on the lips of Gladys, but she held it back, and again changed the theme.

’And what does he think about poor Lizzie?  I suppose he has never gone to Dublin to seek for her?’

‘No, I dinna think it.’

‘It is all very sad.  Don’t you think life very sad, Teen?’ asked Gladys, with a great wistfulness, which made the eyes of the little seamstress become suddenly dim.

’Ay, it is.  Oh, Miss Gladys, excuse me for sayin’t, but if ye had seen his face when I telt him ye were maybe to be mairried in September or October, ye wadna dae’t.’

‘Why not?  That could not possibly make any difference to me, Christina,’ replied Gladys quite coldly, though a slight tremor shook her.  ’Well, I must go and change my gown.  Bourhill is looking lovely to-day, I think.  I have seen many beautiful places since I went away, but none so satisfying as this; you will be glad to hear I still think Bourhill the sweetest spot on earth.’