She lived out of doors during the splendid September weather, taking an abounding interest in all the harvest-work, finding comfort and healing in simple things and homely pleasures, and feeling that never while she lived did she wish to set foot in Glasgow again.  There was only one tie to bind her to it—­one spot beneath its heavy sky dear to her; how much and how often her thoughts were concentrated upon that lowly place none knew save herself.

Since that melancholy morning in the ward of the Royal Infirmary she had not heard of or seen Walter, but she knew in her inmost heart that she should see him, and waited for it with a strange restfulness of heart, therefore it was no surprise to her when he came one sunny evening up the avenue to the house.  She saw him coming, and ran out to meet him—­something in the old childish fashion—­with a look of eager welcome on her face.  His dark face flushed at her coming, and he gave his head a swift turn away, and swallowed something in his throat.  When they met he was grave, courteous, but a trifle distant; she was quick to note the change.

‘I knew you would come to see me again, Walter,’ she said, as they shook hands with the undemonstrative cordiality of tried friends.  ’I am very glad to see you.’

‘Are you?  Yet it was a toss-up with me whether I should come or not,’ he said, looking at the graceful figure, and noticing with some wonder that she was all in black, relieved only by the silver belt confining her silk blouse at the waist; ’but I thought I had better come and say good-bye.’

‘Good-bye!  Are you going away, then, somewhere?’ she asked in a quiet, still voice, which betrayed nothing.

’Yes; I have taken my passage to Australia for the fourteenth of October, sailing from London.  I leave on Monday, however, for I have some things to see to in London.’

‘On Monday?  And does your mother accompany you?’

’No; she is too old for such an undertaking.  I have arranged for her to board with a family in the country.  She has been there some weeks now, ever since I sold off, and likes it very much.  It is better for me to go alone.’

’I suppose so.  Are you tired with your walk, Walter, or can you go on a little farther?  It is a shame that you have never seen anything of Bourhill.  Surely you will at least sleep here to-night? or must you run away again by the nine-fifteen?’

‘I can stay, since you are good enough to wish it,’ he said a trifle formally; ’and you know I shall be only too happy to walk anywhere you like with you.’

‘How accommodating!’ said Gladys, with a faint touch of ironical humour.  ’Well, let us go up to the birch wood.  We shall see the moon rising shortly, if you care about anything so commonplace as the rising of a moon.  To Australia?  And when will you come back, Walter?’

‘I can’t say—­perhaps never.’

’And will it cost you no pang to turn your back on the land of brown heath and shaggy wood, which her children are supposed to adore?’ she asked, still in her old bantering mood.