‘Do you think she has gone away with any one—­a man, I mean?’ asked Walter then, and his face flushed as he asked the question.

‘I couldna say, I’m sure,’ answered his mother, with a stolid indifference which astonished even him.  ’Ye ken as muckle as me; but as she’s made her bed she maun lie on’t.  I’ve washed my hands o’ her.’

’It’s long since you washed your hands of us both, mother, so far as interest or guidance goes,’ the lad could not refrain from saying, with bitterness.  But the reproach did not strike home.

‘If it’s news ye want, I’ll tell ye where ye’ll get it,’ she said sourly.  ’At Teen’s.  Eh, she’s an ill hizzie.  If Liz comes to grief, it’s her wyte.  I canna bide thon smooth-faced, pookit cat.  She’ll no’ show her face here in a hurry.’

’I’ve a good mind to look in at Teen’s, and ask.  Where’s the old man to-night?’

‘Oh, guid kens whaur he aye is.  He’s on hauftime the noo, an’ never sober.  Eh, it’s an ill world.’

She drew her hands from the suds, wiped them on her wet apron, and, lifting a pint bottle from the chimneypiece, took a long draught.

‘A body needs something to keep them up when they’ve to wash i’ the nicht-time,’ was her only apology; but almost immediately she became much more talkative, and began to regale Walter with sundry minute and highly-spiced anecdotes about the neighbours’ failings, which altogether wearied and disgusted him.

’I’ll away, then, mother, and see if Teen knows anything.  Liz will maybe write her.’

‘Maybe.  She’s fit enough,’ replied Mrs. Hepburn stolidly; and Walter, more heavy-hearted than ever, bade her good-night and departed.  Never had he felt more fearfully alone—­alone even in his anxiety for Liz.  He had, at least, expected his mother to show some concern, but she did not appear to think it of the slightest consequence.  In about ten minutes he was rapping at the door of the attic where his sister’s friend Teen supported existence.

‘Oh, it’s you!  Come in,’ she said, when she recognised him by holding the candle high above his head, and looking profoundly surprised to see him.  ‘What is’t?’

’I thought you’d know.  I came to ask if you could tell me what has become of Liz.’

‘Liz!’ she repeated so blankly that he immediately perceived she was in complete ignorance of the affair.  ‘What d’ye mean?  Come in.’

Walter stepped across the threshold, and Teen closed the door.  The small apartment into which he was ushered was very meagre and bare, but it was clean and tidy, and more comfortable in every way than the one he had just left.  A dull fire smouldered at the very bottom of the grate, and the inevitable teapot sat upon the hob.  The little seamstress was evidently very busy, piles of her coarse, unlovely work lying on the floor.

‘Has onything happened to Liz?’ she asked, in open-eyed wonder and interest.

’Yes; I suppose it has.  She’s run off, bag and baggage, on Tuesday, my mother says, and this is Thursday.’