Part 16 (2/2)

'Sir,' he said, 'if you are not a Christian, as you say, what is your hope for the next world?'

'I have none,' he answered calmly. 'I am no coward. If it be true, as they say, that a system of award and punishment prevails, then I'm ready to take my deserts.'

The lawyer could not reply to these sad words, because Gladys at the moment entered the kitchen.

'I have come,' she said brightly,'because I fear you are talking too much, uncle. Oh, are you going away, Mr. Fordyce? I am glad the business is all done. See, he is quite exhausted.'

She poured some stimulant into a gla.s.s and carried it to him, holding it to his lips with her own hand. The old man looked over her bent head significantly. The lawyer's eyes met his, and he gravely nodded, understanding that that mute sign asked a further promise.

Gladys accompanied him to the door, and the lawyer laid his hand on her shoulder with a fatherly touch.

'My dear, I am very sorry for you.'

'Do you, then, think him so very ill?' she asked breathlessly. 'He says he will die; but I have nursed my own father through much worse attacks.'

'He appears to have given up hope; but while life lasts we need not despair,' he said kindly. 'Good-bye. I shall come back perhaps to-morrow.'

He thought much of her all day, and when he returned to his happy home at night, told the story to his wife, and there is no doubt that the strong sympathy of these two kind hearts supported Gladys through the ordeal of that trying time.

In the evening Walter took himself off to Bridgeton, reluctant to go, yet anxious to hear further particulars regarding the flight of Liz. He arrived at the dreary house, to find his mother engaged with the weekly wash. Now, there was no reason why the was.h.i.+ng should be done at night, seeing she had the whole day at her disposal; but it seemed to take these hours to rouse her up to sufficient energy. She was one of those unhappy creatures who have no method, no idea of planning, so that the greatest possible amount of work can be done in the shortest, and at the most fitting time. This habit of choosing unfavourable and unseasonable hours for work, which upsets the whole house, had, no doubt, in the first instance, helped to drive her husband outside for his company. She looked round from the tub, and gave her son a nod by way of greeting, but did not open her mouth. Her little kitchen was full of steam, the floor swimming in soapsuds, the whole appearance of the place suggestive of confusion and discomfort. Walter picked his way across the floor, and sat down on the window-box, his favourite seat.

'Always was.h.i.+ng at night yet, mother?' he said discontentedly. 'Have you no time through the day?'

'No; it's meat-makin' frae mornin' till nicht. This is the only time there's a meenit's peace,' she answered stolidly.

'You'll have one less to cook for now, then,' he said gloomily. 'When did Liz go off? and have you any idea where she's gone?'

Mrs. Hepburn shook her head.

'I was oot a' Tuesday nicht, an' when I cam' in, on the back o' eleeven, she was aff, bag an' baggage. Mrs. Turnbull says she gaed doon the stair wi' her Sunday claes on, an' carryin' her tin box, a wee efter aicht.

”Are ye for jauntin', Liz?” says she; but Liz never gi'ed her an answer, guid or bad, an' that's a' I ken.'

'Did she never give a hint that she was thinking of going?' Walter asked.

'No' her. Liz was aye close, as close as yersel',' said his mother rather sarcastically. 'She's aff, onyhoo.'

'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?'

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