mpanion's face.

'D'ye read the Bible?' she asked bluntly. 'I never dae, so I canna mind
that. I never thocht onybody read it--or believed it, I mean--except
ministers that are paid for it.'

'Oh, that is quite a mistake,' said Gladys warmly. 'A great many people
read it, because they love it, and because it helps them in the battle
of life. I couldn't live without it. Walter and I read it every night.'

Liz drew herself a little apart doubtfully, and looked yet more
scrutinisingly into the face of Gladys.

'Upon my word, ye're less fit than I thocht for this warld. What were ye
born for? Ye'll never fecht yer way through,' she said, with a kind of
scornful pity.

'Oh yes, I will. Perhaps if it came to the real fight, I should prove
stronger than you, just because I have that help. Dear Liz, it is
dreadful, if it is true, to live as you do. Are you not afraid?'

'I fear naething, except gaun into consumption, an' haein' naebody to
look after me,' responded Liz. 'If it cam' to that, I'd _tak'_ something
to pit an end to mysel'. My mind's made up on that lang syne.'

She looked quite determined; her full red lips firmly set, and her eyes
looking straight before her, calm, steadfast, undaunted, in
corroboration of her boast that she feared nothing in the world.

'But, Liz, that would be very wicked,' said Gladys, in distress. 'We
have never more to bear than we are able; God takes care of that always.
But I am sure you are only speaking in haste. I think you have a great
deal of courage--too much to do that kind of thing.'

'Dinna preach, or we'll no' 'gree,' said Liz almost rudely. 'Let's look
at the hats in this window. I'll hae a new one next pay. Look at that
crimson velvet wi' the black wings; it's awfu' neat, an' only
six-and-nine. D'ye no' think it wad set me?'

'Very likely. You look very nice always,' answered Gladys truthfully,
and the sincere compliment pleased Liz, though she did not say so.

'Well, look, it's ten meenits past aicht. We were to meet Teen in the
Trongate at the quarter. We'll need to turn back.'

'And where will we go after that?' inquired Gladys. 'The shops are
beginning to shut.'

'You'll see. We've a ploy on. I want to gie ye a treat. Ye dinna get
mony o' them.'

She linked her arm with friendly familiarity into that of Gladys, and
began to chatter on again, chiefly of dress, which was dear to her soul.
Her talk was not interesting to Gladys, who was singularly free from
that