son, Walter Hepburn,' he said; and when he
opened his mouth Gladys felt the smell of drink, and it filled her with
both mental and physical repulsion. So this was Walter's father? Poor
Walter! A vast compassion, greater than any misery she had before
experienced, filled the girl's gentle soul.

'Yes, he is in, up-stairs in the warehouse. Will you come in, please?'
she asked; but before the invitation could be accepted, Wat came
bounding down the stairs, having heard and recognised the voice, and
there was no welcoming light in his eye as he gazed on his father's
face.

'Well, what do you want?' he asked abruptly; and Gladys, slipping back
hastily, left them alone.

And after she had returned to the kitchen she heard the hum of their
voices in earnest talk for quite five minutes. Then the door was closed,
and she heard Walter returning to his work. It appeared to her as if his
step sounded very heavy and reluctant as it ascended the stair.

Presently her uncle roused himself up, and asked for something to eat or
drink.

'Are you feeling better?' she asked, as she shook up his pillows, and
did other little things to make him comfortable.

'No; there's a load lying here,' he answered, touching his chest, 'which
presses down to the grave. If they can't do something to remove that,
I'm a dead man. No word of that young upstart doctor yet?'

'Not yet. Shall I send for him, uncle?'

'No, no; he'll come sure enough, and fast enough--oftener than he's
wanted,' he answered. 'Who was that at the door?'

'Walter's father.'

'Eh? Walter's father? What did he want? Is he smelling round too, to see
if he can get anything?' he said querulously. 'When you've given me that
tea, I wish you to take my keys from my coat pocket and go up to the
safe. When you've opened it, you'll find an old pocket-book, tied with a
red string. I want you to bring it down to me.'

'Very well.'

Gladys did exactly as she was bid, and, leaving the old man at his
slender breakfast, ran up to the warehouse. To her surprise, she found
Walter, usually so active and so energetic, sitting on the office stool
with his arms folded, and his face wearing a look of deepest gloom. Some
new trouble had come to him, that was apparent to her at once.

'Why, Walter, how troubled you look! No bad news from home, I hope?'

'Bad enough,' he answered in a kind of savage undertone. 'I knew
something was going to happen. Haven't I been saying it for days?'

'But