er 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.'

'Oh my!'

Teen took a large and expressive mouthful of these two monosyllables.
Walter looked at her keenly.

'Don't you know where she has gone? Did she tell you anything?'

'No' her. Liz was aye close aboot hersel', but maybe I can guess.'

'Tell me, then. Is anybody with her?'

'She's no' hersel', you bet,' Teen answered shrewdly. 'My, she's ta'en
the better o's a'; but maybe I'm wrang. She's been sick o' Brigton for
lang and lang, an' whiles she said she wad gang awa' to London an' seek
her fortune.'

Walter sprang up, an immense load lifted from his mind. If that were
all, he had needlessly tormented himself.

'Did she say that? Then it's all right. Of course that's where she's
gone. Don't you think so?'

'Maybe. It's likely; only I think she micht hae telt me. We made up to
gang thegither when we had saved the screw. She had a beau, but I
raither think it's no' wi' him she's awa'; Liz could watch hersel'. But
I'll fin' oot.'

'Did you know him? Who was he?' asked Walter.

'Oh, fine I kent him, but I'm no' at liberty to tell. It wadna dae ony
guid till we see, onyhoo.'

'If you find out anything, will you let me know?'

'Yes, I'll dae that. Hoo are ye gettin' on yersel'? An' thon queer deil
o' a lassie? I canna mak' onything o' her.'

'I'm getting on fine, thank you,' Walter answered rather shortly.
'Good-night to you, and thank you. Maybe Liz will write to you.'

'Very likely. I'll let ye ken, onyway. If she writes to onybody it'll be
to me,' Teen answered, with a kind of quiet pride. 'She telt me a'thing
she didna keep to hersel'. But I dinna think mysel' there's a beau in
this business. The theatre wad be mair like it; she had aye a desire to
be an actress.'

'Indeed!' said Walter, in surprise. He had never before heard such a
thing hinted at, but no doubt it was true. He really knew very little
about his sister, although they had always been the best of friends.

His heart was not quite so heavy as he retraced his steps to Colquhoun
Street. If Liz, tired of the grey monotony and degradation of home, had
only gone forth into the world to seek something better for herself, all
might yet be well. He took comfort in dwelling upon her strength and
decision of cha