would not be in the least surprised were his sister
to appear suddenly before him. He was ill at ease concerning her. If it
were true that she was in Glasgow, then his first fears concerning her
were likely to have some foundation. It was curious that all resentment
seemed to have died out of his mind, and that he felt nothing but an
indescribable longing to see her again. Strange and unnatural as it may
seem, he had not for a very long time felt any such kindly affection
towards his parents. He did his duty by them so far as the giving of
money was concerned, but they lay upon his heart like a heavy weight,
and he lived in dread of some calamity happening, for they were seldom
sober. He could not help asking himself sometimes whether he was
justified in giving them so liberal an allowance, since relief from all
pecuniary anxiety seemed to have only made them more dissipated and
abandoned. It was very seldom indeed that his father now wrought a day's
work. These were heavy burdens for the young man to bear, and he may be
forgiven his morbid pride, his apparent hardness of heart. It is a
common saying that living sorrows are worse than death--they eat like a
canker into the soul. It was his anxiety about Liz which took Walter to
the dreary house in Bridgeton at that unusual hour of the day. He
thought it quite likely that if she were in Glasgow they would have seen
or heard something of her. He made a point of visiting them once a week,
and his step was never buoyant as he ascended that weary stair, nor when
he descended it on his homeward way, for he was either saddened and
oppressed anew with their melancholy state, or wearied with reproaches,
or disgusted with petty grumblings and unsavoury details of the
neighbours' shortcomings and domestic affairs. It is a tragedy we see
daily in our midst, this gradual estrangement of those bound by ties of
blood, and who ought, but cannot possibly be bound by ties of love. Love
must be cherished; it is only in the rarest instances it can survive the
frost of indifference and neglect. The drink fiend has no respect of
persons; the sanctity of home and God-given affections is ruthlessly
destroyed, high and holy ambitions sacrificed, hearts remorselessly
broken, graves dug above the heavenliest hopes.

Walter Hepburn was always grave, oftentimes sorrowful, because with the
years had come fuller knowledge, keener perception, clearer visions that
the sorrows of his youth were sorrows