'I won't forget,' replied Walter, with beaming eye. 'Miss Gladys said you would make all the arrangements for the funeral.'
'I will. They are easily made, because Mr. Graham left the most explicit directions. He desires to be buried by his own folk in the churchyard of Mauchline. I am going out this afternoon.'
Then the lawyer went away, but before proceeding to the station he wrote a note to his wife, and sent it by a messenger to his house at Kelvinside.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, as Gladys was putting a black ribbon in her hat, a cab rattled over the rough causeway, and a knock came to the house door; and when Gladys went to open it, what was her surprise to behold on the threshold a lady, richly dressed, but wearing on her sweet, motherly face a look so truly kind that the girl's heart warmed to her at once.
'I am Mrs. Fordyce,' the lady said. 'You, I think, are Miss Graham? May I come in?'
'Certainly, madam.'
Gladys held open the door wide, and Mrs. Fordyce entered the dark and gloomy passage.
'We have a very small, poor place,' said Gladys, as she led the way. 'I ought to tell you that I have no room to show you into, except where my poor uncle lies.'
'My dear, I quite know. Mr. Fordyce has told me. It is you I have come to see.'
When they entered the kitchen, she laid her two kind hands on the girl's shoulders, and turned her face to the light. Then, with a sudden impulse, she bent down and kissed her brow. Gladys burst into tears. It was the first kiss she had received since she came to Glasgow, and that simple caress, with its accompanying tenderness of look and manner, opened the floodgates of her pent heart, and taught her her own loneliness and need.