CHAPTER IV.

A RAY OF LIGHT.


Sunday was a dreary day. It rained again, and the fog was so thick that
it seemed dim twilight all day long in Gladys's new home. Her uncle did
not go out at all, but dozed in the chimney-corner between the intervals
of preparing the meagre meals. On Sunday Abel Graham attended to his own
housekeeping, and took care to keep a shilling off Mrs. Macintyre's
pittance for the same. Gladys, though unaccustomed to perform household
duties except of the slightest kind, was glad to occupy herself with
them to make the time pass. The old man from his corner watched with
much approval the slender figure moving actively about the kitchen, the
busy hands making order out of chaos, and adding the grace of her sweet
young presence to that dreary place. On the morrow, he told himself, he
should dismiss the expensive Mrs. Macintyre. Yes, he had made a good
investment, and then the girl would always be there, a living creature,
to whom he might talk when so disposed.

'It isn't at all a bad sort of place, my dear,' he said quite
cheerfully. 'At the back, in the yard, there's a tree and a strip of
grass. In spring, if you like, you might put in a pennyworth of seeds,
and have a flower.'

This was a tremendous concession. Gladys felt grateful for the kindly
thought which prompted it.