“Mossgray bids me go out,” said Lilias;--she had very soon adopted the kindly territorial name which was at once respectful and familiar, and by which her guardian liked to be called; “and the day is bright--will you take me with you, Hope, and we shall go to see Miss Buchanan?” Hope was full of delight and thanks. “But if you come to Fendie now, mind you are not to go back till night;--for you promised to be with us at Hallowe’en--mind, Miss Maxwell.” Miss Maxwell did mind, and gently promised she would remain, though the mirth of the youthful party was scarcely very congenial to her subdued spirits; and when she had equipped herself for her walk, and had received the smiling permission which she asked from Mossgray, and with Hope’s hand in hers, was walking down the water-side to Fendie, she resumed the subject,-- “And so you think, Hope, that Miss Buchanan could not be induced to meet us to-night?” Hope looked up with some alarm. “My mother has not asked her to come. Oh, Miss Maxwell, do you think my father would not be angry if I did?” Lilias shook her head;--she did not know. “But to be sure Helen would not come,” said Hope, ruefully. “Do you know, Miss Maxwell--” “Do I know what, Hope?” But Hope still hesitated. “I mean, Miss Maxwell--if you like Helen--you are sure to like her--at least I think you will--perhaps; if you do like Helen, will you tell my father sometime how good she is--for my father does not know Helen.” Lilias looked at Hope with a smile, and Hope returned the look with a very sagacious, perplexed, deliberative expression upon her fresh, candid face. “You seem to be very fond of Miss Buchanan, Hope?” “And so I am,” said Hope, blythely, “and so is everybody--only--my father does not know Helen.” This anxious affection of Hope’s, childish at once, and chivalrous, had a great deal of interest for Lilias, and she was silent now, her thoughts almost as much occupied about Helen as were those of Helen’s youthful champion. “Helen will like you, Miss Maxwell,” said Hope, suddenly. “I know she will; for the people have been saying so much about you since you came.” The colour rose gently on the cheek of Lilias. “What have they said about me, Hope?” “Oh, not very much--only that they were sorry you were ill, and thought you would be so solitary at Mossgray. Helen saw you at church, Miss Maxwell, and when the people speak about the strange young lady, she calls you the lily of Mossgray; but I called you--” “What did you call me, Hope?” “You will not be angry?--It was only because your name is like the names in the old ballads--I called you the Laird’s Lilias.” “So my name reminded you of the Laird’s Jock, and the Laird’s Wat, did it, Hope?” said Lilias, smiling; “but it is an excellent title you give me, for I should have been a very solitary sad Lilias, but for the Laird;--and was Miss Buchanan sorry for me because I was alone?”