“Oh, goodness!” cried Victoria Fendie, “look--look! it’s a sword and a grand cocked hat--isn’t it, Tibbie? and that’s for our Adelaide. I wonder what it means.” “A cocked hat!” said Hector Maxwell, indignantly, “it’s more like a triangle--the thing the showfolk play tunes on; and a sword!--it’s the bow of a fiddle.” “Whiskt!” said Tibbie, “it’s just a sword; and what should it mean, bairns; just that Miss Adie’s to get a grand sodger officer--see if I dinna say true.” Adelaide Fendie blushed her dull blush, and whispered,-- “Oh, Hope, do you think she knows?” “She knows what it looks like,” said Hope. But Adelaide was not satisfied. “Do you not think she knows more than that? Oh, Hope, what if it was to come true?” Hope laughed; but it was her own turn now, to watch the mysterious evolutions of the egg. “It’s a ship! it’s a ship!” cried Hector Maxwell, in an ecstacy. “Tibbie, I am sure you meant this for me.” “Never you heed, Maister Hector,” said the oracular Tibbie; “it’s Miss Hope’s; but you’re to get her, ye ken, so it’s a’ ane.” Hope swept away in high disdain from Hector’s vicinity. “Tibbie,” she whispered, “try one for a young lady; she is not here, but I like her, and I’ll tell you after who she is.” Tibbie obeyed. “It’s like a book,” cried Victoria. “It’s a letter,” said Hector. “Oh, Tibbie, what does it mean?” inquired the perplexed Hope. Tibbie was slightly puzzled too; the rules of her simple art gave her no assistance. “Well, bairns, I canna just tell--wait a minute. Ay, Miss Hope, that’s it--the young lady will get her fortune out of a book.” “Out of a book, Tibbie?” “Deed, ay, Miss Hope; we’re no to ken hoo till the time comes--but see if she disna get her fortune out of a book.” Hope drew back to cogitate; she could make nothing of this mysterious deliverance of Tibbie’s. By and by, Adam Graeme’s old-fashioned, brown-hooded conveyance (all classes of vehicles are called by the generic name, conveyance, in Fendie), driven by “Mossgray’s man,” Saunders Delvie, arrived to take Lilias home. Hope accompanied her to the door. “If you please, Miss Maxwell,” said Hope, “will you see Helen sometimes when I am away?” “Yes, Hope,” answered Lilias. “And, Miss Maxwell, will you just speak of her sometimes before my father--I don’t mean _to_ my father--but you know what I mean.” “Yes, Hope,” repeated Lilias, “I shall do what I can; don’t be afraid, and now good-bye.” The carriage drove off, but Hope still lingered at the door, looking down the dim, hazy, quiet street. There were very few passengers, but as she stood looking out, she perceived a certain tall, plaided figure rapidly advancing upon the opposite side, in shadow of the houses. Hope turned and shut the door in sudden wrath. What could the Reverend Robert Insches have to do at the “townend” on this Hallowe’en night? It looked suspicious; he had been seeing Helen Buchanan!