The next morning early, Hope herself traversed the same road to bid Helen good-bye. The coach started at eleven, and it was only a little after eight when Hope looked in upon Mrs Buchanan’s breakfast-table. Helen looked in excellent spirits; the ring of her pleasant laugh had reached Hope’s ear before she opened the parlour-door. “Do you like Miss Maxwell, Helen?” inquired Hope. “Very much, Hope,” was the quick answer; “we shall be excellent friends.” “Because she likes you, Helen,” continued Hope. “If you had only heard her last night, Mrs Buchanan.” The blood flushed at once over Helen’s face. It was not disagreeable to be praised--not even before the Oswalds; but it excited pride as well as curiosity. “Helen,” resumed Hope, “Mr Insches comes here very often, does he not?” Hope looked immensely jealous. Helen did not answer; there was some annoyance, and a good deal of mirth upon her face. “Yes, Hope,” said Mrs Buchanan, sedately, “Mr Insches is a good lad. He visits far better than any minister that has been in Fendie since I came.” “Ah, but he does not visit everybody else as often as he visits you!” exclaimed the jealous Hope. “Helen, do you like him?” The merry ring of Helen’s laugh did not by any means please Hope this morning. “Surely,” she said; “why should I not like him, Hope?” “Ah, I don’t mean that,” said Hope; “but--I am sure you don’t _care_ for him, Helen?” Helen blushed again; but her answer was more satisfactory this time. “No, indeed, Hope; not the very least in the world.” “Mr Insches is a fine lad,” repeated Mrs Buchanan, significantly. “Oh yes, so is everybody,” said Hope; “but do you know, Mrs Buchanan, I think he thinks he is good-looking.” “And so he is, Hope.” “But he is a man, and a minister! what right has he to think about such a thing?” Mrs Buchanan shook her head, and did not refuse to smile; for men and ministers too have their vanities. “Helen,” said Hope, “I made our Tibbie try your fortune last night, and what do you think it was? We could not make it out at first, but Tibbie said it was a book; and you’re to get your fortune out of a book. Now, mind, and we’ll just see what happens--and, Helen, I burnt you.” The unquiet face grew suddenly grave, and flushed over cheek and brow with the hot blush of pride; the tone changed in a moment. “Did you, Hope? you were very cruel.” “Oh, but you know that’s not what I mean!” said Hope; “and, Helen, you need not be angry at me.” “Who did you burn with Helen, Hope?” said Mrs Buchanan. Hope dared not answer; and yet there was some curiosity in the kindled indignation of that strangely moving face. “It is time for me to go away,” said Hope, disconsolately. “Good-bye, Mrs Buchanan; and, Helen, you need not be angry when I am just going away.” Helen rose and accompanied her favourite to the door. “I am not angry, Hope; but you must never speak of me again at home; mind--or I shall be very much offended.” “Why?” said Hope, boldly.