The banker Oswald was looking on; he had managed to ascertain so much of their need, and means, and mode of life as would have added bitterness to their struggle had Mrs Buchanan or her daughter known of it; and with singular interest and even some excitement, as he might have looked at a strong swimmer contending with the stronger current, the obstinate man looked on. To see these women battling so stoutly with a tide more powerful than that under which Walter Buchanan had sunk in his mid-day; to observe how Helen bore her fall from the temporary elevation which the minister’s attentions had procured for her, and went upon her way alone in her own unconscious dignity, so open to all kindnesses, still, and with the frank, clear skies of youth constantly breaking through the clouds of injured pride--no thought of coming to the rescue entered the mind of the banker, but there were no two persons in Fendie, out of his own household, whom he observed with half the interest which fascinated him to these. He fancied William had altogether forgotten the poor schoolmistress, and while he was entirely satisfied that such should be the case, a certain shade of contempt for this, obtruded itself into the pride with which he regarded the rising name of his son: but had William suddenly presented himself to ask the banker’s consent, as he had done before, the answer would still have been the same; he was still determined, unchangeable, bound by the resolution which nothing should break--never! “I do not know what to say to Lilias, mother,” said Helen, as in the afternoon she prepared to return to Mossgray, where Mrs Buchanan was to accompany her. “_You_ will know--I cannot speak to her of this, for it would be terrible to lead her to hope, and then have that dreary blank of disappointment return again--and such disappointment! It is not like our troubles--troubles which could be almost altogether removed by what would be a very little matter to Mossgray; but Lilias has a heavier burden than we have.” “The present trouble looks aye the hardest, Helen,” said Mrs Buchanan. “She is young, and has many friends--she will forget; but you must fight on, my poor bairn. I feel your trouble more than hers.” Helen could lament herself into despondency without much difficulty, but the perverse temperament would not droop for any will but its own. “Hush, mother!” said Helen; “it is only a fight after all, and there is nothing so very bad in having to labour; I could not do without it, I think, and we will get through yet, no fear.” Mrs Buchanan shook her head. “I hope so, my dear--I hope we shall, Helen; but how we are to do at Martinmas I cannot tell.” “The fear of ill exceeds the ill we fear,” said Helen, with a bright face. “We will do all we can, mother, and we will manage someway--do not let us think of it to-night.”