His stronghold was broken down--his worldly wisdom failed him. He had deliberated on all his actions all his life--should he obey the impulse now? “Hope,” said the subdued banker, “why did you speak of Mr Grant that evening we went to see Saunders Delvie? Do you remember? Why did you say to them that you thought Peter was alive?” The sensible Hope was perplexed. “I--I don’t know, father,” she said, with some hesitation. “I just said it because it came into my head.” And the prudent, deliberate, elderly banker felt himself constrained to copy his child. “Go home now, Hope,” said Mr Oswald, as they reached the bridge. “I have something to do; tell your mother I shall not be long.” And Mr Oswald hurried away to say what had come into his head. The obstinate man felt that it was right, and that he dared not trust himself to consider. Very grand and successful had been Hope’s experiment--her father determined to try one of his own. William Oswald had indeed a great deal to say. They lingered on their walk, Helen and he, till the dusk stole over the sky, blotting out the sunny clouds in the west. He was a good general, this grave resolute William; he skirmished with his restless suspicious adversary, till he got her into the most favourable position for his decisive movement, and then he struck the blow. But her usual bravery had forsaken Helen; against the strong will which took possession of her now, she could not bring up the buoyant might of resistance which was so available in her usual struggles. She tried it faintly, but the proud heart would only flutter, it would not rise to the warfare; and so poor Helen perforce had to listen, and at the critical point of the listening, instead of keeping up the combat as she had hitherto done, could only, by some strange imbecility which she by no means comprehended, say something which ended in “your father.” The moment the words were said, the heart did rise in indignation at its own treachery; but they _were_ said, and she was compelled to listen again. “I have not spoken to my father yet,” said William, “but he thinks I have given up this matter, Helen, and he thinks he is very much satisfied.” He had done it now--the enchantment began to relax--the eager heart sprang up in awakened strength, again resolute not to be conquered. “He thinks I have forgotten,” pursued the imperturbable William, “and he thinks he is satisfied; but at the same time, Helen, he thinks I am a very pitiful fellow, and that there is no one like you in all Scotland.” They were close to the gate of Mrs Buchanan’s little house. The weaker belligerent visibly started--not at the singular speech alone, but at a sight more singular; for there with his hand upon the wicket gate, awkwardly fumbling about the latch, and looking as shy as ever girl looked, stood the banker Oswald.