He was just parting with Mrs Buchanan; but Mrs Buchanan’s impetuous daughter had reached the gate before he could open it. The stern banker was very much confused; he looked up awkwardly at the unquiet face with its strange, perplexed wonder--its singular mixture of emotions--pride, anger, pleasure, even--alas, for Helen’s dignity--a little fun; for the confusion of the respectable Mr Oswald had something ludicrous in it. No one would help him; he appealed to William with a glance, but the uncompassionating William looked on with secret glee, and offered no assistance. Mr Oswald was very much confused. He wanted to say something to the purpose, but could not accomplish it; so he said something which was not to the purpose. “A cold evening, Miss Buchanan.” Miss Buchanan’s expectant face was turned full upon him. Her rapid lip moved unconsciously as he said the unmeaning words. She bowed her shy graceful bow, and passed him with the swift nervous motion which belonged exclusively to herself. The banker looked a little blank; he _did_ want to say something, and he was annoyed that he had failed. “Helen, my dear--Helen,” said the good mother, with a slight tone of reproof. Helen paused and turned round within the gate; the slight impatient motion--the embarrassed frank look--Mr Oswald was pleased that like himself Helen did not know what to say. “I came to say,” said the banker slowly, “that my wife intended--I mean wished, to call to-morrow if your mother would permit her, and that we--that is, I hope we shall see more of each other in future, Miss Buchanan--good night.” He held out his hand--shyly the small nervous fingers met it. The banker looked dubiously in her face; was it to be peace? but she only said good night--and Mr Oswald turned away with a doubtful, pleased smile, too much occupied to notice his son till he stumbled against him, and then suffered the glad silent grasp of William’s hand, in token of full and happy reconciliation. In the little parlour, the tea-tray was on the table, the fire shining brightly, the light--though there was still but one candle--cheerfully filling the homelike room; but Helen ran upstairs and laughed a little, and shed a few bright tears, and came down exceedingly dignified and proper, endeavouring to persuade herself that she was angry, but certainly shedding no angry radiance round her, out of her shining eyes. The old kind face in the old corner; the pleasant, familiar, son’s voice discoursing of old household things which no one else knew as he did. Mrs Buchanan wondered at herself how she could ever tolerate another--could ever dream that any but he might be the future son. CHAPTER XV. Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!--MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM. “Is it to be, Helen?” asked Lilias. A sudden gravity floated over the lurking laughter in Helen’s eye. “Is what to be, Lilias?”