There had been a farewell party in Helen Buchanan’s school-room--a very large party, comprising the various ranks of girls, who had finished, or had not finished, their education under her. Some of them were sturdy young women, only a few months younger than Helen’s own strangely differing self--some of them very little merry fairies, not reaching her knee, but all undoubtedly owned her sway, and recognised in this enchanted circle no authority so high as “the Mistress.” Hope Oswald was Helen’s aide-de-camp, and assisted on this as on other occasions, and enjoyed the party greatly; and when the host of ruddy visitors were gone, Helen Buchanan left the school-room, with grave thoughts and a dim face, not to enter it again. “I have got my lilac satin frock, Helen,” said Hope sedately, the next morning, as she hung over Helen’s work-table. Helen did not answer. She smiled--a momentary smile fading immediately into gravity. She herself was making a dress of white muslin, which was nearly finished; a very simple dress--the last proud assertion of Helen’s independence. The banker was greatly inclined to make a favourite of her now; he was proud of the new daughter who, having conquered and fascinated himself, was certain, as he felt, to subjugate all the world. There were strange contradictions in this obstinate rigid man. His son and his son’s fame did not affect him at all in the same way as these two girls did. Helen and Hope--Mr Oswald fancied there were not two like them in Scotland. And about Helen’s bridal dress; a very fine one lay in Mrs Oswald’s room, waiting until after the momentous ceremony, because the proud Helen would not accept it now. The banker cast a wondering half-disconsolate glance sometimes at its glossy uncut breadths, and thought it would have been a very appropriate bridal dress, and as much richer than Charlotte Fendie’s as the bride was more graceful; but here, in the little parlour, sat Helen, making the plain, white muslin one which her own means could reach. “Will you let me help you, Helen?” said Hope. “No,” answered Helen quickly, “it is nearly finished now--I do not need help--but who is that coming in?” “Oh, Helen, it’s Miss Insches!” exclaimed Hope, struck with momentary alarm. She almost feared the minister was about to rush in, and carry off the prize after all. Helen laid her work away, and took some other less likely to excite attention. The minister’s little good-humoured sister came bustling in. “I hardly expect to be long in Fendie now, Mrs Buchanan,” said Miss Insches, significantly. But Helen’s mother was resolved not to be curious--she only said “Indeed.”