“Hush, Hope—do not speak of her, I beg.”
“Why?” said Hope. “I like her better than anybody else in Fendie: why should I not speak of her?”
There was no point on which Hope and her taciturn brother agreed so perfectly. He smiled a momentary smile, and then answered gravely,—
“Because you do like her better than any one else in Fendie, you must not speak of her, Hope—and especially recollect that her name must not be mentioned before my father, unless you wish to hear her spoken of with anger and disrespect, which I am sure you do not.”
CHAPTER II.
If I may not speak, I pray,
All the words I have to say,
Where shall I go hide them?
Nought say I ’gainst words of thine,
Do not listen, father mine—
So you need not chide them.—Song.
Hope Oswald was very much puzzled. She could by no means understand why this perfectly unreasonable interdict should be put upon her free and unfettered speech, and was not in any degree inclined to submit to it. She resolved to be at the bottom of the mystery.
Mr Oswald and William were no sooner fairly lodged in the office the next morning than Hope began her investigation. Mrs Oswald sat sewing again; she had an old-fashioned horror of idleness.
“Mother,” said Hope, “I want you to tell me what ails Helen Buchanan?”
“Hush, my dear!” said her mother.