“If you please, Miss Maxwell,” said Hope, “will you see Helen sometimes when I am away?”
“Yes, Hope,” answered Lilias.
“And, Miss Maxwell, will you just speak of her sometimes before my father—I don’t mean to my father—but you know what I mean.”
“Yes, Hope,” repeated Lilias, “I shall do what I can; don’t be afraid, and now good-bye.”
The carriage drove off, but Hope still lingered at the door, looking down the dim, hazy, quiet street. There were very few passengers, but as she stood looking out, she perceived a certain tall, plaided figure rapidly advancing upon the opposite side, in shadow of the houses. Hope turned and shut the door in sudden wrath. What could the Reverend Robert Insches have to do at the “townend” on this Hallowe’en night? It looked suspicious; he had been seeing Helen Buchanan!
The next morning early, Hope herself traversed the same road to bid Helen good-bye. The coach started at eleven, and it was only a little after eight when Hope looked in upon Mrs Buchanan’s breakfast-table. Helen looked in excellent spirits; the ring of her pleasant laugh had reached Hope’s ear before she opened the parlour-door.
“Do you like Miss Maxwell, Helen?” inquired Hope.
“Very much, Hope,” was the quick answer; “we shall be excellent friends.”
“Because she likes you, Helen,” continued Hope. “If you had only heard her last night, Mrs Buchanan.”
The blood flushed at once over Helen’s face. It was not disagreeable to be praised—not even before the Oswalds; but it excited pride as well as curiosity.