But after the first letter there came no farther tidings, and indeed
none were expected. Mr. Menteith had probably returned to Edinburg, and
in those days there was no penny post, and nobody indulged in
unnecessary correspondence. Still, sometimes Helen thought, with a sore
uneasiness, "If the earl had had good news to tell, he would have surely
told it. He was always so glad to make any body happy."

The long summer twilights were ended, and one or two equinoctial gales
had whipped the waters of Loch Beg into wild "white horses," yet still
Lord Cairnforth did not return. At last, one Monday night, when Helen
and her father were returning from a three days' absence at the
"preachings'--that is, the half-yearly sacrament--in a neighboring
parish, they saw, when they came to the ferry, the glimmer of lights
from the Castle windows on the opposite shore of the loch.

"I do believe Lord Cairnforth is come home!"

"Ou ay, Miss Helen," said Duncan, the ferryman, "his lordship crossed
wi' me the day; an' I'm thinking, minister," added the old man
confidentially, "that ye suld just gang up to the Castle an' see him;
for it's ma opinion that the earl's come back as he gaed awa, nae better
and nae waur."

"What makes you thinks so? Did he say any thing?"

"Ne'er a word but just 'How are ye the day, Duncan?' and he sat and
glowered at the hills and the loch, and twa big draps rolled down his
puir bit facie--it's grown sae white and sae sma', ye ken--and I
said, 'My lord, it's grand to see your lordship back. Ye'll no be gaun
to London again, I hope?' 'Na, na,' says he; 'na, Duncan, I'm best at