Mrs. Collingwood observed with surprise, that Helen spoke of her with even
more enthusiasm than of her dear Lady Cecilia. "Yes, because she is a
person more likely to excite enthusiasm."

"You did not feel afraid of her, then?"

"I do not say that," replied Helen; "yet it was not fear exactly, it was
more a sort of awe, but still I liked it. It is so delightful to have
something to look up to. I love Lady Davenant all the better, even for that
awe I felt of her."

"And I like you all the better for everything you feel, think, and say
about your friends," cried Mrs. Collingwood; "but let us see what they will
do; when I see whether they can write, and what they write to you, I will
tell you more of my mind--if any letters come."

"If!--" Helen repeated, but would say no more--and there it rested, or
at least stopped. By common consent the subject was not recurred to
for several days. Every morning at post-time Helen's colour rose with
expectation, and then faded with disappointment; still, with the same
confiding look, she said, "I am sure it is not their fault."

"Time will show," said Mrs. Collingwood.

At length, one morning when she came down to breakfast, "Triumph, my dear
Helen!" cried Mrs. Collingwood, holding up two large letters, all scribbled
over with "Try this place and try that, mis-sent to Cross-keys--Over moor,
and heaven knows where--and--no matter."

Helen seized the packets and tore them open; one was from Paris, written