For almost the first time since her departure, Helen’s regular monthly letter did not arrive, and the earl grew seriously alarmed.  In the utmost perplexity, he was resolving in his own mind what next step to take—­how, and how much he ought to tell of his anxieties to her father—­when all difficulties were solved in the sharpest and yet easiest way by a letter from Helen herself—­a letter so unlike Helen’s, so un-neat, blurred, and blotted, that at first he did not even recognize it as hers.

“To the Right Honorable the Earl of Cairnforth: 

“My Lord,—­I have only just found your letter.  The money inclosed was not there.  I conclude it had been used for our journey hither; but it is gone, and I can not come to my dearest father.  My husband is very ill, and my little baby only three weeks old.  Tell my father this, and send me news of him soon.  Help me, for I am almost beside myself with misery!

“Yours gratefully,

“Helen Bruce

“——­ Street, Edinburg.”

Edinburg!  Then she was come home!

The earl had opened and read the letter with his secretary sitting by him.  Yet, dull and not prone to notice things as the old man was, he was struck by an unusual tone of something very like exultation in his master’s voice as he said,

“Mr. Mearns, call Malcolm to me; I must start for Edinburg immediately.”

In the interval Lord Cairnforth thought rapidly over what was best to be done.  To go at once to Helen, whatever her misery was, appeared to him beyond question.  To take Mr. Cardross in his present state, or the lad Duncan, was not desirable:  some people, good as they may be, are not the sort of people to be trusted in calamity.  And Helen’s other brothers were out and away in the world, scattered all over Scotland, earning, diligently and hardly, their daily bread.

There was evidently not a soul to go to her help except himself.  Her brief and formal letter, breaking down into that piteous cry of “help me,” seemed to come out of the very depths of despair.  It pierced to the core of Lord Cairnforth’s heart; and yet—­and yet—­he felt that strange sense of exultation and delight.

Even Malcolm noticed this.

“Your lordship has gotten gude news,” said he.  “Is it about Miss Helen?  She’s coming home?”

“Yes.  We must start for Edinburg at once, and we’ll bring her back with us.”  He forgot for the moment the sick husband, the newborn baby—­ every thing but Helen herself and her being close at hand.  “It’s only forty-eight hours journey to Edinburg now.  We will travel post; I am strong enough, Malcolm; set about it quickly, for it must be done.”

Malcolm knew his master too well to remonstrate.  In truth, the whole household was so bewildered by this sudden exploit—­for the wheels of life moved slowly enough ordinarily at Cairnforth—­that before any body was quite aware what had happened, the earl and his two necessary attendants, Malcolm and Mr. Mearns—­also Mrs. Campbell—­Helen might want a woman with her—­were traveling across country as fast as the only fast traveling of that era—­relays of post-horses day and night—­could carry them.