Mr. Lyon's return from the South--relief, that he
was deceived in a matter which might involve the most serious
consequences. But this feeling did not very long remain; and she
became the subject of rapidly alternating states.

Fanny remained alone until the summons to tea startled her from a
sad, half-dreaming state of mind.

Not to meet her father and mother at the tea-table would, she saw,
attract toward her a closer attention than if she mingled with the
family at their evening meal; and so she forced herself away from
the congenial seclusion of her own apartment. As she took her place
at the table, she was conscious that the eyes of her father and
mother, as well as those of Aunt Grace, were fixed scrutinizingly
upon her; and she felt the blood growing warmer in her cheeks, and
flushing her whole countenance. An unusual restraint marked the
intercourse of all during their meal. Two or three times Mr.
Markland sought to draw his daughter into a conversation; but she
replied to his remarks in the briefest manner, and evidently wished
to escape all notice.

"I'm really troubled about Fanny," said Mrs. Markland to her
husband, as they sat looking out upon the fading landscape, as the
twilight deepened.

"Where is she? I've not had a glimpse of her since tea."

"In her own room, I suppose, where she now spends the greater part
of her time. She has become reserved, and her eyes grow moist, and
her cheeks flushed, if you speak to her suddenly."

"You must seek her confidence," said Mr. Markland.

"I want that without the apparent seeking," was answered. "She knows
me as her truest friend, and I am waiting until she comes to me in
the most unreserved freedom."

"But will she come?"

"Oh, yes! yes!"--was the confidently-spoken answer. "Soon her heart
will be laid open to me like the pages of a book, so that I can read
all that is written there."

"Mr. Lyon awakened a strong interest in her feelings--that is
clearly evident."

"Too strong; and I cannot but regard his coming to Woodbine Lodge as
a circumstance most likely to shadow all our future."

"I do really believe," said Mr. Markland, affecting a playful mood,
"that you have a latent vein of superstition in your character."

"You may think so, Edward," was the seriously-spoken answer; "but I
am very sure that the concern now oppressing my heart is far more
deeply grounded than your words indicate. Who, beside Mr. Lamar,
told you that he saw, or believ