you say, you love me, prove that love by restoring me to
my parents. Now, though present with them in body, I am removed from
them in spirit. My mother's voice has a strange sound in my ears;
and when she gazes sadly into my face I can hardly believe that it
is my mother who is looking upon me. If she touches me, I start as
if guilty of a crime. Oh, sir! to die would be easy for me now. What
a sweet relief utter forgetfulness would be."

When Fanny awoke on the next morning, she found her mother standing
beside her bed, and gazing down upon her face with a tender, anxious
look. Sleep had cleared the daughter's thoughts and tranquilized her
feelings. As her mother bent over and kissed her, she threw her arms
around her neck and clung to her tightly.

"My dear child!" said Mrs. Markland, in a loving voice.

"Dear, dear mother!" was answered, with a gush of feeling.

"Something is troubling you, Fanny. You are greatly changed. Will
you not open your heart to me?"

"Oh, mother!" She sobbed out the words.

"Am I not your truest friend?" said Mrs. Markland, speaking calmly,
but very tenderly.

Fanny did not reply.

"Have I ever proved myself unworthy of your confidence?" She spoke
as if from wounded feeling.

"Oh, no, no, dearest mother!" exclaimed Fanny. "How can you ask me
such a question?"

"You have withdrawn your confidence," was almost coldly said.

"Oh, mother!" And Fanny drew her arms more tightly about her
mother's neck, kissing her cheek passionately as she did so.

A little while Mrs. Markland waited, until her daughter's mind grew
calmer; then she said--

"You are concealing from me something that troubles you. Whatever
doubles you is of sufficient importance to be intrusted to your
mother. I am older, have had more experience than you, and am your
best friend. Not to confide in me is unjust to yourself, for, in my
counsels, more than in those of your own heart, is there safety."

Mrs. Markland paused, and waited for some time, but there was no
response from Fanny. She then said--

"You have received a letter from Mr. Lyon."

Fanny started as if a sudden blow had aroused her.

"And concealed the fact from your mother."

No answer; only bitter weeping.

"May I see that letter?" asked the mother, after a short pause. For
nearly a minute she waited for a reply. But there was not a word
from Fanny, who now lay as still as death. Slowly Mrs. Markland
disengaged her arm from her daughter's neck