ar this announcement. She had tried
hard, for her father's sake, to repress her feelings; but now they
gave way into hysterical weeping. Far beyond his words her thoughts
leaped, and already bitter self-reproaches had begun. Had she at
once informed him of Mr. Lyon's return, singular interview, and
injunction of secrecy, all these appalling consequences might have
been saved. In an instant this flashed upon her mind, and the
conviction overwhelmed her.

"My poor child," said Mr. Markland, sadly, yet with great
tenderness,--"would to heaven I could save you from the evil that
lies before us! But I am powerless in the hands of a stern
necessity."

"Oh, father!" sobbed the weeping girl, "if I could bear this change
alone, I would be happy."

"Let us all bear it cheerfully together," said Mrs. Markland, in a
quiet voice, and with restored calmness of spirit. "Heaven, as Mrs.
Willet says, with so much truth, is not without, but within us. The
elements of happiness lie not in external, but in internal things. I
do not think, Edward, even with all we had of good in possession,
you have been happy for the past year. The unsatisfied spirit turned
itself away from all that was beautiful in nature--from all it had
sought for as the means of contentment, and sighed for new
possessions. And these would also have lost their charms, had you
gained them, and your restless heart still sighed after an ideal
good. It may be--nay, it must be--in mercy, that our heavenly Father
permitted this natural evil to fall upon us. The night that
approaches will prove, I doubt not, the winter night in which much
bread will grow."

"Comforter!" He spoke the word with emotion.

"And should I not be?" was the almost cheerful answer. "Those who
cannot help should at least speak words of comfort."

"Words! They are more than words that you have spoken. They have in
them a substance and a life. But, Fanny, dear child!" he said,
turning to his still grieving daughter--"your tears distress me.
They pain more deeply than rebuking sentences. My folly"--

"Father!" exclaimed Fanny--"it is I--not you--that must bear
reproach. A word might have saved all. Weak, erring child that I
was! Oh! that fatal secret which almost crushed my heart with its
burden! Why did I not listen to the voice of conscience and duty?"

"Let the dead past rest," said Mr. Markland. "Your error was light,
in comparison with mine. Had I guarded the approaches to the
pleasant lan