Another week of suspense.

“Don’t like the aspect of affairs,” wrote the friend.  “I was at Mr. Willet’s, and saw Miss Markland.  The whole family were particularly gracious to her.  It was her first appearance in any company since her father’s failure.  She looked pensive, but charming.  In truth, my friend, she is a girl worth the winning, and no mistake.  I think her lovely.  Well, I tried all the evening to get an introduction to her, but failed, being a stranger.  Fortunately, at a late hour, I saw her leave one of the elegant parlours alone, and go out upon the portico.  This was the opportunity, and I seized it.  Boldly ad-dressing her, I mentioned, after a little play of words, your name.  Said I had a message from you, and, as guardedly as possible, declared your undying love.  But I could not just make her out.  She showed great self-possession under the circumstances, and a disposition to throw me off.  I don’t think her heart beats very warmly toward you.  This was the state of affairs when Mr. Willet made his appearance, and I drew myself away.  He said a few words to her, when she placed her arm within his, and they walked into the garden alone.  I followed at a distance.  After admiring a bit of moon-light fancy-work, they strayed into a summer-house, and I got close enough to hear what they were talking about; I found that she was making particular inquiries as to my identity, and that he was unable to give her the information she desired.  I did not feel much encouraged by the tone in which she alluded to me.  Unfortunately, I rustled a branch in my eagerness to catch every word, and so discovered myself.  Beating a hasty retreat, I went back to the house, took my hat, and quietly retired, walking most of the way to the city, a distance of several miles.  I have not called upon the family of Mr. Ellis, and am still in doubt whether it will be wise to do so.”

This communication almost maddened Lyon.  There was evidently a rival in the field, and one who had over him an immense advantage.  Impatiently he waited for the next letter.  Three days elapsed before it came.  Tearing open the envelope, he read—­

“I don’t think there is much chance for you.  This Willet has been a particular friend of the family since their misfortunes.  He bought the cottage in which they live, and offered it to them at a moderate rent, when almost every one else turned from them coldly.  The two families have ever since maintained a close intimacy; and it is pretty generally thought that a closer relation will, ere long, exist between them.  I called upon the Ellis’s yesterday.  Their reception was far from cordial.  I tried to be self-possessed, and as chatty as usual; but it was uphill work, you may depend on it.  Once I ventured an illusion to the party at Willets; but it was received with an embarrassed silence.  I left early and without the usual invitation to repeat my visits.  To-day I met Mr. Ellis in the street,