after interview was held with the parties representing the Company for which he had been agent, and a final arrangement made for the restitution of about two hundred thousand dollars—­his release not to take place until the money, or its value, was in the hands of his creditors.  Nearly three months passed in efforts to consummate this matter, and at last the sum of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars was obtained, and the miserable, disgraced man set free.  He went forth into the world again with the bitterness of a life-disappointment at his heart, and a feeling of almost murderous hate against the men whose confidence he had betrayed, and who obtained from him only a partial recompense.

Of the sum restored, there fell to Mr. Markland’s share about twenty-five thousand dollars.  Its possession quickened in his heart the old ambitious spirit, and he began to revolve in his thoughts the ways and means of recovering, by aid of this remnant of his fortune, the wealth which a scheming villain had wrested from his grasp.  Mr. Willet, whose marriage with his daughter was on the eve of taking place, had made to him certain proposals in regard to business, that promised a sure but not particularly brilliant return.  All the required capital was to be furnished.  He had not yet accepted this offer, but was about doing so, when expectation ended in certainty, and his proportion of the money recovered from Lyon was paid into his hands.

A rapid change of feelings and plans was the consequence.  On the day that cheeks covering the whole sum awarded to Mr. Markland were received from New York, he returned early in the afternoon from the city, his mind buoyant with hope in the future.  As the cars swept around a particular curve on approaching the station at which he was to alight, “Woodbine Lodge” came in full view, and, with a sudden impulse he exclaimed “It shall be mine again!”

“The man is not all crushed out of me yet!” There was a proud swelling of the heart as Markland said this.  He had stepped from the cars at the station, and with a firmer step than usual, and a form more erect, was walking homeward.  Lawn Cottage was soon in view, nestling peacefully amid embowering trees.  How many times during the past year had a thankful spirit given utterance to words of thankfulness, as, at day’s decline, his homeward steps brought in view this pleasant hiding-place from the world!  It was different now:  the spot wore a changed aspect, and, comparatively, looked small and mean, for his ideas had suddenly been elevated toward “Woodbine Lodge,” and a strong desire for its re-possession had seized upon him.

But if, to his disturbed vision, beauty had partially faded from the external of his home, no shadow dimmed the brightness within.  The happy voices of children fell in music on his ears, and small arms clasping his neck sent electric thrills of gladness to his heart.  And how full of serene joy was the face of his wife, the angel of his home as she greeted his return, and welcomed him with words that never disturbed, but always tranquillized!