The family of Mr. Markland consisted of his wife, four children, and a maiden sister—­Grace Markland,—­the latter by no means one of the worst specimens of her class.  With Agnes, in her seventh year, the reader has already a slight acquaintance.  Francis, the baby, was two years old, and the pet of every one but Aunt Grace, who never did like children.  But he was so sweet a little fellow, that even the stiff maiden would bend toward him now and then, conscious of a warmer heart-beat.  George, who boasted of being ten—­quite an advanced age, in his estimation—­might almost be called a thorn in the flesh to Aunt Grace, whose nice sense of propriety and decorum he daily outraged by rudeness and want of order.  George was boy all over, and a strongly-marked specimen of his class—­“as like his father, when at his age, as one pea to another,” Aunt Grace would say, as certain memories of childhood presented themselves with more than usual vividness.  The boy was generally too much absorbed in his own purposes to think about the peculiar claims to respect of age, sex, or condition.  Almost from the time he could toddle about the carpeted floor, had Aunt Grace been trying to teach him what she called manners.  But he was never an apt scholar in her school.  If he mastered the A B C to-day, most probably on her attempt to advance him to-morrow into his a-b ab’s, he had wholly forgotten the previous lesson.  Poor Aunt Grace!  She saw no hope for the boy.  All her labour was lost on him.

Fanny, the oldest child, just completing her seventeenth year, was of fair complexion and delicate frame; strikingly beautiful, and as pure in mind as she was lovely in person.  All the higher traits of womanhood that gave such a beauty to the mother’s character were as the unfolding bud in her.  Every one loved Fanny, not even excepting Aunt Grace, who rarely saw any thing in her niece that violated her strict sense of propriety.  Since the removal of the family to Woodbine Lodge, the education of Fanny had been under the direction of a highly accomplished governess.  In consequence, she was quite withdrawn from intercourse with young ladies of her own age.  If, from this cause, she was ignorant of many things transpiring in city life, the purer atmosphere she daily breathed gave a higher moral tone to her character.  In all the sounder accomplishments Fanny would bear favourable comparison with any; and as for grace of person and refinement of manners, these were but the expression of an inward sense of beauty.

As Fanny unfolded toward womanhood, putting forth, like an opening blossom, some newer charms each day, the deep love of her parents began to assume the character of jealous fear.  They could not long hide from other’s eyes the treasure they possessed, and their hearts grew faint at the thought of having it pass into other hands.  But very few years would glide away ere wooers would come, and seek to charm her ears with songs sweeter than ever thrilled them in her own happy home.  And there would be a spell upon her spirit, so that she could not help but listen.  And, mayhap, the song that charmed her most might come from unworthy lips.  Such things had been, alas!