One, two, three days went by, and still Mr. Lyon was a lingerer at Woodbine Lodge; and during most of that time he was alone and in earnest conference with Mr. Markland.  The evenings were always pleasant seasons in the family circle.  Fanny’s voice had been well cultivated, and she sung with fine taste; and as Mr. Lyon was also a lover of music, and played and sung exquisitely, the two very naturally spent a portion of their time at the piano.  If it crossed the father’s mind that an attachment might spring up between them, it did not disturb his feelings.

At the end of a week Mr. Lyon found it necessary to tear himself away from the little paradise into which he had been so unexpectedly introduced.  Every day that he lingered there diminished the ardour of his ambition, or robbed of some charm the bright ideal he had worshipped.  And so he broke the silken bonds that wove themselves around him, at first light as gossamer, but now strong as twisted cords.

Mr. Markland accompanied him to the city, and did not return home until late in the evening.  He was then much occupied with his own thoughts, and entered but little into conversation.  Fanny was absent-minded, a fact that did not escape the mother’s observation.  Aunt Grace noted the change which the stranger’s coming and departure had occasioned, and, shaking her wise head, spoke thus within herself—­

“He may be very handsome, but he casts a shadow, for all that.  I don’t see what Edward was thinking about.  He’d better let Fanny go right into the world, where she can see dozens of handsome young men, and contrast one with another, than hide her away here, until some attractive young Lucifer comes along—­a very Son of the Morning!  How can the girl help falling in love, if she sees but one man, and he elegant, accomplished, handsome, and full of winning ways, even though his hidden heart be black with selfishness?”

But Aunt Grace always looked at the shadowy side.  Even if the sun shone bright above, she thought of the clouds that were gathering somewhere, and destined ere long to darken the whole horizon.

On the day following, Mr. Markland went again to the city, and was gone until late in the evening.  His mind was as much occupied as on the evening previous, and he spent the hours from tea-time until eleven o’clock in the library, writing.  If Mrs. Markland did not appear to notice any change in her husband since Mr. Lyon came to Woodbine Lodge, it was not that the change had escaped her.  No—­she was too deeply interested in all that concerned him to fail in noting every new aspect of thought or feeling.  He had said nothing of awakened purpose, quickened into activity by long conferences with his guest, but she saw that such purposes were forming.  Of their nature she was in entire ignorance.  That they would still further estrange him from Woodbine Lodge, she had too good reason, in a knowledge of his character, to fear.  With him, whatever became a pursuit absorbed all others; and he looked to the end with a visions so intent, that all else was seen in obscurity.  And so, with a repressed sigh, this gentle, true-hearted, loving woman, whose thought rarely turned in upon herself, awaited patiently the time when her husband would open to her what was in his thoughts.  And the time, she knew, was not distant.