“Dear Agnes,”—­so ran the note of Mr. Markland to his wife,—­“I know that you will be surprised and disappointed at receiving only a letter, instead of your husband.  But some matters in New York require my attention, and I go on by the evening train, to return day after to-morrow.  I engaged to transact some important business for Mr. Lyon, when he left for the South, and in pursuance of this, I am now going away.  In a letter received from Mr. Lyon, to-day, was one for Fanny.  I do not know its contents.  Use your own discretion about giving it to her.  You will find it enclosed.  My mind has been so much occupied to-day, that I could not give the subject the serious consideration it requires.  I leave it with you, having more faith in your intuitions than in my own judgment.  He did not hint, even remotely, at a correspondence with Fanny, when he left; nor has he mentioned the fact of enclosing a letter for her in the one received from him to-day.  Thus, delicately, has he left the matter in our hands.  Perhaps you had better retain the letter until I return.  We can then digest the subject more thoroughly.  But, in order to furnish your mind some basis to rest upon, I will say, that during the time Mr. Lyon was here I observed him very closely; and that every thing about him gave me the impression of a pure, high-minded, honourable man.  Such is the testimony borne in his favour by letters from men of standing in England, by whom he is trusted with large interests.  I do not think an evidence of prepossession for our daughter, on his part, need occasion anxiety, but rather pleasure.  Of course, she is too young to leave the home-nest for two or three years yet.  But time is pressing, and my mind is in no condition, just now, to think clearly on a subject involving such important results.  I think, however, that you had better keep the letter until my return.  It will be the most prudent course.”

Keep the letter!  Its contents were already in the heart of Fanny!

“Where’s Edward?  What’s the matter?” queried Aunt Grace, coming up at this moment, and seeing that all colour had left the cheeks of Mrs. Markland.

Scarcely reflecting on what she did, the latter handed her husband’s letter in silence to her sister-in-law, and tottered, rather than walked, to a garden chair near at hand.

“Well, now, here is pretty business, upon my word!” exclaimed Aunt Grace, warmly.  “Sending a letter to our Fanny!  Who ever heard of such assurance!  Oh!  I knew that some trouble would come of his visit here.  I felt it the moment I set my eyes on him.  Keep the letter from Fanny?  Of course you will; and when you have a talk with Edward about it, just let me be there; I want my say.”

“It is too late,” murmured the unhappy mother, in a low, sad voice.

“Too late!  How?  What do you mean, Agnes?”

“Fanny has the letter already.”

“What!” There was a sharp, thrusting rebuke in the voice of Aunt Grace, that seemed like a sword in the heart of Mrs. Markland.