Most of the succeeding day Fanny kept apart from the family; spending a greater portion of the time alone in her room.  Once or twice it crossed the mother’s thought, that Fanny might be tempted to answer the letter of Mr. Lyon, notwithstanding her promise not to do so for the present.  But she repelled the thought instantly, as unjust to her beautiful, loving, obedient child.  Still, Fanny’s seclusion of herself weighed on her mind, and led her several times to go into her room.  Nothing, either in her manner or employment, gave the least confirmation to the vague fear which had haunted her.

The sun was nearly two hours above the horizon, when Fanny left the house, and bent her steps towards a pleasant grove of trees that stood some distance away.  In the midst of the grove, which was not far from the entrance-gate to her father’s beautiful grounds, was a summer-house, in Oriental style, close beside an ornamental fountain.  This was the favourite resort of the maiden, and thither she now retired, feeling certain of complete seclusion, to lose herself in the bewildering mazes of love’s young dream.  Before the eyes of her mind, one form stood visible, and that a form of manly grace and beauty,—­the very embodiment of all human excellence.  The disparaging words of her aunt had, like friction upon a polished surface, only made brighter to her vision the form which the other had sought to blacken.  What a new existence seemed opening before her, with new and higher capacities for enjoyment!  The half-closed bud had suddenly unfolded itself in the summer air, and every blushing petal thrilled with a more exquisite sense of life.

Every aspect of nature—­and all her aspects were beautiful there—­had a new charm for the eyes of Fanny Markland.  The silvery waters cast upward by the fountain fell back in rainbow showers, ruffling the tiny lake beneath, and filling the air with a low, dreamy murmur.  Never had that lovely creation of art, blending with nature, looked so like an ideal thing as now—­a very growth of fairy-land.  The play of the waters in the air was as the glad motions of a living form.

Around this fountain was a rosary of white and red roses, encircled again by arbor-vitae; and there were statues of choice workmanship, the ideals of modern art, lifting their pure white forms here and there in chastened loveliness.  All this was shut in from observation by a stately grove of elms.  And here it was that the maiden had come to hide herself from observation, and dream her waking dream of love.  What a world of enchantment was dimly opening before her, as her eye ran down the Eden-vistas of the future!  Along those aisles of life she saw herself moving, beside a stately one, who leaned toward her, while she clung to him as a vine to its firm support.  Even while in the mazes of this delicious dream, a heavy footfall startled her, and she sprang to her feet with a suddenly-stilled pulsation.  In the next instant a manly form filled the door of the summer-house, and a manly voice exclaimed: