“From my father and my mother I have no concealments,” said Fanny.

“And heaven forbid that I should seek to mar that truly wise confidence,” quickly answered Mr. Lyon.  “All I ask is, that, for the present, you mention to no one the fact that I have been here.  Our meeting in this place is purely accidental—­providential, I will rather say.  My purpose in coming was, as already explained, to meet your father.  He is away, and on business that at once sets aside all necessity for seeing him.  It will now be much better that he should not even know of my return from the South—­better for me, I mean; for the interests that might suffer are mine alone.  But let me explain a little, that you may act understandingly.  When I went South, your father very kindly consented to transact certain business left unfinished by me in New York.  Letters received on my arrival at Savannah, advised me of the state of the business, and I wrote to your father, in what way to arrange it for me; by the next mail other letters came, showing me different aspect of affairs and rendering a change of plan very desirable.  It was to explain this fully to your father, that I came on.  But as it is too late, I do not wish him even to know, for the present, that a change was contemplated.  I fear it might lessen, for a time, his confidence in my judgment—­something I do not fear when he knows me better.  Your since, for the present, my dear Miss Markland, will nothing affect your father, who has little or no personal interest in the matter, but may serve me materially.  Say, then, that, until you hear from me again, on the subject, you will keep your own counsel.”

“You say that my father has no interest in the business, to which you refer?” remarked Fanny.  Her mind was bewildered.

“None whatever.  He is only, out of a generous good-will, trying to serve the son of an old business friend,” replied Mr. Lyon, confidently.  “Say, then, Fanny,”—­his voice was insinuating, and there was something of the serpent’s fascination in his eyes—­“that you will, for my sake, remain, for the present, silent on the subject of this return from the South.”

As he spoke, he raised one of her hands to his lips, and kissed it.  Still more bewildered—­nay, charmed—­Fanny did not make even a faint struggle to withdraw her hand.  In the next moment, his hot lips had touched her pure forehead—­and in the next moment, “Farewell!” rung hurriedly in her ears.  As the retiring form of the young adventurer stood in the door of the summer-house, there came to her, with a distinct utterance, these confidently spoken words—­“I trust you without fear.”—­And “God bless you!” flung toward her with a heart-impulse, found a deeper place in her soul, from whence, long afterwards, came back their thrilling echoes.  By the time the maiden had gathered up her scattered thoughts, she was alone.

CHAPTER IX.