The maiden’s thoughts were yet bewildered, and her heart beating tumultuously, when her quick ears caught the sound of other footsteps than those to whose retreating echoes she had been so intently listening.  Hastily retreating into the summer-house, she crouched low upon one of the seats, in order, if possible, to escape observation.  But nearer and nearer came the slow, heavy foot-fall of a man, and ere she had time to repress, by a strong effort, the agitation that made itself visible in every feature, Mr. Allison was in her presence.  It was impossible for her to restrain an exclamation of surprise, or to drive back the crimson from her flushing face.

“Pardon the intrusion,” said the old gentleman, in his usual mild tone.  “If I had known that you were here, I would not have disturbed your pleasant reveries.”

Some moments elapsed, ere Fanny could venture a reply.  She feared to trust her voice, lest more should be betrayed than she wished any one to know.  Seeing how much his presence disturbed her, Mr. Allison stepped back a pace or two, saying, as he did so, “I was only passing, my child; and will keep on my way.  I regret having startled you by my sudden appearance.”

He was about retiring, when Fanny, who felt that her manner must strike Mr. Allison as very singular, made a more earnest effort to regain her self-possession, and said, with a forced smile: 

“Don’t speak of intrusion; Mr. Allison.  Your sudden coming did startle me.  But that is past.”

Mr. Allison, who had partly turned away, now advanced toward Fanny, and, taking her hand, looked down into her face, from which the crimson flush had not yet retired, with an expression of tender regard.

“Your father is still absent, I believe?” said he.

“Yes, sir.”

“He will be home soon.”

“We hope so.  His visit to New York was unexpected.”

“And you therefore feel his absence the more.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Fanny, now regaining her usual tone of voice and easy address; “and it seems impossible for us to be reconciled to the fact.”

“Few men are at home more than your father,” remarked Mr. Allison.  “His world, it might be said, is included in the circle of his beloved ones.”

“And I hope it will always be so.”

Mr. Allison looked more earnestly into the young maiden’s face.  He did not clearly understand the meaning of this sentence, for, in the low tones that gave it utterance, there seemed to his ear a prophecy of change.  Then he remembered his recent conversation with her father, and light broke in upon his mind.  The absence of Mr. Markland had, in all probability, following the restless, dissatisfied state, which all had observed, already awakened the concern of his family, lest it should prove only the beginning of longer periods of absence.

“Business called your father to New York,” said Mr. Allison.

“Yes; so he wrote home to mother.  He went to the city in the morning, and we expected him back as usual in the evening, but he sent a note by the coachman, saying that letters just received made it necessary for him to go on to New York immediately.”