“He is about entering into business again, I presume.”

“Oh, I hope not!” replied Fanny.

Mr. Allison remained silent for some moments, and then said—­

“I thought your visitor, Mr. Lyon, went South several days ago.”

“So he did,” answered Fanny, in a quickened tone of voice, and with a manner slightly disturbed.

“Then I was in error,” said Mr. Allison, speaking partly to himself.  “I thought I passed him in the road, half an hour ago.  The resemblance was at least a very close one.  You are certain he went South?”

“Oh! yes, sir,” replied Fanny, quickly.

Mr. Allison looked intently upon her, until her eyes wavered and fell to the ground.  He continued to observe her for some moments, and only withdrew his gaze when he saw that she was about to look up.  A faint sigh parted the old man’s lips.  Ah! if a portion of his wisdom, experience, and knowledge of character, could only be imparted to that pure young spirit, just about venturing forth into a world where mere appearances of truth deceive and fascinate!

“Does Mr. Lyon design returning soon from the South?”

“I heard him say to father that he did not think he would be in this part of the world again for six or eight months.”

And again the eyes of Fanny shunned the earnest gaze of Mr. Allison.

“How far South does he go?”

“I am not able to answer you clearly; but I think I heard father say that he would visit Central America.”

“Ah!  He is something of a traveller, then?”

“Yes, sir; he has travelled a great deal.”

“He is an Englishman?”

“Yes, sir.  His father is an old business friend of my father’s.”

“So I understood.”

There was a pause, in which Mr. Allison seemed to be thinking intently.

“It is a little singular, certainly,” said he, as if speaking only to himself.

“What is singular?” asked Fanny, looking curiously at her companion.

“Why, that I should have been so mistaken.  I doubted not, for a moment, that the person I saw was Mr. Lyon.”

Fanny did not look up.  If she had done so, the gaze fixed upon her would have sent a deeper crimson to her cheek than flushed it a few moments before.

“Have you any skill in reading character, Fanny?” asked Mr. Allison, in a changed and rather animated voice, and with a manner that took away the constraint that had, from the first, oppressed the mind of the young girl.

“No very great skill, I imagine,” was the smiling answer.

“It is a rare, but valuable gift,” said the old man.  “I was about to call it an art; but it is more a gift than an art; for, if not possessed by nature, it is too rarely acquired.  Yet, in all pure minds, there is something that we may call analogous—­a perception of moral qualities in those who approach us.  Have you never felt an instinctive repugnance to a person on first meeting him?”