“Remarkable enough,” answered the old man, “to lead you, at least, to a close scrutiny into the matter.”

“I believe it only to be a coincidence,” said Mr. Markland, more confidently.

“If the fact of his being here, at the time referred to, would change in any respect your relation to him, then let me advise the most rigid investigation.  I cannot get rid of the impression that he really was here—­and, let me speak a plainer word—­nor that he met your daughter in the summer-house.”

Markland started as if an adder had stung him, uttering the word—­

“Impossible!”

“Understand me,” calmly remarked the old man, “I do not say that it was so.  I have no proof to offer.  But the impression has haunted me ever since, and I cannot drive it away.”

“It is only an impression, then?”

“Nothing more.”

“But what, was there in my daughter’s conduct that led you to so strange an impression?”

“Her manner was confused; a thing that has never happened at any previous meeting with her.  But, then, I came upon her suddenly, as she sat in the summer-house, and gave her, in all probability, a nervous start.”

“Most likely that is the true interpretation.  And I can account for her rather disturbed state of mind on other grounds than a meeting with Mr. Lyon.”

“That is good evidence on the other side,” returned Mr. Allison, “and I hope you will pardon the freedom I have taken in speaking out what was in my thoughts.  In no other way could I express so strongly the high regard I have for both yourself and family, and the interest I feel in your most excellent daughter.  The singular likeness to Mr. Lyon in the person I met, and the disturbed state in which Fanny appeared to be, are facts that have kept almost constant possession of my mind, and haunted me ever since.  To mention these things to you is but a common duty.”

“And you have my thanks,” said Mr. Markland, “my earnest thanks.”

The two men had moved on, and were now at some distance from the point where the sight of the fountain and summer-house brought a vivid recollection to the mind of Mr. Allison of his interview with Fanny.

“Our ways part here,” said the old man.

“Will you not keep on to the house?  Your visits always give pleasure,” said Mr. Markland.

“No—­not at this time.  I have some matters at home requiring present attention.”

They stood and looked into each other’s faces for a few moments, as if both had something yet in their minds unsaid, but not yet in a shape for utterance—­then separated with a simple “Good-by.”

CHAPTER XIII.

This new testimony in regard to the presence of Mr. Lyon in the neighbourhood, at a time when he was believed to be hundreds of miles away, and still receding as rapidly as swift car and steamer could bear him, might well disturb, profoundly, the spirit of Mr. Markland.  What could it mean?  How vainly he asked himself this question.  He was walking onward, with his eyes upon the ground, when approaching feet made him aware of the proximity of some one.  Looking up, he saw a man coming down the road from his house, and only a few rods distant from him.