“Grace!  How dare you suggest such a thing?” exclaimed Mrs. Markland, with an energy and indignation almost new to her character.

Grace was rather startled by so unexpected a response from her sister-in-law, and for a moment or two looked abashed.

“Better be scared than hurt, you know, Agnes,” she replied, coolly, as soon as she had recovered herself.

“Not if scared by mere phantoms of our own diseased imaginations,” said Mrs. Markland.

“There is something more solid than a phantom in the present case, I’m afraid.  What do you suppose takes Fanny away so often, all by herself, to the Fountain Grove?”

“Grace Markland!  What can you mean by such a question?” The mother of Fanny looked frightened.

“I put the question to you for answer,” said Grace, coolly.  “The time was, and that time is not very distant, when Fanny could scarcely be induced to go a hundred yards from the house, except in company.  Now, she wanders away alone, almost daily; and if you observe the direction she takes, you will find that it is toward Fountain Grove.  And John says that it was near this place that he met Mr. Lyon.”

“Mr. Willet, you mean,” said Mrs. Markland, firmly.

“None are so blind as those who will not see,” retorted Aunt Grace, in her impulsive way.  “If any harm comes to the child, you and Edward will have none but yourselves to blame.  Forewarned, forearmed, is a wise saying, by which you seem in no way inclined to profit.”

Even while this conversation was in progress, the subject of it had taken herself away to the sweet, retired spot where, since her meeting with Mr. Lyon, she had felt herself drawn daily with an almost irresistible influence.  As she passed through the thick, encircling grove that surrounded the open space where the beautiful summer-house stood and the silvery waters sported among the statues, she was startled by a rustling noise, as of some one passing near.  She stopped suddenly, her heart beating with a rapid motion, and listened intently.  Was she deceived, or did her eyes really get uncertain glimpses of a form hurriedly retiring through the trees?  For nearly a minute she stood almost as still as one of the marble figures that surrounded the fountain.  Then, with slow, almost stealthy footsteps, she moved onward, glancing, as she did so, from side to side, and noting every object in the range of vision with a sharp scrutiny.  On gaining the summer-house, the first object that met her eyes was a folded letter, lying upon the marble table.  To spring forward and seize it was the work of an instant.  It bore her own name, and in the now familiar hand of Lee Lyon!

A strong agitation seized upon the frame of the young girl, as she caught up the unexpected letter.  It was some moments before her trembling fingers could break the seal and unfold the missive.  Then her eyes drank in, eagerly, its contents: