“May I see that letter?” asked the mother, after a short pause.  For nearly a minute she waited for a reply.  But there was not a word from Fanny, who now lay as still as death.  Slowly Mrs. Markland disengaged her arm from her daughter’s neck, and raised herself erect.  For the space of two or three minutes she sat on the bedside.  All this time there was not the slightest movement on the part of Fanny.  Then she arose and moved slowly across the room.  Her hand was on the door, and the sound of the latch broke the silence of the room.  At this instant the unhappy girl started up, and cried, in tones of anguish—­

“Oh, my mother! my mother! come back!”

Mrs. Markland returned slowly, and with the air of one who hesitated.  Fanny leaned forward against her, and wept freely.

“It is not yet too late, my child, to get back the peace of mind which this concealment has destroyed.  Mr. Lyon has written to you?”

“Yes, mother.”

“May I see his letter?”

There was no answer.

“Still not willing to trust your best friend,” said Mrs. Markland.

“Can I trust you?” said Fanny, raising herself up suddenly, and gazing steadily into her mother’s face.  Mrs. Markland was startled as well by the words of her daughter as by the strange expression of her countenance.

“Trust me?  What do you mean by such words?” she answered.

“If I tell you a secret, will you, at least for a little while, keep it in your own heart.”

“Keep it from whom?”

“From father.”

“You frighten me, my child!  What have you to do with a secret that must be kept from your father!”

“I did not desire its custody.”

“If it concerns your own or your father’s welfare, so much the more is it imperative on you to speak to him freely.  No true friend could lay upon you such an obligation, and the quicker you throw it off the better.  What is the nature of this secret?”

“I cannot speak unless you promise me.”

“Promise what?”

“To conceal from father what I tell you.”

“I can make no such promise, Fanny.”

“Then I am bound hand and foot,” said the poor girl, in a distressed voice.

A long silence followed.  Then the mother used argument and persuasion to induce Fanny to unbosom herself.  But the effort was fruitless.

“If you promise to keep my secret for a single week, I will speak,” said the unhappy girl, at length.

“I promise,” was reluctantly answered.

“You know,” answered Fanny, “it was rumored that Mr. Lyon had returned from the South while father was in New York.”  She did not look up at her mother as she said this.

“Yes.”  Mrs. Markland spoke eagerly.

“It is true that he was here.”

“And you saw him?”