“Yes.  I was sitting alone in the summer-house, over at the Fountain Grove, on the day after father went to New York, when I was frightened at seeing Mr. Lyon.  He inquired anxiously if father were at home, and was much troubled when I told him he had gone to New York.  He said that he had written to him to transact certain business; and that after writing he had seen reason to change his views, and fearing that a letter might not reach him in time, had hurried back in order to have a personal interview, but arrived too late.  Father had already left for New York.  This being so, he started back for the South at once, after binding me to a brief secrecy.  He said that the fact of his return, if it became known to father, might be misunderstood by him, and the consequence of such a misapprehension would be serious injury to important interests.  So far I have kept this secret, mother, and it has been to me a painful burden.  You have promised to keep it for a single week.”

“And this is all?” said Mrs. Markland, looking anxiously into her daughter’s face.

“No, not all.”  Fanny spoke firmly.  “I have since received two letters from him.”

“May I see them?”

Fanny hesitated for some moments, and then going to a drawer, took two letters therefrom, and handed one of them to her mother.  Mrs. Markland read it eagerly.

“You answered this?” she said.

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“I cannot repeat my words.  I was half beside myself, and only begged him to let me speak to you freely.”

“And his reply?” said Mrs. Markland.

“Read it;” and Fanny gave her the second letter.

“Have you answered this?” inquired Mrs. Markland, after reading it over twice.

Fanny moved across the room again, and taking from the same drawer another letter, folded and sealed, broke the seal, and gave it to her mother.

“My poor, bewildered, unhappy child!” said Mrs. Markland, in a voice unsteady from deep emotion; and she gathered her arms tightly around her.  “How little did I dream of the trials through which you were passing.  But, now that I know all, let me be your counsellor, your supporter.  You will be guided by me?”

“And you will not break your promise?” said Fanny.

“What promise?”

“To keep this from father a single week, or, until I can write to Mr. Lyon, and give him the chance of making the communication himself.  This seems to me but just to him, as some interests, unknown to us, are at stake.”

“Believe me, my daughter, it will be wisest to let your father know this at once.”

“A week can make but little difference,” urged Fanny.

“Consequences to your father, of the utmost importance, may be at stake.  He is, I fear, involving himself with this man.”

“Mr. Lyon is true and honourable,” said Fanny.  “He committed an error, that is all.  Let him at least have the privilege of making his own explanations.  I will add to my letter that only for a week longer can I keep his secret, and, to make an immediate revelation imperative on him, will say that you know all, and will reveal all at the end of that time, if he does not.”