The sun had only a few degrees to make ere passing from sight behind the western mountains.  It was the usual time for Mr. Markland’s return from the city, and most anxiously was his appearing looked for.  But the sun went down, and the twilight threw its veil over wood and valley, and still his coming was delayed.  He had gone in by railroad, and not by private conveyance as usual.  The latest train had swept shrieking past, full half an hour, when Mrs. Markland turned sadly from the portico, in which she had for a long time been stationed, saying to Grace, who had been watching by her side—­

“This is very strange!  What can keep Edward?  Can it be possible that he has remained in the city all night?  I’m very much troubled.  He may be sick.”

“More likely,” answered Grace, in a fault-finding way, “he’s gone trapseing off to New York again, after that Englishman’s business.  I wish he would mind his own affairs.”

“He would not have done this without sending us word,” replied Mrs. Markland.

“Oh!  I’m not so sure of that.  I’m prepared for any thing.”

“But it’s not like Edward.  You know that he is particularly considerate about such things.”

“He used to be.  But Edward Markland of last year is not the Edward Markland of to-day, as you know right well,” returned the sister-in-law.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak in that way about Edward any more, Grace.  It is very unpleasant to me.”

“The more so, because it is the truth,” replied Grace Markland.  “Edward, I’ll warrant you, is now sweeping off towards New York.  See if I’m not right.”

“No, there he is now!” exclaimed Mrs. Markland, stepping back from the door she was about to enter, as the sound of approaching feet arrested her ear.

The two women looked eagerly through the dusky air.  A man’s form was visible.  It came nearer.

“Edward!” was just passing joyfully from the lips of Mrs. Markland, when the word was suppressed.

“Good-evening, ladies,” said a strange voice, as a man whom neither of them recognised paused within a few steps of where they stood.

“Mr. Willet is my name,” he added.

“Oh!  Mr. Willet, our new neighbour,” said Mrs. Markland, with a forced composure of manner.  “Walk in, if you please.  We were on the lookout for Mr. Markland.  He has not yet arrived from the city, and we are beginning to feel anxious about him.”

“I am here to relieve that anxiety,” replied the visitor in a cheerful voice, as he stepped on the portico.  “Mr. Markland has made me the bearer of a message to his family.”

“Where is he?  What has detained him in the city?” inquired Mrs. Markland, in tones expressing her grief and disappointment.

“He has gone to New York,” replied Mr. Willet.

“To New York!”

“Yes.  He desired me to say to you, that letters received by the afternoon’s mail brought information that made his presence in New York of importance.  He had no time, before the cars started, to write, and I, therefore, bring you his verbal message.”