“This very night,” answered Mr. Lyon.
“Then let us go to the Lodge at once,” and Fanny made a motion to rise. “My mother will be gratified to see you, if it is only for a few moments.”
But Mr. Lyon placed a hand upon her arm, and said:
“Stay, Miss Markland—that cannot now be. I must return South without meeting any other member of your family. Did you receive my letter?” he added, abruptly, and with a change of tone and manner.
Fanny answered affirmatively; and his quick eye read her heart in voice and countenance.
“When I wrote, I had no thought of meeting you again so soon. But a few hours after despatching the letter to your father, enclosing yours—a letter on business of importance, to me, at least—I received information that led me to wish an entire change in the programme of operations about to be adopted, through your father’s agency. Fearing that a second letter might be delayed in the mails, I deemed it wisest to come on with the greatest speed myself. But I find that I am a day too late. Your father has acted promptly; and what he has done must not be undone. Nay, I do not wish him even to know that any change has been contemplated. Now, Miss Markland,” and his voice softened as he bent toward the girlish form at his side, “may one so recently a stranger claim your confidence?”
“From my father and my mother I have no concealments,” said Fanny.
“And heaven forbid that I should seek to mar that truly wise confidence,” quickly answered Mr. Lyon. “All I ask is, that, for the present, you mention to no one the fact that I have been here. Our meeting in this place is purely accidental—providential, I will rather say. My purpose in coming was, as already explained, to meet your father. He is away, and on business that at once sets aside all necessity for seeing him. It will now be much better that he should not even know of my return from the South—better for me, I mean; for the interests that might suffer are mine alone. But let me explain a little, that you may act understandingly. When I went South, your father very kindly consented to transact certain business left unfinished by me in New York. Letters received on my arrival at Savannah, advised me of the state of the business, and I wrote to your father, in what way to arrange it for me; by the next mail other letters came, showing me different aspect of affairs and rendering a change of plan very desirable. It was to explain this fully to your father, that I came on. But as it is too late, I do not wish him even to know, for the present, that a change was contemplated. I fear it might lessen, for a time, his confidence in my judgment—something I do not fear when he knows me better. Your since, for the present, my dear Miss Markland, will nothing affect your father, who has little or no personal interest in the matter, but may serve me materially. Say, then, that, until you hear from me again, on the subject, you will keep your own counsel.”
“You say that my father has no interest in the business, to which you refer?” remarked Fanny. Her mind was bewildered.
“None whatever. He is only, out of a generous good-will, trying to serve the son of an old business friend,” replied Mr. Lyon, confidently. “Say, then, Fanny,”—his voice was insinuating, and there was something of the serpent’s fascination in his eyes—”that you will, for my sake, remain, for the present, silent on the subject of this return from the South.”
As he spoke, he raised one of her hands to his lips, and kissed it. Still more bewildered—nay, charmed—Fanny did not make even a faint struggle to withdraw her hand. In the next moment, his hot lips had touched her pure forehead—and in the next moment, “Farewell!” rung hurriedly in her ears. As the retiring form of the young adventurer stood in the door of the summer-house, there came to her, with a distinct utterance, these confidently spoken words—”I trust you without fear.”—And “God bless you!” flung toward her with a heart-impulse, found a deeper place in her soul, from whence, long afterwards, came back their thrilling echoes. By the time the maiden had gathered up her scattered thoughts, she was alone.
CHAPTER IX.
THE maiden’s thoughts were yet bewildered, and her heart beating tumultuously, when her quick ears caught the sound of other footsteps than those to whose retreating echoes she had been so intently listening. Hastily retreating into the summer-house, she crouched low upon one of the seats, in order, if possible, to escape observation. But nearer and nearer came the slow, heavy footfall of a man, and ere she had time to repress, by a strong effort, the agitation that made itself visible in every feature, Mr. Allison was in her presence. It was impossible for her to restrain an exclamation of surprise, or to drive back the crimson from her flushing face.
“Pardon the intrusion,” said the old gentleman, in his usual mild tone. “If I had known that you were here, I would not have disturbed your pleasant reveries.”
Some moments elapsed, ere Fanny could venture a reply. She feared to trust her voice, lest more should be betrayed than she wished any one to know. Seeing how much his presence disturbed her, Mr. Allison stepped back a pace or two, saying, as he did so, “I was only passing, my child; and will keep on my way. I regret having startled you by my sudden appearance.”
He was about retiring, when Fanny, who felt that her manner must strike Mr. Allison as very singular, made a more earnest effort to regain her self-possession, and said, with a forced smile:
“Don’t speak of intrusion; Mr. Allison. Your sudden coming did startle me. But that is past.”
Mr. Allison, who had partly turned away, now advanced toward Fanny, and, taking her hand, looked down into her face, from which the crimson flush had not yet retired, with an expression of tender regard.
“Your father is still absent, I believe?” said he.
“Yes, sir.”
“He will be home soon.”
“We hope so. His visit to New York was unexpected.”
“And you therefore feel his absence the more.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Fanny, now regaining her usual tone of voice and easy address; “and it seems impossible for us to be reconciled to the fact.”
“Few men are at home more than your father,” remarked Mr. Allison. “His world, it might be said, is included in the circle of his beloved ones.”
“And I hope it will always be so.”
Mr. Allison looked more earnestly into the young maiden’s face. He did not clearly understand the meaning of this sentence, for, in the low tones that gave it utterance, there seemed to his ear a prophecy of change. Then he remembered his recent conversation with her father, and light broke in upon his mind. The absence of Mr. Markland had, in all probability, following the restless, dissatisfied state, which all had observed, already awakened the concern of his family, lest it should prove only the beginning of longer periods of absence.
“Business called your father to New York,” said Mr. Allison.
“Yes; so he wrote home to mother. He went to the city in the morning, and we expected him back as usual in the evening, but he sent a note by the coachman, saying that letters just received made it necessary for him to go on to New York immediately.”
“He is about entering into business again, I presume.”
“Oh, I hope not!” replied Fanny.
Mr. Allison remained silent for some moments, and then said—
“I thought your visitor, Mr. Lyon, went South several days ago.”
“So he did,” answered Fanny, in a quickened tone of voice, and with a manner slightly disturbed.
“Then I was in error,” said Mr. Allison, speaking partly to himself. “I thought I passed him in the road, half an hour ago. The resemblance was at least a very close one. You are certain he went South?”
“Oh! yes, sir,” replied Fanny, quickly.
Mr. Allison looked intently upon her, until her eyes wavered and fell to the ground. He continued to observe her for some moments, and only withdrew his gaze when he saw that she was about to look up. A faint sigh parted the old man’s lips. Ah! if a portion of his wisdom, experience, and knowledge of character, could only be imparted to that pure young spirit, just about venturing forth into a world where mere appearances of truth deceive and fascinate!