Another moment, and he saw that he had erred in regard to the man's
identity. It wars not Mr. Lyon, but a stranger. Advancing again,
they met, and the stranger, pausing, said:

"Mr. Markland, I believe?"

"That is my name, sir," was answered.

"And my name is Willet."

"Ah, yes!" said Mr. Markland extending his hand. "I learned, to-day,
in the city, that you had purchased Ashton's fine place. I am happy,
sir, to make your acquaintance, and if there is any thing in which I
can serve you, do not hesitate to command me."

"Many thanks for your kind offer," returned Mr. Willet. "A stranger
who comes to reside in the country has need of friendly
consideration; and I stand just in that relation to my new
neighbours. To certain extent I am ignorant of the ways and means
appertaining to the locality; and can only get enlightened through
an intercourse with the older residents. But I have no right to be
obtrusive, or to expect too much concession to a mere stranger.
Until I am better known, I will only ask the sojourner's
kindness--not the confidence one friend gives to another."

There was a charm about the stranger's manner, and a peculiar music
in his voice, that won their way into the heart of Mr. Markland.

"Believe me, sir," he replied, "that my tender of friendly offices