her parents--never acted falsely, or with even a shadow of
duplicity. Into what a fearful temptation had she suddenly fallen;
and what a weight of self-condemnation, mingled with doubt and fear,
pressed upon her heart. At the moment when she was about revealing
all to her father, and thus ending his doubts, her purpose was
checked by the unlooked-for announcement that a person so nearly
resembling Mr. Lyon, as even for a moment to deceive her father, was
in the neighbourhood, checked the words that were rising to her
lips, and sealed them, for the time, in silence. To escape from the
presence of her parents was her next impulse, and she obeyed it.

Fully half an hour passed before calmness was restored to the mind
of Fanny, and she could think with any degree of clearness. From
childhood, up to this period of her life, her mother had been her
wise counsellor, her loving friend, her gentle monitor. She had
leaned upon her in full confidence--had clung to her in weakness, as
the vine to its strong support. And now, when she most needed her
counsel, she shrunk from her, and feared to divulge the secret that
was burning painfully into her heart. And yet, she did not purpose
to keep her secret; for that, her reason and filial love both told
her, was wrong; while all the time a low, sweet, almost sad voice,
seemed murmuring in her ear--"Go to your mother!"

"I must, I will go to her!" she said, at last, firmly. "A daughter's
footsteps must be moving along dangerous ways, if she fears to let
her mother know the paths she is treading. Oh, mother!" and she
clasped her hands almost wildly against her bosom. "My good, wise,
loving mother!--how could I let a stranger come in between us, and
tempt my heart from its truth to you for a moment! Yes, yes, you
must know all, and this very hour."