It was near sundown when the carriage was observed approaching
through the long, shaded avenue. Mrs. Markland and all the children
stood in the porch, to welcome the husband and father, whose
absence, though even for the briefest period, left for their hearts
a diminished brightness. As the carriage drew nearer, it was seen to
contain two persons.

"There is some one with your father," said Mrs. Markland, speaking
to Fanny.

"A gentleman--I wonder who it can be?"

"Your Uncle George, probably."

"No; it isn't Uncle George," said Fanny, as the carriage reached the
oval in front of the house, and swept around towards the portico.
"It's a younger man; and he is dressed in black."

Further conjecture was suspended by the presence of the individual
in regard to whom they were in doubt. He was a stranger, and Mr.
Markland presented him as Mr. Lyon, son of an old and valued
business correspondent, residing in Liverpool. A cordial welcome
awaited Mr. Lyon at Woodbine Lodge, as it awaited all who were
introduced by the gentlemanly owner. If Mr. Markland thought well
enough of any one to present him at home, the home-circle opened
smilingly to receive.

The stranger was a young man, somewhere between the ages of
twenty-five and thirty; above the medium height; with a well-formed
person, well-balanced head, and handsome countenance. His mouth was