Scarcely reflecting on what she did, the latter handed her husband's
letter in silence to her sister-in-law, and tottered, rather than
walked, to a garden chair near at hand.

"Well, now, here is pretty business, upon my word!" exclaimed Aunt
Grace, warmly. "Sending a letter to our Fanny! Who ever heard of
such assurance! Oh! I knew that some trouble would come of his visit
here. I felt it the moment I set my eyes on him. Keep the letter
from Fanny? Of course you will; and when you have a talk with Edward
about it, just let me be there; I want my say."

"It is too late," murmured the unhappy mother, in a low, sad voice.

"Too late! How? What do you mean, Agnes?"

"Fanny has the letter already."

"What!" There was a sharp, thrusting rebuke in the voice of Aunt
Grace, that seemed like a sword in the heart of Mrs. Markland.

"She stood by me when I opened her father's letter, enclosing the
one for her. I did not dream from whence it came, and handed it to
her without a thought."

"Agnes! Agnes! What have you done?" exclaimed Aunt Grace, in a
troubled voice.

"Nothing for which I need reproach myself," said Mrs. Markland, now
grown calmer. "Had the discretion been left with me, I should not
have given Fanny the letter until Edward returned. But it passed to