quicker. Again she read the letter from Mr. Lyon, and again and
again conned it over, until every sentence was imprinted on her
memory. She did not reject the view taken by her mother; nay, she
even tried to make it her own; but, for all this, not the shadow of
a doubt touching Mr. Lyon could find a place in her thoughts. Before
her mental vision he stood, the very type of noble manhood.






CHAPTER VIII.





WHAT an error had been committed! How painfully was this realized by
Mrs. Markland. How often had she looked forward, with a vague
feeling of anxiety, to the time, yet far distant--she had
believed--when the heart-strings of her daughter would tremble in
musical response to the low-breathed voice of love--and now that
time had come. Alas! that it had come so soon--ere thought and
perception had gained matured strength and wise discrimination. The
voice of the charmer was in her ears, and she was leaning to
hearken.

Fanny did not join the family at the tea-table on that evening; and
on the next morning, when she met her mother, her face was paler