not escape the mother’s observation. Aunt Grace noted the change which the stranger’s coming and departure had occasioned, and, shaking her wise head, spoke thus within herself—
“He may be very handsome, but he casts a shadow, for all that. I don’t see what Edward was thinking about. He’d better let Fanny go right into the world, where she can see dozens of handsome young men, and contrast one with another, than hide her away here, until some attractive young Lucifer comes along—a very Son of the Morning! How can the girl help falling in love, if she sees but one man, and he elegant, accomplished, handsome, and full of winning ways, even though his hidden heart be black with selfishness?”
But Aunt Grace always looked at the shadowy side. Even if the sun shone bright above, she thought of the clouds that were gathering somewhere, and destined ere long to darken the whole horizon.
On the day following, Mr. Markland went again to the city, and was gone until late in the evening. His mind was as much occupied as on the evening previous, and he spent the hours from tea-time until eleven o’clock in the library, writing. If Mrs. Markland did not appear to notice any change in her husband since Mr. Lyon came to Woodbine Lodge, it was not that the change had escaped her. No—she was too deeply interested in all that concerned him to fail in noting every new aspect of thought or feeling. He had said nothing of awakened purpose, quickened into activity by long conferences with his guest, but she saw that such purposes were forming. Of their nature she was in entire ignorance. That they would still further estrange him from Woodbine Lodge, she had too good reason, in a knowledge of his character, to fear. With him, whatever became a pursuit absorbed all others; and he looked to the end with a visions so intent, that all else was seen in obscurity. And so, with a repressed sigh, this gentle, true-hearted, loving woman, whose thought rarely turned in upon herself, awaited patiently the time when her husband would open to her what was in his thoughts. And the time, she knew, was not distant.
CHAPTER VI.
BEFORE Mr. Lyon’s visit to Woodbine Lodge, Mr. Markland rarely went to the city. Now, scarcely a day passed that he did not order his carriage immediately after breakfast; and he rarely came back until nightfall. “Some matters of business,” he would answer to the questions of his family; but he gave no intimation as to the nature of the business, and evidently did not care to be inquired of too closely.
“What’s come over Edward? He isn’t the same man that he was a month ago,” said Miss Grace, as she stood in the portico, beside Mrs. Markland, one morning, looking after the carriage which was bearing her brother off to the city. There had been a hurried parting with Mr. Markland, who seemed more absorbed than usual in his own thoughts.
Mrs. Markland sighed faintly, but made no answer.
“I wonder what takes him off to town, post-haste, every day?”
“Business, I suppose,” was the half-absent remark.
“Business! What kind of business, I’d like to know?”
“Edward has not informed me as to that,” quietly answered Mrs. Markland.
“Indeed!” a little querulously. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I am not over-anxious on the subject. If he has any thing to confide to me, he will do it in his own good time.”
“Oh! you’re too patient.” The tone and manner of Miss Grace showed that she, at least, was not overstocked with the virtue.
“Why should I be impatient?”
“Why? Goodness me! Do you suppose that if I had a husband—and it’s a blessed thing for me that I haven’t— that I’d see him going off, day after day, with lips sealed like an oyster, and remain as patient as a pet lamb tied with a blue ribbon? Oh dear! no! Grace Markland’s made of warmer stuff than that. I like people who talk right out.
“Oh, no, Grace; I will not agree to that for a moment,” said Mrs. Markland.
“Won’t you, indeed! I’m his sister, and ought to know something about him.”
“And I’m his wife,” was the gentle response to this.
“I know you are, and a deal too good for him—the provoking man!” said Grace, in her off-hand way, drawing her arm within that of Mrs. Markland, to whom she was strongly attached. “And that’s what riles me up so.”
“Why, you’re in a strange humour, Grace! Edward has done nothing at which I can complain.”
“He hasn’t, indeed?”
“No.”
“I’d like to know what he means by posting off to the city every day for a week at a stretch, and never so much as breathing to his wife the purpose of his visits?”
“Business. He said that business required his attention.”
“What business?”
“As to that, he did not think it necessary to advise me. Men do not always explain business matters to their wives. One-half would not understand what they were talking about, and the other half would take little interest in the subject.”
“A compliment to wives, certainly!” said Grace Markland, with a rather proud toss of her head. “One of your lords of creation would find different stuff in me. But I’m not satisfied with Edward’s goings on, if you are, Agnes. It’s my opinion that your Mr. Lee Lyon is at the bottom of all this.”
A slight shade dimmed the face of Mrs. Markland. She did not reply; but looked, with a more earnest expression, at her sister-in-law.
“Yes—your Mr. Lee Lyon.” Grace was warming again. “He’s one of your men that cast shadows wherever they go. I felt it the moment his foot crossed our threshold—didn’t you?”
Grace gave thought and words to what, with Mrs. Markland, had only been a vague impression. She had felt the shadow of his presence without really perceiving from whence the shadow came. Pausing only a moment for an answer to her query, Grace went on:—
