Some moments elapsed, ere Fanny could venture a reply. She feared to trust her voice, lest more should be betrayed than she wished any one to know. Seeing how much his presence disturbed her, Mr. Allison stepped back a pace or two, saying, as he did so, “I was only passing, my child; and will keep on my way. I regret having startled you by my sudden appearance.”
He was about retiring, when Fanny, who felt that her manner must strike Mr. Allison as very singular, made a more earnest effort to regain her self-possession, and said, with a forced smile:
“Don’t speak of intrusion; Mr. Allison. Your sudden coming did startle me. But that is past.”
Mr. Allison, who had partly turned away, now advanced toward Fanny, and, taking her hand, looked down into her face, from which the crimson flush had not yet retired, with an expression of tender regard.
“Your father is still absent, I believe?” said he.
“Yes, sir.”
“He will be home soon.”
“We hope so. His visit to New York was unexpected.”
“And you therefore feel his absence the more.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Fanny, now regaining her usual tone of voice and easy address; “and it seems impossible for us to be reconciled to the fact.”
“Few men are at home more than your father,” remarked Mr. Allison. “His world, it might be said, is included in the circle of his beloved ones.”
“And I hope it will always be so.”
Mr. Allison looked more earnestly into the young maiden’s face. He did not clearly understand the meaning of this sentence, for, in the low tones that gave it utterance, there seemed to his ear a prophecy of change. Then he remembered his recent conversation with her father, and light broke in upon his mind. The absence of Mr. Markland had, in all probability, following the restless, dissatisfied state, which all had observed, already awakened the concern of his family, lest it should prove only the beginning of longer periods of absence.
“Business called your father to New York,” said Mr. Allison.
“Yes; so he wrote home to mother. He went to the city in the morning, and we expected him back as usual in the evening, but he sent a note by the coachman, saying that letters just received made it necessary for him to go on to New York immediately.”
“He is about entering into business again, I presume.”
“Oh, I hope not!” replied Fanny.
Mr. Allison remained silent for some moments, and then said—
“I thought your visitor, Mr. Lyon, went South several days ago.”
“So he did,” answered Fanny, in a quickened tone of voice, and with a manner slightly disturbed.
“Then I was in error,” said Mr. Allison, speaking partly to himself. “I thought I passed him in the road, half an hour ago. The resemblance was at least a very close one. You are certain he went South?”
“Oh! yes, sir,” replied Fanny, quickly.
Mr. Allison looked intently upon her, until her eyes wavered and fell to the ground. He continued to observe her for some moments, and only withdrew his gaze when he saw that she was about to look up. A faint sigh parted the old man’s lips. Ah! if a portion of his wisdom, experience, and knowledge of character, could only be imparted to that pure young spirit, just about venturing forth into a world where mere appearances of truth deceive and fascinate!
“Does Mr. Lyon design returning soon from the South?”
“I heard him say to father that he did not think he would be in this part of the world again for six or eight months.”
And again the eyes of Fanny shunned the earnest gaze of Mr. Allison.
“How far South does he go?”
“I am not able to answer you clearly; but I think I heard father say that he would visit Central America.”
“Ah! He is something of a traveller, then?”
“Yes, sir; he has travelled a great deal.”
“He is an Englishman?”
“Yes, sir. His father is an old business friend of my father’s.”
“So I understood.”
There was a pause, in which Mr. Allison seemed to be thinking intently.
“It is a little singular, certainly,” said he, as if speaking only to himself.
“What is singular?” asked Fanny, looking curiously at her companion.
“Why, that I should have been so mistaken. I doubted not, for a moment, that the person I saw was Mr. Lyon.”
Fanny did not look up. If she had done so, the gaze fixed upon her would have sent a deeper crimson to her cheek than flushed it a few moments before.
“Have you any skill in reading character, Fanny?” asked Mr. Allison, in a changed and rather animated voice, and with a manner that took away the constraint that had, from the first, oppressed the mind of the young
