sir, there’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will. Success or failure, I am well convinced, do not always depend on the man himself.”
“Is there no virtue, then, in human prudence?” asked Mr. Markland.
“I am not prepared to say how far we may depend on human prudence,” replied the other; “but I know this, that if we fail to use it, we will fail in most of our undertakings. Human prudence must be exercised in all cases; but, too often, we let our confident hopes take the place of prudence, as I think you are doing now.”
“But surely, Mr. Brainard,” said Markland, in an earnest, appealing way, “you do not intend receding from this business?”
“My mind is fully made up,” was answered.
“And so is mine,” firmly replied Markland.
“To do what?”
“To take the whole interest myself.”
“What?”
“To invest forty thousand dollars, instead of the proposed twenty, at once.”
“You show strong faith, certainly.”
“My faith, you may be sure, is well grounded. Mr. Fenwick has already put in that sum, and he is not the man to go blindly into any business. Apart from my own clear intuitions, founded on the most careful investigations, I would almost be willing to take risks in any schemes that Mr. Fenwick approved, in the substantial way of investment.”
“A very different man am I,” said Mr. Brainard. “Twenty years of sharp experience are sufficient to make me chary of substituting others’ business judgment for my own.”
“Ah, well!” returned Markland, his manner showing him to be disappointed and annoyed. “I cannot but regret your hasty decision in this matter. So far as it concerns myself, even if I saw cause to recede, which I do not, I am too far committed, with both Fenwick and Lyon, to hesitate.”
“Every man must decide in such cases for himself,” said Brainard. “I always do. If you are fully assured in every particular, and have confidence in your men, your way is of course clear.”
“It is clear,” was confidently answered, “and I shall walk in it with full assurance of a successful end.”
CHAPTER XVII.
IT was some time after her father left for the city, before Fanny came down from her room. She was pale, and looked as if she had passed a sleepless night. Her mother’s concerned inquiries were answered evasively, and it was very apparent that she wished to avoid question and observation.
Aunt Grace again sought, in her obtrusive way, to penetrate the mystery of Fanny’s changed exterior, but was no more successful than on the preceding evening.
“Don’t worry her with so many questions, sister,” said Mrs. Markland, aside, to Aunt Grace; “I will know all in good time.”
“Your good time may prove a very bad time,” was answered, a little sharply.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Mrs. Markland, turning her eyes full upon the face of her companion.
“I mean that in any matter affecting so deeply a girl like Fanny, the mother’s time for knowing all about it is now. Something is wrong, you may depend upon it.”
At the commencement of this conversation, Fanny retired from the room.
“The child’s mind has been disturbed by the unfortunate letter from Mr. Lyon. The something wrong goes not beyond this.”
“Unfortunate! You may well say unfortunate. I don’t know what has come over Edward. He isn’t the same man that he was, before that foreign adventurer darkened our sunny home with his presence. Unfortunate! It is worse than unfortunate! Edward’s sending that letter at all was more a crime than a mistake. But as to the wrong in regard to Fanny, I am not so sure that it only consists in a disturbance of her mind.”
There was a look of mystery, blended with anxious concern, in the countenance of Aunt Grace, that caused Mrs. Markland to say, quickly—
“Speak out what is in your thoughts, Grace. Have no concealments with me, especially on a subject like this.”
“I may be over-suspicious—I may wrong the dear child—but—”
Aunt Grace looked unusually serious.
“But what?” Mrs. Markland had grown instantly pale at the strange words of her husband’s sister.
“John, the gardener, says that he saw Mr. Lyon on the day after Edward went to New York.”
“Where?”
“Not far from here.”
“Deceived, as Edward was. John saw our new neighbour, Mr. Willet.”
“Maybe so, and maybe not; and I am strongly inclined to believe in the maybe not. As for that Lyon, I have no faith in him, and never had, as you know, from the beginning. And I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he were prowling about here, trying to get stolen interviews with Fanny.”
“Grace! How dare you suggest such a thing?” exclaimed Mrs. Markland, with an energy and indignation almost new to her character.
Grace was rather startled by so unexpected a response from her sister-in-law, and for a moment or two looked abashed.
