scovered to me; that, henceforth, my life and yours
were to blend. Ah, dear one! wonder not that, from a hasty impulse,
I decided to return and see your father. I fear, now, that the cause
most strongly influencing me was the desire to look upon your face
and feel the thrilling touch of your hand once more. Perhaps it is
well he was absent, for I am not so sure that his cooler judgment
would have seen sufficient cause for the act. All is going on now
just as he, and I, and all concerned, could wish; and not for the
world would I have him know, _at present_, our secret. Stolen
waters, they say, are sweet. I know not. But that brief, stolen
interview at the fountain, was full of sweetness to me. You looked
the very Naiad of the place--pure, spiritual, the embodiment of all
things lovely. Forgive this warmth of feeling. I would not wound the
instinctive delicacy of a heart like yours. Only believe me sincere.
Will you not write to me? Direct your letters, under cover, to D. C.
L., Baltimore P. O., and they will be immediately forwarded. I will
write you weekly. The same hand that conveys this, will see that my
letters reach you. Farewell, beloved one!

LEE LYON."

Five times did Fanny attempt to answer this, and as often were her
letters destroyed by her own hands. Her sixth, if not more to her
own satisfaction, she sealed, and subscribed as directed. It read
thus:

"MR. LEE LYON:--MY DEAR SIR--Your unexpected visit, and equally
unexpected letter, have bewildered and distressed me. You enjoin a
continued silence in regard to your return from the South. Oh, sir!
remove that injunction as quickly as possible; for every hour that
it remains, increases my unhappiness. You have separated between me
and my good mother,--you are holding me back from throwing myself on
her bosom, and letting her see every thought of my soul. I cannot
very long endure the present. Why not at once write to my father,
and explain all to him? He must know that you came back, and the
sooner, it seems to me, will be the better. If I do not betray the
fact, waking, I shall surely do it in my sleep; for I think of it
all the time. Mother surprised me while reading your letter. I am
afraid she saw it in my hand. She importuned me to give her my full
confidence; and to refuse was one of the hardest trials of my life.
I feel that I am changing under this new, painful experience. The
ordeal is too fiery. If it continues much longer, I shall cease to