How long?"

"You press the subject very closely, Agnes."

"I cannot help doing so. It is the one that involves most of good or
evil in the time to come. All others are, for the present, dwarfed
by it into insignificance. A human soul has been committed to our
care, capable of the highest enjoyments or the deepest misery. An
error on our part may prove fatal to that soul. Think of this,
Edward! What are wealth, honour, eminence, in comparison with the
destiny of a single human soul? If you should achieve the brilliant
results that now dazzle your eyes, and in pursuit of which you are
venturing so much, would there be any thing in all you gained to
compensate for the destruction of our daughter's happiness?"

"But why connect things that have no relation, Agnes? What has the
enterprise I am now prosecuting to do with this matter of our
daughter?"

"Much, every way. Does it not so absorb your mind that you cannot
think clearly on any other subject? And does not your business
connection with Mr. Lyon bias your feelings unduly in his favour?"

Mr. Markland shook his head.

"But think more earnestly, Edward. Review what this man has done.
Was it honourable for him so to abuse our hospitality as to draw our
child into a secret correspondence? Surely something must warp your
mind in his favour, or you would feel a quick indignation against
him. He cannot be a true man, and this conviction every thing in
regard to him confirms. Believe me, Edward, it was a dark day in the
calendar of our lives when the home circle at Woodbine Lodge opened
to receive him."

"I trust to see the day," answered Mr. Markland, "when you will look
back to this hour and smile at the vague fears that haunted your
imagination."

"Fears? They have already embodied themselves in realities," was the
emphatic answer. "The evil is upon us, Edward. We have failed to
guard the door of our castle, and the enemy has come in. Ah, my
husband! if you could see with my eyes, there would stand before you
a frightful apparition."

"And what shape would it assume?" asked Mr. Markland, affecting to
treat lightly the fears of his wife.

"That of a beautiful girl, with white, sunken cheeks, and hollow,
weeping eyes."

An instant paleness overspread the face of Mr. Markland.

"Look there!" said Mrs. Markland, suddenly, drawing the attention of
her husband to a picture on the wall. The eyes of Mr. Markland fell
instantly on a portrait of Fanny. It was one of