CHAPTER XXXIV.
IT was near the close of the fifth day since Mr.Markland left his home to commence a long journey southward; and yet, no word had come back from him.

He had promised to write from Baltimore, and from other points on his route, and sufficient time had elapsed for at least two letters to arrive.

A servant, who had been sent to the city post-office, had returned without bringing any word from the absent one; and Mrs.Markland, with Fanny by her side, was sitting near a window sad and silent.
Just one year has passed since their introduction to the reader.

But what a change one year has wrought! The heart's bright sunshine rested then on every object.

Woodbine Lodge was then a paradise.
Now, there is scarcely a ray of this warm sunshine.