THE efforts of Flora Willet were successful; and Fanny Markland made one of the company that assembled at her brother's house.

Through an almost unconquerable reluctance to come forth into the eye of the world, so to speak, she had broken; and, as one after another of the guests entered the parlours, she could hardly repress an impulse to steal away and hide herself from the crowd of human faces thickly closing around her.

Undesired, she found herself an object of attention; and, in some cases, of clearly-expressed sympathy, that was doubly unpleasant.
The evening was drawing to a close, and Fanny had left the company and was standing alone in one of the porticos, when a young man, whose eyes she had several times observed earnestly fixed upon her, passed near, walked a few paces beyond, and then turning, came up and said, in a low voice--"Pardon this slight breach of etiquette, Miss Markland.

I failed to get a formal introduction.

But, as I have a few words to say that must be said, I am forced to a seeming rudeness." Both the manner and words of the stranger so startled Fanny, that her heart began to throb wildly and her limbs to tremble.