CHAPTER VII.
ONLY a few minutes had Mrs.Markland been in her room, when the door opened quietly, and Fanny's light foot-fall was in her ears.

She did not look up; but her heart beat with a quicker motion, and her breath was half-suspended.
"Mother!" She lifted her bowed head, and met the soft, clear eyes of her daughter looking calmly down into her own.
"Fanny, dear!" she said, in half-surprise, as she placed an arm around her, and drew her closely to her side.
An open letter was in Fanny's hand, and she held it toward her mother.

There was a warmer hue upon her face, as she said,-- "It is from Mr.Lyon." "Shall I read it ?" inquired Mrs.Markland.
"I have brought it for you to read," was the daughter's answer.
The letter was brief: "To MISS FANNY MARKLAND: "As I am now writing to your father, I must fulfil a half promise, made during my sojourn at Woodbine Lodge, to write to you also.
Pleasant days were those to me, and they will ever make a green spot in my memory.

What a little paradise enshrines you! Art, hand in hand with Nature, have made a world of beauty for you to dwell in.
Yet, all is but a type of moral beauty--and its true enjoyment is only for those whose souls are attuned to deeper harmonies.
"Since leaving Woodbine Lodge, my thoughts have acquired a double current.

They run backward as well as forward.