This was Fanny's
letter.
A careful observer would have seen more of selfish triumph in the
gleam that shot across his face, than true love's warm delight. The
glow faded into a look of anxiety as he commenced unfolding the
letter, which he read with compressed lips. A long breath, as if a
state of suspense were relieved, followed the perusal. Then he sat,
for some moments, very still, and lost in thought.
"We'll see about that," he murmured at length, laying the letter of
Fanny aside, and taking up sundry other letters which had come by
the same mail. For more than an hour these engrossed his attention.
Two of them, one from Mr. Markland, were answered during the time.
"Now, sweetheart," he said, almost lightly, as he took Fanny's
letter from the table. Every word was read over again, his brows
gradually contracting as he proceeded.
"There is some spirit about the girl; more than I had thought. My
going back was a foolish blunder. But the best will have to be made
of it. Not a whisper must come to Mr.
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