She was only a short distance in advance.
Mr. Markland quickened his steps, as a vague feeling of uneasiness
came over him. The coincidence of the stranger and his daughter's
presence produced a most unpleasant impression.
"Fanny!" he called.
That his daughter heard him, he knew by the start she gave. But
instead of looking around, she sprang forward, and hastily entered
the summer-house. For a moment or two she was hidden from his view,
and in that short period she had snatched a letter from the table,
and concealed it in her bosom. Not sufficiently schooled in the art
of self-control was Fanny to meet her father with a calm face. Her
cheeks were flushed, and her chest rose and fell in hurried
respiration, as Mr. Markland entered the summer-house, where she had
seated herself.
"You are frightened, my child," said he, fixing his eyes with a look
of inquiry on her face. "Didn't you see me, as I turned in from the
carriage-way?" he added.
"No, sir," was falteringly answered. "I did not know that you had
returned from the city until I heard your voice.
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