At this instant the unhappy girl started up, and cried, in
tones of anguish--
"Oh, my mother! my mother! come back!"
Mrs. Markland returned slowly, and with the air of one who
hesitated. Fanny leaned forward against her, and wept freely.
"It is not yet too late, my child, to get back the peace of mind
which this concealment has destroyed. Mr. Lyon has written to you?"
"Yes, mother."
"May I see his letter?"
There was no answer.
"Still not willing to trust your best friend," said Mrs. Markland.
"_Can_ I trust you?" said Fanny, raising herself up suddenly, and
gazing steadily into her mother's face. Mrs. Markland was startled
as well by the words of her daughter as by the strange expression of
her countenance.
"Trust me? What do you mean by such words?" she answered.
"If I tell you a secret, will you, at least for a little while, keep
it in your own heart."
"Keep it from whom?"
"From father."
"You frighten me, my child! What have you to do with a secret that
must be kept from your father!"
"I did not desire its custody.
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