His
letters to Fanny more than bound him to a pledge of his hand. They
were only such as one bearing the tenderest affection might write.
Many weeks had elapsed since Fanny received a letter, and she was
beginning to droop under the long suspense. None came for her now,
and here was the cold, brief reference to one whose heart was
throbbing toward him, full of love.
Markland was stung by this evasive reference to his daughter, for
its meaning he clearly understood. Not that he had set his heart on
an alliance of Fanny with this man, but, having come to look upon
such an event as almost certain, and regarding all obstacles in the
way as lying on his side of the question, pride was severely shocked
by so unexpected a show of indifference. And its exhibition was the
more annoying, manifested, as it was, just at the moment when he had
become most painfully aware that all his worldly possessions were
beyond his control, and might pass from his reach forever.
"Can there be such baseness in the man?" he exclaimed, mentally,
with bitterness, as the thought flitted through his mind that Lyon
had deliberately inveigled him, and, having been an instrument of
his ruin, now turned from him with cold indifference.
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