CHAPTER XXII.
"IT must be done this evening, Fanny," said Mrs. Markland, firmly. "The week has expired."
"Wait until to-morrow, dear mother," was urged in a manner that was almost imploring.
"My promise was for one week. Even against my own clear convictions of right, have I kept it. This evening, your father must know all."
Fanny buried her face, in her hands and wept violently. The trial and conflict of that week were, to Mrs. Markland, the severest, perhaps, of her whole life. Never before had her mind been in so confused a state; never had the way of duty seemed so difficult to find. A promise she felt to be a sacred thing; and this feeling had constrained her, even in the face of most powerful considerations, to remain true to her word. But now, she no longer doubted or hesitated; and she was counting the hours that must elapse before her husband's return from the city, eager to unburden her heart to him.
"There is hardly time," said Fanny, "for a letter to arrive from Mr. Lyon."
"I cannot help it, my child. Any further delay on my part would be criminal. Evil, past all remedy, may have already been done."
"I only asked for time, that Mr. Lyon might have an opportunity to write to father, and explain every thing himself."
"Probably your father has heard from him to-day. If so, well; but, if not, I shall certainly bring the matter to his knowledge."
There was something so decisive about Mrs. Markland, that Fanny ceased all further attempts to influence her, and passively awaited the issue.