The Good Time Coming

T >> T.S. Arthur >> The Good Time Coming

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"Then I am bound hand and foot," said the poor girl, in a distressed
voice.

A long silence followed. Then the mother used argument and
persuasion to induce Fanny to unbosom herself. But the effort was
fruitless.

"If you promise to keep my secret for a single week, I will speak,"
said the unhappy girl, at length.

"I promise," was reluctantly answered.

"You know," answered Fanny, "it was rumored that Mr. Lyon had
returned from the South while father was in New York." She did not
look up at her mother as she said this.

"Yes." Mrs. Markland spoke eagerly.

"It is true that he was here."

"And you saw him?"

"Yes. I was sitting alone in the summer-house, over at the Fountain
Grove, on the day after father went to New York, when I was
frightened at seeing Mr. Lyon. He inquired anxiously if father were
at home, and was much troubled when I told him he had gone to New
York. He said that he had written to him to transact certain
business; and that after writing he had seen reason to change his
views, and fearing that a letter might not reach him in time, had
hurried back in order to have a personal interview, but arrived too
late. Father had already left for New York. This being so, he
started back for the South at once, after binding me to a brief
secrecy. He said that the fact of his return, if it became known to
father, might be misunderstood by him, and the consequence of such a
misapprehension would be serious injury to important interests. So
far I have kept this secret, mother, and it has been to me a painful
burden. You have promised to keep it for a single week."

"And this is all?" said Mrs. Markland, looking anxiously into her
daughter's face.

"No, not all." Fanny spoke firmly. "I have since received two
letters from him."

"May I see them?"

Fanny hesitated for some moments, and then going to a drawer, took
two letters therefrom, and handed one of them to her mother. Mrs.
Markland read it eagerly.

"You answered this?" she said.

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I cannot repeat my words. I was half beside myself, and only begged
him to let me speak to you freely."

"And his reply?" said Mrs. Markland.

"Read it;" and Fanny gave her the second letter.

"Have you answered this?" inquired Mrs. Markland, after reading it
over twice.

Fanny moved across the room again, and taking from the same drawer
another letter, folded and sealed, broke the seal, and gave it to
her mother.

"My poor, bewildered, unhappy child!" said Mrs. Markland, in a voice
unsteady from deep emotion; and she gathered her arms tightly around
her. "How little did I dream of the trials through which you were
passing. But, now that I know all, let me be your counsellor, your
supporter. You will be guided by me?"

"And you will not break your promise?" said Fanny.

"What promise?"

"To keep this from father a single week, or, until I can write to
Mr. Lyon, and give him the chance of making the communication
himself. This seems to me but just to him, as some interests,
unknown to us, are at stake."

"Believe me, my daughter, it will be wisest to let your father know
this at once."

"A week can make but little difference," urged Fanny.

"Consequences to your father, of the utmost importance, may be at
stake. He is, I fear, involving himself with this man."

"Mr. Lyon is true and honourable," said Fanny. "He committed an
error, that is all. Let him at least have the privilege of making
his own explanations. I will add to my letter that only for a week
longer can I keep his secret, and, to make an immediate revelation
imperative on him, will say that you know all, and will reveal all
at the end of that time, if he does not."

No considerations that Mrs. Markland could urge had any effect to
change the purpose of Fanny in this matter.

"I must hold you to your promise," was the brief, final answer to
every argument set forth by her mother.

How far she might hold that promise sacred was a subject of long and
grave debate in the mind of Mrs. Markland. But we will not here
anticipate her decision.

CHAPTER XXI.

OVER ten days had elapsed since Mr. Lyon answered the letter of
Fanny Markland, and he was still awaiting a reply.

"This is a risky sort of business," so his friend had written him.
"I succeeded in getting your letter into the young lady's hands, but
not without danger of discovery. For whole hours I loitered in the
grounds of Mr. Markland, and was going to leave for the city without
accomplishing my errand, when I saw Fanny coming in the direction of
the summer-house. After the letter was deposited in the place agreed
upon, and I was making my way off, I almost stumbled over her
father, who had just returned from the city. He saw me, though, of
course, he did not know me, nor suspect my errand. But my evident
desire to avoid observation must have excited some vague suspicions
in his mind; for, on reaching a point from which I could observe
without being observed, I saw that he was gazing intently in the
direction I had taken. Then he stepped aside from the road, and
walked towards the grove. But Fanny was a little in advance of him,
and secured the letter. I waited to see him join her, and then
hurried off.

"I tell you again, Lee, this is a risky business. Two days have
passed, and yet there is no answer. I've seen Markland in the city
once since that time. He looked unusually sober, I thought. Perhaps
it was only imagination. You can think so if you please. Take my
advice, and make no further advances in this direction. There is too
much danger of discovery. Markland has paid over ten thousand
dollars to Fenwick, and is to produce as much more this week. He
goes in, you know, for forty thousand. The balance ought to be had
from him as soon as possible. Write to Fenwick to get it without
delay. That is my advice. If you get his treasure, you will have his
heart. Nothing like a money interest to hold a man.

"What I fear is, that the girl has told him all. You were crazy to
say that she could do so if it pleased her. Well, well! We shall
soon see where this wind will drift us. You shall hear from me the
moment I know any thing certain."

Lyon was much disturbed by this letter. He at once wrote to Mr.
Fenwick, suggesting the propriety of getting the whole of Mr.
Markland's investment as early as possible.

"I hear," he said, "that he is somewhat inclined to vacillate. That,
after making up his mind to do a thing, and even after initiative
steps are taken, he is apt to pause, look back, and reconsider.
This, of course, will not suit us. The best way to manage him will
be to get his money in our boat, and then we are sure of him. He is
very wealthy, and can be of great use in the prosecution of our
schemes."

Two or three days more elapsed, and Lyon was getting nervously
anxious, when a letter from Fanny reached him. It was brief, but of
serious import.

"I have revealed all to my mother," it began, "and my heart feels
lighter. She promises to keep our secret one week, and no longer.
Then all will be revealed to father. I gained this much time in
order that you might have an opportunity to write and tell him every
thing yourself. This, it seems to me, will be the best way. No time
is to be lost. The week will expire quite as soon as your letter can
reach him. So pray, Mr. Lyon, write at once. I shall scarcely sleep
until all is over."

With an angry imprecation, Lyon dashed this letter on the floor.
"Mad girl!" he said; "did I not warn her fully of the consequences?
Write to her father? What shall I write? Tell him that I have
deceived him! That when he thought me far away I was sitting beside
his daughter, and tempting her to act towards him with concealment,
if not duplicity! Madness! folly!"

"I was a fool," he communed with himself in a calmer mood, "to put
so much in jeopardy for a woman! Nay, a girl--a mere child. But what
is to be done? Three days only intervene between this time and the
period at which our secret will be made known; so, whatever is to be
done must be determined quickly. Shall I treat the matter with
Markland seriously, or lightly? Not seriously, for that will surely
cause him to do the same. Lightly, of course; for the manner in
which I speak of it will have its influence. But first, I must
manage to get him off to New York, and in the hands of Fenwick. The
larger his actual investment in this business, the more easily the
matter will be settled."

So he drew a sheet of paper before him, and wrote:

"MY DEAR MR. MARKLAND:--I have had so much important correspondence
with Mr. Fenwick, our managing agent in New York, consequent on
letters from London and Liverpool by last steamer, that I have been
unable to proceed further than this point, but shall leave
to-morrow. Mr. Fenwick has some very important information to
communicate, and if he has not found time to write you, I would
advise your going on to New York immediately. At best, hurried
business letters give but imperfect notions of things. An hour's
interview with Mr. Fenwick will enable you to comprehend the present
state of affairs more perfectly than the perusal of a volume of
letters. Some new aspects have presented themselves that I
particularly wish you to consider. Mr. Fenwick has great confidence
in your judgment, and would, I know, like to confer with you.

"Do not fail to bring me to the remembrance of Mrs. Markland and
Fanny.

Ever yours,

LEE LYON."

"This for to-day's mail," said he, is he folded the letter. "If it
does the work it is designed to accomplish, time, at least, will be
gained. Now for the harder task."

Three times he tried to address Mr. Markland again, and as often
tore up his letter. A fourth trial brought something nearer the
mark.

"I'm afraid," he wrote, "a certain hasty act of mine, of which I
ought before to have advised you, may slightly disturb your
feelings. Yet don't let it have that effect, for there is no
occasion whatever. Soon after leaving for the South, I wrote you to
go to New York. The next mail brought me letters that rendered such
a visit unnecessary, and fearing a communication by mail might not
reach you promptly, I returned rapidly, and hastened to Woodbine
Lodge to see you. Approaching your dwelling, I met Fanny, and
learned from her that you had left for New York. Foolishly, as I now
see it, I desired your daughter to keep the fact a secret for a
short period, fearing lest you might not clearly comprehend my
reason for returning. I wished to explain the matter myself. This
trifling affair, it seems, has made Fanny very unhappy. I am really
sorry. But it is over now, and I trust her spirits will rise again.
You understand me fully, and can easily see why I might naturally
fall into this trifling error.

"I wrote you yesterday, and hope you acted upon my suggestion. I
proceed South in an hour. Every thing looks bright."

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.

The sun had only a few degrees to make ere passing from sight behind
the western mountains. It was the usual time for Mr. Markland's
return from the city, and most anxiously was his appearing looked
for. But the sun went down, and the twilight threw its veil over
wood and valley, and still his coming was delayed. He had gone in by
railroad, and not by private conveyance as usual. The latest train
had swept shrieking past, full half an hour, when Mrs. Markland
turned sadly from the portico, in which she had for a long time been
stationed, saying to Grace, who had been watching by her side--

"This is very strange! What can keep Edward? Can it be possible that
he has remained in the city all night? I'm very much troubled. He
may be sick."

"More likely," answered Grace, in a fault-finding way, "he's gone
_trapseing_ off to New York again, after that Englishman's business.
I wish he would mind his own affairs."

"He would not have done this without sending us word," replied Mrs.
Markland.

"Oh! I'm not so sure of that. I'm prepared for any thing."

"But it's not like Edward. You know that he is particularly
considerate about such things."

"He used to be. But Edward Markland of last year is not the Edward
Markland of to-day, as you know right well," returned the
sister-in-law.

"I wish you wouldn't speak in that way about Edward any more, Grace.
It is very unpleasant to me."

"The more so, because it is the truth," replied Grace Markland.
"Edward, I'll warrant you, is now sweeping off towards New York. See
if I'm not right."

"No, there he is now!" exclaimed Mrs. Markland, stepping back from
the door she was about to enter, as the sound of approaching feet
arrested her ear.

The two women looked eagerly through the dusky air. A man's form was
visible. It came nearer.

"Edward!" was just passing joyfully from the lips of Mrs. Markland,
when the word was suppressed.

"Good-evening, ladies," said a strange voice, as a man whom neither
of them recognised paused within a few steps of where they stood.

"Mr. Willet is my name," he added.

"Oh! Mr. Willet, our new neighbour," said Mrs. Markland, with a
forced composure of manner. "Walk in, if you please. We were on the
lookout for Mr. Markland. He has not yet arrived from the city, and
we are beginning to feel anxious about him."

"I am here to relieve that anxiety," replied the visitor in a
cheerful voice, as he stepped on the portico. "Mr. Markland has made
me the bearer of a message to his family."

"Where is he? What has detained him in the city?" inquired Mrs.
Markland, in tones expressing her grief and disappointment.

"He has gone to New York," replied Mr. Willet.

"To New York!"

"Yes. He desired me to say to you, that letters received by the
afternoon's mail brought information that made his presence in New
York of importance. He had no time, before the cars started, to
write, and I, therefore, bring you his verbal message."

It had been the intention of Mr. Willet to accept any courteous
invitation extended by the family to pass a part of the evening with
them; but, seeing how troubled Mrs. Markland was at the absence of
her husband, he thought it better to decline entering the house, and
wait for a better opportunity to make their more intimate
acquaintance. So he bade her a good evening, after answering what
further inquiries she wished to make, and returned to his own home.

Aunt Grace was unusually excited by the information received through
their neighbour, and fretted and talked in her excited way for some
time; but nothing that she said elicited any reply from Mrs.
Markland, who seemed half stupefied, and sat through the evening in
a state of deep abstraction, answering only in brief sentences any
remarks addressed to her. It seemed to her as if her feet had
wandered somehow into the mazes of a labyrinth, from which at each
effort to get free she was only the more inextricably involved. Her
perceptions had lost their clearness, and, still worse, her
confidence in them was diminishing. Heretofore she had reposed all
trust in her husband's rational intelligence; and her woman's nature
had leaned upon him and clung to him as the vine to the oak. As his
judgment determined, her intuitions had approved. Alas for her that
this was no longer! Hitherto she had walked by his side with a clear
light upon their path. She was ready to walk on still, and to walk
bravely so far as herself was concerned, even though her straining
eyes could not penetrate the cloudy veil that made all before her
darkness and mystery.

Fanny, who had looked forward with a vague fear to her father's
return on that evening, felt relieved on hearing that he had gone to
New York, for that would give sufficient time for him to receive a
letter from Mr. Lyon.

Thus it was with the family of Mr. Markland on this particular
occasion. A crisis, looked for with trembling anxiety, seemed just
at, hand; and yet it was still deferred--leaving, at least in one
bosom, a heart-sickness that made life itself almost a burden.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE close of the next day did not bring Mr. Markland, but only a
hurried letter, saying that important business would probably keep
him in New York a day or two longer. A postscript to the letter read
thus:

"Mr. Elbridge will send you a deed of some warehouse property that I
have sold. Sign and return it by the bearer."

If Mr. Markland had only said where a letter would reach him in New
York, his wife would have lost no time in writing fully on the
subject of Mr. Lyon's conduct toward Fanny. But, as there was great
uncertainty about this, she felt that she could only await his
return. And now she blamed herself deeply for having kept her word
to Fanny. It was one of those cases, she saw, in which more evil was
likely to flow from keeping a blind, almost extorted promise, than
from breaking it.

"I ought to have seen my duty clearer," she said, in
self-condemnation. "What blindness has possessed me!" And so she
fretted herself, and admitted into her once calm, trusting spirit, a
flood of self-reproaches and disquietude.

Fanny, now that the so anxiously dreaded period had gone by, and
there was hope that her father would learn all from Mr. Lyon before
he returned home, relapsed into a more passive state of mind. She
had suffered much beyond her natural powers of endurance, in the
last few days. A kind of reaction now followed, and she experienced
a feeling of indifference as to results and consequences, that was a
necessary relief to the over-strained condition of mind which had
for some time existed.

On the day following, another letter was received from Mr. Markland.

"You must not expect me until the last of this week," he said.
"Business matters of great importance will keep me here until that
time. I have a letter from Mr. Lyon which I do not much like. It
seems that he was at Woodbine Lodge, and saw Fanny, while I was away
in New York. I have talked with a Mr. Fenwick here, a gentleman who
knows all about him and his business, and he assures me that the
reasons which Mr. Lyon gave for returning as he did from the South
are valid. What troubles me most is that Fanny should have concealed
it from both you and her father. We will talk this matter over fully
on my return. If I had known it earlier, it might have led to an
entire change of plans for the future. But it is too late now.

"I wrote you yesterday that I wished you to sign a deed which Mr.
Elbridge would send out. He will send two more, which I would also
like you to sign. I am making some investments here of great
prospective value."

Mrs. Markland read this letter over and over again, and sat and
thought about its contents until her mind grew so bewildered that it
seemed as if reason were about to depart. If it was suggested that
she ought not to sign the deeds that were to be presented for her
signature, the suggestion was not for a single moment entertained;
but rather flung aside with something of indignation.

A day or two after Mr. Willet called with the message from Mr.
Markland, he went over again to Woodbine Lodge. It was late in the
afternoon, and Fanny was sitting in the portico that looked from the
western front of the dwelling, with her thoughts so far away from
the actual things around her that she did not notice the approach of
any one, until Mr. Willet, whom she had never met, was only a few
yards distant; then she looked up, and as her eyes rested upon him,
she started to her feet and struck her hands together, uttering an
involuntary exclamation of surprise. The name of Mr. Lyon was half
uttered, when she saw her mistake, and made a strong effort to
compose her suddenly disturbed manner.

"Mrs. Markland is at home, I presume," said the visitor, in a
respectful manner, as he paused a few paces distant from Fanny, and
observed, with some surprise, the agitation his appearance had
occasioned.

"She is. Will you walk in, sir?" The voice of Fanny trembled, though
she strove hard to speak calmly and with apparent self-possession.

"My name is Mr. Willet."

"Oh! our new neighbour." And Fanny forced a smile, while she
extended her hand, as she added:

"Walk in, sir. My mother will be gratified to see you."

"Has your father returned from New York?" inquired Mr. Willet, as he
stood looking down upon the face of Miss Markland, with a feeling of
admiration for its beauty and innocence.

"Not yet. Mother does not look for him until the last of this week."

"He did not expect to be gone over a single day, when he left?"

"No, sir. But business has detained him. Will you not walk in, Mr.
Willet?" The earnestness with which he was looking into her face was
disconcerting Fanny. So she stepped toward the door, and led the way
into the house.

"Mr. Willet," said Fanny, introducing her visitor, as they entered
the sitting-room.

Mrs. Markland extended her hand and gave their new neighbour a
cordial reception. Aunt Grace bowed formally, and fixed her keen
eyes upon him with searching glances. While the former was thinking
how best to entertain their visitor, the latter was scrutinizing his
every look, tone, word, and movement. At first, the impression made
upon her was not altogether favourable; but gradually, as she noted
every particular of his conversation, as well as the various changes
of his voice and countenance, her feelings toward him underwent a
change; and when he at length addressed a few words to her, she
replied, with unusual blandness of manner.

"How are your mother and sisters?" inquired Mrs. Markland, soon
after Mr. Willet came in. "I have not yet called over to see them,
but shall do so to-morrow."

"They are well, and will be exceedingly gratified to receive a visit
from you," replied Mr. Willet.

"How are they pleased with the country?"

"That question they would find it difficult yet to answer. There is
much pleasant novelty, and much real enjoyment of nature's varied
beauties. A sense of freedom and a quietude of spirit, born of the
stillness that, to people just from the noisy town, seems brooding
over all things. Some of the wants, created by our too artificial
mode of living in cities, are occasionally felt; but, on the whole,
we are gainers, so far, by our experiment."

"Your sisters, I am sure, must enjoy the beauty with which you are
surrounded. There is not a lovelier place than the one you have
selected in the whole neighbourhood."

"Always excepting Woodbine Lodge," returned the visitor, with a
courteous bow. "Yes," he added, "Sweetbrier is a charming spot, and
its beauty grows upon you daily. My sister Flora, just about your
own age," and Mr. Willet turned toward Fanny, "is particularly
desirous to make your acquaintance. You must call over with your
mother. I am sure you will like each other. Flora, if a brother may
venture to herald a sister's praise, is a dear, good girl. She has
heard a friend speak of you, and bears already, toward you, a
feeling of warmer tone than mere friendship."

Mr. Willet fixed his eyes so earnestly on the countenance of Fanny,
that she partly averted her face to conceal the warm flush that came
to her cheeks.

"I shall be happy to make her acquaintance," she replied. "Our
circle of friends cannot be so large here as in the city; but we may
find compensation in closer attachments."

"I will say to my mother and sisters, that they may expect to see
you to-morrow," And Mr. Willet looked from face to face.

"Yes; we will ride over to-morrow," said Mrs. Markland.

"And you, also, Miss Markland." The courteous manner in which this
was said quite won the heart of Aunt Grace, and she replied that she
would give herself that pleasure.

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