The Good Time Coming

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

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Thus it was with the family of Mr. Markland at the time of our
introduction to them. We have not described each individual with
minuteness, but sufficiently indicated to give them a place in the
reader's mind. The lights and shadows will be more strongly marked
hereafter.

The effect of Mr. Allison's conversation was, as has been seen, to
leave Markland in a still more dissatisfied state of mind. After
various fruitless efforts to get interested in what was around him,
and thus compel self-forgetfulness, he thought of some little matter
in the city that required his attention, and forthwith ordered the
carriage.

"I shall not be home till evening," he said, as he parted with his
wife.

During the day, Mrs. Markland paid another visit to the humble home
of Mrs. Elder, and ministered as well to her mental as to her bodily
wants. She made still closer inquiries about her daughter's family;
and especially touching the husband's character for industry,
intelligence, and trustworthiness. She had a purpose in this; for
the earnest desire expressed by Mrs. Elder to have her daughter with
her, had set Mrs. Markland to thinking about the ways and means of
effecting the wished-for object. The poor woman was made happier by
her visit.

It was near sundown when the carriage was observed approaching
through the long, shaded avenue. Mrs. Markland and all the children
stood in the porch, to welcome the husband and father, whose
absence, though even for the briefest period, left for their hearts
a diminished brightness. As the carriage drew nearer, it was seen to
contain two persons.

"There is some one with your father," said Mrs. Markland, speaking
to Fanny.

"A gentleman--I wonder who it can be?"

"Your Uncle George, probably."

"No; it isn't Uncle George," said Fanny, as the carriage reached the
oval in front of the house, and swept around towards the portico.
"It's a younger man; and he is dressed in black."

Further conjecture was suspended by the presence of the individual
in regard to whom they were in doubt. He was a stranger, and Mr.
Markland presented him as Mr. Lyon, son of an old and valued
business correspondent, residing in Liverpool. A cordial welcome
awaited Mr. Lyon at Woodbine Lodge, as it awaited all who were
introduced by the gentlemanly owner. If Mr. Markland thought well
enough of any one to present him at home, the home-circle opened
smilingly to receive.

The stranger was a young man, somewhere between the ages of
twenty-five and thirty; above the medium height; with a well-formed
person, well-balanced head, and handsome countenance. His mouth was
the least pleasing feature of his face. The lips were full, but too
firmly drawn back against his teeth. Eyes dark, large, and slightly
prominent, with great depth, but only occasional softness, of
expression. His was a face with much in it to attract, and something
to repel. A deep, rich voice, finely modulated, completed his
personal attractions.

It so happened that Mr. Lyon had arrived from New York that very
day, with letters to Mr. Markland. His intention was to remain only
until the next morning. The meeting with Mr. Markland was
accidental; and it was only after earnest persuasion that the young
man deferred his journey southward, and consented to spend a day or
two with the retired merchant, in his country home. Mr. Lyon was
liberally educated, bad travelled a good deal, and been a close
observer and thinker. He was, moreover, well read in human nature.
That he charmed the little circle at Woodbine Lodge on the first
evening of his visit. there, is scarcely a matter of wonder. Nor was
he less charmed. Perhaps the only one not altogether pleased was
Aunt Grace. By habit a close reader of all who came within range of
her observation, she occupied quite as much time in scanning the
face of Mr. Lyon, and noting each varying expression of eyes, lips,
and voice, as in listening to his entertaining description of things
heard and seen.

"I don't just like him." Thus she soliloquized after she had retired
to her own room.' "He's deep--any one can see that--deep as the sea.
And he has a way of turning his eyes without turning his head that
don't please me exactly. Edward is wonderfully taken with him; but
he never looks very far below the surface. And Fanny--why the girl
seemed perfectly fascinated!"

And Aunt Grace shook her head ominously, as she added--

"He's handsome enough; but beauty's only skin-deep, and he may be as
black as Lucifer inside."

A greater part of the next day Mr. Markland and Mr. Lyon spent
alone, either in the library or seated in some one of the many shady
arbours and cool retreats scattered invitingly over the pleasant
estate. The stranger had found the mind of his host hungering for
new aliment, and as his own mind was full stored with thought and
purpose, he had but to speak to awaken interest. Among other things,
he gave Mr. Markland, a minute detail of certain plans for acquiring
an immense fortune, in the prosecution of which, in company with
some wealthy capitalists, he was now engaged. The result was sure;
for every step had been taken with the utmost cautions and every
calculation thrice verified.

"And what a dreaming idler I am here!" said Markland, half to
himself, in one of the conversational pauses, as there was presented
to his mind a vivid contrast of his fruitless inactivity with the
vigorous productive industry of others. "I half question, at times,
whether, in leaving the busy world, I did not commit a serious
error."

"Have you given up all interest in business?" asked Mr. Lyon.

"All."

"Ah!" with slight evidence of surprise. "How do you live?"

"The life of an oyster, I was going to say," replied Markland, with
a faint smile.

"I would die if not active. True enjoyment, a wise friend has often
said to me, is never found in repose, but in activity. To me a
palace would be a prison, if I could find nothing to do; while a
prison would be a palace, if mind and hands were fully employed."

"I lack the motive for renewed effort," said Markland. "Wealth
beyond my present possession I do not desire. I have more than
enough safely invested to give me every comfort and luxury through
life."

"But your children?" remarked the guest.

"Will have ample provision."

"There is another motive."

"What?"

"Money is power."

"True."

"And by its proper use a man may elevate himself into almost any
position. It is the lever that moves the world."

Markland only shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"Have you no ambition?" inquired the other, in a familiar way.

"Ambition!" The question awakened surprise.

"To stand out prominently in the world's eye, no matter for what, so
the distinction be honourable," said Mr. Lyon. "Of the thousands and
tens of thousands who toil up the steep and often rugged paths to
wealth, and attain the desired eminence, how few are ever heard of
beyond the small community in which they live! Some of these, to
perpetuate a name, establish at death some showy charity, and thus
build for themselves a monument not overshadowed by statelier
mausoleums amid the rivalries of a fashionable cemetery. Pah! All
this ranges far below my aspiring. I wish to make a name while
living. Wealth in itself is only a toy. No true man can find
pleasure in its mere glitter for a day. It is only the miser who
loves gold for its own sake, and sees nothing beautiful or desirable
except the yellow earth he hoards in his coffers. Have you found
happiness in the mere possession of wealth?"

"Not in its _mere_ possession," was answered.

"Nor even in its lavish expenditure?"

"I have great pleasure in using it for the attainment of my wishes,"
said Mr. Markland.

"The narrower the bound of our wishes, the quicker comes their
consummation, and then all is restlessness again, until we enter
upon a new pursuit."

"Truly spoken."

"Is it not wise, then, to give a wide sweep to our aspirations? to
lift the ideal of our life to a high position; so that, in its
attainment, every latent power may be developed? Depend upon it, Mr.
Markland, we may become what we will; and I, for one, mean to become
something more than a mere money-getter and money-saver. But first
the money-getting, as a means to an end. To that every energy must
now be devoted."

Mr. Lyon's purpose was to interest Mr. Markland, and he was entirely
successful. He drew for him various attractive pictures, and in the
contemplation of each, as it stood vividly before him, the retired
merchant saw much to win his ardent admiration. Very gradually, and
very adroitly, seeming all the while as if he had not the slightest
purpose to interest Mr. Markland in that particular direction, did
Mr. Lyon create in his mind a strong confidence in the enlarged
schemes for obtaining immense wealth in which he was now engaged.
And the tempter was equally successful in his efforts to awaken a
desire in Mr. Markland to have his name stand out prominently, as
one who had shown remarkable public spirit and great boldness in the
prosecution of a difficult enterprise.

One, two, three days went by, and still Mr. Lyon was a lingerer at
Woodbine Lodge; and during most of that time he was alone and in
earnest conference with Mr. Markland. The evenings were always
pleasant seasons in the family circle. Fanny's voice had been well
cultivated, and she sung with fine taste; and as Mr. Lyon was also a
lover of music, and played and sung exquisitely, the two very
naturally spent a portion of their time at the piano. If it crossed
the father's mind that an attachment might spring up between them,
it did not disturb his feelings.

At the end of a week Mr. Lyon found it necessary to tear himself
away from the little paradise into which he had been so unexpectedly
introduced. Every day that he lingered there diminished the ardour
of his ambition, or robbed of some charm the bright ideal he had
worshipped. And so he broke the silken bonds that wove themselves
around him, at first light as gossamer, but now strong as twisted
cords.

Mr. Markland accompanied him to the city, and did not return home
until late in the evening. He was then much occupied with his own
thoughts, and entered but little into conversation. Fanny was
absent-minded, a fact that did not escape the mother's observation.
Aunt Grace noted the change which the stranger's coming and
departure had occasioned, and, shaking her wise head, spoke thus
within herself--

"He may be very handsome, but he casts a shadow, for all that. I
don't see what Edward was thinking about. He'd better let Fanny go
right into the world, where she can see dozens of handsome young
men, and contrast one with another, than hide her away here, until
some attractive young Lucifer comes along--a very Son of the
Morning! How can the girl help falling in love, if she sees but one
man, and he elegant, accomplished, handsome, and full of winning
ways, even though his hidden heart be black with selfishness?"

But Aunt Grace always looked at the shadowy side. Even if the sun
shone bright above, she thought of the clouds that were gathering
somewhere, and destined ere long to darken the whole horizon.

On the day following, Mr. Markland went again to the city, and was
gone until late in the evening. His mind was as much occupied as on
the evening previous, and he spent the hours from tea-time until
eleven o'clock in the library, writing. If Mrs. Markland did not
appear to notice any change in her husband since Mr. Lyon came to
Woodbine Lodge, it was not that the change had escaped her. No--she
was too deeply interested in all that concerned him to fail in
noting every new aspect of thought or feeling. He had said nothing
of awakened purpose, quickened into activity by long conferences
with his guest, but she saw that such purposes were forming. Of
their nature she was in entire ignorance. That they would still
further estrange him from Woodbine Lodge, she had too good reason,
in a knowledge of his character, to fear. With him, whatever became
a pursuit absorbed all others; and he looked to the end with a
visions so intent, that all else was seen in obscurity. And so, with
a repressed sigh, this gentle, true-hearted, loving woman, whose
thought rarely turned in upon herself, awaited patiently the time
when her husband would open to her what was in his thoughts. And the
time, she knew, was not distant.

CHAPTER VI.

BEFORE Mr. Lyon's visit to Woodbine Lodge, Mr. Markland rarely went
to the city. Now, scarcely a day passed that he did not order his
carriage immediately after breakfast; and he rarely came back until
nightfall. "Some matters of business," he would answer to the
questions of his family; but he gave no intimation as to the nature
of the business, and evidently did not care to be inquired of too
closely.

"What's come over Edward? He isn't the same man that he was a month
ago," said Miss Grace, as she stood in the portico, beside Mrs.
Markland, one morning, looking after the carriage which was bearing
her brother off to the city. There had been a hurried parting with
Mr. Markland, who seemed more absorbed than usual in his own
thoughts.

Mrs. Markland sighed faintly, but made no answer.

"I wonder what takes him off to town, post-haste, every day?"

"Business, I suppose," was the half-absent remark.

"Business! What kind of business, I'd like to know?"

"Edward has not informed me as to that," quietly answered Mrs.
Markland.

"Indeed!" a little querulously. "Why don't you ask him?"

"I am not over-anxious on the subject. If he has any thing to
confide to me, he will do it in his own good time."

"Oh! you're too patient." The tone and manner of Miss Grace showed
that she, at least, was not overstocked with the virtue.

"Why should I be impatient?"

"Why? Goodness me! Do you suppose that if I had a husband--and it's
a blessed thing for me that I haven't--that I'd see him going off,
day after day, with lips sealed like an oyster, and remain as
patient as a pet lamb tied with a blue ribbon? Oh dear! no! Grace
Markland's made of warmer stuff than that. I like people who talk
right out. _I_ always do. Then you know where to place them. But
Edward always had a hidden way about him."

"Oh, no, Grace; I will not agree to that for a moment," said Mrs.
Markland.

"Won't you, indeed! I'm his sister, and ought to know something
about him."

"And I'm his wife," was the gentle response to this.

"I know you are, and a deal too good for him--the provoking man!"
said Grace, in her off-hand way, drawing her arm within that of Mrs.
Markland, to whom she was strongly attached. "And that's what riles
me up so."

"Why, you're in a strange humour, Grace! Edward has done nothing at
which I can complain."

"He hasn't, indeed?"

"No."

"I'd like to know what he means by posting off to the city every day
for a week at a stretch, and never so much as breathing to his wife
the purpose of his visits?"

"Business. He said that business required his attention."

"What business?"

"As to that, he did not think it necessary to advise me. Men do not
always explain business matters to their wives. One-half would not
understand what they were talking about, and the other half would
take little interest in the subject."

"A compliment to wives, certainly!" said Grace Markland, with a
rather proud toss of her head. "One of your lords of creation would
find different stuff in me. But I'm not satisfied with Edward's
goings on, if you are, Agnes. It's my opinion that your Mr. Lee Lyon
is at the bottom of all this."

A slight shade dimmed the face of Mrs. Markland. She did not reply;
but looked, with a more earnest expression, at her sister-in-law.

"Yes--your Mr. Lee Lyon." Grace was warming again. "He's one of your
men that cast shadows wherever they go. I felt it the moment his
foot crossed our threshold--didn't you?"

Grace gave thought and words to what, with Mrs. Markland, had only
been a vague impression. She had felt the shadow of his presence
without really perceiving from whence the shadow came. Pausing only
a moment for an answer to her query, Grace went on:--

"Mr. Lyon is at the bottom of all this, take my word for it; and if
he doesn't get Edward into trouble before he's done with him, my
name's not Grace Markland."

"Trouble! What do you mean, Grace?" Another shade of anxiety flitted
over the countenance of Mrs. Markland.

"Don't you suppose that Edward's going to town every day has
something to do with this Mr. Lyon?"

"Mr. Lyon went South nearly two weeks ago," was answered.

"That doesn't signify. He's a schemer and an adventurer--I could see
it in every lineament of his face--and, there's not a shadow of
doubt in my mind, has got Edward interested in some of his doings.
Why, isn't it as plain as daylight? Were not he and Edward
all-absorbed about something while he was here? Didn't he remain a
week when he had to be urged, at first, to stay a single day? And
hasn't Edward been a different man since he left, from what he was
before he came?"

"Your imagination is too active, Grace," Mrs. Markland replied, with
a faint smile. "I don't see any necessary connection between Mr.
Lyon and the business that requires Edward's attention in the city.
The truth is, Edward has grown weary of an idle life, and I shall
not at all regret his attention to some pursuit that will occupy his
thoughts. No man, with his mental and bodily powers in full vigour,
should be inactive."

"That will altogether depend on the direction his mind takes," said
Grace.

"Of course. And I do not see any good reason you have for intimating
that in the present case the right direction has not been taken."
There was just perceptible a touch of indignation in the voice of
Mrs. Markland, which, being perceived by Grace, brought the
sententious remark,--

"Fore-warned, fore-armed. If my suspicion is baseless, no one is
injured."

Just then, Fanny, the oldest daughter, returned from a short walk,
and passed her mother and aunt on the portico, without looking up or
speaking. There was an air of absent-mindedness about her.

"I don't know what has come over Fanny," said Mrs. Markland. "She
isn't at all like herself." And as she uttered these words, not
meaning them for other ears than her own, she followed her daughter
into the house.

"Don't know what's come over Fanny!" said Aunt Grace to herself, as
she moved up and down the vine-wreathed portico--"well, well,--some
people _are_ blind. This is like laying a block in a man's way, and
wondering that he should fall down. Don't know what's come over
Fanny? Dear! dear!"

Enough had been said by her sister-in-law to give direction to the
vague anxieties awakened in the mind of Mrs. Markland by the recent
deportment of her husband. He was not only absent in the city every
day, but his mind was so fully occupied when at home, that he took
little interest in the family circle. Sometimes he remained alone in
the library until a late hour at night; and his sleep, when he did
retire, was not sound; a fact but too well known to his wakeful
partner.

All through this day there was an unusual pressure on the feelings
of Mrs. Markland. When she inquired of herself as to the cause, she
tried to be satisfied with assigning it wholly to the remarks of her
sister-in-law, and not to any really existing source of anxiety. But
in this she was far from being successful; and the weight continued
to grow heavier as the hours moved on. Earlier than she had expected
its return, the carriage was announced, and Mrs. Markland, with a
suddenly-lightened heart, went tripping over the lawn to meet her
husband at the outer gate. "Where is Mr. Markland?" she exclaimed,
growing slightly pale, on reaching the carriage, and seeing that it
was empty.

"Gone to New York," answered the coachman, at the same time handing
a letter.

"To New York! When did he go?" Mrs. Markland's thoughts were thrown
into sudden confusion.

"He went at five o'clock, on business. Said he must be there
to-morrow morning. But he'll tell you all about it in the letter,
ma'am."

Recovering herself, Mrs. Markland stepped from the side of the
carriage, and as it passed on, she broke the seal of her letter,
which she found to contain one for Fanny, directed in a hand with
which she was not familiar.

"A letter for you, dear," she said; for Fanny was now by her side.

"Who is it from? Where is father?" asked Fanny in the same breath.

"Your father has gone to New York," said Mrs. Markland, with forced
composure.

Fanny needed no reply to the first question; her heart had already
given the answer. With a flushed cheek and quickening pulse, she
bounded away from her mother's side, and returning into the house,
sought the retirement of her own chamber.

"Dear Agnes,"--so ran the note of Mr. Markland to his wife,--"I know
that you will be surprised and disappointed at receiving only a
letter, instead of your husband. But some matters in New York
require my attention, and I go on by the evening train, to return
day after to-morrow. I engaged to transact some important business
for Mr. Lyon, when he left for the South, and in pursuance of this,
I am now going away. In a letter received from Mr. Lyon, to-day, was
one for Fanny. I do not know its contents. Use your own discretion
about giving it to her. You will find it enclosed. My mind has been
so much occupied to-day, that I could not give the subject the
serious consideration it requires. I leave it with you, having more
faith in your intuitions than in my own judgment. He did not hint,
even remotely, at a correspondence with Fanny, when he left; nor has
he mentioned the fact of enclosing a letter for her in the one
received from him to-day. Thus, delicately, has he left the matter
in our hands. Perhaps you had better retain the letter until I
return. We can then digest the subject more thoroughly. But, in
order to furnish your mind some basis to rest upon, I will say, that
during the time Mr. Lyon was here I observed him very closely; and
that every thing about him gave me the impression of a pure,
high-minded, honourable man. Such is the testimony borne in his
favour by letters from men of standing in England, by whom he is
trusted with large interests. I do not think an evidence of
prepossession for our daughter, on his part, need occasion anxiety,
but rather pleasure. Of course, she is too young to leave the
home-nest for two or three years yet. But time is pressing, and my
mind is in no condition, just now, to think clearly on a subject
involving such important results. I think, however, that you had
better keep the letter until my return. It will be the most prudent
course."

Keep the letter! Its contents were already in the heart of Fanny!

"Where's Edward? What's the matter?" queried Aunt Grace, coming up
at this moment, and seeing that all colour had left the cheeks of
Mrs. Markland.

Scarcely reflecting on what she did, the latter handed her husband's
letter in silence to her sister-in-law, and tottered, rather than
walked, to a garden chair near at hand.

"Well, now, here is pretty business, upon my word!" exclaimed Aunt
Grace, warmly. "Sending a letter to our Fanny! Who ever heard of
such assurance! Oh! I knew that some trouble would come of his visit
here. I felt it the moment I set my eyes on him. Keep the letter
from Fanny? Of course you will; and when you have a talk with Edward
about it, just let me be there; I want my say."

"It is too late," murmured the unhappy mother, in a low, sad voice.

"Too late! How? What do you mean, Agnes?"

"Fanny has the letter already."

"What!" There was a sharp, thrusting rebuke in the voice of Aunt
Grace, that seemed like a sword in the heart of Mrs. Markland.

"She stood by me when I opened her father's letter, enclosing the
one for her. I did not dream from whence it came, and handed it to
her without a thought."

"Agnes! Agnes! What have you done?" exclaimed Aunt Grace, in a
troubled voice.

"Nothing for which I need reproach myself," said Mrs. Markland, now
grown calmer. "Had the discretion been left with me, I should not
have given Fanny the letter until Edward returned. But it passed to
her hands through no will of mine. With the Great Controller of
events it must now be left."

"Oh dear! Don't talk about the Controller of events in a case of
this kind. Wise people control such things through the wisdom given
them. I always think of Jupiter and the wagoner, when I hear any one
going on this way."

Aunt Grace was excited. She usually was when she thought earnestly.
But her warmth of word and manner rarely disturbed Mrs. Markland,
who knew her thoroughly, and valued her for her good qualities and
strong attachment to the family. No answer was made, and Aunt Grace
added, in a slightly changed voice,--

"I don't know that you are so much to blame, Agnes, seeing that
Fanny saw the letter, and that you were ignorant of its contents.
But Edward might have known that something like this would happen.
Why didn't he put the letter into his pocket, and keep it until he
came home? He seems to have lost his common sense. And then he must
go off into that rigmarole about Mr. Lyon, and try to make him out a
saint, as if to encourage you to give his letter to Fanny. I've no
patience with him! Mr. Lyon, indeed! If he doesn't have a
heart-scald of him before he's done with him, I'm no prophet.
Important business for Mr. Lyon! Why didn't Mr. Lyon attend to his
own business when he was in New York? Oh! I can see through it all,
as clear as daylight. He's got his own ends to gain through Edward,
who is blind and weak enough to be led by him."

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