How rapidly, sometimes, does the young mind gain premature strength when subjected to strong trial. Little beyond an artless child was Fanny Markland when she first met the fascinating young stranger; and now she was fast growing into a deep-feeling, strong-thinking woman. Hitherto she had leaned with tender confidence on her parents, and walked the paths lovingly where they led the way. Now she was moving, with unaided footsteps, along a new and rugged road, that led she knew not whither; for clouds and darkness were in the forward distance. At every step, she found a new strength and a new power of endurance growing up in her young spirit. Thought, too, was becoming clearer and stronger. The mature woman had suddenly taken the place of the shrinking girl. CHAPTER XX. HALF the night, following the receipt of Mr. Lyon's letter, was spent in writing an answer. Imploringly she besought him to release her, truly, from the obligation to secrecy with which he had bound her. Most touchingly did she picture her state of mind, and the change wrought by it upon her mother. "I cannot bear this much longer," she said. "I am too weak for the burden you have laid upon me. It must be taken away soon, or I will sink under the weight. Oh, sir! if, as you say, you love me, prove that love by restoring me to my parents. Now, though present with them in body, I am removed from them in spirit. My mother's voice has a strange sound in my ears; and when she gazes sadly into my face I can hardly believe that it is my mother who is looking upon me. If she touches me, I start as if guilty of a crime. Oh, sir! to die would be easy for me now. What a sweet relief utter forgetfulness would be." When Fanny awoke on the next morning, she found her mother standing beside her bed, and gazing down upon her face with a tender, anxious look. Sleep had cleared the daughter's thoughts and tranquilized her feelings. As her mother bent over and kissed her, she threw her arms around her neck and clung to her tightly. "My dear child!" said Mrs. Markland, in a loving voice. "Dear, dear mother!" was answered, with a gush of feeling. "Something is troubling you, Fanny. You are greatly changed. Will you not open your heart to me?" "Oh, mother!" She sobbed out the words. "Am I not your truest friend?" said Mrs. Markland, speaking calmly, but very tenderly. Fanny did not reply. "Have I ever proved myself unworthy of your confidence?" She spoke as if from wounded feeling. "Oh, no, no, dearest mother!" exclaimed Fanny. "How can you ask me such a question?" "You have withdrawn your confidence," was almost coldly said. "Oh, mother!" And Fanny drew her arms more tightly about her mother's neck, kissing her cheek passionately as she did so. A little while Mrs. Markland waited, until her daughter's mind grew calmer; then she said--