initial commit of ebook 12835HEADmain

11 files changed, 77365 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/12835-0.txt b/12835-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..00d7c01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/12835-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,13481 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12835 ***
+
+’LENA RIVERS
+
+by MRS. MARY J. HOLMES
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+“TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,” “ENGLISH ORPHANS,”
+“DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT,” “MARIAN GRAY,”
+“ETHELYN’S MISTAKE,” “CAMERON PRIDE,” “EDNA
+BROWNING,” “WEST LAWN,” “EDITH LYLE,” ETC.,
+ETC.
+
+MDCCCXCVII.
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE.
+ CHAPTER I. ’LENA.
+ CHAPTER II. JOHN.
+ CHAPTER III. PACKING UP.
+ CHAPTER IV. ON THE ROAD.
+ CHAPTER V. MAPLE GROVE.
+ CHAPTER VI. THE ARRIVAL.
+ CHAPTER VII. MALCOLM EVERETT.
+ CHAPTER VIII. SCHEMING.
+ CHAPTER IX. FIVE YEARS LATER.
+ CHAPTER X. MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.
+ CHAPTER XI. WOODLAWN.
+ CHAPTER XII. MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.
+ CHAPTER XIII. MABEL.
+ CHAPTER XIV. NELLIE AND MABEL.
+ CHAPTER XV. MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.
+ CHAPTER XVI. CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
+ CHAPTER XVII. FRANKFORT.
+ CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEPARTURE.
+ CHAPTER XIX. THE VISIT.
+ CHAPTER XX. A FATHER’S LOVE.
+ CHAPTER XXI. JOEL SLOCUM.
+ CHAPTER XXII. THE DAGUERREOTYPE.
+ CHAPTER XXIII. THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+ CHAPTER XXIV. JOHN JR. AND MABEL.
+ CHAPTER XXV. THE BRIDAL.
+ CHAPTER XXVI MARRIED LIFE.
+ CHAPTER XXVII. THE SHADOW.
+ CHAPTER XXVIII. MRS. GRAHAM’S RETURN.
+ CHAPTER XXIX. ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.
+ CHAPTER XXX. THE RESULT.
+ CHAPTER XXXI. MORE CLOUDS.
+ CHAPTER XXXII. REACTION.
+ CHAPTER XXXIII. THE WANDERER.
+ CHAPTER XXXIV ’LENA’S FATHER.
+ CHAPTER XXXV. EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.
+ CHAPTER XXXVI. ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
+ CHAPTER XXXVII. DURWARD.
+ CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+If it be true, as some have said, that a _secret_ is safer in a
+_preface_ than elsewhere, it would be worse than folly for me to waste
+the “midnight oil,” in the manufacture of an article which no one would
+read, and which would serve no purpose, save the adding of a page or so
+to a volume perhaps already too large. But I do not think so. I wot of
+a few who, with a horror of anything savoring of _humbug_, wade
+industriously through a preface, be it never so lengthy, hoping therein
+to find the _moral_, without which the story would, of course, be
+valueless. To such I would say, seek no further, for though I claim for
+“’Lena Rivers,” a moral—yes, half a dozen morals, if you please—I shall
+not put them in the preface, as I prefer having them sought after, for
+what I have written I wish to have read.
+
+Reared among the rugged hills of the Bay State, and for a time
+constantly associated with a class of people known the wide world over
+as _Yankees_, it is no more than natural that I should often write of
+the places and scenes with which I have been the most familiar. In my
+delineations of New England character I have aimed to copy from memory,
+and in no one instance, I believe, have I overdrawn the pictures; for
+among the New England mountains there lives many a “Grandma Nichols,” a
+“Joel Slocum,” or a “Nancy Scovandyke,” while the wide world holds more
+than one ’_Lena_, with her high temper, extreme beauty, and rare
+combination of those qualities which make the female character so
+lovely.
+
+Nearly the same remarks will also apply to my portraitures of Kentucky
+life and character, for it has been my good fortune to spend a year and
+a half in that state, and in my descriptions of country lanes and
+country life, I have with a few exceptions copied from what I saw.
+_Mrs. Livingstone_ and _Mrs. Graham_ are characters found everywhere,
+while the impulsive _John Jr_., and the generous-hearted _Durward_,
+represent a class of individuals who belong more exclusively to the
+“sunny south.”
+
+I have endeavored to make this book both a good and an interesting one,
+and if I have failed in my attempt, it is too late to remedy it now;
+and, such as it is, I give it to the world, trusting that the same
+favor and forbearance which have been awarded to my other works, will
+also be extended to this.
+
+M. J. H.
+
+
+BROCKPORT, N. Y., _October_, 1856.
+
+LENA RIVERS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+’LENA.
+
+
+For many days the storm continued. Highways were blocked up, while
+roads less frequented were rendered wholly impassable. The oldest
+inhabitants of Oakland had “never seen the like before,” and they shook
+their gray heads ominously as over and adown the New England mountains
+the howling wind swept furiously, now shrieking exultingly as one by
+one the huge forest trees bent before its power, and again dying away
+in a low, sad wail, as it shook the casement of some low-roofed
+cottage, where the blazing fire, “high piled upon the hearth,” danced
+merrily to the sound of the storm-wind, and then, whirling in fantastic
+circles, disappeared up the broad-mouthed chimney.
+
+For nearly a week there was scarcely a sign of life in the streets of
+Oakland, but at the end of that time the storm abated, and the December
+sun, emerging from its dark hiding-place, once more looked smilingly
+down upon the white, untrodden snow, which covered the earth for miles
+and miles around. Rapidly the roads were broken; paths were made on the
+narrow sidewalk, and then the villagers bethought themselves of their
+mountain neighbors, who might perchance have suffered from the severity
+of the storm. Far up the mountain side in an old yellow farmhouse,
+which had withstood the blasts of many a winter, lived Grandfather and
+Grandmother Nichols, as they were familiarly called, and ere the
+sun-setting, arrangements were made for paying them a visit.
+
+Oakland was a small rural village, nestled among rocky hills, where the
+word fashion was seldom heard, and where many of the primitive customs
+of our forefathers still prevailed. Consequently, neither the buxom
+maidens, nor the hale old matrons, felt in the least disgraced as they
+piled promiscuously upon the four-ox sled, which erelong was moving
+slowly through the mammoth drifts which lay upon the mountain road. As
+they drew near the farmhouse, they noticed that the blue paper curtains
+which shaded the windows of Grandma Nichols’ “spare room,” were rolled
+up, while the faint glimmer of a tallow candle within, indicated that
+the room possessed an occupant. Who could it be? Possibly it was
+_John_, the proud man, who lived in Kentucky, and who, to please his
+wealthy bride exchanged the plebeian name of Nichols, for that of
+_Livingstone_, which his high-born lady fancied was more aristocratic
+in its sounding!
+
+“And if it be John,” said the passengers of the ox sled, with whom that
+gentleman was no great favorite, “if it be John, we’ll take ourselves
+home as fast as ever we can.”
+
+Satisfied with this resolution, they kept on their way until they
+reached the wide gateway, where they were met by Mr. Nichols, whose
+greeting they fancied was less cordial than usual. With a simple “how
+d’ye do,” he led the way into the spacious kitchen, which answered the
+treble purpose of dining-room, sitting-room, and cook-room. Grandma
+Nichols, too, appeared somewhat disturbed, but she met her visitors
+with an air which seemed to say, she was determined to make the best of
+her trouble, whatever it might be.
+
+The door of the “spare room” was slightly ajar, and while the visitors
+were disrobing, one young girl, more curious than the rest, peered
+cautiously in, exclaiming as she did so, “Mother! mother! Helena is in
+there on the bed, pale as a ghost.”
+
+“Yes, Heleny is in there,” interrupted Grandma Nichols, who overheard
+the girl’s remark. “She got hum the fust night of the storm, and what’s
+queerer than all, she’s been married better than a year.”
+
+“Married! Married! Helena married! Who to? Where’s her husband?” asked
+a dozen voices in the same breath.
+
+Grandfather Nichols groaned as if in pain, and his wife, glancing
+anxiously toward the door of her daughter’s room, said in reply to the
+last question, “That’s the worst on’t. He was some grand rascal, who
+lived at the suthard, and come up here to see what he could do. He
+thought Heleny was handsome, I s’pose, and married her, making her keep
+it still because his folks in Car’lina wouldn’t like it. Of course he
+got sick of her, and jest afore the baby was born he gin her five
+hundred dollars and left her.”
+
+A murmur of surprise ran round the room, accompanied with a look of
+incredulity, which Grandma Nichols quickly divined, and while her
+withered cheek crimsoned at the implied disgrace, she added in an
+elevated tone of voice, “It’s true as the Bible. Old Father Blanchard’s
+son, that used to preach here, married them, and Heleny brought us a
+letter from him, saying it was true. Here ’tis,—read it yourselves, if
+you don’t b’lieve me;” and she drew from a side drawer a letter, on the
+back of which, the villagers recognized the well remembered handwriting
+of their former pastor.
+
+This proof of Helena’s innocence was hardly relished by the clever
+gossips of Oakland, for the young girl, though kind-hearted and gentle,
+was far too beautiful to be a general favorite. Mothers saw in her a
+rival for their daughters, while the daughters looked enviously upon
+her clear white brow, and shining chestnut hair; which fell in wavy
+curls about her neck and shoulders. Two years before our story opens,
+she had left her mountain home to try the mysteries of millinery in the
+city, where a distant relative of her mother was living. Here her
+uncommon beauty attracted much attention, drawing erelong to her side a
+wealthy young southerner, who, just freed from the restraints of
+college life, found it vastly agreeable making love to the fair Helena.
+Simple-minded, and wholly unused to the ways of the world, she believed
+each word he said, and when at last he proposed marriage, she not only
+consented, but also promised to keep it a secret for a time, until he
+could in a measure reconcile his father, who he feared might disinherit
+him for wedding a penniless bride.
+
+“Wait, darling, until he knows you,” said he, “and then he will gladly
+welcome you as his daughter.”
+
+Accordingly, one dark, wintry night, when neither moon nor stars were
+visible, Helena stole softly from her quiet room at Mrs. Warren’s, and
+in less than an hour was the lawful bride of Harry Rivers, the wife of
+the clergyman alone witnessing the ceremony.
+
+“I wish I could take you home at once,” said young Rivers, who was less
+a rascal than a coward; “I wish I could take you home at once, but it
+cannot be. We must wait awhile.”
+
+So Helena went back to Mrs. Warren’s, where for a few weeks she stayed,
+and then saying she was going home, she left and became the mistress of
+a neat little cottage which stood a mile or two from the city. Here for
+several months young Rivers devoted himself entirely to her happiness,
+seeming to forget that there was aught else in the world save his
+“beautiful ’Lena,” as he was wont to call her. But at last there came a
+change. Harry seemed sad, and absent-minded, though ever kind to
+Helena, who strove in vain to learn the cause of his uneasiness.
+
+One morning when, later than usual, she awoke, she missed him from her
+side; and on the table near her lay a letter containing the following:—
+
+“Forgive me, darling, that I leave you so abruptly. Circumstances
+render it neccessary, but be assured, I shall come back again. In the
+mean time, you had better return to your parents, where I will seek
+you. Enclosed are five hundred dollars, enough for your present need.
+Farewell.
+
+
+“H. RIVERS.”
+
+
+There was one bitter cry of hopeless anguish, and when Helena Rivers
+again awoke to perfect consciousness, she lay in a darkened room, soft
+footsteps passed in and out, kind faces, in which were mingled pity and
+reproach, bent anxiously over her, while at her side lay a little
+tender thing, her infant daughter, three weeks old. And now there arose
+within her a strong desire to see once more her childhood’s home, to
+lay her aching head upon her mother’s lap, and pour out the tale of
+grief which was crushing the life from out her young heart.
+
+As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started for
+Oakland, taking the precaution to procure from the clergyman, who had
+married her, a letter confirming the fact. Wretched and weary she
+reached her home at the dusk of evening, and with a bitter cry fell
+fainting in the arms of her mother, who having heard regularly from
+her, never dreamed that she was elsewhere than in the employ of Mrs.
+Warren. With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man and his
+wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer more than once blessing
+the fearful storm which for a time, at least, would keep away the
+prying eyes of those who, they feared, would hardly credit their
+daughter’s story.
+
+And their fears were right, for many of those who visited them on the
+night of which we have spoken, disbelieved the tale, mentally
+pronouncing the clergyman’s letter a forgery, got up by Helena to
+deceive her parents. Consequently, of the few who from time to time
+came to the old farmhouse, nearly all were actuated by motives of
+curiosity, rather than by feelings of pity for the young girl-mother,
+who, though feeling their neglect, scarcely heeded it. Strong in the
+knowledge of her own innocence, she lay day after day, watching and
+waiting for one who never came. But at last, as days glided into weeks,
+and weeks into months, hope died away, and turning wearily upon her
+pillow, she prayed that she might die; and when the days grew bright
+and gladsome in the warm spring sun, when the snow was melted from off
+the mountain tops, and the first robin’s note was heard by the
+farmhouse door, Helena laid her baby on her mother’s bosom, and without
+a murmur glided down the dark, broad river, whose deep waters move
+onward and onward, but never return.
+
+When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been loudest in their condemnation, were
+now the first to hasten forward with offers of kindness and words of
+sympathy. But neither tears nor regrets could recall to life the fair
+young girl, who, wondrously beautiful even in death, slept calmly in
+her narrow coffin, a smile of sadness wreathing her lips, as if her
+last prayer had been for one who had robbed her thus early of happiness
+and life. In the bright green valley at the foot of the mountain, they
+buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp earth fall upon her
+grave, asked that he too might die. But his wife, younger by several
+years, prayed to live—live that she might protect and care for the
+little orphan, who first by its young mother’s tears, and again by the
+waters of the baptismal fountain, was christened HELENA RIVERS;—the
+’_Lena_ of our story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+JOHN.
+
+
+Ten years of sunlight and shadow have passed away, and the little grave
+at the foot of the mountain is now grass-grown and sunken. Ten times
+have the snows of winter fallen upon the hoary head of Grandfather
+Nichols, bleaching his thin locks to their own whiteness and bending
+his sturdy frame, until now, the old man lay dying—dying in the same
+blue-curtained room, where years agone his only daughter was born, and
+where ten years before she had died. Carefully did Mrs. Nichols nurse
+him, watching, weeping, and praying that he might live, while little
+’Lena gladly shared her grandmother’s vigils, hovering ever by the
+bedside of her grandfather, who seemed more quiet when her soft hand
+smoothed his tangled hair or wiped the cold moisture from his brow. The
+villagers, too, remembering their neglect, when once before death had
+brooded over the mountain farmhouse, now daily came with offers of
+assistance.
+
+But one thing still was wanting. John, their only remaining child, was
+absent, and the sick man’s heart grew sad and his eyes dim with tears,
+as day by day went by, and still he did not come. Several times had
+’Lena written to her uncle, apprising him of his father’s danger, and
+once only had he answered. It was a brief, formal letter, written,
+evidently, under some constraint, but it said that he was coming, and
+with childish joy the old man had placed it beneath his pillow,
+withdrawing it occasionally for ’Lena to read again, particularly the
+passage, “Dear father, I am sorry you are sick.”
+
+“Heaven bless him! I know he’s sorry,” Mr. Nichols would say. “He was
+always a good boy—is a good boy now. Ain’t he, Martha?”
+
+And mother-like, Mrs. Nichols would answer, “Yes,” forcing back the
+while the tears which would start when she thought how long the “good
+boy” had neglected them, eighteen years having elapsed since he had
+crossed the threshold of his home.
+
+With his hand plighted to one of the village maidens, he had left
+Oakland to seek his fortune, going first to New York, then to Ohio, and
+finally wending his way southward, to Kentucky. Here he remained,
+readily falling into the luxurious habits of those around him, and
+gradually forgetting the low-roofed farmhouse far away to the
+northward, where dwelt a gray-haired pair and a beautiful young girl,
+his parents and his sister. She to whom his vows were plighted was
+neither graceful nor cultivated, and when, occasionally, her tall,
+spare figure and uncouth manners arose before him, in contrast with the
+fair forms around him, he smiled derisively at the thoughts of making
+her his wife.
+
+About this time there came from New Orleans a wealthy invalid, with his
+only daughter Matilda. She was a proud haughty girl, whose disposition,
+naturally unamiable, was rendered still worse by a disappointment from
+which she was suffering. Accidentally Mr. Richards, her father, made
+the acquaintance of John Nichols, conceiving for him a violent fancy,
+and finally securing him as a constant companion. For several weeks
+John appeared utterly oblivious to the presence of Matilda who,
+accustomed to adulation, began at last to feel piqued at his neglect,
+and to strive in many ways to attract his attention.
+
+John, who was ambitious, met her advances more than half way, and
+finally, encouraged by her father, offered her his heart and hand.
+Under other circumstances, Matilda would undoubtedly have spurned him
+with contempt; but having heard that her recreant lover was about
+taking to himself a bride, she felt a desire, as she expressed it, “to
+let him know she could marry too.” Accordingly, John was accepted, on
+condition that he changed the name of Nichols, which Miss Richards
+particularly disliked, to that of Livingstone. This was easily done,
+and the next letter which went to Oakland carried the news of John’s
+marriage with the proud Matilda.
+
+A few months later and Mr. Richards died, leaving his entire property
+to his daughter and her husband. John was now richer far than even in
+his wildest dreams he had ever hoped to be, and yet like many others,
+he found that riches alone could not insure happiness. And, indeed, to
+be happy with Matilda Richards, seemed impossible. Proud, avaricious,
+and overbearing, she continually taunted her husband with his entire
+dependence upon her, carefully watching him, lest any of her hoarded
+wealth should find its way to the scanty purse of his parents, of whom
+she always spoke with contempt.
+
+Never but once had they asked for aid, and that to help them rear the
+little ’Lena. Influenced by his wife, John replied sneeringly, scouting
+the idea of Helena’s marriage, denouncing her as his sister, and saying
+of her child, that the poor-house stood ready for such as she! This
+letter ’Lena had accidentally found among her grandfather’s papers, and
+though its contents gave her no definite impression concerning her
+mother, it inspired her with a dislike for her uncle, whose coming she
+greatly dreaded, for it was confidently expected that she, together
+with her grandmother, would return with him to Kentucky.
+
+“You’ll be better off there than here,” said her grandfather one day,
+when speaking of the subject. “Your Uncle John is rich, and you’ll grow
+up a fine lady.”
+
+“I don’t want to be a lady—I won’t be a lady,” said ’Lena passionately.
+“I don’t like Uncle John. He called my mother a bad woman and me a
+little brat! I hate him!” and the beautiful brown eyes glittering with
+tears flashed forth their anger quite as eloquently as language could
+express it.
+
+The next moment ’Lena was bending over her grandfather, asking to be
+forgiven for the hasty words which she knew had caused him pain. “I’ll
+try to like him,” said she, as the palsied hand stroked her disordered
+curls in token of forgiveness, “I’ll try to like him,” adding mentally,
+“but I do hope he won’t come.”
+
+It would seem that ’Lena’s wish was to be granted, for weeks glided by
+and there came no tidings of the absent one. Daily Mr. Nichols grew
+weaker, and when there was no longer hope of life, his heart yearned
+more and more to once more behold his son; to hear again, ere he died,
+the blessed name of father.
+
+“’Lena,” said Mrs. Nichols one afternoon when her husband seemed worse,
+“’Lena, it’s time for the stage, and do you run down to the ‘turn’ and
+see if your uncle’s come; something tells me he’ll be here to-night.”
+
+’Lena obeyed, and throwing on her faded calico sunbonnet, she was soon
+at the “turn,” a point in the road from which the village hotel was
+plainly discernible. The stage had just arrived, and ’Lena saw that one
+of the passengers evidently intended stopping, for he seemed to be
+giving directions concerning his baggage.
+
+“That’s Uncle John, I most know,” thought she, and seating herself on a
+rock beneath some white birches, so common in New England, she awaited
+his approach. She was right in her conjecture, for the stranger was
+John Livingstone, returned after many years, but so changed that the
+jolly landlord, who had known him when a boy, and with whom he had
+cracked many a joke, now hardly dared to address him, he seemed so cold
+and haughty.
+
+“I will leave my trunk here for a few days,” said John, “and perhaps I
+shall wish for a room. Got any decent accommodations?”
+
+“Wonder if he don’t calculate to sleep to hum,” thought the landlord,
+replying at the same instant, “Yes, sir, tip-top accommodations. Hain’t
+more’n tew beds in any room, and nowadays we allers has a wash-bowl and
+pitcher; don’t go to the sink as we used to when you lived round here.”
+
+With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house and started
+up the mountain road, where ’Lena still kept her watch. Oh, how that
+walk recalled to him the memories of other days, which came thronging
+about him as one by one familiar way-marks appeared, reminding him of
+his childhood, when he roamed over that mountain-side with those who
+were now scattered far and wide, some on the deep, blue sea, some at
+the distant west, and others far away across the dark river of death.
+He had mingled much with the world since last he had traversed that
+road, and his heart had grown callous and indifferent, but he was not
+entirely hardened, and when at the “turn” in the road, he came suddenly
+upon the tall walnut tree, on whose shaggy bark his name was carved,
+together with that of another—a maiden—he started as if smitten with a
+heavy blow, and dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed “Oh that I
+were a boy again!”
+
+From her seat on the mossy rock ’Lena had been watching him. She was
+very ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but quite
+ready to change the latter if she saw any indications of improvement in
+the person disliked. For her uncle she had conceived a great aversion,
+and when she saw him approaching, thrusting aside the thistles and
+dandelions with his gold-headed cane, she mimicked his motions,
+wondering “if he didn’t feel big because he wore a large gold chain
+dangling from his jacket pocket.”
+
+But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion
+suddenly changed. “A very bad man wouldn’t cry,” she thought, and
+springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, “I know you
+are my Uncle John, and I’m real glad you’ve come. Granny thought you
+never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time.”
+
+Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone would hardly
+have been more startled, for in form and feature ’Lena was exactly what
+her mother had been at her age. The same clear complexion, large brown
+eyes, and wavy hair; and the tones of her voice, too, how they thrilled
+the heart of the strong man, making him a boy again, guiding the steps
+of his baby sister, or bearing her gently in his arms when the path was
+steep and stony. It was but a moment, however, and then the vision
+faded. His sister was dead, and the little girl before him was her
+child—the child of shame he believed, or rather, his wife had said it
+so often that he began to believe it. Glancing at the old-womanish garb
+in which Mrs. Nichols always arrayed her, a smile of mingled scorn and
+pity curled his lips, as he thought of presenting her to his fastidious
+wife and elegant daughters; then withdrawing the hand which she had
+taken, he said, “And you are ’Lena—’Lena Nichols they call you, I
+suppose.”
+
+’Lena’s old dislike began to return, and placing both hands upon her
+hips in imitation of her grandmother she replied, “No ’tain’t ’Lena
+Nichols, neither. It’s ’Lena Rivers. Granny says so, and the town clark
+has got it so on his book. How are my cousins? Are they pretty well?
+And how is _Ant_?”
+
+Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at this little
+specimen of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of his mother. Poor
+little ’Lena! how should she know any better, living as she always had
+with two old people, whose language savored so much of the days before
+the flood! Some such thought passed through Mr. Livingstone’s mind, and
+very civilly he answered her concerning the health of her cousins and
+aunt; proceeding next to question her of his father, who, she said,
+“had never seen a well day since her mother died.”
+
+“Is there any one with him except your grandmother?” asked Mr.
+Livingstone; and Lena replied, “Aunt Nancy Scovandyke has been with us
+a few days, and is there now.”
+
+At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that ’Lena
+observed it, and asked “if he knew Miss Scovandyke?”
+
+“I used to,” said he, while ’Lena continued: “She’s a nice woman, and
+though she ain’t any connection, I call her aunt. Granny thinks a sight
+of her.”
+
+Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr. Livingstone,
+and changing the subject, he said, “What makes you say _Granny_,
+child?”
+
+’Lena blushed painfully. ’Twas the first word she had ever uttered, her
+grandmother having taught it to her, and encouraged her in its use.
+Besides that, ’Lena had a great horror of anything which she fancied
+was at all “stuck up,” and thinking an entire change from _Granny_ to
+_Grandmother_ would be altogether too much, she still persisted in
+occasionally using her favorite word, in spite of the ridicule it
+frequently called forth from her school companions. Thinking to herself
+that it was none of her uncle’s business what she called her
+grandmother, she made no reply, and in a few moments they came in sight
+of the yellow farmhouse, which looked to Mr. Livingstone just as it did
+when he left it, eighteen years before. There was the tall poplar, with
+its green leaves rustling in the breeze, just as they had done years
+ago, when from a distant hill-top he looked back to catch the last
+glimpse of his home. The well in the rear was the same—the lilac bushes
+in front—the tansy patch on the right and the gable-roofed barn on the
+left; all were there; nothing was changed but himself.
+
+Mechanically he followed ’Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
+bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he
+remembered had lain there when he went away. One thing alone seemed
+strange. The blue paper curtains were rolled away from the “spare room”
+windows, which were open as if to admit as much air as possible.
+
+“I shouldn’t wonder if grandpa was worse,” said ’Lena, hurrying him
+along and ushering him at once into the sick-room.
+
+At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bending tenderly
+over the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the small, scanty pillow.
+John thought “how small and scanty they were,” while he almost
+shuddered at the sound of his footsteps upon the uncarpeted floor.
+Everything was dreary and comfortless, and his conscience reproached
+him that his old father should die so poor, when he counted his money
+by thousands.
+
+As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading daylight,
+causing his mother to raise her head, and in a moment her long, bony
+arms were twined around his neck. The cruel letter, his long neglect,
+were all forgotten in the joy of once more beholding her “darling boy,”
+whose bearded cheek she kissed again and again. John was unused to such
+demonstrations of affection, except, indeed, from his little
+golden-haired Anna, who was _refined_ and _polished_, and all that,
+which made a vast difference, as he thought. Still, he returned his
+mother’s greeting with a tolerably good grace, managing, however, to
+tear himself from her as soon as possible.
+
+“How is my father?” he asked; and his mother replied, “He grew worse
+right away after ’Leny went out, and he seemed so put to’t for breath,
+that Nancy went for the doctor——”
+
+Here a movement from the invalid arrested her attention and going to
+the bedside she saw that he was awake. Bending over him she whispered
+softly, “John has come. Would you like to see him?”
+
+Quickly the feeble arms were outstretched, as if to feel what could not
+be seen, for the old man’s eyesight was dim with the shadows of death.
+
+Taking both his father’s hands in his, John said, “Here I am, father;
+can’t you see me?”
+
+“No, John, no; I can’t see you.” And the poor man wept like a little
+child. Soon growing more calm, he continued: “Your voice is the same
+that it was years ago, when you lived with us at home. That hasn’t
+changed, though they say your name has. Oh, John, my boy, how could you
+do so? ’Twas a good name—my name—and you the only one left to bear it.
+What made you do so, oh John, John?”
+
+Mr. Livingstone did not reply, and after a moment his father again
+spoke; “John, lay your hand on my forehead. It’s cold as ice. I am
+dying, and your mother will be left alone. We are poor, my son; poorer
+than you think. The homestead is mortgaged for all it’s worth and there
+are only a few dollars in the purse. Oh, I worked so hard to earn them
+for her and the girl—Helena’s child. Now, John, promise me that when I
+am gone they shall go with you to your home in the west. Promise, and I
+shall die happy.”
+
+This was a new idea to John, and for a time he hesitated. He glanced at
+his mother; she was ignorant and peculiar, but she was his mother
+still. He looked at ’Lena, she was beautiful—he knew that, but she was
+odd and old-fashioned. He thought of his haughty wife, his headstrong
+son and his imperious daughter. What would they say if he made that
+promise, for if he made it he would keep it.
+
+A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke again:
+“Won’t you give your old mother a home?”
+
+The voice was weaker than when it spoke before, and John knew that life
+was fast ebbing away, for the brow on which his hand was resting was
+cold and damp with the moisture of death. He could no longer refuse,
+and the promise was given.
+
+The next morning, the deep-toned bell of Oakland told that another soul
+was gone, and the villagers as they counted the three score strokes and
+ten knew that Grandfather Nichols was numbered with the dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+PACKING UP.
+
+
+The funeral was over, and in the quiet valley by the side of his only
+daughter, Grandfather Nichols was laid to rest. As far as possible his
+father’s business was settled, and then John began to speak of his
+returning. More than once had he repented of the promise made to his
+father, and as the time passed on he shrank more and more from
+introducing his “plebeian” mother to his “lady” wife, who, he knew, was
+meditating an open rebellion.
+
+Immediately after his father’s death he had written to his wife,
+telling her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth matters
+over, so that his mother might at least have a decent reception. In a
+violent passion, his wife had answered, that “she never would submit to
+it—never. When I married you,” said she, “I didn’t suppose I was
+marrying the ‘old woman,’ young one, and all; and as for my having them
+to maintain, I will not, so _Mr. John Nichols_, you understand it.”
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called her husband
+_Mr. John Nichols_, and when Mr. John Nichols was particularly angry,
+he did as he pleased, so in this case he replied that “he should bring
+home as many ‘old women’ and ‘young ones’ as he liked, and she might
+help herself if she could!”
+
+This state of things was hardly favorable to the future happiness of
+Grandma Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and deeming herself as good
+as anybody, never dreamed that her presence would be unwelcome to her
+daughter-in-law, whom she thought to assist in various ways, “taking
+perhaps the whole heft of the housework upon herself—though,” she
+added, “I mean to begin just as I can hold out. I’ve hearn of such
+things as son’s wives shirkin’ the whole on to their old mothers, and
+the minit ’Tilda shows any signs of that, I shall back out, I tell
+you.”
+
+John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, and then
+burst into a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Livingstone’s dismay
+at hearing herself called ’_Tilda_. Had John chosen, he could have
+given his mother a few useful hints with regard to her treatment of his
+wife, but such an idea never entered his brain. He was a man of few
+words, and generally allowed himself to be controlled by circumstances,
+thinking that the easiest way of getting through the world. He was very
+proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it would be to present his mother
+to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was in the future—many miles
+away—he wouldn’t trouble himself about it now; so he passed his time
+mostly in rambling through the woods and over the hills, while his
+mother, good soul, busied herself with the preparations for her
+journey, inviting each and every one of her neighbors to “be sure and
+visit her if they ever came that way,” and urging some of them to come
+on purpose and “spend the winter.”
+
+Among those who promised compliance with this last request, was Miss
+Nancy Scovandyke, whom we have once before mentioned, and who, as the
+reader will have inferred, was the first love of John Livingstone. On
+the night of his arrival, she had been sent in quest of the physician,
+and when on her return she learned from ’Lena that he had come, she
+kept out of sight, thinking she would wait awhile before she met him.
+“Not that she cared the snap of her finger for him,” she said, “only
+’twas natural that she should hate to see him.”
+
+But when the time did come, she met it bravely, shaking his hand and
+speaking to him as if nothing had ever happened, and while he was
+wondering how he ever could have fancied _her_, she, too, was mentally
+styling herself “a fool,” for having liked “such a _pussy_, overgrown
+thing!” Dearly did Miss Nancy love excitement, and during the days that
+Mrs. Nichols was packing up, she was busy helping her to stow away the
+“crockery,” which the old lady declared should go, particularly the
+“blue set, which she’d had ever since the day but one before John was
+born, and which she intended as a part of ’Leny’s settin’ out. Then,
+too, John’s wife could use ’em when she had a good deal of company;
+’twould save buyin’ new, and every little helped!”
+
+“I wonder, now, if ’Tilda takes snuff,” said Mrs. Nichols, one day,
+seating herself upon an empty drygoods box which stood in the middle of
+the floor, and helping herself to an enormous pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy; “I wonder if she takes snuff, ’cause if she does, we shall
+take a sight of comfort together.”
+
+“I don’t much b’lieve she does,” answered Miss Nancy, whose face was
+very red with trying to cram a pair of cracked bellows into the already
+crowded top of John’s leathern trunk, “I don’t b’lieve she does, for
+somehow it seems to me she’s a mighty nipped-up thing, not an atom like
+you nor me.”
+
+“Like enough,” returned Mrs. Nichols, finishing her snuff, and wiping
+her fingers upon the corner of her checked apron; “but, Nancy, can you
+tell me how in the world I’m ever going to carry this _mop_? It’s bran
+new, never been used above a dozen times, and I can’t afford to give it
+away.”
+
+At this point, John, who was sitting in the adjoining room, came
+forward. Hitherto he had not interfered in the least in his mother’s
+arrangements, but had looked silently on while she packed away article
+after article which she would never need, and which undoubtedly would
+be consigned to the flames the moment her back was turned. The _mop_
+business, however, was too much for him, and before Miss Nancy had time
+to reply, he said, “For heaven’s sake, mother, how many traps do you
+propose taking, and what do you imagine we can do with a mop? Why, I
+dare say not one of my servants would know how to use it, and it’s a
+wonder if some of the little chaps didn’t take it for a horse before
+night.”
+
+“A _nigger_ ride my mop! _my new mop_!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, rolling
+up her eyes in astonishment, while Miss Nancy, turning to John, said,
+“In the name of the people, how do you live without mops? I should
+s’pose you’d rot alive!”
+
+“I am not much versed in the mysteries of housekeeping,” returned John,
+with a smile; “but it’s my impression that what little cleaning our
+floors get is done with a cloth.”
+
+“Wall, if I won’t give it up now,” said Miss Nancy. “As good an
+abolutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored folks wash the
+floor with a rag, on their hands and knees! It can’t be that you
+indulge a hope, if you’ll do such things!”
+
+John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, he said,
+“I’m in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many useless things.
+_We_ don’t want them. Our house is full now, and besides that, Mrs.
+Livingstone is very particular about the style of her furniture, and I
+am afraid yours would hardly come up to her ideas of elegance.”
+
+“That chist of drawers,” said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an
+old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, “cost an ocean of money when ’twas
+new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, ’Tilda couldn’t tell ’em
+from gold, unless she’s seen more on’t than I have, which ain’t much
+likely, bein’ I’m double her age.”
+
+“The chest does very well for you, I admit,” said John; “but we have
+neither use nor room for it, so if you can’t sell it, why, give it
+away, or burn it, one or the other.”
+
+Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith ’Lena was dispatched to
+Widow Fisher’s, to see if she would take it at half price. The widow
+had no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy was told
+“to keep it, and maybe she’d sometime have a chance to send it to
+Kentucky. It won’t come amiss, I know, s’posin’ they be well on’t. I
+b’lieve in lookin’ out for a rainy day. I can teach ’Tilda economy
+yet,” whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the room where John sat,
+whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the best way if
+reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.
+
+’Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the cause
+of her uncle’s moodiness. The more she saw of him the better she liked
+him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to cure
+herself of the peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he would
+only notice her a little, which he was not likely to do. He seldom
+noticed any child, much less little ’Lena, who he fancied was ignorant
+as well as awkward; but he did not know her.
+
+One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, ’Lena approached
+him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather timidly,
+“Uncle, I wish you’d tell me something about my cousins.”
+
+“What about them,” he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon his
+feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.
+
+“I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the best,”
+continued ’Lena.
+
+“You’ll like Anna the best,” said her uncle, and ’Lena asked, “Why!
+What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to go to school and study?”
+
+“None too well, I reckon,” returned her uncle, adding that “there were
+not many little girls who did.”
+
+“Why _I_ do,” said ’Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a moment his
+whittling, replied rather scornfully, “_You_! I should like to know
+what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!”
+
+’Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she bore
+the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her age, and
+now she rather tartly answered, “I study geography, arithmetic,
+grammar, and——” history, she was going to add, but her uncle stopped
+her, saying, “That’ll do, that’ll do. You study all these? Now I don’t
+suppose you know what one of ’em is.”
+
+“Yes, I do,” said ’Lena, with a good deal of spirit. “Olney’s geography
+is a description of the earth; Colburn’s arithmetic is the science of
+numbers: Smith’s grammar teaches us how to speak correctly.”
+
+“Why don’t you do it then,” asked her uncle.
+
+“Do what?” said ’Lena, and her uncle continued, “Why don’t you make
+some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar? Why, my Anna has never
+seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don’t _talk like
+you do_.”
+
+“Don’t _what_, sir?” said ’Lena,
+
+“Don’t _talk like you do_,” repeated her uncle, while ’Lena’s eyes
+fairly danced with mischief as she asked, “if that were good grammar.”
+
+Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself
+might sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so
+harshly chided ’Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more
+favorably. It could hardly be said that he treated her with any more
+attention, and still there was a difference which she felt, and which
+made her very happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+ON THE ROAD.
+
+
+At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to
+sell, and too good to give away, had found a place—some here, some
+there, and some in John’s trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars,
+dickeys, and so forth. Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was
+made the receiver of sundry cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and
+iron spoons, which could not be disposed of elsewhere.
+
+And now every box and trunk was ready. Farmer Truesdale’s red wagon
+stood at the door, waiting to convey them to the depot, and nothing
+remained for Grandma Nichols, but to bid adieu to the old spot,
+endeared to her by so many associations. Again and again she went from
+room to room, weeping always, and lingering longest in the one where
+her children were born, and where her husband and daughter had died. In
+the corner stood the old low-post bedstead, the first she had ever
+owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long years before,
+when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, blushing deeply at the
+sly allusion which the cabinet maker made to her approaching marriage.
+_He_, too, was with her, strong and healthy. Now, he was gone from her
+side forever. _His_ couch was a narrow coffin, and the old bedstead
+stood there, naked—empty. Seating herself upon it, the poor old lady
+rocked to and fro, moaning in her grief, and wishing that she were not
+going to Kentucky, or that it were possible now to remain at her
+mountain home. Summoning all her courage, she gave one glance at the
+familiar objects around her, at the flowers she had planted, and then
+taking ’Lena’s hand, went down to the gate, where her son waited.
+
+He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not appreciate the
+cause of her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and his voice and
+manner were unusually kind as he helped her to the best seat in the
+wagon, and asked if she were comfortable. Then his eye fell upon her
+dress, and his pity changed to anger as he wondered if she was wholly
+devoid of taste. At the time of his father’s death, he purchased decent
+mourning for both his mother and ’Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols
+pronounced “altogether too good for the nasty cars; nobody’d think any
+better of them for being rigged out in their best meetin’ gowns.”
+
+So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore a dark blue
+and white spotted calico, which John could have sworn she had twenty
+years before, and which was not unlikely, as she never wore out a
+garment. She was an enemy to long skirts, hence hers came just to her
+ankles, and as her black stockings had been footed with white, there
+was visible a dark rim. Altogether she presented a rather grotesque
+appearance, with her oblong work-bag, in which were her snuff-box,
+brass spectacles and half a dozen “nutcakes,” which would “save John’s
+buying dinner.”
+
+Unlike her grandmother’s, ’Lena’s dress was a great deal too long, and
+as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of a premature old woman,
+instead of a child ten summers old, as she was. Still the uncommon
+beauty of her face, and the natural gracefulness of her form, atoned in
+a measure for the singularity of her appearance.
+
+In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her nephew, Joel
+Slocum, a freckle-faced boy, who had frequently shown a preference for
+’Lena, by going with her for her grandmother’s cow, bringing her
+harvest apples, and letting her ride on his sled oftener than the other
+girls at school. Strange to say, his affection was not returned, and
+now, notwithstanding he several times wiped both eyes and nose, on the
+end of which there was an enormous freck, ’Lena did not relent at all,
+but with a simple “Good-bye, Jo,” she sprang into the wagon, which
+moved rapidly away.
+
+It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and when half
+that distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols suddenly seized the
+reins, ordering the driver to stop, and saying, “she must go straight
+back, for on the shelf of the north room cupboard she had left a whole
+paper of tea, which she couldn’t afford to lose!”
+
+“_Drive on_,” said Johny rather angrily, at the same time telling his
+mother that he could buy her a ton of tea if she wanted it.
+
+“But that was already bought, and ’twould have saved so much,” said
+she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occasioned partly by her
+son’s manner, and partly by the great loss she felt she sustained in
+leaving behind her favorite “old hyson.”
+
+This _saving_ was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so much, that
+John, who was himself slightly avaricious, began to regret that he ever
+knew the definition of the word _save_. Lest our readers get a wrong
+impression of Mrs. Nichols, we must say that she possessed very many
+sterling qualities, and her habits of extreme economy resulted more
+from the manner in which she had been compelled to live, than from
+natural stinginess. For this John hardly made allowance enough, and his
+mother’s remarks, instead of restraining him, only made him more lavish
+of his money than he would otherwise have been.
+
+When Mrs. Nichols and ’Lena entered the cars, they of course attracted
+universal attention, which annoyed John excessively. In Oakland, where
+his mother was known and appreciated, he could bear it, but among
+strangers, and with those of his own caste, it was different, so
+motioning them into the first unoccupied seat, he sauntered on with an
+air which seemed to say, “they were nothing to him,” and finding a
+vacant seat at the other end of the car, he took possession of it.
+Scarcely, however, had he entered into conversation with a gentleman
+near him, when some one grasped his arm, and looking up, he saw his
+mother, her box in one hand; and an enormous pinch of snuff in the
+other.
+
+“John,” said she, elevating her voice so as to drown the noise of the
+cars, “I never thought on’t till this minit, but I’d just as lief ride
+in the second-class cars as not, and it only costs half as much!”
+
+Mr. Livingstone colored crimson, and bade her go back, saying that if
+he paid the fare she needn’t feel troubled about the cost. Just as she
+was turning to leave, the loud ring and whistle, as the train neared a
+crossing, startled her, and in great alarm she asked if “somethin’
+hadn’t bust!”
+
+John made no answer, but the gentleman near him very politely explained
+to her the cause of the disturbance, after which, she returned to her
+seat. When the conductor appeared, he fortunately came in at the door
+nearest John, who pointed out the two, for whom he had tickets, and
+then turned again to converse with the gentleman, who, though a
+stranger, was from Louisville, Kentucky, and whose acquaintance was
+easily made. The sight of the conductor awoke in Mrs. Nichols’s brain a
+new idea, and after peering out upon the platform, she went rushing up
+to her son, telling him that: “the trunks, box, feather bed, and all,
+were every one on ’em left!”
+
+“No, they are not,” said John; “I saw them aboard myself.”
+
+“Wall, then, they’re lost off, for as sure as you’re born, there ain’t
+one on ’em in here; and there’s as much as twenty weight of new
+feathers, besides all the crockery! Holler to ’em to stop quick!”
+
+The stranger, pitying Mr. Livingstone’s chagrin, kindly explained to
+her that there was a baggage car on purpose for trunks and the like,
+and that her feather bed was undoubtedly safe. This quieted her, and
+mentally styling him “a proper nice man,” she again returned to her
+seat.
+
+“A rare specimen of the raw Yankee,” said the stranger to John, never
+dreaming in what relation she stood to him.
+
+“Yes,” answered John, not thinking it at all necessary to make any
+further explanations.
+
+By this time Mrs. Nichols had attracted the attention of all the
+passengers, who watched her movements with great interest. Among these
+was a fine-looking youth, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who sat
+directly in front of ’Lena. He had a remarkably open, pleasing
+countenance, while there was that in his eyes which showed him to be a
+lover of fun. Thinking he had now found it in a rich form, he turned
+partly round, and would undoubtedly have quizzed Mrs. Nichols
+unmercifully, had not something in the appearance of ’Lena prevented
+him. This was also her first ride in the cars, but she possessed a tact
+of concealing the fact, and if she sometimes felt frightened, she
+looked in the faces of those around her, gathering from them that there
+was no danger. She knew that her grandmother was making herself
+ridiculous, and her eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “Do sit
+still, granny; everybody is looking at you.”
+
+The young lad noticed this, and while it quelled in him the spirit of
+ridicule, it awoke a strange interest in ’Lena, who he saw was
+beautiful, spite of her unseemly guise. She was a dear lover of nature,
+and as the cars sped on through the wild mountain scenery, between
+Pittsfield and Albany, she stood at the open window, her hands closely
+locked together, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes wide with
+wonder at the country through which they were passing. At her
+grandmother’s suggestion she had removed her bonnet, and the brown
+curls which clustered around her white forehead and neck were moved up
+and down by the fresh breeze which was blowing. The youth was a
+passionate admirer of beauty, come in what garb it might, and now as he
+watched, he felt a strong desire to touch one of the glossy ringlets
+which floated within his reach. There would be no harm in it, he
+thought—“she was only a little girl, and he was _almost a man_—had
+tried to shave, and was going to enter college in the fall.” Still he
+felt some doubts as to the propriety of the act, and was about making
+up his mind that he had better not, when the train shot into the
+“tunnel,” and for an instant they were in total darkness. Quick as
+thought his hand sought the brown curls, but they were gone, and when
+the cars again emerged into daylight, ’Lena’s arms were around her
+grandmother’s neck, trying to hold her down, for the old lady, sure of
+a _smash-up_ this time, had attempted to rise, screaming loudly for
+“_John_!”
+
+The boy laughed aloud—he could not help it; but when ’Lena’s eyes
+turned reprovingly upon him, he felt sorry; and anxious to make amends,
+addressed himself very politely to Mrs. Nichols, explaining to her that
+it was a “tunnel” through which they had passed, and assuring her there
+was no danger whatever. Then turning to ’Lena, he said, “I reckon your
+grandmother is not much accustomed to traveling.”
+
+“No, sir,” answered ’Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek at being
+addressed by a stranger.
+
+It was the first time any one had ever said “_sir_” to the boy, and now
+feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he continued: “I
+believe old people generally are timid when they enter the cars for the
+first time.”
+
+Nothing from ’Lena except a slight straightening up of her body, and a
+smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was broken, and erelong she
+and her companion were conversing as familiarly as if they had known
+each other for years. Still the boy was not inquisitive—he did not ask
+her name, or where she was going, though he told her that his home was
+in Louisville, and that at Albany he was to take the boat for New York,
+where his mother was stopping with some friends. He also told her that
+the gentleman near the door, with dark eyes and whiskers, was his
+father.
+
+Glancing toward the person indicated, ’Lena saw that it was the same
+gentleman who, all the afternoon, had been talking with her uncle. He
+was noble looking, and she felt glad that he was the father of the
+boy—he was just such a man, she fancied, as ought to be his father—just
+such a man as she could wish her father to be—and then ’Lena felt glad
+that the youth had asked her nothing concerning her parentage, for,
+though her grandmother had seldom mentioned her father in her presence,
+there were others ready and willing to inform her that he was a
+villain, who broke her mother’s heart.
+
+When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his hand to ’Lena,
+said “I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but I’d like right well to go
+farther with you.”
+
+At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on seeing how his
+son was occupied, said smilingly, “So-ho! Durward, you always manage to
+make some lady acquaintance.”
+
+“Yes, father,” returned the boy called Durward, “but not always one
+like this. Isn’t she pretty,” he added in a whisper.
+
+The stranger’s eyes fell upon ’Lena’s face, and for a moment, as if by
+some strange fascination, seemed riveted there; but the crowd pressed
+him forward, and ’Lena only heard him reply to his son, “Yes, Durward,
+very pretty; but hurry, or we shall lose the boat.”
+
+The next moment they were gone. Leaning from the window, ’Lena tried to
+catch another glimpse of him, but in vain. He was gone—she would never
+see him again, she thought; and then she fell into a reverie concerning
+his home, his mother, his sisters, if he had any, and finally ended by
+wishing that she were his sister, and the daughter of his father. While
+she was thus pondering, her grandmother, also, was busy, and when ’Lena
+looked round for her she was gone. Stepping from the car, ’Lena espied
+her in the distance, standing by her uncle and anxiously watching for
+the appearance of her “great trunk, little trunk, band-box, and bag.”
+Each of these articles was forthcoming, and in a few moments they were
+on the ferry-boat crossing the blue waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols
+declaring that “if she’d known it wasn’t a bridge she was steppin’
+onto, she’d be bound they wouldn’t have got her on in one while.”
+
+“Do sit down,” said ’Lena; “the other people don’t seem to be afraid,
+and I’m sure we needn’t.”
+
+This Mrs. Nichols was more willing to do, as directly at her side was
+another old lady, traveling for the first time, frightened and anxious.
+To her Mrs. Nichols addressed herself, announcing her firm belief that
+“she should be blew sky high before she reached Kentucky, where she was
+going to live with her son John, who she supposed was well off, worth
+twenty negroes or more; but,” she added, lowering her voice, “I don’t
+b’lieve in no such, and I mean he shall set ’em free—poor critters,
+duddin’ from mornin’ till night without a cent of pay. He says they
+call him ‘master,’ but I’ll warrant he’ll never catch me a’callin’ him
+so to one on ’em. I promised Nancy Scovandyke that I wouldn’t, and I
+won’t!”
+
+Here a little _popcorn_ boy came ’round, which reminded Mrs. Nichols of
+her money, and that she hadn’t once looked after it since she started.
+Thinking this as favorable a time as she would have, she drew from her
+capacious pocket an old knit purse, and commenced counting out its
+contents, piece by piece.
+
+“Beware of pickpockets!” said some one in her ear, and with the
+exclamation of “Oh the Lord!” the purse disappeared in her pocket, on
+which she kept her hand until the boat touched the opposite shore. Then
+in the confusion and excitement it was withdrawn, the purse was
+forgotten, and when on board the night express for Buffalo it was again
+looked for, _it was gone_!
+
+With a wild outcry the horror-stricken matron sprang up, calling for
+John, who in some alarm came to her side, asking what she wanted.
+
+“I’ve lost my purse. Somebody’s stole it. Lock the door quick, and
+search every man, woman, and child in the car!”
+
+The conductor, who chanced to be present, now came up, demanding an
+explanation, and trying to convince Mrs. Nichols how improbable it was
+that any one present had her money.
+
+“Stop the train then, and let me get off.”
+
+“Had you a large amount?” asked the conductor.
+
+“Every cent I had in the world. Ain’t you going to let me get off?” was
+the answer.
+
+The conductor looked inquiringly at John, who shook his head, at the
+same time whispering to his mother not to feel so badly, as he would
+give her all the money she wanted. Then placing a ten dollar bill in
+her hand, he took a seat behind her. We doubt whether this would have
+quieted the old lady, had not a happy idea that moment entered her
+mind, causing her to exclaim loudly, “There, now, I’ve just this minute
+thought. I hadn’t but _five_ dollars in my purse; t’other fifty I sewed
+up in an old night-gown sleeve, and tucked it away in that satchel up
+there,” pointing to ’Lena’s traveling bag, which hung over her head.
+She would undoubtedly have designated the very corner of said satchel
+in which her money could be found, had not her son touched her
+shoulder, bidding her be silent and not tell everybody where her money
+was, if she didn’t want it stolen.
+
+Mrs. Nichols made no reply, but when she thought she was not observed,
+she arose, and slyly taking down the satchel, placed it under her. Then
+seating herself upon it, she gave a sigh of relief as she thought,
+“they’d have to work hard to get it now, without her knowing it!” Dear
+old soul, when arrived at her journey’s end, how much comfort she took
+in recounting over and over again the incidents of the robbery,
+wondering if it was, as John said, the very man who had so kindly
+cautioned her to beware of pickpockets, and who thus ascertained where
+she kept her purse. Nancy Scovandyke, too, was duly informed of her
+loss, and charged when she came to Kentucky, “to look out on the
+ferry-boat for a youngish, good-looking man, with brown frock coat,
+blue cravat, and mouth full of white teeth.”
+
+At Buffalo Mr. Livingstone had hard work to coax his mother on board
+the steamboat, but he finally succeeded, and as the weather chanced to
+be fine, she declared that ride on the lake to be the pleasantest part
+of her journey. At Cleveland they took the cars for Cincinnati, going
+thence to Lexington by stage. On ordinary occasions Mr. Livingstone
+would have preferred the river, but knowing that in all probability he
+should meet with some of his friends upon the boat, he chose the route
+via Lexington, where he stopped at the Phoenix, as was his usual
+custom.
+
+After seeing his mother and niece into the public parlor he left them
+for a time, saying he had some business to transact in the city.
+Scarcely was he gone when the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall
+announced an arrival, and a moment after, a boy, apparently fifteen
+years of age, appeared in the door. He was richly though carelessly
+dressed, and notwithstanding the good-humored expression of his rather
+handsome face, there was in his whole appearance an indescribable
+something which at once pronounced him to be a “fast” boy. A rowdy hat
+was set on one side of his head, after the most approved fashion, while
+in his hand he held a lighted cigar, which he applied to his mouth when
+he saw the parlor was unoccupied, save by an “old woman” and a “little
+girl.”
+
+Instinctively ’Lena shrank from him, and withdrawing herself as far as
+possible within the recess of the window, pretended to be busily
+watching the passers-by. But she did not escape his notice, and after
+coolly surveying her for a moment, he walked up to her, saying, “How
+d’ye, polywog? I’ll be hanged if I know to what gender you belong—woman
+or _gal_—which is it, hey?”
+
+“None of your business,” was ’Lena’s ready answer.
+
+“Spunky, ain’t you,” said he, unceremoniously pulling one of the brown
+curls which Durward had so longed to touch. “Seems to me your hair
+don’t match the rest of you; wonder if ’tisn’t somebody else’s head set
+on your shoulders.”
+
+“No, it ain’t. It’s my own head, and you just let it alone,” returned
+’Lena, growing more and more indignant, and wondering if this were a
+specimen of Kentucky boys.
+
+“Don’t be saucy,” continued her tormentor; “I only want to see what
+sort of stuff you are made of.”
+
+“Made of _dirt_” muttered ’Lena.
+
+“I reckon you are,” returned the boy; “but say, where _did_ you come
+from and who _do_ you live with?”
+
+“I came from Massachusetts, and I live with _granny_,” said ’Lena,
+thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would perhaps let her
+alone. But she was mistaken.
+
+Glancing at “_granny_,” he burst into a loud laugh, and then placing
+his hat a little more on one side, and assuming a nasal twang, he said,
+“Neow dew tell, if you’re from Massachusetts. How dew you dew, little
+Yankee, and how are all the folks to hum?”
+
+Feeling sure that not only herself but all her relations were included
+in this insult, ’Lena darted forward hitting him a blow in the face,
+which he returned by puffing smoke into hers, whereupon she snatched
+the cigar from his mouth and hurled it into the street, bidding him
+“touch her again if he dared.” All this transpired so rapidly that Mrs.
+Nichols had hardly time to understand its meaning, but fully
+comprehending it now, she was about coming to the rescue, when her son
+reappeared, exclaiming, “_John_, John Livingstone, Jr., how came you
+here?”
+
+Had a cannon exploded at the feet of John Jr., as he was called, he
+could not have been more startled. He was not expecting his father for
+two or three days, and was making the most of his absence by having
+what he called a regular “spree.” Taking him altogether, he was,
+without being naturally bad, a spoiled child, whom no one could manage
+except his father, and as his father seldom tried, he was of course
+seldom managed. Never yet had he remained at any school more than two
+quarters, for if he were not sent away, he generally ran away, sure of
+finding a champion in his mother, who had always petted him, calling
+him, “Johnny darling,” until he one day very coolly informed her that
+she was “a silly old fool,” and that “he’d thank her not to ‘Johnny
+darling’ him any longer.”
+
+It would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr. when ’Lena
+was presented to him as his _cousin_, and Mrs. Nichols as his
+_grandmother_. Something which sounded very much like an oath escaped
+his lips, as turning to his father he muttered, “Won’t mother go into
+fits?” Then, as he began to realize the ludicrousness of the whole
+affair, he exclaimed, “Rich, good, by gracious!” and laughing loudly,
+he walked away to regale himself with another cigar.
+
+Lena began to tremble for her future happiness, if this boy was to live
+in the same house with her. She did not know that she had already more
+than half won his good opinion, for he was far better pleased with her
+antagonistical demonstrations, than he would have been had she cried or
+ran from him, as his sister Anna generally did when he teased her.
+After a few moments here turned to the parlor, and walking up to Mrs.
+Nichols, commenced talking very sociably with her, calling her
+“Granny,” and winking slyly at ’Lena as he did so. Mr. Livingstone had
+too much good sense to sit quietly by and hear his mother ridiculed by
+his son, and in a loud, stern voice he bade the young gentleman “behave
+himself.”
+
+“Law, now,” said Mrs. Nichols, “let him talk if he wants to. I like to
+hear him. He’s the only grandson I’ve got.”
+
+This speech had the effect of silencing John Jr. quite as much as his
+father’s command. If he could tease his grandmother by talking to her,
+he would take delight in doing so, but if she _wanted_ him to talk—that
+was quite another thing. So moving away from her, he took a seat near
+’Lena, telling her her dress was “a heap too short,” and occasionally
+pinching her, just to vary the sport! This last, however, ’Lena
+returned with so much force that he grew weary of the fun, and
+informing her that he was going to a _circus_ which was in town that
+evening, he arose to leave the room.
+
+Mr. Livingstone, who partially overheard what he had said, stopped him
+and asked “where he was going?”
+
+Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that “he was
+confounded sleepy and was going to bed.”
+
+“’Lena, where did he say he was going?” asked her uncle.
+
+’Lena trembled, for John Jr. had clinched his fist, and was shaking it
+threateningly at her.
+
+“Where did he say he was going?” repeated her uncle.
+
+Poor ’Lena had never told a lie in her life, and now braving her
+cousin’s anger, she said, “To the circus, sir. Oh, I wish you had not
+asked me.”
+
+“You’ll get your pay for that,” muttered John Jr. sullenly reseating
+himself by his father, who kept an eye on him until he saw him safely
+in his room.
+
+Much as John Jr. frightened ’Lena with his threats, in his heart he
+respected her for telling the truth, and if the next morning on their
+way home in the stage, in which his father compelled him to take a
+seat, he frequently found it convenient to step on her feet, it was
+more from a natural propensity to torment than from any lurking feeling
+of revenge. ’Lena was nowise backward in returning his cousinly
+attentions, and so between an interchange of kicks, wry faces, and so
+forth, they proceeded toward “Maple Grove,” a description of which will
+be given in another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+MAPLE GROVE.
+
+
+The residence of Mr. Livingstone, or rather of Mr. Livingstone’s wife,
+was a large, handsome building, such as one often finds in Kentucky,
+particularly in the country. Like most planters’ houses, it stood at
+some little distance from the street, from which its massive walls,
+wreathed with evergreen, were just discernible. The carriage road which
+led to it passed first through a heavy iron gate guarded by huge bronze
+lions, so natural and life-like, that Mrs. Nichols, when first she saw
+them, uttered a cry of fear. Next came a beautiful maple grove,
+followed by a long, green lawn, dotted here and there with forest trees
+and having on its right a deep running brook, whose waters, farther on
+at the rear of the garden, were formed into a miniature fish-pond.
+
+The house itself was of brick—two storied, and surrounded on three
+sides with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined with climbing
+roses, honey-suckle, and running vines, so closely interwoven as to
+give it the appearance of an immense summer-house. In the spacious yard
+in front, tall shade trees and bright green grass were growing, while
+in the well-kept garden at the left, bloomed an endless variety of
+roses and flowering shrubs, which in their season filled the air with
+perfume, and made the spot brilliant with beauty. Directly through the
+center of this garden ran the stream of which we have spoken, and as
+its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented the appearance of
+a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the starry dandelion and the
+blue-eyed violet grew.
+
+Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both of which
+were latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grape-vines, whose dark, green
+foliage was now intermingled with clusters of the rich purple fruit. At
+the right, and somewhat in the rear of the building, was a group of
+linden trees, overshadowing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who,
+imitating as far as possible the taste of their master, beautified
+their dwellings with hop-vines, creepers, hollyhocks and the like.
+Altogether, it was as ’Lena said, “just the kind of place which one
+reads of in stories,” and which is often found at the “sunny south.”
+The interior of the building corresponded with the exterior, for with
+one exception, the residence of a wealthy Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone
+prided herself upon having the best furnished house in the county;
+consequently neither pains nor money had been spared in the selection
+of the furniture, which was of the most costly kind.
+
+Carrie, the eldest of the daughters, was now about thirteen years of
+age. Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she was hated by the
+servants, and disliked by her equals. Some thought her pretty. _She_
+felt sure of it, and many an hour she spent before the mirror, admiring
+herself and anticipating the time when she would be a grown-up lady,
+and as a matter of course, a belle. Her mother unfortunately belonged
+to that class who seem to think that the chief aim in life is to secure
+a “brilliant match,” and thinking she could not commence too soon, she
+had early instilled into her favorite daughter’s mind the necessity of
+appearing to the best possible advantage, when in the presence of
+wealth and distinction, pointing out her own marriage as a proof of the
+unhappiness resulting from unequal matches. In this way Carrie had
+early learned that her father owed his present position to her mother’s
+condescension in marrying him—that he was once a poor boy living among
+the northern hills—that his parents were poor, ignorant and vulgar—and
+that there was with them a little girl, their daughter’s child, who
+never had a father, and whom she must never on any occasion call her
+cousin.
+
+All this had likewise been told to Anna, the youngest daughter, who was
+about ’Lena’s age, but upon her it made no impression. If her father
+was once poor, he was in her opinion none the worse for that—and if
+_he_ liked his parents, that was a sufficient reason why she should
+like them too, and if little ’Lena was an orphan, she pitied her, and
+hoped she might sometime see her and tell her so! Thus Anna reasoned,
+while her mother, terribly shocked at her low-bred taste, strove to
+instill into her mind some of her own more aristocratic notions. But
+all in vain, for Anna was purely democratic, loving everybody and
+beloved by everybody in return. It is true she had no particular liking
+for books or study of any kind, but she was gentle and affectionate in
+her manner, and kindly considerate of other people’s feelings. With her
+father she was a favorite, and to her he always looked for sympathy,
+which she seldom failed to give—not in words, it is true, but whenever
+he seemed to be in trouble, she would climb into his lap, wind her arms
+around his neck, and laying her golden head upon his shoulder, would
+sit thus until his brow and heart grew lighter as he felt there was yet
+something in the wide world which loved and cared for him.
+
+For Carrie Mrs. Livingstone had great expectations, but Anna she feared
+would never make a “brilliant match.” For a long time Anna meditated
+upon this, wondering what a “brilliant match” could mean, and at last
+she determined to seek an explanation from Captain Atherton, a bachelor
+and a millionaire, who was in the habit of visiting them, and who
+always noticed and petted her more than he did Carrie. Accordingly, the
+next time he came, and they were alone in the parlor, she broached the
+subject, asking him what it meant.
+
+Laughing loudly, the Captain drew her toward him, saying, “Why,
+marrying rich, you little novice. For instance, if one of these days
+you should be my little wife, I dare say your mother would think you
+had made a brilliant match!” and the well-preserved gentleman of forty
+glanced complacently at himself in the mirror thinking how probable it
+was that his youthfulness would be unimpaired for at least ten years to
+come!
+
+Anna laughed, for to her his words then conveyed no serious meaning,
+but with more than her usual quickness she replied, that “she would as
+soon marry her grandfather.”
+
+With Mrs. Livingstone the reader is partially acquainted. In her youth
+she had been pretty, and now at thirty-eight she was not without
+pretensions to beauty, notwithstanding her sallow complexion and sunken
+eyes, Her hair, which was very abundant, was bright and glossy, and her
+mouth, in which the dentist had done his best, would have been
+handsome, had it not been for a certain draw at the corners, which gave
+it a scornful and rather disagreeable expression. In her disposition
+she was overbearing and tyrannical, fond of ruling, and deeming her
+husband a monster of ingratitude if ever in any way he manifested a
+spirit of rebellion. Didn’t she marry him? and now they were married,
+didn’t her money support him? And wasn’t it exceedingly amiable in her
+always to speak of their children as _ours_! But as for the rest, ’twas
+_my_ house, _my_ servants, _my_ carriage, and _my_ horses. All
+_mine_—“Mrs. John Livingstone’s—Miss Matilda Richards that was!”
+
+Occasionally, however, her husband’s spirit was roused, and then, after
+a series of tears, sick-headaches, and then spasms, “Miss Matilda
+Richards that Was” was compelled to yield her face for many days
+wearing the look of a much-injured, heart-broken woman. Still her
+influence over him was great, else she had never so effectually
+weakened every tie which bound him to his native home, making him
+ashamed of his parents and of everything pertaining to them. When her
+husband first wrote, to her that his father was dead and that he had
+promised to take charge of his mother and ’Lena, she flew into a
+violent rage, which was increased ten-fold when she received his second
+letter, wherein he announced his intention of bringing them home in
+spite of her. Bursting into tears she declared “she’d leave the house
+before she’d have it filled up with a lot of paupers. Who did John
+Nichols think he was, and who did he think she was! Besides that, where
+was he going to put them? for there wasn’t a place for them that she
+knew of!”
+
+“Why, mother,” said Anna who was pleased with the prospect of a new
+grandmother and cousin, “Why, mother, what a story. There’s the two big
+chambers and bedrooms, besides the one next to Carrie’s and mine. Oh,
+do put them in there. It’ll be so nice to have grandma and cousin ’Lena
+so near me.”
+
+“Anna Livingstone!” returned the indignant lady, “Never let me hear you
+say grandma and cousin again.”
+
+“But they be grandma and cousin,” persisted Anna, while her mother
+commenced lamenting the circumstance which had made them so, wishing,
+as she had often done before, that she had never married John Nichols.
+
+“I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so,” slyly whispered
+John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion.
+
+Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother’s last remark
+awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, causing her to
+wonder whose little girl she would have been, her father’s or mother’s,
+in case they had each married some one else! As there was no one whose
+opinion Anna dared to ask, the question is undoubtedly to this day,
+with her, unsolved.
+
+The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger of the day
+before was somewhat abated, and knowing from past experience that it
+was useless to resist her husband when once he was determined, she
+wisely concluded that as they were now probably on the road, it was
+best to try to endure, for a time, at least, what could not well be
+helped. And now arose the perplexing question, “What should she do with
+them? where should she put them that they would be the most out of the
+way? for she could never suffer them to be round when she had company.”
+The chamber of which Anna had spoken was out of the question, for it
+was too nice, and besides that, it was reserved for the children of her
+New Orleans friends, who nearly every summer came up to visit her.
+
+At the rear of the building was a long, low room, containing a
+fireplace and two windows, which looked out upon the negro quarters and
+the hemp fields beyond. This room, which in the summer was used for
+storing feather-beds, blankets, and so forth, was plastered, but minus
+either paper or paint. Still it was quite comfortable, “better than
+they were accustomed to at home,” Mrs. Livingstone said, and this she
+decided to give them. Accordingly the negroes were set at work
+scrubbing the floor, washing the windows, and scouring the sills, until
+the room at least possessed the virtue of being clean. A faded carpet,
+discarded as good for nothing, and over which the rats had long held
+their nightly revels, was brought to light, shaken, mended, and nailed
+down—then came a bedstead, which Mrs. Livingstone had designed as a
+Christmas gift to one of the negroes, but which of course would do well
+enough for her mother-in-law. Next followed an old wooden
+rocking-chair, whose ancestry Anna had tried in vain to trace, and
+which Carrie had often proposed burning. This, with two or three more
+chairs of a later date, a small wardrobe, and a square table, completed
+the furniture of the room, if we except the plain muslin curtains which
+shaded the windows, destitute of blinds. Taking it by itself, the room
+looked tolerably well, but when compared with the richly furnished
+apartments around it, it seemed meager and poor indeed; “but if they
+wanted anything better, they could get it themselves. They were welcome
+to make any alterations they chose.”
+
+This mode of reasoning hardly satisfied Anna, and unknown to her mother
+she took from her own chamber a handsome hearth-rug, and carrying it to
+her grandmother’s room, laid it before the fireplace. Coming
+accidentally upon a roll of green paper, she, with the help of Corinda,
+a black girl, made some shades for the windows, which faced the west,
+rendering the room intolerably hot during the summer season. Then, at
+the suggestion of Corinda, she looped back the muslin curtains with
+some green ribbons, which she had intended using for her “dolly’s
+dress.” The bare appearance of the table troubled her, but by
+rummaging, she brought to light a cast-off spread, which, though soiled
+and worn, was on one side quite handsome.
+
+“Now, if we only had something for the mantel,” said she; “it seems so
+empty.”
+
+Corinda thought a moment, then rolling up the whites of her eyes,
+replied, “Don’t you mind them little pitchers” (meaning vases) “which
+Master Atherton done gin you? They’d look mighty fine up thar, full of
+sprigs and posies.”
+
+Without hesitating a moment Anna brought the vases, and as she did not
+know the exact time when her grandmother would arrive, she determined
+to fill them with fresh flowers every morning.
+
+“There, it looks a heap better, don’t it, Carrie?” said she to her
+sister, who chanced to be passing the door and looked in.
+
+“You must be smart,” answered Carrie, “taking so much pains just for
+them; and as I live, if you haven’t got those elegant vases that
+Captain Atherton gave you for a birthday present! I know mother won’t
+like it. I mean to tell her;” and away she ran with the important news.
+
+“There, I told you so,” said she, quickly returning. “She says you
+carry them straight back and let the room alone.”
+
+Anna began to cry, saying “the vases were hers, and she should think
+she might do what she pleased with them.”
+
+“What did you go and blab for, you great for shame, you?” exclaimed
+John Jr., suddenly appearing in the doorway, at the same time giving
+Carrie a push, which set her to crying, and brought Mrs. Livingstone to
+the scene of action,
+
+“Can’t my vases stay in here? Nobody’ll hurt ’em, and they’ll look so
+pretty,” said Anna.
+
+“Can’t that hateful John behave, and let me alone?” said Carrie.
+
+“And can’t Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks’ business?”
+chimed in John Jr.
+
+“Oh Lordy, what a fuss,” said Corinda, while poor Mrs. Livingstone,
+half distracted, took refuge under one of her dreadful headaches, and
+telling her children “to fight their own battles and let her alone,”
+returned to her room.
+
+“A body’d s’pose marster’s kin warn’t of no kind of count,” said Aunt
+Milly, the head cook, to a group of sables, who, in the kitchen, were
+discussing the furniture of the “trump’ry room,” as they were in the
+habit of calling the chamber set apart for Mrs. Nichols. “Yes, they
+would s’pose they warn’t of no kind o’ count, the way miss goes on,
+ravin’ and tarin’ and puttin’ ’em off with low-lived truck that we
+black folks wouldn’t begin to tache with the tongs. Massy knows ef my
+ole mother warn’t dead and gone to kingdom come, I should never think
+o’ sarvin’ her so, and I don’t set myself up to be nothin’ but an old
+nigger, and a black one at that. But Lor’ that’s the way with more’n
+half the white folks. They jine the church, and then they think they
+done got a title deed to one of them houses up in heaven (that nobody
+ever built) sure enough. Goin’ straight thar, as fast as a span of
+race-horses can carry ’em. Ki! Won’t they be disappointed, some on ’em,
+and Miss Matilda ’long the rest, when she drives up, hosses all a
+reekin’ sweat, and spects to walk straight into the best room, but is
+told to go to the kitchen and turn hoe-cakes for us niggers, who are
+eatin’ at the fust table, with silver forks and napkins——?”
+
+Here old Milly stopped to breathe, and her daughter Vine, who had
+listened breathlessly to her mother’s description of the “good time
+coming,” asked “when these things come to pass, if Miss Carrie wouldn’t
+have to swing the feathers over the table to keep off the flies,
+instead of herself?”
+
+“Yes, that she will, child,” returned her mother; “Things is all gwine
+to be changed in the wink of your eye. Miss Anna read that very tex’ to
+me last Sunday and I knew in a minit what it meant. Now thar’s Miss
+Anna, blessed lamb. She’s one of ’em that’ll wear her white gowns and
+stay in t’other room, with her face shinin’ like an ile lamp!”
+
+While this interesting conversation was going on in the kitchen, John
+Jr., in the parlor was teasing his mother for money, with which to go
+up to Lexington the next day. “You may just as well give it to me
+without any fuss,” said he, “for if you don’t, I’ll get my bills at the
+Phoenix charged. The old man is good, and they’ll trust. But then a
+feller feels more independent when he can pay down, and treat a friend,
+if he likes; so hand over four or five Vs.”
+
+At first Mrs. Livingstone refused, but her head ached so hard and her
+“nerves trembled so,” that she did not feel equal to the task of
+contending with John Jr., who was always sure in the end to have his
+own way. Yielding at last to his importunities, she gave him fifteen
+dollars, charging him to “keep out of bad company and be a good boy.”
+
+“Trust me for that,” said he, and pulling the tail of Anna’s pet
+kitten, upsetting Carrie’s work-box, poking a black baby’s ribs with
+his walking cane, and knocking down a cob-house, which “Thomas
+Jefferson” had been all day building, he mounted his favorite
+“Firelock,” and together with a young negro, rode off.
+
+“The Lord send us a little peace now,” said Aunt Milly, tossing her
+squalling baby up in the air, and telling Thomas Jefferson not to cry,
+“for his young master was done gone off.”
+
+“And I hope to goodness he’ll stay off a spell,” she added, “for thar’s
+ole Sam to pay the whole time he’s at home, and if ever thar was a
+tickled critter in this world it’s me, when he clar’s out.”
+
+“I’m glad, too,” said Anna, who had been sent to the kitchen to stop
+the screaming, “and I wish he’d stay ever so long, for I don’t take a
+bit of comfort when he’s at home.”
+
+“Great hateful! I wish he didn’t live here,” said Carrie, gathering up
+her spools, thimble and scissors, while Mrs. Livingstone, feeling that
+his absence had taken a load from her shoulders, settled herself upon
+her silken lounge and tried to sleep.
+
+Amid all this rejoicing at his departure, John Jr. put spurs to the
+fleet Firelock, who soon carried him to Lexington, where, as we have
+seen, he came unexpectedly upon his father, who, not daring to trust
+him on horseback, lest he should play the truant, took him into the
+stage with himself, leaving Firelock to the care of the negro.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+THE ARRIVAL.
+
+
+“Oh, mother, get up quick—the stage has driven up at the gate, and I
+reckon pa has come,” said Anna, bursting into the room where her
+mother, who was suffering from a headache, was still in bed.
+
+Raising herself upon her elbow, and pushing aside the rich, heavy
+curtains, Mrs. Livingstone looked out upon the mud-bespattered vehicle,
+from which a leg, encased in a black and white stocking, was just
+making its egress. “Oh, heavens!” said she, burying her face again in
+the downy pillows. Woman’s curiosity, however, soon prevailed over all
+other feelings, and again looking out she obtained a full view of her
+mother-in-law, who, having emerged from the coach, was picking out her
+boxes, trunks, and so forth. When they were all found, Mr. Livingstone
+ordered two negroes to carry them to the side piazza, where they were
+soon mounted by three or four little darkies, Thomas Jefferson among
+the rest.
+
+“John, _John_” said Mrs. Nichols, “them niggers won’t scent my things,
+will they?”
+
+“Don’t talk, granny,” whispered ’Lena, painfully conscious of the
+curious eyes fixed upon them by the bevy of blacks, who had come out to
+greet their master, and who with sidelong glances at each other, were
+inspecting the new comers.
+
+“Don’t talk! why not?” said Mrs. Nichols, rather sharply. “This is a
+free country I suppose.” Then bethinking herself, she added quickly,
+“Oh, I forgot, ’taint free _here_!”
+
+After examining the satchel and finding that the night gown sleeve was
+safe, Mrs. Nichols took up her line of march for the house, herself
+carrying her umbrella and band-box, which she would not intrust to the
+care of the negroes, “as like enough they’d break the umberell, or
+squash her caps.”
+
+“The trumpery room is plenty good enough for ’em,” thought Corinda,
+retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of
+her contempt.
+
+The moment ’Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, “Oh, mercy,
+which is the oldest?” and truly, poor ’Lena did present a sorry figure,
+
+Her bonnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had received an ugly
+crook in front, which neither her grandmother or uncle had noticed, and
+of which John Jr. would not tell her, thinking that the worse she
+looked the more fun he would have! Her skirts were not very full, and
+her dress hung straight around her, making her of the same bigness from
+her head to her feet. Her shoes, which had been given to her by one of
+the neighbors, were altogether too large, and it was with considerable
+difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as they were a
+present, Mrs. Nichols said “it was a pity not to get all the good out
+of them she could.”
+
+In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Livingstone, moody,
+silent, and cross. Behind them was John Jr., mimicking first ’Lena’s
+gait and then his grandmother’s. The negroes, convulsed with laughter,
+darted hither and thither, running against and over each other, and
+finally disappearing, some behind the house and some into the kitchen,
+and all retaining a position from which they could have a full view of
+the proceedings. On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie, the one with her
+handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, and the other with her mouth open,
+astounded at the unlooked-for spectacle.
+
+“Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” groaned Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Do? Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your new relations:
+that’s what I should do,” answered John Jr., who, tired of mimicking,
+had run forward, and now rushed unceremoniously into his mother’s
+sleeping-room, leaving the door open behind him.
+
+“John Livingstone, what do you mean?” said she, “shut that door this
+minute.”
+
+Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he
+reached just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters.
+
+“This is Carrie, and this is Anna,” said Mr. Livingstone, pointing to
+each one as he pronounced her name.
+
+Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols
+exclaimed, “Now I want to know if this is Car’line. I’d no idee she was
+so big. You pretty well, Car’line?”
+
+Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother’s fingers,
+and with stately gravity replied that she was well.
+
+Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, “And this is Anny. Looks
+weakly ’pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she was
+fitty. Never have fits, do you, dear?”
+
+“No, ma’am,” answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from laughing
+outright.
+
+Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that she
+was sick, started for her room.
+
+“Sick? Is your marm sick?” asked Mrs. Nichols of John Jr. “Wall, I
+guess I’ll go right in and sea if I can’t do somethin’ for her. I’m
+tolerable good at nussin’.”
+
+Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered unannounced
+into the presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, who, with a little
+shriek, covered her head with the bed-clothes. Knowing that she meant
+well, and never dreaming that she was intruding, Mrs. Nichols walked up
+to the bedside, saying, “How de do, ’Tilda? I suppose you know I’m your
+mother—come all the way from Massachusetts to live with you. What is
+the matter? Do you take anything for your sickness?”
+
+A groan was Mrs. Livingstone’s only answer.
+
+“Little hystericky, I guess,” suggested Mrs. Nichols, adding that
+“settin’ her feet in middlin’ hot water is good for that.”
+
+“She is nervous, and the sight of strangers makes her worse. So I
+reckon you’d better go out for the present,” said Mr. Livingstone, who
+really pitied his wife. Then calling Corinda, he bade her show his
+mother to her room.
+
+Corinda obeyed, and Mrs. Nichols followed her, asking her on the way
+“what her surname was, how old she was, if she knew how to read, and if
+she hadn’t a good deal rather be free than to be a slave!” to which
+Corinda replied, that “she didn’t know what a surname meant, that she
+didn’t know how old she was, that she didn’t know how to read, and that
+she didn’t know whether she’d like to be free or not, but reckoned she
+shouldn’t.”
+
+“A half-witted gal that,” thought Mrs. Nichols, “and I guess ’Tilda
+don’t set much store by her.” Then dropping into the wooden
+rocking-chair and laying aside her bonnet, she for the first time
+noticed that ’Lena was not with her, and asked Corinda to go for her.
+
+Corinda complied, leaving the room just in time to stifle a laugh, as
+she saw Mrs. Nichols stoop down to examine the hearth-rug, wondering
+“how much it cost when ’twas new.”
+
+We left ’Lena standing on the steps of the piazza.
+
+At a glance she had taken in the whole—had comprehended that there was
+no affinity whatever between herself and the objects around her, and a
+wild, intense longing filled her heart to be once more among her native
+hills. She had witnessed the merriment of the blacks, the scornful curl
+of Carrie’s lip, the half-suppressed ridicule of Anna, when they met
+her grandmother, and now uncertain of her own reception, she stood
+before her cousins not knowing whether to advance or run away. For a
+moment there was an awkward silence, and then John Jr., bent on
+mischief, whispered to Carrie, “Look at that pinch in her bonnet, and
+just see her shoes! Big as little sailboats!”
+
+This was too much for Lena. She already disliked John Jr., and now,
+flying into a violent passion, she drew off her shoes, and hurling them
+at the young gentleman’s head fled away, away, she knew not, cared not
+whither, so that she got out of sight and hearing. Coming at last to
+the arbor bridge across the brook in the garden, she paused for breath,
+and throwing herself upon a seat, burst into a flood of tears. For
+several minutes she sobbed so loudly that she did not hear the sound of
+footsteps upon the graveled walk. Anna had followed her, partly out of
+curiosity, and partly out of pity, the latter of which preponderated
+when she saw how bitterly her cousin was weeping. Going up to her she
+said, “Don t cry so, ’Lena. Look up and talk. It’s Anna, your cousin.”
+
+’Lena had not yet recovered from her angry fit, and thinking Anna only
+came to tease her, and perhaps again ridicule her bonnet, she tore the
+article, from her head, and bending it up double, threw it into the
+stream, which carried it down to the fish-pond, where for two or three
+hours it furnished amusement for some little negroes, who, calling it a
+crab, fished for it with hook and line! For a moment Anna stood
+watching the bonnet as it sailed along down the stream, thinking it
+looked better there than on its owner’s head, but wondering why ’Lena
+had thrown it away. Then again addressing her cousin, she asked why she
+had done so?
+
+“It’s a homely old thing, and I hate it,” answered ’Lena, again
+bursting into tears. “I hate everybody, and I wish I was dead, or back
+in Massachusetts, I don’t care which!”
+
+With her impressions of the “Bay State,” where her mother said folks
+lived on “cold beans and codfish,” Anna thought she should prefer the
+first alternative, but she did not say so; and after a little she tried
+again to comfort ’Lena, telling her “she liked her, or at least she was
+going to like her a heap.”
+
+“No, you ain’t,” returned ’Lena. “You laughed at me and granny both. I
+saw you do it, and you think I don’t know anything, but I do. I’ve been
+through Olney’s geography, and Colburn’s arithmetic twice!”
+
+This was more than Anna could say. She had no scholarship of which to
+boast; but she had a heart brimful of love, and in reply to ’Lena’s
+accusation of having laughed at her, she replied, “I know I laughed,
+for grandma looked so funny I couldn’t help it. But I won’t any more. I
+pity you because your mother is dead, and you never had any father, ma
+says.”
+
+This made ’Lena cry again, while Anna continued, “Pa’ll buy you some
+new clothes I reckon, and if he don’t, I’ll give you some of mine, for
+I’ve got heaps, and they’ll fit you I most know. Here’s my mark—”
+pointing to a cut upon the door-post. “Here’s mine, and Carrie’s and
+brother’s. Stand up and see if you don’t measure like I do,”
+
+’Lena complied, and to Anna’s great joy they were just of a height.
+
+“I’m so glad,” said she. “Now, come to my room and Corinda will fix you
+up mighty nice before mother sees you.”
+
+Hand-in-hand the two girls started for the house, but had not gone far
+when they heard some one calling, “Ho, Miss ’Lena, whar is you? Ole
+miss done want you.” At the same time Corinda made her appearance round
+the corner of the piazza.
+
+“Here, Cora,” said Anna. “Come with me to my room; I want you.”
+
+With a broad grin Corinda followed her young mistress, while ’Lena,
+never having been accustomed to any negro save the one with whom many
+New England children are threatened when they cry, clung closer to
+Anna’s side, occasionally casting a timid glance toward the dark-browed
+girl who followed them. In the upper hall they met with Carrie, who in
+passing ’Lena held back her dress, as if fearing contamination from a
+contact with her cousin’s plainer garments. Painfully alive to the
+slightest insult, ’Lena reddened, while Anna said, “Never mind—that’s
+just like Cad, but nobody cares for _her_.”
+
+Thus reassured ’Lena followed on, until they reached Anna’s room, which
+they were about to enter, when the shrill voice of Mrs. Nichols fell
+upon their ears, calling, “’Leny, ’Leny, where upon airth is she?”
+
+“Let’s go to her first,” said ’Lena, and leading the way Anna soon
+ushered her into her grandmother’s room which, child as she was, ’Lena
+readily saw was far different from the handsome apartments of which she
+had obtained a passing glance.
+
+But Mrs. Nichols had not thought of this—and was doubtless better
+satisfied with her present quarters than she would have been with the
+best furnished chamber in the house. The moment her granddaughter
+appeared, she exclaimed, “’Leny Rivers, where have you been? I was
+worried to death, for fear you might be runnin’ after some of them
+paltry niggers. And now whilst I think on’t, I charge you never to go a
+nigh ’em; I’d no idee they were such half-naked, nasty critters.”
+
+This prohibition was a novelty to Anna, who spent many happy hours with
+her sable-hued companions, never deeming herself the worse for it. Her
+grandmother’s first remark, however, struck her still more forcibly,
+and she immediately asked, “Grandma, what did you call ’Lena, just now?
+’Lena what?”
+
+“I called her by her name, ’Lena Rivers. What should I call her?”
+returned Mrs. Nichols.
+
+“Why, I thought her name was ’Lena Nichols; ma said ’twas,” answered
+Anna.
+
+Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon ’Lena’s birth,
+and she rather tartly informed Anna, that “her mother didn’t know
+everything,” adding that “’Lena’s father was Mr. Rivers, and there
+wasn’t half so much reason why she should be called Nichols as there
+was why Anna should, for that was her father’s name, the one by which
+he was baptized, the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who’s jest his
+age, only he was born about a quarter past four in the morning, and she
+not till some time in the afternoon!”
+
+“But where is Mr. Rivers?” asked Anna more interested in him than in
+the exact minute of her father’s birth.
+
+“The Lord only knows,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “Little girls shouldn’t
+ask too many questions.”
+
+This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some mystery
+connected with ’Lena. The mention of Nancy Scovandyke reminded Mrs.
+Nichols of the dishes which that lady had packed away, and anxious to
+see if they were safe, she turned to ’Lena saying, “I guess we’ll have
+time before dinner to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how the
+crockery stood the racket. Anny, you run down and tell your pa to fetch
+’em up here, that’s a good girl.”
+
+In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes contained,
+Anna forgot her scheme of dressing ’Lena, and ran down, not to call her
+father, but the black boy, Adam. It took her a long time to find him,
+and Mrs. Nichols, growing impatient, determined to go herself, spite of
+’Lena’s entreaties that she would stay where she was. Passing down the
+long stairway, and out upon the piazza, she espied a negro girl on her
+hands and knees engaged in cleaning the steps with a cloth. Instantly
+remembering her mop, she greatly lamented that she had left it
+behind—“’twould come so handy now,” thought she, but there was no help
+for it.
+
+Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said, “Sissy,
+can you tell me where _John_ is?”
+
+Quickly “Sissy’s” ivories became visible, as she replied, “We hain’t
+got any such nigger as John.”
+
+With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one in
+particular, Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, “I didn’t
+ask for a _nigger_; I want your master, _John_!”
+
+Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed herself for
+thus early breaking her promise to Nancy Scovandyke. As it was, she
+mentally asked forgiveness, and as the colored girl “didn’t know where
+marster was,” but “reckoned he had gone somewhar,” she turned aside,
+and seeking her son’s room, again entered unannounced. Mrs.
+Livingstone, who was up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor.
+But Mrs. Nichols did not heed it, and advancing forward, she said, “Do
+you feel any better, ’Tilda? I’d keep kinder still to-day, and not try
+to do much, for if you feel any consarned about the housework, I’d just
+as lief see to’t a little after dinner as not.”
+
+“I have all confidence in Milly’s management, and seldom trouble myself
+about the affairs of the kitchen,” answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Wall, then,” returned her mother-in-law, nothing daunted, “Wall, then,
+mebby you’d like to have me come in and set with you a while.”
+
+It would be impossible for us to depict Mrs. Livingstone’s look of
+surprise and anger at this proposition. Her face alternately flushed
+and then grew pale, until at last she found voice to say, “I greatly
+prefer being alone, madam. It annoys me excessively to have any one
+round.”
+
+“Considerable kind o’ touchy,” thought Mrs. Nichols, “but then the poor
+critter is sick, and I shan’t lay it up agin her.”
+
+Taking out her snuff-box, she offered it to her daughter, telling her
+that “like enough ’twould cure her headache.” Mrs. Livingstone’s first
+impulse was to strike it from her mother’s hand, but knowing how
+unladylike that would be, she restrained herself, and turning away her
+head, replied, “Ugh! no! The very sight of it makes me sick.”
+
+“How you do talk! Wall, I’ve seen folks that it sarved jest so; but
+you’ll get over it. Now there was Nancy Scovandyke—did John ever say
+anything about her? Wall, she couldn’t bear snuff till after her
+disappointment—John told you, I suppose?”
+
+“No, madam, my husband has never told me anything concerning his
+eastern friends, neither do I wish to hear anything of them,” returned
+Mrs. Livingstone, her patience on the point of giving out.
+
+“Never told you nothin’ about Nancy Scovandyke! If that don’t beat all!
+Why, he was——”
+
+She was prevented from finishing the sentence, which would undoubtedly
+have raised a domestic breeze, when Anna came to tell her that the
+trunks were carried to her room.
+
+“I’ll come right up then,” said she, adding, more to herself than any
+one else, “If I ain’t mistaken, I’ve got a little paper of saffron
+somewhere, which I mean to steep for ’Tilda. Her skin looks desput
+jandissy!”
+
+When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife’s room, he found her in a
+collapsed state of anger and mortification.
+
+“_John_ Nichols,” said she, with a strong emphasis on the first word,
+which sounded very much like _Jarn_, “do you mean to kill me by
+bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room without
+knocking—calling me ’_Tilda_, and prating about Nancy somebody——”
+
+John started. His wife knew nothing of his _affaire du cœur_ with Miss
+Nancy, and for his own peace of mind ’twas desirable that she should
+not. Mentally resolving to give her a few hints, he endeavored to
+conciliate his wife, by saying that he knew “his mother was
+troublesome, but she must try not to notice her oddities.”
+
+“I wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon me
+continually,” returned his wife. “I must either deep the doors locked,
+or live in constant terror.”
+
+“It’s bad, I know,” said he, smoothing her glossy hair, “but then,
+she’s old, you know. Have you seen ’Lena?”
+
+“No, neither do I wish to, if she’s at all like her grandmother,”
+answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“She’s handsome,” suggested Mr. Livingstone.
+
+“Pshaw! handsome!” repeated his wife, scornfully, while he replied,
+“Yes, handsomer than either of our daughters, and with the same
+advantages, I’ve no doubt she’d surpass them both.”
+
+“Those advantages, then, she shall never have,” returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, already jealous of a child she had only seen at a
+distance.
+
+Mr. Livingstone made no reply, but felt that he’d made a mistake in
+praising ’Lena, in whom he began to feel a degree of interest for which
+he could not account. He did not know that way down in the depths of
+his heart, calloused over as it was by worldly selfishness, there was
+yet a tender spot, a lingering memory of his only sister whom ’Lena so
+strongly resembled. If left to himself, he would undoubtedly have taken
+pride in seeing his niece improve, and as it was, he determined that
+she should at home receive the same instruction that his daughters did.
+Perhaps he might not send her away to school. He didn’t know how that
+would be—his wife held the purse, and taking refuge behind that excuse,
+he for the present dismissed the subject. (So much for marrying a
+_rich_ wife and nothing else. This we throw in gratis!)
+
+Meantime grandma had returned to her room, at the door of which she
+found John Jr. and Carrie, both curious to know what was in those
+boxes, one of which had burst open and been tied up with a rope.
+
+“Come, children,” said she, “don’t stay out there—come in.”
+
+“We prefer remaining here,” said Carrie, in a tone and manner so nearly
+resembling her mother, that Mrs. Nichols could not refrain from saying,
+“chip of the old block!”
+
+“That’s so, by cracky. You’ve hit her this time, granny,” exclaimed
+John Jr., snapping his fingers under Carrie’s nose, which being rather
+long, was frequently a subject of his ridicule.
+
+“Let me be, John Livingstone,” said Carrie, while ’Lena resolved never
+again to use the word “granny,” which she knew her cousin had taken up
+on purpose to tease her.
+
+“Come, ’Lena, catch hold and help me untie this rope, I b’lieve the
+crockery’s in here,” said Mrs. Nichols to ’Lena, who soon opened the
+chest, disclosing to view as motley a variety of articles as is often
+seen.
+
+Among the rest was the “blue set,” a part of her “setting out,” as his
+grandmother told John Jr., at the same time dwelling at length upon
+their great value. Mistaking Carrie’s look of contempt for envy, Mrs.
+Nichols chucked her under the chin, telling her “May be there was
+something for her, if she was a good girl.”
+
+“Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your head,” said John
+Jr., vastly enjoying his sister’s vexation.
+
+“Where does your marm keep her china? I want to put this with it,” said
+Mrs. Nichols to Anna, who, uncertain what reply to make, looked at
+Carrie to answer for her.
+
+“I reckon mother don’t want that old stuff stuck into her
+china-closet,” said Carrie, elevating her nose to a height wholly
+satisfactory to John Jr., who unbuttoned one of his waistband buttons
+to give himself room to laugh.
+
+“Mortal sakes alive! I wonder if she don’t,” returned Mrs. Nichols,
+beginning to get an inkling of Carrie’s character, and the estimation
+in which her valuables were held.
+
+“Here’s a nice little cupboard over the fireplace; I’d put them here,”
+said ’Lena.
+
+“Yes,” chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother and cousin;
+“yes, granny, put ’em there; the niggers are _awful critters_ to steal,
+and like enough you’d ’lose ’em if they sot in with marm’s!”
+
+This argument prevailed. The dishes were put away in the cupboard,
+’Lena thinking that with all his badness John Jr., was of some use
+after all. At last, tired of looking on, Anna suggested to ’Lena, who
+did not seem to be helping matters forward much, that the should go and
+be dressed up as had been first proposed. Readily divining her sister’s
+intention, Carrie ran with it to her mother, who sent back word that
+“’Lena must mind her own affairs, and let Anna’s dresses alone!”
+
+This undeserved thrust made ’Lena cry, while Anna declared “her mother
+never said any such thing,” which Carrie understood as an insinuation
+that she had told a falsehood. Accordingly a quarrel of words ensued
+between the two sisters, which was finally quelled by John Jr., who
+called to Carrie “to come down, as she’d got a letter from _Durward
+Bellmont_.”
+
+Durward! How that name made ’Lena’s heart leap! Was it _her_
+Durward—the boy in the cars? She almost hoped not, for somehow the idea
+of his writing to Carrie was not a pleasant one. At last summoning
+courage, she asked Anna who he was, and was told that he lived in
+Louisville with his stepfather, Mr. Graham, and that Carrie about two
+months before had met him in Frankfort at Colonel Douglass’s, where she
+was in the habit of visiting. “Colonel Douglass,” continued Anna, “has
+got a right nice little girl whose name is Nellie. Then there’s Mabel
+Ross, a sort of cousin, who lives with them part of the time. She’s an
+orphan and a great heiress. You mustn’t tell anybody for the world, but
+I overheard ma say that she wanted John to marry Mabel, she’s so
+rich—but pshaw! he won’t for she’s awful babyish and ugly looking.
+Captain Atherton is related to Nellie, and during the holidays she and
+Mabel are coming up to spend a week, and I’ll bet Durward is coming
+too. Cad teased him, and he said may be he would if he didn’t go to
+college this fall. I’ll run down and see.”
+
+Soon returning, she brought the news that it was as she had
+conjectured. Durward, who was now travelling, was not going to college
+until the next fall and at Christmas he was coming to the country with
+his cousin.
+
+“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Anna. “We’ll have a time, for ma’ll invite them
+here, of course. Cad thinks a heap of Durward, and I want so bad to see
+him. Don’t you?”
+
+’Lena made no direct reply, for much as she would like to see her
+_compagnon du voyage_, she felt an unwillingness to meet him in the
+presence of Carrie, who she knew would spare no pains to mortify her.
+Soon forgetting Durward, Anna again alluded to her plan of dressing
+’Lena, wishing “Cad would mind her own business.” Then, as a new idea
+entered her head, she brightened up, exclaiming, “I know what I can do.
+I’ll have Corinda curl your hair real pretty. You’ve got beautiful
+hair. A heap nicer than my yellow flax.”
+
+’Lena offered no remonstrance, and Corinda, who came at the call of her
+young mistress, immediately commenced brushing and curling the bright,
+wavy hair which Anna had rightly called beautiful. While this was going
+on, Grandma Nichols, who had always adhered to the good old puritanical
+custom of dining exactly at twelve o’clock, began to wonder why dinner
+was not forthcoming. She had breakfasted in Versailles, but like many
+travelers, could not eat much at a hotel, and now her stomach clamored
+loudly for food. Three times had she walked back and forth before what
+she supposed was the kitchen, and from which a savory smell of
+something was issuing, and at last determining to stop and reconnoiter,
+she started for the door.
+
+The northern reader at all acquainted with southern life, knows well
+that a kitchen there and a kitchen here are two widely different
+things—ours, particularly in the country, being frequently used as a
+dining-room, while a southern lady would almost as soon think of eating
+in the barn as in her cook-room. Like most other planters, Mr.
+Livingstone’s kitchen was separate and at some little distance from the
+main building, causing grandma to wonder “how the poor critters managed
+to carry victuals back and to when it was cold and slippery.”
+
+When Aunt Milly, who was up to her elbows in dough, saw her visitor
+approaching, she exclaimed, “Lor’-a-mighty, if thar ain’t ole miss
+coming straight into this lookin’ hole! Jeff, you quit that ar’ pokin’
+in dem ashes, and knock Lion out that kittle; does you har? And you,
+Polly,” speaking to a superannuated negress who was sitting near the
+table, “you just shove that ar’ piece of dough, I done save to bake for
+you and me, under your char, whar she won’t see it.”
+
+Polly complied, and by this time Mrs. Nichols was at the door,
+surveying the premises, and thinking how differently she’d make things
+look after a little.
+
+“Does missus want anything?” asked Aunt Milly, and grandma replied,
+“Yes, I want to know if ’tain’t nigh about _noon_.”
+
+This is a term never used among the blacks, and rolling up her white
+eyes, Aunt Milly answered, “You done got me now, sartin, for this chile
+know nothin’ what you mean more’n the deadest critter livin’.”
+
+As well as she could, Mrs. Nichols explained her meaning, and Aunt
+Milly replied, “Oh, yes, yes, I know now. ‘Is it most _dinner time?’
+Yes—dinner’ll be done ready in an hour. We never has it till two no
+day, and when we has company not till three.”
+
+Confident that she should starve, Mrs. Nichols advanced a step or two
+into the kitchen, whereupon Aunt Milly commenced making excuses,
+saying, “she was gwine to clar up one of these days, and then if Thomas
+Jefferson and Marquis De Lafayette didn’t quit that litterin’ they’d
+cotch it”
+
+Attracted by the clean appearance of Aunt Polly, who, not having to
+work, prided herself upon always being neatly dressed, Mrs. Nichols
+walked up to her, and, to use a vulgar expression, the two old ladies
+were soon “hand-in-glove,” Mrs. Nichols informing her of her loss, and
+how sorry Nancy Scovandyke would feel when she heard of it, and ending
+by giving her the full particulars of her husband’s sickness and death.
+In return Aunt Polly said that “she was born and bred along with ole
+Marster Richards, Miss Matilda’s father, and that she, too, had buried
+a husband.”
+
+With a deep sigh, Mrs. Nichols was about, to commiserate her, when Aunt
+Polly cut her short by saying, “’Twant of no kind o’ count, as she
+never relished him much.”
+
+“Some drunken critter, I warrant,” thought Mrs. Nichols, at the same
+time asking what his name was.
+
+“Jeems,” said Aunt Polly.
+
+This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked for the
+surname, “Jeems what?”
+
+“Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein’ he ’longed to ole Marster Atherton,”
+said Polly.
+
+For a time Mrs. Nichols had forgotten her hunger but the habit of sixty
+years was not so easily broken and she now hinted so strongly of the
+emptiness of her stomach that Aunt Polly, emboldened by her
+familiarity, said, “I never wait for the rest, but have my cup of tea
+or coffee just when I feel like it, and if missus wouldn’t mind takin’
+a bite with a nigger, she’s welcome.”
+
+“Say nothin’ about it. We shall all be white in heaven.”
+
+“Dat am de trufe,” muttered Milly, mentally assigning Mrs. Nichols a
+more exalted occupation than that of turning hoe-cakes!
+
+Two cups and saucers were forthwith produced, Milly acting as a waiter
+for fear Aunt Polly would leave her seat and so disclose to view the
+loaf of bread which had been hidden under the chair! Some coffee was
+poured from the pot, which still stood on the stove, and then the
+little negroes, amused with the novelty of the thing, ran shouting and
+yelling that, “ole miss was eatin’ in the kitchen ’long with Lion, Aunt
+Polly and the other dogs!”
+
+The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, thinking
+“what sights of comfort she should take with _Mrs. Atherton_,” whom she
+pronounced to be “a likely, clever woman as ever was.”
+
+Scarcely had she reached her room when the dinner-bell rang, every note
+falling like an ice-bolt on the heart of ’Lena, who, though hungry like
+her grandmother, still greatly dreaded the dinner, fearing her
+inability to acquit herself creditably. Corinda had finished her hair,
+and Anna, looking over her wardrobe and coming upon the black dress
+which her father had purchased for her, had insisted upon ’Lena’s
+wearing it. It was of rather more modern make than any of her other
+dresses, and when her toilet was completed, she looked uncommonly well.
+Still she trembled violently as Anna led her to the dining-room.
+
+Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made their
+appearance, but the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped in a
+rose-colored shawl, which John Jr., said “she wore to give a delicate
+tint to her yellow complexion.” She was in the worst of humors, having
+just been opening her husband’s trunk, where she found the numerous
+articles which had been stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke. Very angrily
+she had ordered them removed from her sight, and at this very moment
+the little negroes in the yard were playing with the cracked bellows,
+calling them a “blubber,” and filling them with water to see it run
+out!
+
+Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen ’Lena, and
+now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna said,
+“Mother, mother, this is ’Lena. Look at her.”
+
+Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which
+she was prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for ’Lena was
+not a child to be looked upon and despised. Plain and humble as was her
+dress, there was something in her fine, open face, which at once
+interested and commanded respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father had
+felt it; and his mother felt it too, but it awoke in her a feeling of
+bitterness as she thought how the fair young girl before her might in
+time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw that ’Lena was
+beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of intellect as of
+feature and form.
+
+“Yes,” thought she, “husband was right when he said that, with the same
+advantages, she’d soon outstrip her cousins—but it shall never
+be—_never_,” and the white teeth shut firmly together, as the cold,
+proud woman bowed a welcome.
+
+At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared. Stimulated by the example of
+’Lena, she, too, had changed her dress, and now in black bombazine,
+white muslin cap, and shining silk apron, she presented so respectable
+an appearance that her son’s face instantly brightened.
+
+“Come, mother, we are waiting for you,” said he, as she stopped on her
+way to ask Vine, the _fly girl_, “how she did, and if it wasn’t hard
+work to swing them feathers.”
+
+Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, “Dun know, miss.”
+
+Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a plate
+of soup, “I don’t often eat broth, besides that, I ain’t much hungry,
+as I’ve just been takin’ a bite with _Miss Atherton_?”
+
+“With whom?” asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in the
+same breath.
+
+“With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the kitchen,”
+said Mrs. Nichols.
+
+The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone’s face darkened visibly, while her
+husband, thinking it time to speak, said, “It is my wish, mother, that
+you keep away from the kitchen. It does the negroes no good to be
+meddled with, and besides that, when you are hungry the servants will
+take you something.”
+
+“Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,” muttered Carrie, with all
+the air of a young lady of twenty.
+
+“Hold on to your nose, Cad,” whispered John Jr., thereby attracting his
+sister’s attention to himself.
+
+By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared.
+
+“What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain’t it?” asked Mrs. Nichols,
+touching the turkey with the knife.
+
+John Jr., roared, and was ordered from the table by his father, while
+’Lena, who stepped on her grandmother’s toes to keep her from talking,
+was told by that lady “to keep her feet still.” Along with the desert
+came ice-cream, which Mrs. Nichols had never before tasted, and now
+fancying that she was dreadfully burned, she quickly deposited her
+first mouthful upon her plate.
+
+“What’s the matter, grandma? Can’t you eat it?” asked Anna.
+
+“Yes, I kin eat it, but I don’t hanker arter it,” answered her
+grandmother, pushing the plate aside.
+
+Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but soon growing
+weary, she started out to view the premises. Coming suddenly upon a
+group of young negroes, she discovered her bellows, the water dripping
+from the nose, while a little farther on she espied ’Lena’s bonnet,
+which the negroes had at last succeeded in catching, and which, wet as
+it was, now adorned the head of Thomas Jefferson! In a trice the old
+lady’s principles were forgotten, and she cuffed the negroes with a
+right good will, hitting Jeff, the hardest, and, as a matter of course,
+making him yell the loudest. Out came Aunt Milly, scolding and
+muttering about “white folks tendin’ to thar own business,” and
+reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. Nichols’ position in the
+next world. Cuff, the watch-dog, whose kennell was close by, set up a
+tremendous howling, while John Jr., always on hand, danced a jig to the
+sound of the direful music.
+
+“For heaven’s sake, husband, go out and see what’s the matter,” said
+Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual noise.
+
+John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch a glimpse of
+John Jr.’s heels as he gave the finishing touch to his exploit, while
+Mrs. Nichols, highly incensed, marched from the field of battle with
+the bonnet and bellows, thinking “if them niggers was only her’n they’d
+catch it!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+MALCOLM EVERETT.
+
+
+It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to
+enumerate the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone
+were compelled to endure from their mother, who gradually came to
+understand her true position in the family. One by one her ideas of
+teaching them economy were given up, as was also all hopes of ever
+being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her son’s request,
+she had ceased to call “’Tilda.”
+
+“Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone,” said she, “but I shan’t.
+I’ll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she chooses.”
+
+Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every
+time she heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow a
+disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had
+requested his mother to keep it from his wife, and she, appreciating
+his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting the while the ill-fortune which
+had prevented Nancy from being her daughter-in-law, and dwelling
+frequently upon the comfort she should take were Nancy there in
+Matilda’s place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably contented;
+the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last, like most
+northern people, she fell in with the habits of those around her. Still
+her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and many a letter,
+wonderful for its composition and orthography, found its way to Nancy
+Scovandyke, who wrote in return that “some time or other she should
+surely visit Kentucky,” asking further if the “big bugs” didn’t prefer
+eastern teachers for their children, and hinting at her desire to
+engage in that capacity when she came south!
+
+“Now, that’s the very thing,” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding the
+letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting. “Nancy’s
+larnin’ is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and Anny, and I mean to
+speak to John about it right away.”
+
+“I wouldn’t do any such thing,” said ’Lena, seeing at a glance how such
+a proposal would be received.
+
+“Why not?” asked Mrs. Nichols, and ’Lena replied, “I don’t think Nancy
+would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and besides that, they’ve engaged a
+teacher, a Mr. Everett, and expect him next week.”
+
+“You don’t say so?” returned Mrs. Nichols. “I never hearn a word on’t.
+Where ’bouts is he from, and how much do they give him a week?”
+
+The latter ’Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that “she believed
+he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, New York.”
+
+“Why, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister lives there. I wouldn’t wonder if he
+knew her.”
+
+“Very likely,” returned Lena, catching her bonnet and hurrying off to
+ride with Captain Atherton and Anna.
+
+As we have once before observed, Anna was a great favorite with the
+captain, who had petted her until John Jr. teased her unmercifully,
+calling him her gray-haired lover, and the like. This made Anna
+exceedingly sensitive, and now when the captain called for her to ride,
+as he frequently did, she refused to go unless the invitation was also
+extended to ’Lena, who in this way got many a pleasant ride around the
+country. She was fast learning to like Kentucky, and would have been
+very happy had her aunt and Carrie been a little more gracious. But the
+former seldom spoke to her, and the latter only to ridicule something
+which she said or did.
+
+Many and amusing were the disputes between the two girls concerning
+their peculiarities of speech, Carrie bidding ’Lena “quit her Yankee
+habit of eternally _guessing_,” and ’Lena retorting that “she would
+when Carrie stopped her everlasting _reckoning_.” To avoid the remarks
+of the neighbors, who she knew were watching her narrowly, Mrs.
+Livingstone had purchased ’Lena two or three dresses, which, though
+greatly inferior to those worn by Carrie and Anna, were still
+fashionably made, and so much improved ’Lena’s looks, that her manners
+improved, also, for what child does not appear to better advantage when
+conscious of looking well? More than once had her uncle’s hand rested
+for a moment on her brown curls, while his thoughts were traversing the
+past, and in fancy his fingers were again straying among the silken
+locks now resting in the grave. It would seem as if the mother from her
+coffin was pleading for her child, for all the better nature of Mr.
+Livingstone was aroused; and when he secured the services of Mr.
+Everett, who was highly recommended both as a scholar and gentleman, he
+determined that ’Lena should share the same advantages with his
+daughters. To this Mrs. Livingstone made no serious objection, for as
+Mr. Everett would teach in the house, it would not do to debar ’Lena
+from the privilege of attending his school; and as the highest position
+to which she could aspire was to be governess in some private family,
+she felt willing, she said, that she should have a chance of acquiring
+the common branches.
+
+And now Mr. Everett was daily expected. Anna, who had no fondness for
+books, greatly dreaded his arrival, thinking within herself how many
+pranks she’d play off upon him, provided ’Lena would lend a helping
+hand, which she much doubted. John Jr., too, who for a time, at least,
+was to be placed under Mr. Everett’s instruction, felt in no wise eager
+for his arrival, fearing, as he told ’Lena that “between the ‘old man’
+and the tutor, he would be kept a little too straight for a gentleman
+of his habits;” and it was with no particular emotions of pleasure that
+he and Anna saw the stage stop before the gate one pleasant morning
+toward the middle of November. Running to one of the front windows,
+Carrie, ’Lena, and Anna watched their new teacher, each after her own
+fashion commenting upon his appearance.
+
+“Ugh,” exclaimed Anna, “what a green, boyish looking thing! I reckon
+nobody’s going to be afraid of him.”
+
+“I say he’s real handsome,” said Carrie, who being thirteen years of
+age, had already, in her own mind, practiced many a little coquetry
+upon the stranger.
+
+“I like him,” was ’Lena’s brief remark.
+
+Mr. Everett was a pale, intellectual looking man, scarcely twenty years
+of age, and appearing still younger so that Anna was not wholly wrong
+when she called him boyish. Still there was in his large black eye a
+firmness and decision which bespoke the man strong within him, and
+which put to flight all of Anna’s preconceived notions of rebellion.
+With the utmost composure he returned Mrs. Livingstone’s greeting, and
+the proud lady half bit her lip with vexation as she saw how little he
+seemed awed by her presence.
+
+Malcolm Everett was not one to acknowledge superiority where there was
+none, and though ever polite toward Mrs. Livingstone, there was
+something in his manner which forbade her treating him as aught save an
+equal. He was not to be trampled down, and for once in her life Mrs.
+Livingstone had found a person who would neither cringe to her nor
+flatter. The children were not presented to him until dinner time,
+when, with the air of a young desperado, John Jr. marched into the
+dining-room, eying, his teacher askance, calculating his strength, and
+returning his greeting with a simple nod. Mr. Everett scanned him from
+head to foot, and then turned to Carrie half smiling at the great
+dignity which she assumed. With ’Lena and Anna he seemed better
+pleased, holding their hands and smiling down upon them through rows of
+teeth which Anna pronounced the whitest she had ever seen.
+
+Mr. Livingstone was not at home, and when his mother appeared, Mrs.
+Livingstone did not think proper to introduce her. But if by this
+omission she thought to keep the old lady silent, she was mistaken, for
+the moment Mrs. Nichols was seated, she commenced with, “Your name is
+Everett, I b’lieve?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” said he, bowing very gracefully toward her.
+
+“Any kin to the governor that was?”
+
+“No, ma’am, none whatever,” and the white teeth became slightly visible
+for a moment, but soon disappeared.
+
+“You are from Rockford, ’Lena tells me?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am. Have you friends there?”
+
+“Yes—or that is, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister, Betsy Scovandyke that used
+to be, lives there. May be you know her. Her name is Bacon—Betsy Bacon.
+She’s a widder and keeps boarders.”
+
+“Ah,” said he, the teeth this time becoming wholly visible, “I’ve heard
+of Mrs. Bacon, but have not the honor of her acquaintance. You are from
+the east, I perceive.”
+
+“Law, now! how did you know that!” asked Mrs. Nichols, while Mr.
+Everett answered, “I _guessed_ at it,” with a peculiar emphasis on the
+word guessed, which led ’Lena to think he had used it purposely and not
+from habit.
+
+Mr. Everett possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of making
+those around him both respect and like him, and ere six weeks had
+passed, he had won the love of all his pupils. Even John Jr. was
+greatly improved, and Carrie seemed suddenly reawakened into a thirst
+for knowledge, deeming no task too long, and no amount of study too
+hard, if it won the commendation of her teacher. ’Lena, who committed
+to memory with great ease, and who consequently did not deserve so much
+credit for her always perfect lessons, seldom received a word of
+praise, while poor Anna, notoriously lazy when books were concerned,
+cried almost every day, because as she said, “Mr. Everett didn’t like
+her as he did the rest, else why did he look at her so much, watching
+her all the while, and keeping her after school to get her lessons
+over, when he knew how she hated them.”
+
+Once Mrs. Livingstone ventured to remonstrate, telling him that Anna
+was very sensitive, and required altogether different treatment from
+Carrie. “She thinks you dislike her,” said she, “and while she retains
+this impression, she will do nothing as far as learning is concerned;
+so if you do not like her, try and make her think you do!”
+
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Everett’s dark eyes as he answered,
+“You may think it strange, Mrs. Livingstone, but of all my pupils I
+love Anna the best! I know I find more fault with her, and am perhaps
+more severe with her than with the rest, but it’s because I would make
+her what I wish her to be. Pardon me, madam, but Anna does not possess
+the same amount of intellect with her cousin or sister, but by proper
+culture she will make a fine, intelligent woman.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone hardly relished being told that one child was inferior
+to the other, but she could not well help herself—Mr. Everett would say
+what he pleased—and thus the conference ended. From that time Mr.
+Everett was exceedingly kind to Anna, wiping away the tears which
+invariably came when told that she must stay with him in the
+school-room after the rest were gone; then, instead of seating himself
+in rigid silence at a distance until her task was learned, he would sit
+by her side, occasionally smoothing her long curls and speaking
+encouragingly to her as she pored over some hard rule of grammar, or
+puzzled her brains with some difficult problem in Colburn. Erelong the
+result of all this became manifest. Anna grew fonder of her books, more
+ready to learn, and—more willing to be kept after school!
+
+Ah, little did Mrs. Livingstone think what she was doing when she bade
+young Malcolm Everett make her warm-hearted, impulsive daughter _think_
+he liked her!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+SCHEMING.
+
+
+“Mother, where’s ’Lena’s dress? Hasn’t she got any?” asked Anna, one
+morning, about two weeks before Christmas, as she bent over a
+promiscuous pile of merinoes, delaines, and plaid silks, her own and
+Carrie’s dresses for the coming holidays. “Say, mother, didn’t you buy
+’Lena any?”
+
+Thus interrogated, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder if you think I’m
+made of money! ’Lena is indebted to me now for more than she can ever
+pay. As long as I give her a home and am at so much expense in
+educating her, she of course can’t expect me to dress her as I do you.
+There’s Carrie’s brown delaine and your blue one, which I intend to
+have made over for her, and she ought to be satisfied with that, for
+they are much better than anything she had when she came here.”
+
+And the lady glanced toward the spot where ’Lena sat, admiring the new
+things, in which she had no share, and longing to ask the question
+which Anna had asked for her, and which had now been answered. John
+Jr., who was present, and who knew that Mr. Everett had been engaged to
+teach in the family long before it was known that ’Lena was coming, now
+said to his cousin, who arose to leave, “Yes, ’Lena, mother’s a model
+of generosity, and you’ll never be able to repay her for her kindness
+in allowing you to wear the girls’ old duds, which would otherwise be
+given to the blacks, and in permitting you to recite to Mr. Everett,
+who, of course, was hired on your account.”
+
+The slamming together of the door as ’Lena left the room brought the
+young gentleman’s remarks to a close, and wishing to escape the lecture
+which he saw was preparing for him, he, too, made his exit.
+
+Christmas was coming, and with it Durward Bellmont, and about his
+coming Mrs. Livingstone felt some little anxiety. Always scheming, and
+always looking ahead, she was expecting great results from this visit.
+Durward was not only immensely wealthy, but was also descended on his
+father’s side from one of England’s noblemen. Altogether he was, she
+thought, a “decided catch,” and though he was now only sixteen, while
+Carrie was but thirteen, lifelong impressions had been made at even an
+earlier period, and Mrs. Livingstone resolved that her pretty daughter
+should at least have all the advantages of dress with which to set off
+her charms. Concerning Anna’s appearance she cared less, for she had
+but little hope of her, unless, indeed—but ’twas too soon to think of
+that—she would wait, and perhaps in good time ’twould all come round
+naturally and as a matter of course. So she encouraged her daughter’s
+intimacy with Captain Atherton, who, until Malcolm Everett appeared,
+was in Anna’s estimation the best man living. Now, however, she made an
+exception in favor of her teacher, “who,” as she told the captain,
+“neither wore false teeth, nor kept in his pocket a pair of specks, to
+be slyly used when he fancied no one saw him.”
+
+Captain Atherton coughed, colored, laughed, and saying that “Mr.
+Everett was a mash kind of a boy,” swore eternal enmity toward him, and
+under the mask of friendship—watched! Eleven years before, when Anna
+was a baby, Mrs. Livingstone had playfully told the captain, who was
+one day deploring his want of a wife, that if he would wait he should
+have her daughter. To this he agreed, and the circumstance, trivial as
+it was, made a more than ordinary impression upon his mind; and though
+he as yet had no definite idea that the promise would ever be
+fulfilled, the little girl was to him an object of uncommon interest.
+Mrs. Livingstone knew this, and whenever Anna’s future prospects were
+the subject of her meditations, she generally fell back upon that fact
+as an item not to be despised.
+
+Now, however, her thoughts were turned into another and widely
+different channel. Christmas week was to be spent by Durward Bellmont
+partly at Captain Atherton’s and partly at her own house, and as Mrs.
+Livingstone was not ignorant of the effect a becoming dress has upon a
+pretty face, she determined that Carrie should, at least, have that
+advantage. Anna, too, was to fare like her sister, while no thought was
+bestowed upon poor ’Lena’s wardrobe, until her husband, who accompanied
+her to Frankfort, suggested that a certain pattern, which he fancied
+would be becoming to ’Lena should be purchased.
+
+With an angry scowl, Mrs. Livingstone muttered something about
+“spending so much money for other folks’ young ones.” Then remembering
+the old delaines, and knowing by the tone of her husband’s voice that
+he was in earnest, she quickly rejoined, “Why, ’Lena’s got two new
+dresses at home.”
+
+Never doubting his wife’s word, Mr. Livingstone was satisfied, and
+nothing more was said upon the subject. Business of importance made it
+necessary for him to go for a few weeks to New Orleans, and he was now
+on his way thither, his wife having accompanied him as far as
+Frankfort, where he took the boat, while she returned home. When ’Lena
+left the room after learning that she had no part in the mass of
+Christmas finery, she repaired to the arbor bridge, where she had wept
+so bitterly on the first day of her arrival, and which was now her
+favorite resort. For a time she sat watching the leaping waters,
+swollen by the winter rains, and wondering if it were not possible that
+they started at first from the pebbly spring which gushed so cool and
+clear from the mountain-side near her old New England home. This
+reminded her of where and what she was now—a dependent on the bounty of
+those who wished her away, and who almost every day of her life made
+her feel it so keenly, too. Not one among them loved her except Anna,
+and would not her affection change as they grew older? Then her
+thoughts took another direction.
+
+Durward Bellmont was coming—but did she wish to see him? Could she bear
+the sneering remarks which she knew Carrie would make concerning
+herself? And how would he be affected by them? Would he ask her of her
+father? and if so, what had she to say?
+
+Many a time had she tried to penetrate the dark mystery of her birth,
+but her grandmother was wholly non-committal. Once, too, when her uncle
+seemed kinder than usual, she had ventured to ask him of her father,
+and with a frown he had replied, that “the least she knew of him the
+better!” Still ’Lena felt sure that he was a good man, and that some
+time or other she would find him.
+
+All day long the clouds had been threatening rain, which began to fall
+soon after ’Lena entered the arbor, but so absorbed was she in her own
+thoughts, that she did not observe it until her clothes were perfectly
+dampened; then starting up, she repaired to the house. For several days
+she had not been well, and this exposure brought on a severe cold,
+which confined her to her room for nearly two weeks. Meantime the
+dress-making process went on, Anna keeping ’Lena constantly apprised of
+its progress, and occasionally wearing in some article for her
+inspection. This reminded ’Lena of her own wardrobe, and knowing that
+it would not be attended to while she was sick, she made such haste to
+be well, that on Thursday at tea-time she took her accustomed seat at
+the table. After supper she lingered awhile in the parlor, hoping
+something would be said, but she waited in vain, and was about leaving,
+when a few words spoken by Carrie in an adjoining room caught her ear
+and arrested her attention.
+
+They were—“And so ’Lena came down to-night. I dare say she thinks
+you’ll set Miss Simpson at work upon my old delaine.”
+
+“Perhaps so,” returned Mrs. Livingstone, “but I don’t see how Miss
+Simpson can do it, unless you put off having that silk apron
+embroidered.”
+
+“I shan’t do any such thing,” said Carrie, glad of an excuse to keep
+’Lena out of the way. “What matter is it if she don’t come down when
+the company are here? I’d rather she wouldn’t, for she’s so green and
+awkward, and Durward is so fastidious in such matters, that I’d rather
+he wouldn’t know she’s a relative of ours! I know he’d tell his mother,
+and they say she is very particular about his associates.”
+
+’Lena’s first impulse was to defy her cousin to her face—to tell her
+she had seen Durward Bellmont, and that he didn’t laugh at her either.
+But her next thought was calmer and more rational. Possibly under
+Carrie’s influence he might make fun of her, and resolving on no
+condition whatever to make herself visible while he was in the house,
+she returned to her room, and throwing herself upon the bed, wept until
+she fell asleep.
+
+“When is Miss Simpson going to fix ’Lena’s dress?” asked Anna, as day
+after day passed, and nothing was said of the brown delaine.
+
+For an instant Miss Simpson’s nimble fingers were still, as she awaited
+the answer to a question which had occurred to her several times. She
+was a kind-hearted, intelligent girl, find at a glance had seen how
+matters stood. She, too, was an orphan, and her sympathies were all
+enlisted in behalf of the neglected ’Lena. She had heard from Anna of
+the brown delaine, and in her own mind she had determined that it
+should be fitted with the utmost taste of which she was capable.
+
+Her speculations, however, were brought to a close by Mrs.
+Livingstone’s saying in reply to Anna, that “’Lena seemed so wholly
+uninterested, and cared so little about seeing the company, she had
+decided not to have the dress fixed until after Christmas week.”
+
+The fiery expression of two large, glittering eyes, which at that
+moment peered in at the door, convinced Miss Simpson that her employer
+had hardly told the truth, and she secretly determined that ’Lena
+should have the dress whether she would or not. Accordingly, the next
+time she and Anna were alone, she asked for the delaine, entrusting her
+secret to Anna, who, thinking no harm, promised to keep it from her
+mother. But to get ’Lena fitted was a more difficult matter. Her spirit
+was roused, and for a time she resisted their combined efforts. At
+last, however, she yielded, and by working late at night in her own
+room, Miss Simpson managed to finished the dress, in which ’Lena really
+looked better than did either of her cousins in their garments of far
+richer materials. Still she was resolved not to go down, and Anna,
+fearing what her mother might say, dared not urge her very strongly
+hoping, though, that “something would turn up.”
+
+
+Durward Bellmont, Nellie Douglass, and Mabel Ross had arrived at
+Captain Atherton’s. Mrs. Livingstone and her daughters had called upon
+them, inviting them to spend a few days at Maple Grove, where they were
+to meet some other young people “selected from the wealthiest families
+in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Livingstone said, at the same time patting
+the sallow cheek of Mabel, whose reputed hundred thousand she intended
+should one day increase the importance of her own family.
+
+The invitation was accepted—the day had arrived, the guests were
+momentarily expected, and Carrie, before the long mirror, was admiring
+herself, alternately frowning upon John Jr., who was mimicking her
+“airs,” and scolding Anna for fretting because ’Lena could not be
+induced to join them. Finding that her niece was resolved not to
+appear, Mrs. Livingstone, for looks’ sake, had changed her tactics,
+saying, “’Lena could come down if she chose—she was sure there was
+nothing to prevent.”
+
+Knowing this, Anna had exhausted all her powers of eloquence upon her
+cousin. But she still remained inexorable, greatly to the astonishment
+of her grandmother who for several days had been suffering from a
+rheumatic affection, notwithstanding which she “meant to hobble down if
+possible, for” said she, “I want to see this Durward Bellmont. Matilda
+says he’s got _Noble_ blood in him. I used to know a family of Nobles
+in Massachusetts, and I think like as not he’s some kin!”
+
+Carrie, to whom this remark was made, communicated it to her mother,
+who forthwith repaired to Mrs. Nichols’ room, telling her “that ’twas a
+child’s party,” and hinting pretty strongly that she was neither wanted
+nor expected in the parlor, and would confer a great favor by keeping
+aloof.
+
+“Wall, wall,” said Mrs. Nichols, who had learned to dread her
+daughter’s displeasure, “I’d as lief stay up here as not, but I do want
+’Lena to jine ’em. She’s young and would enjoy it.”
+
+Without a word of answer Mrs. Livingstone walked away, leaving ’Lena
+more determined than ever not to go down. When the evening at last
+arrived, Anna insisted so strongly upon her wearing the delaine, for
+fear of what might happen, that ’Lena consented, curling her hair with
+great care, and feeling a momentary thrill of pride as she saw how well
+she looked.
+
+“When we get nicely to enjoying ourselves,” said Anna, “you come down
+and look through the glass door, for I do want you to see Durward, he’s
+so handsome—but there’s the carriage—I must go;” and away ran Anna down
+the stairs, while ’Lena flew to one of the front windows to see the
+company as they rode up.
+
+First came Captain Atherton’s carriage, and in it the captain and his
+maiden sister, together with a pale, sickly-looking girl, whom ’Lena
+knew to be Mabel Ross. Behind them rode Durward Bellmont, and at his
+side, on a spirited little pony was another girl, thirteen or fourteen
+years of age, but in her long riding-dress looking older, because
+taller. ’Lena readily guessed that this was Nellie Douglass, and at a
+glance she recognized the Durward of the cars—grown handsomer and
+taller since then, she thought. With a nimble bound he leaped from his
+saddle, kissing his hand to Carrie, who with her sunniest smile ran
+past him to welcome Nellie. A pang, not of jealousy, but of an
+undefined something, shot through ’Lena’s heart, and dropping the heavy
+curtain, she turned away, while the tears gathered thickly in her large
+brown eyes.
+
+“Where’s ’Lena?” asked Captain Atherton, of Anna, warming his red
+fingers before the blazing grate, and looking round upon the group of
+girls gathered near. Glancing at her mother, Anna replied, “She says
+she don’t want to come down.”
+
+“Bashful,” returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass asked, “who
+’Lena was,” at the same time returning the _pinch_ which John Jr. had
+slyly given her as a mode of showing his preference, for Nellie _was_
+his favorite.
+
+Fearful of Anna’s reply, Mrs. Livingstone answered, carelessly, “She’s
+the child of one of Mr. Livingstone’s poor relations, and we’ve taken
+her awhile out of charity.”
+
+At any other time John Jr. would doubtless have questioned his mother’s
+word, but now so engrossed was he with the merry, hoydenish Nellie,
+that he scarcely heard her remark, or noticed the absence of ’Lena.
+With the exception of his cousin, Nellie was the only girl whom John
+Jr. could endure—“the rest,” he said, “were so stuck up and affected.”
+
+For Mabel Ross, he seemed to have a particular aversion. Not because
+she was so very disagreeable, but because his mother continually
+reminded him of what she hoped would one day be, “and this,” he said,
+“was enough to make a ‘feller’ hate a girl.” So without considering
+that Mabel was not to blame, he ridiculed her unmercifully, calling her
+“a bundle of medicine,” and making fun of her thin, sallow face, which
+really appeared to great disadvantage when contrasted with Nellie’s
+bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks.
+
+When the guests were all assembled, Carrie, not knowing whether Durward
+Bellmont would relish plays, seated herself demurely upon the sofa,
+prepared to act the dignified young lady, or any other character she
+might think necessary.
+
+“Get up, Cad,” said John Jr. “Nobody’s going to act like they were at a
+funeral; get up, and let’s play something.”
+
+As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and erelong
+the joyous shouts reached ’Lena, making her half wish that she, too,
+was there. Remembering Anna’s suggestion of looking through the glass
+door she stole softly down the stairs, and stationing herself behind
+the door, looked in on the scene. Mr. Everett, usually so dignified,
+had joined in the game, claiming “forfeits” from Anna more frequently
+than was considered at all necessary by the captain, who for a time
+looked jealously on, and then declaring himself as young as any of
+them, joined them with a right good will.
+
+“Blind man’s buff,” was next proposed, and ’Lena’s heart leaped up, for
+that was her favorite game. John Jr. was first blinded, but he caught
+them so easily that all declared he could see, and loud were the calls
+for Durward to take his place. This he willingly did, and whether he
+could see or not, he suffered them to pass directly under his hands,
+thus giving entire satisfaction. On account of the heat of the rooms,
+Anna, on passing the glass door, threw it open, and the next time
+Durward came round he marched directly into the hall, seizing ’Lena,
+who was trying to hide.
+
+Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, “Anna, you are caught.”
+
+“No, I ain’t Anna; let me go,” said ’Lena, struggling to escape.
+
+This brought all the girls to the spot, while Durward, snatching the
+muffler from his eyes, looked down with astonishment upon the trembling
+’Lena, who would have escaped had she not been so securely hemmed in.
+
+“Ain’t you ashamed, ’Lena, to be peeking?” asked Carrie, while Durward
+repeated—“’_Lena_! ’_Lena_! I’ve seen her before in the cars between
+Springfield and Albany; but how came she here?”
+
+“She lives here—she’s our cousin,” said Anna, notwithstanding the
+twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not care to have the
+relationship exposed.
+
+“Your cousin,” said Durward, “and where’s the old lady who was with
+her?”
+
+“The one she called _granny_?” asked John Jr., on purpose to rouse up
+his fiery little cousin.
+
+“No, I don’t call her _granny_, neither—I’ve quit it,” said ’Lena,
+angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk, “she’s up _stars_, sick
+with the rheumatism.”
+
+“Good,” said Durward, “but why are you not down here with us?”
+
+“I didn’t want to come,” was her reply; and Durward, leading her into
+the parlor, continued, “but now that you are here, you must stay.”
+
+“Pretty, isn’t she,” said Nellie, as the full blaze of the chandelier
+fell upon ’Lena.
+
+“Rath-er,” was Carrie’s hesitating reply.
+
+She felt annoyed that ’Lena should be in the parlor, and provoked that
+Durward should notice her in any way, and at the first opportunity she
+told him “how much she both troubled and mortified them, by her
+vulgarity and obstinacy,” adding that “she had a most violent temper.”
+From Nellie she had learned that Durward particularly disliked
+passionate girls, and for this reason she strove to give him the
+impression that ’Lena was such an one. Once or twice she fancied him
+half inclined to disbelieve her, as he saw how readily ’Lena joined in
+their amusements, and how good-humoredly she bore John Jr.’s teasing,
+and then she hoped something would occur to prove her words true. Her
+wish was gratified.
+
+The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young people to the
+house. About ten o’clock the negro who had been to the post-office
+returned, bringing letters for the family, among which was one for
+’Lena, so curious in its shape and superscription, that even the negro
+grinned as he handed it out. ’Lena was not then present, and Carrie,
+taking the letter, exclaimed, “Now if this isn’t the last specimen from
+Yankeedom. Just listen,—” and she spelled out the direction—“_To Mis
+HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey post
+offis, care of Mis nichals_.”
+
+Unobserved by any one, ’Lena had entered the parlor in time to hear
+every word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy her, held out the letter,
+saying, “Here, _Helleny_, I _guess_ this came from down east,” she
+darted forward, and striking the letter from Carrie’s hands stamped
+upon it with her foot, declaring “she’d never open it in the world,”
+and saying “they might do what they pleased with it for all of her.”
+
+“Read it—may we read it?” eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to see ’Lena
+doing such justice to her reputation.
+
+“Yes, read it!” almost screamed ’Lena, and before any one could
+interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and commenced reading,
+announcing, first, that it came from “Joel Slocum!” It was as follows:
+
+“Dear Helleny, mebby you’ll wonder when you see a letter from me, but
+I’ll be hanged if I can help ’ritin’, I am so confounded lonesome now
+you are gone, that I dun know nothing what to do with myself. So I set
+on the great rock where the saxefax grows; and think, and think till it
+seems ’s ef my head would bust open. Wall, how do you git along down
+amongst them heathenish Kentucks & niggers? I s’pose there ain’t no
+great difference between ’em, is there? When I git a little more
+larnin’, I b’lieve I’ll come down there to keep school. O, I forgot to
+tell you that our old line back cow has got a calf—the prettiest little
+critter—Dad has gin her to me, and I call her Helleny, I do, I swow!
+And when she capers round she makes me think of the way you danced
+‘High putty Martin’ the time you stuck a sliver in your heel—”
+
+Up to this point ’Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud shouts of her
+companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes burned within and
+flashed from her eyes. And now springing forward, she caught the letter
+from Carrie’s hand, and inflicting a long scratch upon her forehead,
+fled from the room. Had not Durward Bellmont been present, Carrie would
+have flown after her cousin, to avenge the insult, and even now she was
+for a moment thrown off her guard, and starting forward, exclaimed,
+“the tigress!”
+
+Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, Durward gently
+wiped the blood from her white brow, saying “Never mind. It is not a
+deep scratch.”
+
+“I wish ’twas deeper,” muttered John Jr. “You’d no business to serve
+her so mean.”
+
+An angry retort rose to Carrie’s lips, but, just in time to prevent its
+utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, “It was too bad to tease her so,
+but we were all more or less to blame, and I’m not sure but we ought to
+apologize.”
+
+Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she’d apologize to such
+as ’Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough to give Durward
+the impression that she was doing, her best to make amends for her
+fault. Accordingly, the next time her cousin appeared in the parlor she
+was all smiles and affability, talking a great deal to ’Lena, who
+returned very short but civil answers, while her face wore a look which
+Durward construed into defiance and hatred of everybody and everything.
+
+“Too passionate,” thought he, turning from her to Carrie, whose voice,
+modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and musical, as she
+sported and laughed with her moody cousin, appearing the very essence
+of sweetness and amiability!
+
+Pity he could not have known how bitterly ’Lena had wept over her hasty
+action—not because _he_ witnessed it, but because she knew it was
+wrong! Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which she
+laid on Carrie’s work-box, and in which was written, “I am sorry,
+Carrie, that I hurt you so. I didn’t know what I was about, but I will
+try and not get so angry again.”
+
+Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt with which Carrie
+perused this note; and when the two girls accidentally met in the upper
+hall, and ’Lena laid her hand gently on Carrie’s arm, it is a thousand
+pities he was not present to see how fiercely she was repulsed, Carrie
+exclaiming, “Get out of my sight! _I hate you_, and so do all of them
+downstairs, Durward in particular.”
+
+Had he known all this he would have thought differently of ’Lena, who,
+feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept herself entirely
+aloof, never again appearing during the remainder of his stay. Once
+Durward asked for her, and half laughingly Carrie replied, that “she
+had not yet recovered from her pouting fit.” Could he have known her
+real occupation, he might have changed his mind again. The stormy
+weather had so increased Mrs. Nichols’ rheumatic complaint, that now,
+perfectly crippled, she lay as helpless as a child, carefully nursed by
+’Lena and old Aunt Polly, who, spite of her own infirmities, had
+hobbled in to wait upon her friend. Never but once did Mrs. Livingstone
+go near her mother’s sick-room—“the smell of herbs made her faint,” she
+said! But to do her justice, we must say that she gave Polly
+unqualified permission to order anything she pleased for the invalid.
+
+Toward the close of the third day, the company left. Nellie Douglass,
+who really liked ’Lena, and wished to bid her good-bye, whispered to
+John Jr., asking him to show her the way to his cousin’s room. No one
+except members of the family had ever been in Mrs. Nichols’ apartment,
+and for a moment John Jr. hesitated, knowing well that Nellie could not
+fail to observe the contrast it presented to the other richly-furnished
+chambers.
+
+“They ought to be mortified—it’ll serve ’em right,” he thought, at
+last, and motioning Nellie to fallow him, he silently led the way to
+his grandmother’s room, where their knock was answered by Aunt Polly’s
+gruff voice, which bade them “come in.”
+
+They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how greatly inferior
+was this room to the others around it. In an instant her eye took in
+everything, and she readily comprehended the whole.
+
+“It isn’t my doings, by a jug-full!” whispered John Jr., himself
+reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture which had
+never before seemed so meager and poor.
+
+On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. Nichols, white
+as the snowy cap-border which shaded her face. Behind her sat ’Lena,
+supporting her head, and when Nellie entered, she was carefully pushing
+back the few gray locks which had fallen over the invalid’s forehead,
+her own bright curls mingling with them, and resting, some on her neck,
+and some on her grandmother’s shoulder. A deep flush dyed her cheeks
+when she saw Nellie, who thought she had never looked upon a sight more
+beautiful.
+
+“I did not know your grandmother was ill,” said she, coming forward and
+gently touching the swollen hand which lay outside the counterpane.
+
+Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she commenced a
+history of her malady, beginning at the time she first had it when
+’Lena’s mother was a year and a day old, frequently quoting Nancy
+Scovandyke, and highly entertaining Nellie, who listened until warned
+by the sound of the carriage, as it came round to the door, that she
+must go.
+
+“We are going back to Uncle Atherton’s,” said she, “but I wanted to bid
+you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frankfort with your cousins.
+Will you do so?”
+
+This was wholly unexpected to ’Lena, who, without replying, burst into
+tears. Nellie hardly knew what to do. She seldom cried herself—she did
+not like to see others cry—and still she did not blame ’Lena, for she
+felt that she could not help it. At last, taking her hand, she bade her
+farewell, asking if she should not carry a good-bye to the others.
+
+“Yes, to Mabel,” said ’Lena.
+
+“And not Durward?” asked Nellie.
+
+With something of her old spirit ’Lena answered, “No, he hates
+me—Carrie says so.”
+
+“Cad’s a fool,” muttered John Jr., while Nellie rejoined, “Durward
+never hated anybody, and even if he did, he would not say so—I mean to
+tell him;” and with another good-bye she was gone.
+
+On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and asked where
+she had been.
+
+“To bid ’Lena good-bye; don’t you want to go too?” said Nellie.
+
+“Why, yes, if you are sure she won’t scratch my eyes out,” he returned,
+gayly, following his cousin.
+
+“I reckon I’d better tell ’Lena to come out into the hall—she may not
+want you in there,” said John Jr., and hastening forward he told his
+cousin what was wanted.
+
+Oh, how ’Lena longed to go, but pride, and the remembrance of Carrie’s
+words, prevented her, and coldly answering, “No, I don’t wish to see
+him,” she turned away to hide the tears and pain which those words had
+cost her.
+
+This visit to Grandma Nichols’ room was productive of some good, for
+John Jr., did not fail of repeating to his mother the impression which
+he saw was made on Nellie’s mind, adding, that “though Durward did not
+venture in, Nellie would of course tell him all about it. And then,”
+said he, “I wouldn’t give much for his opinion of your treatment of
+your mother.”
+
+Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs.
+Livingstone demanded “what he’d have her do.”
+
+“Do?” he repeated, “give grandmother a decent room, or else fix that
+one up, so it won’t look like the old scratch had been having a
+cotillon there. Paper and paint it, and make it look decent.”
+
+Upon this last piece of advice Mrs. Livingstone resolved to act, for
+recently several vague rumors had reached her ear, touching her neglect
+of her mother-in-law, and she began herself to think it just possible
+that a little of her money would be well expended in adding to the
+comfort of her husband’s mother. Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Nichols
+was able to sit up, her room underwent a thorough renovation, and
+though no great amount of money was expended upon it, it was fitted up
+with so much taste that the poor old lady, whom John Jr., ’Lena and
+Anna, had adroitly kept out of the way until her room was finished,
+actually burst into tears when first ushered into her light, airy
+apartment, in which everything looked so cheerful and pleasant.
+
+“’Tilda has now and then a good streak,” said she, while Aunt Milly,
+who had taken a great deal of interest in the repairing of the room,
+felt inclined to change her favorite theory with regard to her
+mistress’ future condition.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+FIVE YEARS LATER.
+
+
+And in the fair city of elms we again open the scene. It was
+commencement at Yale, and the crowd which filled the old Center church
+were listening breathlessly to the tide of eloquence poured forth by
+the young valedictorian.
+
+Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and first
+in the esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously chosen to
+that post of honor, and as the gathered multitude hung upon his words
+and gazed upon his manly beauty, they felt mat a better choice could
+not well have been made. At the right of the platform sat a group of
+ladies, friends, it would seem, of the speaker, for ever and anon his
+eyes turned in that direction, and as if each glance incited him to
+fresh efforts, his eloquence increased, until at last no sound save
+that of his deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the
+words of the young orator. But when his speech was ended, there arose
+deafening shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in perfect showers at
+his feet. Among them was one smaller and more elegant than the rest,
+and as if it were more precious, too, it was the first which Durward
+took from the floor.
+
+“See, Carrie, he gives you the preference,” whispered one of the young
+ladies on the right, and Carrie Livingstone for she it was, felt a
+thrill of gratified pride, when she saw how carefully he guarded the
+bouquet, which during all the exercises she had made her especial care,
+calling attention to it in so many different ways that hardly any one
+who saw it in Durward’s possession, could fail of knowing from what
+source it same.
+
+But then everybody said they were engaged—so what did it matter?
+Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and who while openly
+denying the engagement, teasingly hinted “that ’twas no fault of
+Cad’s.”
+
+For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had been
+inmates of the seminary in New Haven, and as they were now considered
+sufficiently accomplished to enter at once upon all the gayeties of
+fashionable life, John Jr. had come on “to see the elephant,” as he
+said, and to accompany them home. Carrie had fulfilled the promise of
+her girlhood, and even her brother acknowledged that she was handsome
+in spite of her _nose_, which like everybody’s else, still continued to
+be the most prominent feature of her face. She was proud, too, as well
+as beautiful, and throughout the city she was known as the “haughty
+southern belle,” admired by some and disliked by many. Among the
+students she was not half so popular as her unpretending sister, whose
+laughing blue eyes and sunny brown hair were often toasted, together
+with the classical brow and dignified bearing of Nellie Douglass, who
+had lost some of the hoydenish propensities of her girlhood, and who
+was now a graceful, elegant creature just merging into nineteen—the
+pride of her widowed father, and the idol still of John Jr., whose
+boyish preference had ripened into a kind of love such as only he could
+feel.
+
+With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face and dumpy
+little figure never receiving the least attention except from Durward
+Bellmont, who pitying her lonely condition, frequently left more
+congenial society for the sake of entertaining her. Of any one else
+Carrie would have been jealous, but feeling sure that Mabel had no
+attraction save her wealth, and knowing that Durward did not care for
+that, she occasionally suffered him to leave her side, always feeling
+amply repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society
+for that of Mabel’s.
+
+When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his preference for
+Carrie, Durward would sometimes laughingly refer them to the old
+worn-out story of the fox and the grapes, for to scarcely any one save
+himself did Carrie think it worth her while to be even gracious. This
+conduct was entirely at variance with her natural disposition, for she
+was fond of admiration, come from what source it might, and she would
+never have been so cold and distant to all save Durward, had she not
+once heard him say that “he heartily despised a _flirt_; and that no
+young lady could at all interest him if he suspected her of being a
+coquette.”
+
+This, then, was the secret of her reserve. She was resolved upon
+winning Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too great if in the end
+it secured the prize. It is true there was one sophomore, a perfumed,
+brainless fop, from Rockford, N. Y., who, next to Durward, was
+apparently most in favor, but the idea of her entertaining even a
+shadow of a liking for Tom Lakin, was too ludicrous to be harbored for
+a moment, so his attentions went for naught, public opinion uniting in
+giving her to Mr. Bellmont.
+
+With the lapse of years, Anna, too, had greatly improved. The extreme
+delicacy of her figure was gone, and though her complexion was as white
+and pure as marble, it denoted perfect health. With John Jr. she was
+still the favorite sister, the one whom he loved the best. “Carrie was
+too stiff and proud,” he said, and though when he met her in New Haven,
+after a year’s absence, his greeting was kind and brotherly, he soon
+turned from her to Anna and Nellie, utterly neglecting Mabel, who
+turned away to her chamber to cry, because no one cared for her.
+
+Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance of securing a
+wealthy bride, always finishing her discourse by speaking of Mr.
+Douglass’ small income, and enlarging upon the immense wealth of Mabel
+Ross, whose very name had become disagreeable to John Jr. At one time
+his father had hoped he, too, would enter college, but the young man
+derided the idea of his ever making a scholar, saying, however, more in
+sport than in earnest, that “he was willing to enter a store, or learn
+a _trade_, so that in case he was ever obliged to earn his own living,
+he would have some means of doing it;” but to this his mother would not
+listen. He was her “darling boy,” and “his hands, soft and white as
+those of a girl, should never become hardened and embrowned by labor!”
+So, while his sisters were away at school, he was at home, hunting,
+fishing, riding, teasing his grandmother, tormenting the servants, and
+shocking his mother by threatening to make love to his cousin ’Lena, to
+whom he was at once a pest and a comfort, and who now claims a share of
+our attention.
+
+When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New Haven, Mr.
+Livingstone proposed that ’Lena should also accompany them, but this
+plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed with all her force, declaring that _her_
+money should never be spent in educating the “beggarly relatives” of
+her husband, who in this, as in numerous other matters, was forced to
+yield the point. As Mr. Everett’s services were now no longer needed,
+he accepted the offer of a situation in the family of General Fontaine,
+a high-bred, southern gentleman, whose plantation was distant but half
+a mile from “Maple Grove;” and as he there taught a regular school,
+having under his charge several of the daughters of the neighboring
+planters, it was decided that ’Lena also should continue under his
+instruction.
+
+Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily routine of a
+fashionable boarding-school, ’Lena was storing her mind with useful
+knowledge, and though her accomplishments were not quite so showy as
+those of her cousins, they had in them the ring of the pure metal.
+Although her charms were as yet but partially developed, she was a
+creature of rare loveliness, and many who saw her for the first time,
+marveled that aught so beautiful could be real. She had never seen
+Durward Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week, but many a time
+had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not define, as
+she read Anna’s accounts of the flattering attentions which he paid to
+Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her with haughty contempt or
+cool indifference.
+
+But for this she did not care. She knew she was loved by Anna, and
+liked by John Jr., and she hoped—nay, half believed—that she was not
+wholly indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any show of
+his affection, still in his heart admired and felt proud of her. With
+his wife it was different. She hated ’Lena—hated her because she was
+beautiful and talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna
+were ever in the shade. Still her niece was too general a favorite in
+the neighborhood to allow of open hostility at home, and so the proud
+woman ground together her glittering teeth—_and waited_!
+
+Among the many who admired ’Lena, there was no one who gave her such
+full and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple
+Grove had been one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine. Gradually
+had she learned the estimation in which she was held by her son’s wife,
+and she felt how bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence. As far
+as she was able, ’Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, who
+thinking she had done all that was required of her when she fixed their
+room, would for days and even weeks appear utterly oblivious of their
+presence, or frown darkly whenever chance threw them in her way. She
+had raised no objection to ’Lena’s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett,
+who, she hoped, would not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying
+that in this way she would sooner be rid of one whom she feared as a
+rival of her daughters.
+
+But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire ’Lena,
+another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most carefully
+guarded was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport from the head
+it once adorned, and, now treasured as a sacred memento of the past.
+Believing that it would be so because she wished it to be so, Mrs.
+Livingstone had more than once whispered to her female friends her
+surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry ’Lena, and at the time of
+which we are speaking, it was pretty generally understood that a strong
+liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed between them.
+
+Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat
+hands complacently, and while applying Twigg’s Preparation to his hair,
+congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared was now
+out of his way. Thinking, too, that ’Lena had conferred a great favor
+upon himself by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became
+exceedingly polite to her, making her little presents and frequently
+asking her to ride. Whenever these invitations were accepted, they were
+sure to be followed by a ludicrous description to Anna, who laughed
+merrily over her cousin’s letters, declaring herself half jealous of
+her “gray-haired lover,” as she termed the captain.
+
+All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and fully
+discussed in the presence of Durward, who gradually received the
+impression that ’Lena was a flirt, a species of womankind which he held
+in great abhorrence. Just before he left New Haven, he received a
+letter from his stepfather, requesting him to stop for a day or two at
+Captain Atherton’s, where he would join him, as he wished to look at a
+country-seat near Mr. Livingstone’s, which was now for sale. This plan
+gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her brother proposed that
+Durward should stop at their father’s instead of the captain’s, she
+seconded the invitation so warmly, that Durward finally consented, and
+word was immediately sent to Mrs. Livingstone to hold herself in
+readiness to receive Mr. Bellmont.
+
+“Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn,” said Carrie, as in
+the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they were discussing the
+projected purchase.
+
+The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John Jr., who was
+present, and who felt just like teasing his sister, replied, “What do
+you care? Mrs. Graham has no daughters, and she won’t fancy such a chit
+as you, so it must be Durward’s society that you so much desire, but I
+can assure you that your _nose_ will be broken when once he sees our
+’Lena.”
+
+Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech, while
+Durward asked if “Miss Rivers were so very handsome?”
+
+“_Handsome_!” repeated John. “That don’t begin to express it. _Cad_ is
+what I call _handsome_, but ’Lena is beautiful, more beautiful, most
+beautiful—now you have it superlatively. Such complexion—such eyes—such
+hair—I’ll be hanged if I haven’t been more than half in love with her
+myself.”
+
+“I really begin to tremble,” said Durward, laughingly while Carrie
+rejoined, “You’ve only to make the slightest advance, and your love
+will be returned ten-fold, for ’Lena is very susceptible, and already
+encourages several admirers.”
+
+“There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken,” interrupted John
+Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, when Durward asked if
+“she ever left any _marks_ of her affection,” referring to the scratch
+she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to speak,
+replied that “the _will_ and the _claws_ remained the same, though
+common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary.”
+
+“That’s downright slander,” said John Jr., determined now upon
+defending his cousin, “’Lena has a high temper, I acknowledge, but she
+tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two years I’ve not seen her
+angry once, though she’s had every provocation under heaven.”
+
+“She knows _when_ and _where_ to be amiable,” retorted Carrie. “Any one
+of her admirers would tell the same story with yourself.”
+
+At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the room, and
+Carrie, fearing she had said too much, immediately apologized to
+Durward, saying, “it was not often that she allowed herself to speak
+against her cousin, and that she should not have done so now, were not
+John so much blinded, that her mother, knowing Lena’s ambitious nature,
+sometimes seriously feared the consequence. I know,” said she, “that
+John fancies Nellie, but ’Lena’s influence over him is very great.”
+
+Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: “I’m always sorry when I
+speak against ’Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn’t prejudice any one
+against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would never
+have been uttered in the presence of a stranger. She _is_ handsome and
+agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.”
+
+“I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,” was Durward’s
+gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the room,
+the conversation ceased.
+
+Meanwhile ’Lena was very differently employed. Nearly a year had
+elapsed since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with joy
+at the thought of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved. Carrie was to
+her an object of indifference, rather than dislike, and ofttimes had
+she thought, “If she would only let me love her.” But it could not be,
+for there was no affinity between them. Carrie was proud and
+overbearing—jealous of her high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. had
+said, strove hard to subdue her temper, and who now seldom resented
+Carrie’s insults, except when they were leveled at her aged
+grandmother.
+
+As we have before stated, news’ had been received at Maple Grove that
+Durward would accompany her cousins home. Mr. Graham would, of course,
+join him there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were
+immediately commenced. An unusual degree of sickness was prevailing
+among the female portion of Mrs. Livingstone’s servants, and the very
+day before the company was expected, Aunt Milly, the head cook was
+taken suddenly ill. Coaxing, scolding, and threatening were alike
+ineffectual. The old negress would not say she was well when she
+wasn’t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick (_lazy_, as
+her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged to
+superintend the cookery.
+
+“Crosser than a bar,” as the little darkies said, she flew back and
+forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the corners
+of her mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike at
+anything that came in her way. As if there were a fatality attending
+her movements, she was unfortunate in whatever she undertook. The cake
+was burned black, the custard curdled, the preserves were found to be
+working, the big preserve dish got broken, a thunder shower soured the
+cream, and taking it all in all, she really had trouble enough to
+disconcert the most experienced housekeeper. Still, the few negroes
+able to assist, thought “she needn’t be so fetch-ed cross.”
+
+But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft to
+the charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed, listened in
+dismay to the disastrous accounts brought her from time to time from
+the kitchen, mentally congratulating herself the while upon not being
+within hearing of her mistress’ tongue. Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to
+help, but she was repulsed so angrily that ’Lena did not presume to
+offer her services until the day of their arrival, when, without a
+word, she repaired to the chambers, which she swept and dusted,
+arranging the furniture, and making everything ready for the comfort of
+the travelers. Then descending to the parlors, she went through the
+same process there, filled the vases with fresh flowers, looped back
+the curtains, opened the piano, wheeled the sofa a little to the right,
+the large chair a little to the left, and then going to the
+dining-room, she set the table in the most perfect order, doing all so
+quietly that her aunt knew nothing of it until it was done. Jake the
+coachman, had gone down to Frankfort after them, and as he was not
+expected to return until between three and four, dinner was deferred
+until that hour.
+
+From sunrise Mrs. Livingstone had worked industriously, until her face
+and temper were at a boiling heat. The clock was on the point of
+striking three, and she was bending over a roasting turkey, when ’Lena
+ventured to approach her, saying, “I have seen Aunt Milly baste a
+turkey many a time, and I am sure I can do it as well as she.”
+
+“Well, what of it?” was the uncivil answer.
+
+’Lena’s temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied: “Why, it
+is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would want to cool and dress
+yourself before they came. I can see to the dinner, I know I can.
+Please let me try.”
+
+Somewhat mollified by her niece’s kind manner, Mrs. Livingstone
+resigned her post and repaired to her own room, while ’Lena, confining
+her long curls to the top of her head and donning the wide check-apron
+which her aunt had thrown aside, set herself at work with a right good
+will.
+
+“What dat ar you say?” exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her woolly head
+from her pillow, and looking at the little colored girl, who had
+brought to her the news that “young miss was in de kitchen.” “What dat
+ar you tellin’? Miss ’Leny pokin’ ’mong de pots and kittles, and dis
+ole nigger lazin’ in bed jes like white folks. Long as ’twas ole miss,
+I didn’t seer. Good ’nough for her to roast, blister, and bile; done
+get used to it, case she’s got to in kingdom come, no mistake—he!—he!
+But little Miss ’Leny, it’s too bad to bake her lamb’s-wool hands and
+face, and all de quality comin’: I’ll hobble up thar, if I can stand.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawling up to
+the kitchen, insisted upon taking ’Lena’s place, saying, “she could sit
+in her chair and tell the rest what to do.”
+
+For a time ’Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and weak, but
+the sound of wheels decided her. Springing to the sideboard in the
+dining-room, she brought Aunt Milly a glass of wine, which revived her
+so much that she now felt willing to leave her. By this time the
+carriage was at the door, and to escape unobserved was now her great
+object. But this she could not do, for as she was crossing the hall,
+Anna espied her, and darting forward, seized her around the neck, at
+the same time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with Durward’s eye upon
+her, _kissed_ her twice; then turning to him, she said, “I suppose you
+do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?”
+
+Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the strangeness
+of ’Lena’s appearance, for as nearly as she could, she looked like a
+fright. Bending over hot stoves and boiling gravies is not very
+beneficial to one’s complexion, and ’Lena’s cheeks, neck, forehead, and
+nose were of a purplish red—her hair was tucked back in a manner
+exceedingly unbecoming, while the broad check-apron, which came nearly
+to her feet, tended in nowise to improve her appearance. She felt it
+keenly, and after returning Durward’s salutation, she broke away before
+Anna or John, Jr., who were both surprised at her looks, had time to
+ask a question.
+
+Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but knowing that
+would disfigure her still more, she bathed her burning face and neck,
+brushed out her curls, threw on a simple muslin dress, and started for
+the parlor, of which Durward and Carrie were at that moment the only
+occupants. As she was passing the outer door, she observed upon one of
+the piazza pillars a half-blown rose, and for a moment stopped to
+admire it. Durward, who sat in a corner, did not see her, but Carrie
+did, and a malicious feeling prompted her to draw out her companion,
+who she felt sure was disappointed in ’Lena’s face. They were speaking
+of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and whom Carrie pronounced
+“perfectly beautiful,” while Durward would hardly admit that she was
+even good-looking.
+
+“I am surprised at your taste,” said Carrie, adding, as she noticed the
+proximity of her cousin, “I think she resembles ’Lena, and of course
+you’ll acknowledge _she_ is beautiful.”
+
+“She _was_ beautiful five years ago, but she’s greatly changed since
+then,” answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite satisfaction
+his words afforded Carrie, who replied, “You had better keep that
+opinion to yourself, and not express it before Captain Atherton or
+brother John.”
+
+“Who takes my name in vain?” asked John Jr., himself appearing at a
+side door.
+
+“Oh, John,” said Carrie, “we were just disputing about ’Lena. Durward
+does not think her handsome.”
+
+“Durward be hanged!” answered John, making a feint of drawing from his
+pocket a pistol which was not there. “What fault has he to find with
+’Lena?”
+
+“A little too rosy, that’s all,” said Durward, laughingly, while John
+continued, “She _did_ look confounded red and dowdyish, for her. I
+don’t understand it myself.”
+
+Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie’s eye had all the
+while been resting, disappeared, and as there was no longer an
+incentive for ill-natured remarks, the amiable young lady adroitly
+changed the conversation.
+
+John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and started in
+pursuit, in the course of his search passing the kitchen, where he was
+instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, while bemoaning her own aches and
+pains, did not fail to tell him how “Miss ’Lena, like aborned angel
+dropped right out of ’tarnity, had been in thar, burning her skin to a
+fiery red, a-tryin’ to get up a tip-top dinner.”
+
+“So ho!” thought the young man, “that explains it;” and turning on his
+heel, he walked back to the house just as the last bell was ringing for
+dinner.
+
+On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assembled, except
+’Lena. She had excused herself on the plea of a severe headache, and
+now in her own room was chiding herself for being so much affected by a
+remark accidentally overheard. What did she care if Durward did think
+her plain? He was nothing to her, and never would be—and again she
+bathed her head, which really was aching sadly.
+
+“And so ’Lena’s got the headache,” said John Jr. “Well, I don’t wonder,
+cooking all the dinner as she did.”
+
+“What do you mean?” asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone’s angry frown
+bade her son keep silence,
+
+Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.’s cardinal virtues,
+and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had told him, adding
+aside to Durward, “_This_ explains the extreme rosiness which so much
+offended your lordship. When next you see her, you’ll change your
+mind.”
+
+Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he
+now presented her to Durward. The _Noble’s_ blood had long been
+forgotten, but grandma was never at a loss for a subject, and she
+commenced talking notwithstanding Carrie’s efforts to keep her still.
+
+“Now I think on’t, Car’line,” said she at last, turning to her
+granddaughter, “now I think on’t, what made you propose to have my
+dinner sent up to my room. I hain’t et there but once this great while,
+and that was the day General Fontaine’s folks were here, and Matilda
+thought I warn’t able to come down.”
+
+Durward’s half-concealed smile showed that he understood it all, while
+John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was talking, managed, to
+lead her on, until she reached her favorite theme—Nancy Scovandyke.
+Here a look from her son silenced her, and as dinner was just then
+over, Durward missed of hearing that remarkable lady’s history.
+
+Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the piazza,
+’Lena joined them. Her headache had passed away, leaving her face a
+shade whiter than usual. The flush was gone from her forehead and nose,
+but mindful of Durward’s remark, the roses deepened on her cheek, which
+only increased her loveliness.
+
+“I acknowledge that I was wrong—your cousin _is_ beautiful,” whispered
+Durward to Carrie, who, mentally hating the beauty which had never
+before struck her so forcibly, replied in her softest tones, “I knew
+you would, and I hope you’ll be equally ready to forgive her for
+winning hearts only to break them, for with that face how can she help
+it?”
+
+“A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry,” answered Durward; “neither
+can I think Miss Rivers guilty of it. At all events, I mean to venture
+a little nearer,” and before Carrie could frame a reasonable excuse for
+keeping him at her side, he had crossed ever and taken a seat by ’Lena,
+with whom he was soon in the midst of an animated conversation, his
+surprise each moment increasing at the depth of intellect she
+displayed, for the beauty of her mind was equal to that of her person.
+Had it not been for the remembrance of Carrie’s insinuations, his
+admiration would have been complete. But anything like coquetry he
+heartily despised, and one great secret of his liking for Carrie, was
+her evident freedom from that fault. As yet he had seen nothing to
+condemn in ’Lena’s conduct. Wholly unaffected, she talked with him as
+she would have talked with any stranger, and still there was in her
+manner a certain coldness for which he could not account.
+
+“Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning,” thought he, and in spite
+of his principles, he erelong found himself exerting all his powers to
+please and interest her.
+
+About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and simultaneously
+with his arrival, Mr. Everett came also. Immediately remembering what
+he had heard, Durward, in his eagerness to watch ’Lena, failed to note
+the crimson flush on Anna’s usually pale cheek, as Malcolm bent over
+her with his low-spoken, tender words of welcome, and when the
+phthisicky captain, claiming the privilege of an old friend, kissed the
+blushing Anna, Durward in his blindness attributed the scornful
+expression of ’Lena’s face to a feeling of unwillingness that any save
+herself should share the attentions even of the captain! And in this
+impression he was erelong confirmed.
+
+Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed to keep Malcolm
+at a distance, while he himself wholly monopolized the young girl, who
+cast imploring glances toward her cousin, as if asking for relief. Many
+a time, on similar occasions, had ’Lena claimed the attention of the
+captain, for the sake of leaving Anna free to converse with Malcolm,
+and now understanding what was wanted of her, she nodded in token that
+she would come to the rescue. Just then, Mrs. Livingstone, who had kept
+an eye upon her niece, drew near, and as she seemed to want a seat;
+’Lena instantly arose and offered hers, going herself to the place
+where the captain was sitting. Erelong, her lively sallies and the
+captain’s loud laugh began to attract Mrs. Livingstone’s attention, and
+observing that Durward’s eyes were frequently drawn that way, she
+thought proper to make some remarks concerning the impropriety of her
+niece’s conduct.
+
+“I do wish,” said she, apparently speaking more to herself than to
+Durward, “I do wish ’Lena would learn discretion, and let Captain
+Atherton alone, when she knows how much her behavior annoys Mr.
+Everett.”
+
+“Is Mr. Everett anything to her!” asked Durward, half hoping that she
+would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted.
+
+“If he isn’t he ought to be,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, with an
+ominous shake of the head. “Rumor says they are engaged, and though
+when questioned she denies it, she gives people abundant reason to
+think so, and yet every chance she gets, she flirts with Captain
+Atherton, as you see her doing now.”
+
+“What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old man?”
+asked Durward, laughing at the very idea.
+
+“He is _rich_. ’Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious—there lies the
+secret,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s reply, and thinking she had said enough
+for the present, she excused herself, while she went to give orders
+concerning supper.
+
+John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left to himself,
+Durward had nothing to do but to watch ’Lena, who, as she saw symptoms
+of desertion in the anxious glances which the captain cast toward Anna,
+redoubled her exertions to keep him at her side, thus confirming
+Durward in the belief that she really was what her aunt and Carrie had
+represented her to be. “Poor, proud, and ambitious,” rang in his ears,
+and as he mistook the mischievous look which ’Lena frequently sent
+toward Anna and Malcolm, for a desire to see how the latter was
+affected by her conduct, he thought “Fickle as fair,” at the same time
+congratulating himself that he had obtained an insight into her real
+character, ere her exceeding beauty and agreeable manners had made any
+particular impression upon him.
+
+Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling piqued at his
+indifference, ’Lena in turn treated him so coldly, that even Carrie was
+satisfied with the phase which affairs had assumed, and that night, in
+the privacy of her mother’s dressing-room, expressed her pleasure that
+matters were progressing so finely.
+
+“You’ve no idea, mother,” said she, “how much he detests anything like
+coquetry. Nellie Douglass thinks it’s a kind of monomania with him, and
+I am inclined to believe it is so.”
+
+“In that case,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, “it behooves you, in his
+presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other
+gentlemen.”
+
+“I haven’t lived nineteen years for nothing,” said Carrie, folding her
+soft white hands complacently one over the other.
+
+“Speaking of Nellie Douglass,” continued Mrs. Livingstone, who had long
+desired this interview with her daughter, “speaking of Nellie, reminds
+me of your brother, who seems perfectly crazy about her.”
+
+“And what if he does ?” asked Carrie, her thoughts far more intent upon
+Durward Bellmont than her brother. “Isn’t Nellie good enough for him?”
+
+“Yes, good enough, I admit,” returned her mother, “but I think I can
+find a far more suitable match—Mabel Ross, for instance. Her fortune is
+said to be immense, while Mr. Douglass is worth little or nothing.”
+
+“When you bring about a union between John Livingstone Jr. and Mabel
+Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers to do anything, even
+to the marrying of Anna and Grandfather Atherton,” answered Carrie, to
+whom her mother’s schemes were no secret.
+
+“And that, too, I’ll effect, rather than see her thrown away upon a low
+bred northerner, who shall never wed her—never;” and the haughty woman
+paced up and down her room, devising numerous ways by which her long
+cherished three-fold plan should be effected.
+
+The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his usual custom,
+and going out into the garden he came suddenly upon ’Lena. “This,” said
+he, “is a pleasure which I did not expect when I rather unwillingly
+tore myself from my pillow.”
+
+All the coldness of the night before was gone, but ’Lena could not so
+soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, that “she learned to
+rise early among the New England hills.”
+
+“An excellent practice, and one which more of our young ladies would do
+well to imitate,” returned Durward, at the same time speaking of the
+beautifying effect which the morning air had upon her complexion.
+
+’Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday concerning her
+plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that “any information
+regarding her personal appearance was wholly unnecessary, as she knew
+very well how she looked.”
+
+Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment her again,
+walked on in silence at her side, while ’Lena, repenting of her hasty
+words, and desirous of making amends, exerted herself to be agreeable;
+and by the time the breakfast-bell rang, Durward mentally pronounced
+her “a perfect mystery,” which he would take delight in unraveling!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.
+
+
+Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of carriage wheels and
+a loud ring at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Graham, who, true
+to his appointment with Durward, had come up to meet him, accompanied
+by Mrs. Graham. This lady, who could boast of having once been the
+bride of an English lord, to say nothing of belonging to the “very
+first family of Virginia,” was a sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone,
+who, haughty and overbearing to her equals, was nevertheless cringing
+and cowardly in the presence of those whom she considered her
+superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her ideas concerning her were
+quite elevated, and now when she came unexpectedly, it quite overcame
+her. Unfortunately, too, she was this morning suffering from a nervous
+headache, the result of the excitement and late hours of the night
+before, and on learning that Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell
+back in her rocking-chair, and between a groan and a sigh, declared her
+utter inability to see her at present, saying that Carrie must play the
+part of hostess until such time as she felt composed enough to
+undertake it.
+
+“Oh, I can’t—I _shan’t_—that ends it!” said Carrie, who, though a good
+deal dressed on Durward’s account, still felt anxious to give a few
+more finishing touches to her toilet, and to see if her hair and
+complexion were all right, ere she ventured into the august presence ef
+her “mother-in-law elect,” as she confidently considered Mrs. Graham.
+
+“Anna must go, then,” persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full well
+how useless it would be to press Carrie farther. “Anna must go—where is
+she? Call her, ’Lena.”
+
+But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk
+which had been planned the night previous, and when ’Lena returned with
+the intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great
+distress exclaimed, “Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think—and Mr.
+Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to
+entertain her. What shall I do! I can’t go in looking so yellow and
+jaded as I now do!”
+
+’Lena’s first thought was to bring her aunt’s powderball, as the surest
+way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act would be
+deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go
+herself to the parlor.
+
+“_You_! What could _you_ say to her?” returned Mrs. Livingstone, to
+whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.
+
+“I can at least answer her questions,” returned ’Lena and after a
+moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how ’Lena, in her plain
+gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the
+fashionable Mrs. Graham.
+
+“But then,” thought she, “she has so little sensibility, I don’t s’pose
+she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham will of course look upon her
+as only a little above a servant”—and with this complimentary
+reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her
+dressing-room, while ’Lena, with a beating heart and slightly
+heightened color, repaired to the parlor.
+
+On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment ’Lena’s eye
+fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a
+smile at the idea of being afraid of _her_. She was a short, dumpy,
+florid looking woman, showily, and as ’Lena thought, _overdressed_ for
+morning, as her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed and
+sparkled with every movement. Her forehead was very low, and marked by
+a scowl of discontent which was habitual, for with everything to make
+her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from being so. Exceedingly nervous and
+fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker side, and when her husband
+and son, who were of exactly opposite temperaments, strove to laugh her
+into good spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as she usually
+reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy for her.
+
+Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into
+quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone’s apparent lack of courtesy in not
+hastening to receive her, and when ’Lena’s light step was heard in the
+hall, she turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why
+she had not come sooner. Durward, who was present immediately
+introduced his mother, at the same time admiring the extreme dignity of
+’Lena’s manner as she received the lady’s greeting, apologizing for her
+aunt’s non-appearance, saying “she was suffering from a severe
+headache, and begged to be excused for an hour or so.”
+
+“Quite excusable,” returned Mrs. Graham, at the same time saying
+something in a low tone about it’s not being her wish to stop there so
+early, as she knew _she_ was not expected.
+
+“But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,” ’Lena hastened to say, thinking
+that for the time being the reputation of her uncle’s house was resting
+upon her shoulders.
+
+“I dare say,” was Mrs. Graham’s ungracious answer, and then her little
+gray, deep-set eyes rested upon ’Lena, wondering if she were “a
+governess or what?” and thinking it strange that she should seem so
+perfectly self-possessed.
+
+Insensibly, too, ’Lena’s manner won upon her, for spite of her
+fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed woman. Ill
+health and long years of dissipation had helped to make her what she
+was. Besides this, she was not quite happy in her domestic relations,
+for though Mr. Graham possessed all the requisites of a kind and
+affectionate husband, he could not remove from her mind the belief that
+he liked others better then he did herself! ’Twas in vain that he
+alternately laughed at and reasoned with her on the subject. She was
+not to be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who was really exceedingly
+polite and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly provoking the
+green-eyed monster by his attentions to some one of the fair sex. In
+spite of his nightly “Caudle” lectures, he _would_ transgress again and
+again, until his wife’s patience was exhausted, and now she affected to
+have given him up, turning for comfort and affection toward Durward,
+who was her special delight, “the very apple of her eye—he was so much
+like his father, Sir Arthur, who during the whole year that she lived
+with him had never once given her cause for jealousy.”
+
+Just before ’Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham, had for a moment
+stepped out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, he, too, was
+introduced to the young lady. It was strange, considering ’Lena’s
+uncommon beauty, that Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband’s manner,
+but for once in her life she felt no fears, and looking from the
+window, she failed to note the sudden pallor which overspread his face
+when Mr. Livingstone presented to him “Miss Rivers—my niece.”
+
+Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored
+face, whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers, while
+his pleasant, affable deportment universally won the friendship of all
+who knew him. And ’Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for
+the moment his warm hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested
+upon her, her heart went toward him as a friend, while she wondered why
+he looked at her so long and earnestly, twice repeating her name—“Miss
+Rivers—_Rivers_.”
+
+From the first, ’Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom
+Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to
+apologize for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met
+before, she referred him to that time, saying “she thought it strange
+that he should remember her.”
+
+“Old acquaintances—ah—indeed !” and little Mrs. Graham nodded and
+fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen
+cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl
+which was of too long standing to be smoothed.
+
+“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, “I had
+entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars
+when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago. You were quite a
+little girl then”—turning to ’Lena.
+
+“Only ten,” was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and
+anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward ’Lena, asking “how
+long she had lived in Kentucky—where she used to live—and where her
+mother was.”
+
+At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone,
+suddenly stopped.
+
+“My mother is dead,” answered ’Lena.
+
+“And your father?”
+
+“Gone to Canada!” interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors of
+’Lena’s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother’s being so
+inquisitive.
+
+Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr.
+Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before.
+Here John Jr. appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated
+himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial remark, and
+calling her ’_Lena_. It was well for Mr. Graham’s after peace that his
+wife was just then too much engrossed with Durward to observe the
+effect which that name produced upon him.
+
+Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, “You were
+telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your
+yard—suppose we go and see it.”
+
+The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr.
+Graham casually remarked, “Your niece is a fine-looking girl—’Lena, I
+think your son called her?”
+
+“Yes, or _Helena_, which was her mother’s name.”
+
+“And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?”
+
+“No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,”
+returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at once.
+
+Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and
+keeping his face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose
+thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister was mentioned, were
+far back in the past. When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head there
+were no traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very
+heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked back to the
+parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
+their respects to his lady.
+
+Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie’s and
+’Lena’s manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even Durward noticed it, and while
+he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of the
+latter, who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met his
+mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his life felt
+a kind of contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an
+elegantly embroidered double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels,
+which almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a fawning
+servility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady in
+question. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her wealth
+and her husband’s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if something were
+withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughters
+rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for
+nothing could be more flattering than their attentions. Both mother and
+daughter having the son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs.
+Graham asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a
+servant, offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham
+laid her hand caressingly upon her shoulders, calling her a “dear
+little pet,” and asking “where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!”
+
+A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft sound which he
+was in the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his sister of
+her _nose_, made the “bright, naughty eyes” flash so angrily, that even
+Durward noticed it, and wondered if ’Lena’s temper had not been
+transferred to her cousin.
+
+“That young girl—’Lena, I think you call her—is a relative of yours,”
+said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending the stairs.
+
+“Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,” answered Carrie.
+
+“She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—does she belong to
+a Virginia family?”
+
+Carrie looked mysterious and answered, “I never knew anything of her
+father, and indeed, I reckon no one does”—then after a moment she
+added, “Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with which
+they could willingly dispense.”
+
+“Very true,” returned Mrs. Graham, “What a pity we couldn’t all have
+been born in England. There, dear, you can leave me now.”
+
+Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her
+mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. “Old Milly,”
+she said, “had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had
+got a _collapse_, as she called it.”
+
+“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham’s first dinner
+with them should be in style.
+
+“Yes, but she can’t do everything—somebody must superintend her, and as
+for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the table,
+I won’t.”
+
+“Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—it won’t hurt her to-day more
+than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie.
+
+“A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door she
+called ’Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham, who,
+the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now
+seemed oblivious to all else save her.
+
+There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the
+expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well
+knew his mother’s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present,
+while at the same time he wondered that his father should appear so
+deeply interested in an entire stranger.
+
+“’Lena, I wish to speak with you,” said Mrs. Livingstone, appearing at
+the door, and ’Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the room, while
+Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner,
+ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his
+forehead.
+
+Meantime, ’Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a
+word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with
+difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising
+within her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former
+_asked_ instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it
+willingly. But now in quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over
+pastry and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until a pleasant
+voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw Anna, who had
+just returned from her walk, and who on learning how matters stood,
+declared her intention of helping too.
+
+“If there’s anything I like, it’s being in a muss,” said she, and
+throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and fastening
+back her curls in imitation of ’Lena, she was soon up to her elbows in
+cooking—her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and cream, and
+her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the china
+closet. “There’s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham either,” said
+she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the pie line.
+
+But alas! Malcolm Everett’s words of love spoken beneath the
+wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna’s ears, so it was no
+wonder she _salted_ the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one
+noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both ’Lena and Hagar
+praised its white, uncurdled appearance.
+
+“Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,” said Anna, when
+everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but ’Lena,
+knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward’s
+distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing
+at the table.
+
+“I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she, “and you must
+look after her a little, for I shall not come down.”
+
+So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a
+great state of fermentation to know “who was below, and what the doin’s
+was, I should of gone down,” said she, “but I know’d ’Tilda would be
+madder’n a hornet.”
+
+’Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then
+informing her that Mr. Bellmont’s father and mother were there, she
+proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. The handsome black
+silk and neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were
+donned, and then, staff in hand, the old lady started for the
+dining-room, ’Lena giving her numerous charges not to talk much, and on
+no account to mention her favorite topic—Nancy Scovandyke!
+
+“Nancy’s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live lord,”
+was grandma’s mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady, rustling in a
+heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the
+table.
+
+Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her husband,
+through fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. But not so with John Jr.
+To be sure, he cared not a fig, on his grandmother’s account, whether
+she were introduced or not, for he well knew she would not hesitate to
+make their acquaintance; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and
+Carrie, he called out, in a loud tone, “My grandmother, Mrs.
+Nichols—Mr. and Mrs. Graham.”
+
+Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked “if anything stung
+him.”
+
+“Yes—no,” said he, at the same time indicating that it was not worth
+while to mind it.
+
+“Got stung, have you?” said Mrs. Nichols. “Mebby ’twas a
+bumble-bee—seems ’sef I smelt one; but like enough it’s the scent on
+Car’line’s handkercher.”
+
+Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on grandma,
+who, after a time, forgetful of ’Lena’s caution, said, “I b’lieve they
+say you’re from Virginny!”
+
+“Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,” returned Mrs. Graham,
+clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.
+
+“Anywheres near Richmond?” continued Mrs. Nichols.
+
+“I was born in Richmond, madam.”
+
+“Law, now I who knows but you’re well acquainted with Nancy
+Scovandyke’s kin.”
+
+Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as she
+replied, “I’ve not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or any
+of her relatives.”
+
+“Wall, she’s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s’pose you’d call her,
+bein’ she’s just the age of my son.”
+
+Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering ’Lena’s charge, stopped, but
+John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by asking
+what relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.
+
+“’Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein’ you’ve asked a civil
+question, ’tain’t more’n fair for me to answer it. Better’n forty year
+ago Nancy’s mother’s aunt——”
+
+“Which would be Miss Nancy’s great-aunt,” interrupted John Jr.
+
+“Bless the boy,” returned the old lady, “he’s got the Nichols’ head for
+figgerin’. Yes, Nancy’s great-aunt though she was six years and two
+months younger’n Nancy’s mother. Wall, as I was sayin’, she went off to
+Virginny to teach music. She was prouder’n Lucifer, and after a spell
+she married a southerner, rich as a Jew, and then she never took no
+more notice of her folks to hum, than’s ef they hadn’t been. But the
+poor critter didn’t live long to enjoy it, for when her first baby was
+born, she died. ’Twas a little girl, but her folks in Massachusetts
+have never heard a word whether she’s dead or alive. Joel Slocum,
+that’s Nancy’s nephew, says he means to go down there some day, and
+look her up, but I wouldn’t bother with ’em, for that side of the house
+always did feel big, and above Nancy’s folks, thinkin’ Nancy’s mother
+married beneath her.”
+
+Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during
+grandma’s recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never
+once looking up, while her face and neck were literally spotted, either
+with heat, excitement or anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs.
+Nichols’ attention, causing her to ask the lady “if she warn’t pestered
+with erysipelas.”
+
+“I am not aware of it, madam,” answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma
+replied, “It looks mighty like it to me, and I’ve seen a good deal
+on’t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less. Now I think
+on’t,” she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion, “now I
+think on’t, you look quite a considerable like Nancy—the same forehead
+and complexion—only she’s a head taller. Hain’t you noticed it, John?”
+
+“No, I have not,” answered John, at the same time proposing a change in
+the conversation, as he presumed “they had all heard enough of Nancy
+Scovandyke.”
+
+At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna’s pie. John Jr.
+was the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he
+exclaimed, “Horror, mother, who made this pie?”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that
+something was wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was busy
+at a side-table, she wondered “if there ever was any one who had so
+much trouble with servants as herself.”
+
+Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would burst
+on poor Hagar’s head, spoke out, “Hagar is not in the fault, mother—no
+one but myself is to blame. _I_ made the pie, and must have put in salt
+instead of sugar.”
+
+“You made the pie!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, “What business
+had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn’t a few more servants, for then we
+should all be obliged to turn drudges.”
+
+Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, “if it
+hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did ’Lena, who,”
+he said, “worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning herself until
+she is ashamed to appear at the table.”
+
+Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone
+hastened to explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that in
+her dilemma, ’Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of
+compliment, undoubtedly, that “her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to
+such work—indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles.”
+
+An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face,
+and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, “if she thought it
+detracted from a young lady’s worth, to be skilled in whatever
+pertained to the domestic affairs of a family.”
+
+Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied,
+“Not at all—not at all. I mean that my daughters shall learn
+everything, so that their husbands will find in them every necessary
+qualification.”
+
+“Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or
+other,” said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very
+interesting, while Anna retorted, “Of course we shall. I wouldn’t be an
+old maid for the world—I’d run away first!”
+
+And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company
+retired from the table. For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked with
+a cane, limping even then. Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual
+gallantry, offered her his arm, which she willingly accepted, casting a
+look of triumph upon her daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so
+well pleased. So thorough had been grandma’s training, that she did not
+often venture into the parlor without a special invitation from its
+mistress, but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led her in there as a matter
+of course, and placing her upon the sofa, seated himself by her side,
+and commenced questioning her concerning her former home and history.
+Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative, and never
+before had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon
+every word, when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty,
+her untimely death, and rascally husband.
+
+“Rivers—Rivers,” said he, “what kind of a looking man was he?”
+
+“The Lord only knows—I never see him,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “But this
+much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old woman’s
+curses can do him any harm, he’s had mine a plenty of times.”
+
+“You do wrong to talk so,” said Mr. Graham, “for who knows how bitterly
+he may have repented of the great wrong done to your daughter.”
+
+“Then why in the name of common sense don’t he hunt up her child, and
+own her—he needn’t be ashamed of ’Leny.”
+
+“Very true,” answered Mr. Graham. “No one need be ashamed of her. I
+should be proud to call her my daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps
+this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first marriage a
+secret from his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now, after
+the lapse of years, he dares not tell her for fear of what might
+follow.”
+
+“Then she’s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he’s a cowardly
+puppy! That’s my opinion on ’em, and I’ll tell ’em so, if ever I see
+’em!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath waxing warmer and warmer toward
+the destroyer of her daughter.
+
+Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment,
+took some, slyly casting it aside when she did not see him. This
+emboldened the old lady to offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly
+reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat talking to Carrie, who, on a
+low stool at her feet, was looking up into her face as if in perfect
+admiration. Without deigning other reply than a haughty shake of the
+head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who
+muttered, “How disgusting! But for pa’s sake we tolerate it.”
+
+Here ’Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh
+and blooming as a rose. There was no vacant seat near except one
+between Durward and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter,
+she accepted. A peculiar smile flitted over Carrie’s face, which was
+noticed by Mrs. Graham, and attributed to the right cause. Ere long
+Durward, John Jr., ’Lena and Anna, who had joined them, left the house,
+and from the window Carrie saw that they were amusing themselves by
+playing “Graces.” Gradually the sound of their voices increased, and as
+’Lena’s clear, musical laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs. Graham and
+Carrie looked out just in time to see Durward holding the struggling
+girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward of his having thrown the
+“grace hoop” upon her head.
+
+Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, “What kind of a
+girl is your cousin?” to which Carrie replied, “You have a fair sample
+of her,” at the same time nodding toward ’Lena, who was unmercifully
+pulling John Jr.’s ears as a reward for his presumption.
+
+“Rather hoydenish, I should think,” returned Mrs. Graham, secretly
+hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.
+
+At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat
+down in one of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm
+Everett, who naturally, and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna to
+himself, Durward observed this, and when he saw them walk away
+together, while ’Lena appeared wholly unconcerned, he began to think
+that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when she hinted of an
+engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John Jr.’s
+straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he
+said, “Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other’s
+society to ours.”
+
+“Oh, yes,” answered John. “I saw that years ago, when Anna wasn’t
+knee-high; and I’m glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine fellow.”
+
+’Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt certain
+that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger than that
+of friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton,
+the idea was too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment. Once
+exonerated from these charges, it was strange how fast ’Lena rose in
+his estimation, and when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did
+not wish he would leave them alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward
+replied, “Yes, yes, do.”
+
+“I reckon I will,” said John, shaking down his tight pants, and pulling
+at his long coat sleeves. “I never want anybody round when I’m with
+Nellie Douglass.”
+
+So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and ’Lena alone. That neither
+of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time which they
+remained together, for when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham
+proposed to Carrie to take a turn in the garden, she found the young
+couple still in the arbor, so wholly engrossed that they neither saw
+nor heard her until she stood before them.
+
+’Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a ride
+early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath, laid
+her hand on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from ’Lena
+instead of her son, she said, “No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can’t go—he
+has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna,
+whom I have asked to accompany me; so you see ’twill be impossible for
+him to ride with you.”
+
+“Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward. “You would like to
+visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?”
+
+“Oh, very much,” was ’Lena’s reply, while Mrs. Graham continued, “I am
+sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but our carriage
+will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded.”
+
+“It has carried six many a time,” said Durward, “and if she will go, I
+will take you on my lap, or anywhere.”
+
+Of course ’Lena declined—he knew she would—and determined not to be
+outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, “I shan’t
+release you from your engagement to ride with me. We will start early
+and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no way
+interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast.”
+
+Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but
+resolving not to leave them to finish their _tete-a-tete_, she threw
+herself upon one of the seats, and commenced talking to her son, while
+Carrie, burning with jealousy and vexation, started for the house,
+where she laid her grievances before her mother, who, equally enraged,
+declared her intention of “hereafter watching the vixen pretty
+closely.”
+
+“And she’s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well, I
+fancy I can prevent that.”
+
+“How?” asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, “You know she
+always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the
+Grattan woods, two miles away. Of course she’ll order Cæsar to bring
+him up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding him
+say nothing to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the
+morning she asks for the pony, he can tell her just how it is.”
+
+“Capital! capital!” exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there had
+been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the
+back parlor.
+
+“Whew!” thought the young man. “Plotting, are they? Well, I’ll see how
+good I am at counterplotting.”
+
+So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his servant,
+Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put in the
+lower stable instead of the one where she was usually kept; “and then
+in the morning, long before the sun is up,” said he, “do you have her
+at the door for one of the young ladies to ride.”
+
+“Yes, marster,” answered Bill, looking around for his old straw hat.
+
+“Now, see how quick you can go,” John Jr. continued, adding as an
+incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before old
+Cæsar, who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give him ten
+cents.
+
+Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and without
+stopping to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon the run,
+returning in the course of an hour and claiming his reward, as Cæsar
+had not yet got home.
+
+“All right,” said John Jr., tossing him the silver. “And now remember
+to keep your tongue between your teeth.”
+
+Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of
+tattling about something which to him seemed of no consequence
+whatever, and he walked off, eying his dime, and wishing he could earn
+one so easily every day.
+
+Meantime John Jr. sought out ’Lena, to whom he said, “And so you are
+going to ride to-morrow morning?”
+
+“How did you know ?” she asked, and John, looking very wise, replied,
+that “little girls should not ask too many questions,” adding, that as
+he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered Bill to
+have her at the door early in the morning.
+
+“Much obliged,” answered ’Lena. “I was about giving it up when I heard
+the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Cæsar is so cross I hated to ask
+him to go for her; but now I’ll say nothing to him about it.”
+
+That night when Cæsar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his
+mistress suddenly appeared, asking, “if he had received any orders to
+go for Fleetfoot.”
+
+The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, “No, miss, and
+Lord knows I don’t want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods
+to-night.”
+
+“You needn’t, either, and if any one tells you to go don’t you do it,”
+returned Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Somebody’s playin’ possum, that’s sartin,” thought Bill, who was
+present, and began putting things together. “Somebody’s playin’ possum,
+but they don’t catch this child leakin’.”
+
+“Have you told him?” whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the hall.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that “she presumed the
+ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Cæsar about the pony.”
+
+With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she
+commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to Woodlawn,
+dwelling upon it as if it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently
+exulting that ’Lena was to be left behind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+WOODLAWN.
+
+
+Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the eastern horizon,
+Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door saddled and waiting
+for its young rider, while near by it was Firelock, which Durward had
+borrowed of John Jr. At last ’Lena appeared, and if Durward had admired
+her beauty before, his admiration was now greatly increased when he saw
+how well she looked in her neatly fitting riding dress and tasteful
+straw hat. After bidding her good morning, he advanced to assist her in
+mounting, but declining his offer, she with one bound sprang into the
+saddle,
+
+“Jumps like a toad,” said Bill. “Ain’t stiff and clumsy like Miss
+Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.”
+
+At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the clatter of their
+horses’ hoofs arousing and bringing to the window Mrs. Graham, who had
+a suspicion of what was going on. Pushing aside the silken curtain, she
+looked uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her son cared aught
+for the graceful creature at his side, and thinking if he did, how hard
+she would labor to overcome his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the only
+one who watched them, for fearing lest Bill should not awake, John Jr.
+had foregone his morning nap, himself calling up the negro, and now
+from his window he, too, looked after them until they entered upon the
+turnpike and were lost to view. Then, with some very complimentary
+reflections upon Lena’s riding, he returned to his pillow, thinking to
+himself, “There’s a girl worth having. By Jove, if I’d never seen
+Nellie Douglass, and ’Lena wasn’t my cousin, wouldn’t I keep mother in
+the hysterics most of the time!”
+
+On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked ’Lena “where
+she wished to go.”
+
+“Anywhere you please,” said she, when, for reasons of his own, he
+proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn.
+
+’Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of
+satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family to
+visit Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it seemed like a
+perfect Eldorado. It was a grand old building, standing on a cross road
+about three miles from the turnpike, and commanding quite an extensive
+view of the country around. It was formerly owned by a wealthy
+Englishman, who spent his winters in New Orleans and his summers in the
+country. The year before he had died insolvent, Woodlawn falling into
+the hands of his creditors, who now offered it for sale, together with
+the gorgeous furniture which still remained just as the family had left
+it. To the left of the building was a large, handsome park, in which
+the former owner had kept a number of deer, and now as Durward and
+’Lena rode up and down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures
+would occasionally spring up and bound away with the fleetness of the
+wind.
+
+The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the
+former combining both the useful and the agreeable. A luxurious
+grape-vine wreathed itself over the arched entrance, while the wide,
+graveled walks were bordered, some with box, and others with choice
+flowers, now choked and overgrown with weeds, but showing marks of
+great beauty, when properly tended and cared for. At the extremity of
+the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the garden, was
+a summer house, fitted up with everything which could make it
+attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through
+the little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of the park, with
+many well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating finally at
+the side of a tiny sheet of water, which within a few years had forced
+itself through the limestone soil natural to Kentucky.
+
+Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting
+terms with the Livingstones; consequently, ’Lena had never before been
+at Woodlawn, and her admiration increased with every step, and when at
+last they entered the house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms,
+it knew no bounds. She remembered the time when she had thought her
+uncle’s furniture splendid beyond anything in the world, but it could
+not compare with the magnificence around her, and for a few moments she
+stood as if transfixed with astonishment. Durward had been highly
+amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning the grounds, and now
+noticing her silence, he asked “what was the matter?”
+
+“Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove
+an illusion and fade away,” said she.
+
+“Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw before?”
+he asked; and she replied, “Oh, yes, far more so,” at the same time
+giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she first saw
+the inside of her uncle’s house, and ending by saying, “But you can
+imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge pretty well
+what were my ideas of the world.”
+
+Wishing to see if ’Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode
+of living Durward said, “I have never heard anything concerning your
+eastern home and how you lived there—will you please to tell me?”
+
+“There’s nothing to tell which will interest you,” answered ’Lena; but
+Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade her
+commence.
+
+Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now
+at his bidding ’Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof,
+bare walls, and oaken floors—of herself, when, a bare-footed little
+girl, she picked _huckleberries_ with _Joel Slocum_! And then, in lower
+and more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother’s grave in the valley,
+near which her beloved grandfather—the only father she had ever
+known—was now sleeping. ’Lena never spoke of her grandfather without
+weeping. She could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did
+when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the
+arm of the sofa, she sobbed like a child.
+
+Durward’s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to
+consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently
+toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her ’_Lena_, and
+smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face. As soon as
+possible ’Lena released herself from him, and drying her tears,
+proposed that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time for
+them to return home. Accordingly, they passed on through room after
+room, ’Lena’s quick eye taking in and appreciating everything which she
+saw, while Durward was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking
+of herself so frankly as she had done. Many young ladies, he well knew,
+would shrink from acknowledging that their home was once in a brown,
+old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and ’Lena’s
+truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar things
+connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her
+which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance.
+
+But little was said by either of them as they went over the house,
+until Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly
+asked his companion “how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?”
+
+Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have
+blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer,
+but ’Lena quickly replied, “Not at all,” laughingly giving as an
+insuperable objection, “the size of the house and the number of windows
+she would have to wash!”
+
+With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home,
+and again mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which
+they reached just after the family had finished breakfast. With the
+first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what
+might occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie, anxious
+at the non-appearance of Durward and ’Lena, cast wistful glances toward
+each other, he very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had
+returned from his ride.”
+
+“I’ve not seen him,” answered the lady, her scowl deepening and her
+lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at
+ease.
+
+“Who’s gone to ride?” asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied that
+Durward and ’Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that “they
+must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so long.”
+
+This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept
+company with Mrs. Graham’s scowl. Chopping her steak into mince-meat,
+and almost biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at
+last found voice to ask, “what horse ’Lena rode!”
+
+“Fleetfoot, of course,” said John Jr., at the same time telling his
+father he thought “he ought to give ’Lena a pony of her own, for she
+was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting
+old and clumsy.”
+
+The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of Cæsar,
+whom she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him with the
+calaboose, and anything else which came to her mind. Old Cæsar was
+taken by surprise, and being rather slow of speech, was trying to think
+of something to say, when John Jr., who had followed his mother, came
+to his aid, saying that “he himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,” and
+adding aside to his mother, that “the next time she and Cad were
+plotting mischief he’d advise them to see who was in the back parlor!”
+
+Always ready to suspect ’Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately
+supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a
+reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide
+Cæsar, ’Lena, or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the
+pause followed the example of his young master and stole away. The
+tramp of horses’ feet was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally
+resolving that Fleetfoot should be sold, repaired to the door in time
+to see Durward carefully lift ’Lena from her pony and place her upon
+the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie were all standing upon the
+piazza, and as ’Lena came up the walk, her eyes sparkling and her
+bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed, “Isn’t she
+beautiful?” at the same time asking her “where she had been.”
+
+“To Woodlawn,” answered ’Lena.
+
+“To Woodlawn!” repeated Mrs. Graham.
+
+“To Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the
+rear by exclaiming, “To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?”
+
+“The pony,” answered ’Lena, as she passed into the house.
+
+Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. Livingstone said
+to her, in a low tone, “I would advise you to keep an eye upon your
+son, if he is at all susceptible, for there is no bound to ’Lena’s
+ambition.”
+
+Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her little gray
+eye was a sufficient answer, and satisfied with the result of her
+caution, Mrs. Livingstone reentered the house. Two hours afterward, the
+carriage stood at the door waiting to convey the party to Woodlawn. It
+had been arranged that Mrs. Graham, Carrie, Anna, and Durward should
+ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham went on horseback. Purposely,
+Carrie loitered behind her companions, who being first, of course took
+the back seat, leaving her the privilege of riding by the side of
+Durward. This was exactly what she wanted, and leaning back on her
+elbow, she complacently awaited his coming. But how was she chagrined,
+when, in his stead, appeared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage
+and took a seat beside her; saying to his wife’s look of inquiry, that
+as John Jr. had concluded to go, Durward preferred riding on horseback
+with him, adding, in his usually polite way, “And I, you know, would
+always rather go with the ladies. But where is Miss Rivers?” he
+continued. “Why isn’t she here?”
+
+“Simply because she wasn’t invited, I suppose,” returned his wife,
+detecting the disappointment in his face.
+
+“Not invited!” he repeated; “I didn’t know as this trip was of
+sufficient consequence to need a special invitation. I thought, of
+course, she was here——”
+
+“Or you would have gone on horseback,” said his wife, ever ready to
+catch at straws.
+
+Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the truthful:
+answer—“Yes”—while he compromised the matter by saying that “the
+presence of three fair ladies ought to satisfy him.”
+
+Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and during all the ride
+she was extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to Mr. Graham’s
+lively sallies, and winning golden laurels in the opinion of Mrs.
+Graham, who secretly thought her husband altogether too agreeable. As
+they turned into the long avenue which led to Woodlawn, and Carrie
+thought of the ride which ’Lena had enjoyed alone with its owner—for
+such was Durward reported to be—her heart swelled with bitterness
+toward her cousin, in whom she saw a dreaded rival. But when they
+reached the house, and Durward assisted her to alight, keeping at her
+side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy vanished, and
+with her sweetest smile she looked up into his face, affecting a world
+of childish simplicity, and making, as she believed, a very favorable
+impression.
+
+“I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as your cousin,”
+said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to be more intent on
+foreign subjects than the scenery around her.
+
+“Oh, no, I dare say not,” returned Carrie. “’Lena was never accustomed
+to anything until she came to Kentucky, and now I suppose she thinks
+she must go into ecstacies over everything, though I sometimes wish she
+wouldn’t betray her ignorance quite so often.”
+
+“According to her description, her home in Massachusetts was widely
+different from her present one,” said Durward, and Carrie quickly
+replied, “I wonder now if she bored you with an account of her former
+home! You must have been edified, and had a delightful ride, I
+declare.”
+
+“And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss Rivers is, I
+think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,” returned Durward, beginning
+to see the drift of her remarks.
+
+Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself from Carrie, he
+did not again return to her until it was time to go home. Meantime, at
+Maple Grove, Mrs. Livingstone, in the worst possible humor, was finding
+fault with poor ’Lena, accusing her of eavesdropping, and asking her if
+she did not begin to believe the old adage, that listeners never heard
+any good of themselves. In perfect astonishment ’Lena demanded what she
+meant, saying she had never, to her knowledge, been guilty of
+listening.
+
+Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone declared herself
+“satisfied now, for a person who would listen and then deny it, was
+capable of almost anything.”
+
+“What do you mean, madam ?” said ’Lena, her temper getting the
+ascendency. “Explain yourself, for no one shall accuse me of lying
+without an attempt to prove it.”
+
+With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder what you can do! Will
+you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?”
+
+“Admirers! What admirers?” asked ’Lena, and her aunt replied, “I’ll
+give you credit for feigning the best of any one I ever saw, but you
+can’t deceive me. I know very well of your intrigues to entrap Mr.
+Bellmont. But it is not strange that you should inherit something of
+your mother’s nature; and you know what she was!”
+
+This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the glittering
+tears, which shone like diamonds, ’Lena sprang to her feet, exclaiming,
+“Yes, I do know what she was. She was a far more worthy woman than you,
+and if in my presence you dare again breathe aught against her name,
+you shall rue it——”
+
+“That she shall, so help me heaven,” murmured a voice near, which
+neither Mrs. Livingstone nor ’Lena heard, nor were they aware of any
+one’s presence until Mr. Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway.
+
+At his wife’s request he had exchanged places with his son, and riding
+on before the rest, had reached home first, being just in time to
+overhear the last part of the conversation between Mrs. Livingstone and
+’Lena. Instantly changing her manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her
+niece from the room, heaving a deep sigh as the door closed after her,
+and saying that “none but those who had tried it knew what a thankless
+job it was to rear the offspring of others.”
+
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham’s eyes, as he answered, “In
+your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is willing. I have
+taken a great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would like to adopt her as my
+daughter. I will speak to Mrs. Graham to-night.”
+
+Much as she disliked ’Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for the world
+have her become an inmate of Mr. Graham’s family, where she would be
+constantly thrown in Durward’s way; and immediately changing her
+tactics, she replied, “I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my
+husband would not think of such a thing; neither should I be quite
+willing for her to leave us, much as she troubles me.”
+
+Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. That night, after he had
+retired to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, pacing up and down
+the apartment, occasionally pausing to gaze out into the moonlit sky,
+and then resuming his measured tread. At last nerving himself to brave
+the difficulty, he stopped before his wife, to whom he made known his
+plan of adopting ’Lena.
+
+“It seems hasty, I know,” said he, “but she is just the kind of person
+I would like to have round—just such a one as I would wish my daughter
+to be if I had one. In short, I like her, and with your consent I will
+adopt her as my own, and take her from this place where I know she’s
+not wanted. What say you, Lucy?”
+
+“Will you adopt the old woman too?” asked Mrs. Graham, whose face was
+turned away so as to hide its expression.
+
+“That is an after consideration,” returned her husband, “but if you are
+willing, I will either take her to our home, or provide for her
+elsewhere—but come, what do you say?”
+
+All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little dumpling
+hands folded one within the other, the long transparent nails making
+deep indentures in the soft flesh, and her gray eyes emitting _green_
+gleams of scorn. The answer her husband sought came at length, and was
+characteristic of the woman. Hissing out the words from between her
+teeth, she replied, “When I take ’Lena Rivers into my family for my
+husband and son to make love to, alternately, I shall be ready for the
+lunatic asylum at Lexington.”
+
+“And what objection have you to her?” asked Mr. Graham; to which his
+wife replied, “The very fact, sir, that you wish it, is a sufficient
+reason why I will not have her; besides that, you must misjudge me
+strangely if you think I’d be willing for my son to come daily in
+contact with a girl of her doubtful parentage.”
+
+“What know you of her parentage?” said Mr. Graham, his lips turning
+slightly pale.
+
+“Yes, what do I know?” answered his wife. “Her father, if she has any,
+is a rascal, a villain——”
+
+“Yes, yes, all of that,” muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife continued,
+“And her mother a poor, low, mean, ignorant——”
+
+“Hold!” thundered Mr. Graham. “You shall not speak so of any woman of
+whom you know nothing, much less of ’Lena Rivers’ mother.”
+
+“And pray what do you know of her—is she an old acquaintance?” asked
+Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner as much of insolence as possible.
+
+“I know,” returned Mr. Graham, “that ’Lena’s mother could be nothing
+else than respectable.”
+
+“Undoubtedly; but of this be assured—the daughter shall never, by my
+permission, darken my doors,” said Mrs. Graham, growing more and more
+excited, and continuing—“I know you of old, Harry Graham; and I know
+now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was so as to be near her,
+but it shan’t be.”
+
+In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself who had first
+suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that until within a day or two
+her husband and ’Lena were entire strangers. But this made no
+difference. She was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an
+hour she fretted and cried, declaring herself the most abused of her
+sex, and wishing she had never seen her husband, who, in his heart,
+warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving not to mention the
+offending ’Lena again in the presence of his wife.
+
+The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed; after which, Mr.
+and Mrs. Graham, together with Durward, returned to Louisville,
+intending to take possession of their new home about the first of
+October.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.
+
+
+As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were commenced for
+repairing Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in a style suited to the
+luxurious taste of its rightful owner, which, as report said, was in
+reality Durward. He had conceived a fancy for the place five years
+before, when visiting in the neighborhood, and on learning that it was
+for sale, he had purchased it, at the suggestion of his mother,
+proposing to his father that for a time, at least, he should be its
+nominal possessor. What reason he had for this he hardly knew himself,
+unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of great
+wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.
+
+And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved than was he.
+Courteous, kind-hearted, and generous almost to a fault, he gained
+friends wherever he went, and it was with some reason that Mrs. Graham
+thought herself blessed above mothers, in the possession of such a son.
+“He is so like me,” she would say, in speaking of his many virtues,
+when, in fact, there was scarcely anything in common between them, for
+nearly all of Durward’s sterling qualities were either inherited from
+his own father, or the result of many years’ companionship with his
+stepfather. Possessed of the most exquisite taste, he exercised it in
+the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under his skillful management,
+began in a few weeks to assume a more beautiful appearance than it had
+ever before worn.
+
+Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out to see how
+matters were progressing, the latter usually accepting Mrs.
+Livingstone’s pressing invitation to make her house his home. This he
+was the more willing to do, as it threw him into the society of ’Lena,
+who was fast becoming an object of absorbing interest to him. The more
+he saw of her, the more was his admiration increased, and oftentimes,
+when joked concerning his preference for Carrie, he smiled to think how
+people were deceived, determining, however, to keep his own secret
+until such time as he should be convinced that ’Lena was all he could
+desire in a wife. For her poverty and humble birth he cared nothing. If
+she were poor, he was rich, and he possessed too much good sense to
+deem himself better than she, because the blood of a nobleman flowed in
+his veins. He knew that she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could
+he be assured that she was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate
+a moment.
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone’s insinuation that she was a heartless coquette,
+troubled him, and though he could not believe it without more proof
+than he had yet received, he determined to wait and watch, studying her
+character, the while, to see if there was in her aught of evil. In this
+state of affairs, it was hardly more than natural that his manner
+toward her should be rather more reserved than that which he assumed
+toward Carrie, for whom he cared nothing, and with whom he talked
+laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was out of his sight,
+and never suspecting how much importance she attached to his every word
+and look, construing into tokens of admiration the most casual remark,
+such as he would utter to any one. This was of advantage to ’Lena, for,
+secure of their prize, both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie, for a time, at
+least, ceased to persecute her, seldom speaking of her in Durward’s
+presence, and, as a general thing, acting as though she were not in
+existence.
+
+John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of watching his
+mother and sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now withdrew his
+espionage, amusing himself, instead, by galloping three times a week
+over to Frankfort, the home of Nellie Douglass, and by keeping an eye
+upon Captain Atherton, who, as a spider would watch a fly, was lying in
+wait for the unsuspecting Anna.
+
+At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of Mrs.
+Graham, who came up early in October, bringing with her a larger train
+of house servants than was often seen in Woodford county. About three
+weeks after her arrival, invitations were issued for a party or “house
+warming,” as the negroes termed it. Nero, Durward’s valet, brought the
+tiny notes to Mr. Livingstone’s, giving them into the care of Carrie,
+who took them immediately to her mother’s room.
+
+“It’s Durward’s handwriting,” said she, glancing at the
+superscriptions, and reading as she did so—“Mr. and Mrs.
+Livingstone”—“Mr. John Livingstone, Jr.”—“Miss Carrie
+Livingstone”—“Miss Anna Livingstone”—“_Miss ’Lena Rivers_;” and here
+she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked up
+inquiringly—“And as I live, one for _grandma_—‘MRS. MARTHA NICHOLS!’”
+
+“Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for the
+billet. “Yes, ’tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!—what can it mean?”
+
+A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant. For once in
+his life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of being master in his own
+house, declaring that if Mrs. Nichols were not invited with the family,
+there should be no party at all. Mrs. Graham saw that he was in
+earnest, and yielded the point, knowing that in all probability the old
+lady would not be permitted to attend. Her husband had expected a like
+opposition with regard to ’Lena, but he was disappointed, for his wife,
+forgetting her declaration that ’Lena should never darken her doors and
+thinking it would not do to slight her, consented that, on her uncle’s
+account, she should be invited. Accordingly, the notes were despatched,
+producing the effect we have seen.
+
+“How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!” said Carrie. “It’s bad
+enough to have ’Lena stuck in with us, for of course _she’ll_ go.”
+
+“Why of course?” asked Mrs. Livingstone. “The invitations are at my
+disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two of them, no one will be
+blamed but Nero, who was careless and dropped them! ’Lena has nothing
+decent to wear, and I don’t feel like expending much more for a person
+so ungrateful as she is. You ought to have heard how impudent she was
+that time you all went to Woodlawn.”
+
+Then followed a one-sided description of that morning’s occurrence,
+Mrs. Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch of excitement, that
+before her recital was finished, she had determined at all events to
+keep back ’Lena’s invitation, as a method of punishing her for her
+“insolence,” as she termed it.
+
+“Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know,” said she, “for she cannot
+endure her; and besides that, I don’t think ’Lena expects to be
+invited, so there’s no harm done.”
+
+Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for a moment
+her better nature shrank from so mean a transaction, which might, after
+all, be found out, involving them in a still worse difficulty; but as
+the thought flashed upon her that possibly ’Lena might again attract
+Durward toward her, she assented, and they were about putting the notes
+aside, when John Jr. came in, catching up his grandmother’s note the
+first thing, and exclaiming, “Oh, _rich_!—_capital_! I hope she’ll go!”
+Then, before his mother could interpose a word, he darted away in quest
+of Mrs. Nichols, whose surprise was fully equal to that of Mrs.
+Livingstone and Carrie.
+
+“Now, you don’t say I’ve got an invite,” said she, leaving the
+darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mending, and wiping
+her steel-bowed spectacles. “Come, ’Leny, you read it, that’s a good
+girl.”
+
+’Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin’s hand, read that
+Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc.
+
+“But where’s the invite? That don’t say anything about _me_!” said Mrs.
+Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug after all.
+
+As well as they could, ’Lena and John Jr. explained it to her, and
+then, fully convinced that she was really invited, Mrs. Nichols began
+to wonder what she should wear, and how she should go, asking John “if
+he couldn’t tackle up and carry her in the shay,” as she called the
+single buggy.
+
+“Certainly,” answered John Jr. willing to do anything for the sake of
+the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother’s attendance.
+
+’Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify her
+grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to the ridicule
+which her appearance at a fashionable party would call forth. Glancing
+reprovingly at her cousin, she said, “I wouldn’t think of going,
+grandma, for you are lame and old, and there’ll be so many people
+there, all strangers, too, that you won’t enjoy it at all. Besides
+that, we’ll have a nice time at home together—-I’ll read to you all the
+evening.”
+
+“_We_,” repeated John Jr. “Pray, are you not going?”
+
+“Not without an invitation,” said ’Lena smilingly.
+
+“True, true,” returned her cousin. “It’s downstairs, I dare say. I only
+stopped to look at this. I’ll go and get yours now.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother’s room,
+asking for “’Lena’s card.”
+
+“’Lena’s card! What do you mean?” said Mrs. Livingstone, looking up
+from the book she was reading, while Carrie for a moment suspended her
+needle-work.
+
+“’Lena’s invitation; you know well enough what I mean,” returned John
+Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the table, and failing to
+find the one for which he was seeking.
+
+“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it’s not here,”
+was Mrs. Livingstone’s quiet answer.
+
+“Thunder!” roared John Jr., “’Lena not invited! That’s a smart caper.
+But there’s some mistake about it, I know. Who brought them?”
+
+“Nero brought them,” said Carrie, “and I think it is strange that
+grandmother should be invited and ’Lena left out. But I suppose Mrs.
+Graham has her reasons. She don’t seem to fancy ’Lena much.”
+
+“Mrs. Graham go to grass,” muttered John Jr., leaving the room and
+slamming the door after him with great violence.
+
+’Twas a pity he did not look in one of the drawers of his mother’s
+work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing note! But he did
+not think of that. He only knew that ’Lena was slighted, and for the
+next two hours he raved and fretted, sometimes declaring he would not
+go, and again wishing Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little suited to
+her round, fat proportions.
+
+“Wall, if they feel too big to invite ’Leny, they needn’t expect to see
+me there, that’s just all there is about it,” said grandma, settling
+herself in her rocking-chair, and telling ’Lena “she wouldn’t care an
+atom if she’s in her place.”
+
+But ’Lena did care. No one likes to be slighted, and she was not an
+exception to the general rule. Owing to her aunt’s skillful management
+she had never yet attended a large party, and it was but natural that
+she should now wish to go. But it could not be, and she was obliged to
+content herself with the hopes of a minute description from Anna;
+Carrie she would not trust, for she well knew that whatever she told
+would be greatly exaggerated.
+
+Mrs. Graham undoubtedly wished to give her friends ample time to
+prepare, for her invitations were issued nearly a week in advance. This
+suited Carrie, who had a longer time to decide upon what would be
+becoming, and when at last a decision was made, she could do nothing
+but talk about her dress, which really was beautiful, consisting of a
+pink and white silk, with an over-skirt of soft, rich lace. This, after
+it was completed, was tried on at least half a dozen times, and the
+effect carefully studied before the long mirror. Anna, who cared much
+less for dress than her sister, decided upon a black flounced skirt and
+velvet basque. This was Mr. Everett’s taste, and whatever suited him
+suited her.
+
+“I do think it’s too bad that ’Lena is not invited,” said she one day,
+when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party. “She would enjoy it so
+much. I don’t understand, either, why she is omitted, for Mr. Graham
+seemed to like her, and Durward too——”
+
+“A great ways off, you mean,” interrupted Carrie. “For my part, I see
+nothing strange in the omission. It is no worse to leave her out than
+scores of others who will not be invited.”
+
+“But to come into the house and ask all but her,” said Anna. “It does
+not seem right. She is as good as we are.”
+
+“That’s as people think,” returned Carrie, while John Jr., who was just
+going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at the door, exclaimed,
+“Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy yourself better than ’Lena Rivers.
+If you do, you are the only one that thinks so. Why, you can’t begin to
+compare with her, and it’s a confounded shame that she isn’t invited,
+and so I shall tell them if I have a good chance.”
+
+“You’ll look smart fishing for an invitation, won’t you?” said Carrie,
+her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of her hearing almost
+before the words were uttered.
+
+Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in with
+Durward, who was bound for the same place. After the usual greetings
+were exchanged, Durward said, “I suppose you are all coming on Thursday
+night?”
+
+“Yes,” returned John Jr., “I believe the old folks, Cad, and Anna
+intend doing so.”
+
+“But where’s Miss Rivers? Doesn’t she honor us with her presence?”
+asked Durward, in some concern.
+
+John Jr.’s first impulse, as he afterwards said, was “to knock him off
+from his horse,” but a second thought convinced him there might be some
+mistake; so he replied that “it was hardly to be supposed Miss Rivers
+would attend without an invitation—she wasn’t quite so verdant as
+that!”
+
+“Without an invitation!” repeated Durward, stopping short in the road.
+“’Lena not invited! It isn’t so! I directed one to her myself, and gave
+it to Nero, together with the rest which were designed for your family.
+He must have lost it. I’ll ask him the moment I get home, and see that
+it is all made right. She must come, any way, for I wouldn’t give——”
+
+Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished the
+sentence for him.
+
+“Wouldn’t give a picayune for the whole affair without her—that’s what
+you mean, and why not say so? I speak right out about Nellie, and she
+isn’t one half as handsome as ’Lena.”
+
+“It isn’t ’Lena’s beauty that I admire altogether,” returned Durward.
+“I like her for her frankness, and because I think her conduct is
+actuated by the best of principles; perhaps I am mistaken——”
+
+“No, you are not,” again interrupted John Jr., “’Lena is just what she
+seems to be. There’s no deception in her. She isn’t one thing to-day
+and another to-morrow. Spunky as the old Nick, you know, but still she
+governs her temper admirably, and between you and me, I know I’m a
+better man than I should have been had she never come to live with us.
+How well I remember the first time I saw her,” he continued, repeating
+to Durward the particulars of their interview in Lexington, and
+describing her introduction to his sisters. “From the moment she
+refused to tell that lie for me, I liked her,” said he, “and when she
+dealt me that blow in my face, my admiration was complete.”
+
+Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he laughed
+heartily at John’s description of his spirited cousin, thinking, too,
+how different was his opinion of her from that which his mother
+evidently entertained. Still, if Mrs. Livingstone was prejudiced, John
+Jr. might also be somewhat biased, so he would not yet make up his
+mind; but on one thing he was resolved—she should be invited, and for
+fear of contingencies, he would carry the card himself.
+
+Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely questioned, and
+negro-like, called down all manner of evil upon himself “if he done
+drapped the note any whar. ’Strue as I live and breathe, Mas’r
+Bellmont,” said he, “I done carried Miss ’Leny’s invite with the rest,
+and guv ’em all to the young lady with the big nose!”
+
+Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might have
+believed him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that Nero
+had accidentally dropped it. So he wrote another, taking it himself,
+and asking for “Miss Rivers.” Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him
+coming up to the house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her
+collar, puffing out her hair a little more, pinching her cheek, which
+was not quite so red as usual, and wishing that she was alone. But
+unfortunately, both Anna and ’Lena were present, and as there was no
+means of being rid of them, she retained her seat at the piano,
+carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when the door
+opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared.
+
+“If you please, Miss ’Lena,” said the girl, “Marster Bellmont want to
+speak with you in the hall.”
+
+“With ’Lena! How funny!” exclaimed Carrie. “Are you sure it was ’Lena?”
+
+“Yes, sure—he done ask for Miss Rivers.”
+
+“Ask him in, why don’t you?” said Carrie, suspecting his errand, and
+thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing “wonderfully
+pleased” that ’Lena was not intentionally neglected. Before Corinda
+could reply, ’Lena had stepped into the hall, and was standing face to
+face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he asked if “she really
+believed they, intended to slight her,” at the same time explaining how
+it came to his knowledge, and saying “he hoped she would not fail to
+attend.”
+
+’Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely
+think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented,
+and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if
+she were not there with the rest.
+
+“You feel better, now, don’t you ?” said Carrie with a sneer, as ’Lena
+re-entered the parlor.
+
+“Yes, a great deal,” was ’Lena’s truthful answer.
+
+“Oh, I’m real glad!” exclaimed Anna. “I most knew ’twas a mistake all
+the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you wear? Let me see.
+Why, you haven’t got anything suitable, have you?”
+
+This was true, for ’Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was
+beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and
+to him Anna forthwith stated the case, saying ’Lena must have a new
+dress, and suggesting embroidered muslin.
+
+“How ridiculous!” muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano.
+“There’s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her
+earlier.”
+
+“Isn’t Miss Simpson still here?” asked her father.
+
+Anna replied that she was, and then turning to ’Lena, Mr. Livingstone
+asked if “she wanted to go very much.”
+
+The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when at
+supper that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was said
+that he had gone to Frankfort.
+
+“To Frankfort!” repeated his wife. “What has he gone there for?”
+
+No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned home, bringing
+with him ’Lena’s dress, which Anna pronounced “the sweetest thing she
+ever saw,” at the same time running with it to her cousin. There was
+company in the parlor, which for a time kept down the gathering storm
+in Mrs. Livingstone’s face, but the moment they were gone, and she was
+alone with her husband in their room, it burst forth, and in angry
+tones she demanded “what he meant by spending her money in that way,
+and without her consent?”
+
+Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her work-box, and
+opening the little drawer, held to view the missing note. Then turning
+to his wife, whose face was very pale, he said, “This morning I made a
+discovery which exonerates Nero from all blame. I understand it fully,
+and while I knew you were capable of almost anything, I must say I did
+not think you would be guilty of quite so mean an act. Stay,” he
+continued, as he saw her about to speak, “you are my wife, and as ’Lena
+is at last invited, your secret is safe, but remember, it must not be
+repeated. You understand me, do you?”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and
+astonishment—the first, that she was detected, and the last, that her
+husband dare assume such language toward her. But he had her in his
+power—she knew that—and for a time it rendered her very docile, causing
+her to consult with Miss Simpson concerning the fitting of ’Lena’s
+dress, herself standing by when it was done, and suggesting one or two
+improvements, until ’Lena, perfectly bewildered, wondered what had come
+over her aunt, that she should be so unusually kind. Carrie, too,
+learning from her mother how matters stood, thought proper to change
+her manner, and while in her heart she hoped something would occur to
+keep ’Lena at home, she loudly expressed her pleasure that she was
+going, offering to lend her several little ornaments, and doing many
+things which puzzled ’Lena, who readily saw that she was feigning what
+she did not feel.
+
+Meanwhile, grandma, learning that ’Lena was invited, declared her
+intention of going. “I shouldn’t of gin up in the first on’t,” said
+she, “only I wanted to show ’em proper resentment; but now it’s
+different, and I’ll go, anyway—’Tilda may say what she’s a mind to.”
+
+It was in vain that ’Lena reasoned the case. Grandma was decided, and
+it was not until both her son and daughter interfered, the one advising
+and the other commanding her to stay at home, that she yielded with a
+burst of tears, for grandma was now in her second childhood, and easily
+moved. It was terrible to ’Lena to see her grandmother weep, and
+twining her arms around her neck, she tried to soothe her, saying, “she
+would willingly stay at home with her if she wished it.”
+
+Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this. “No, ’Leny,” said
+she, “I want you to go and enjoy yourself while you are young, for
+you’ll sometime be old and in the way;” and the old creature covered
+her face with her shriveled hands and wept.
+
+But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, and drying
+her tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride and satisfaction
+which she felt when she saw how well the white muslin became ’Lena,
+who, John Jr., said, never looked so beautifully as she did when
+arrayed for the party. Mr. Livingstone had not been sparing of his
+money when he purchased the party dress, which was a richly embroidered
+muslin, and fell in soft folds around ’Lena’s graceful figure. Her long
+flowing curls were intertwined with a few natural flowers, her only
+attempt at ornament of any kind, and, indeed, ornaments would have been
+sadly out of place on ’Lena.
+
+It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple Grove reached
+Woodlawn, where they found a large company assembled, some in the
+drawing-rooms below, and others still lingering at the toilet in the
+dressing chamber. Among these last were Nellie Douglass and Mabel Ross,
+the latter of whom Mrs. Livingstone was perfectly delighted to see,
+overwhelming her with caresses, and urging her to stop for awhile at
+Maple Grove.
+
+“I shall be so glad to have you with us, and the country air will do
+you so much good, that you must not refuse,” said she, pinching Mabel’s
+sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy hair, which, in
+contrast with the bandeau of pearls that she wore, looked dark as
+midnight.
+
+Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and
+there was something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone’s _motherly_ demeanor,
+that the heart of the young orphan warmed toward her, and tears
+glittered in her large, mournful eyes, the only beauty, save her hair,
+of which she could boast. Very few had ever cared for poor Mabel, who,
+though warm-hearted and affectionate, required to be known in order to
+be appreciated, and as she was naturally shy and retiring, there were
+not many who felt at all acquainted with her. Left alone in the world
+at a very early age, she had never known what it was to possess a real,
+disinterested friend, unless we except Nellie Douglass, who, while
+there was nothing congenial between them, had always tried to treat
+Mabel as she herself would wish to be treated, were she in like
+circumstances.
+
+Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which they knew
+would accrue, for she was generous to a fault, bestowing with a lavish
+hand upon those whom she loved, and who had too often proved false,
+denouncing her as utterly spiritless and insipid. So often had she been
+deceived, that now, at the age of eighteen, she had learned to distrust
+her fellow creatures, and oftentimes in secret would she weep bitterly
+over her lonely condition, lamenting the plain face and unattractive
+manners, which she fancied rendered her an object of dislike. Still
+there was about her a depth of feeling of which none had ever dreamed,
+and it only required a skillful hand to mold her into an altogether
+different being. She was, perhaps, too easily influenced, for in spite
+of her distrust, a pleasant word or kind look would win her to almost
+anything.
+
+Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the better
+accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel should
+believe her to be the best friend she had in the world. Accordingly,
+she now flattered and petted her, calling her “darling,” and “dearest,”
+and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, “provided
+Nellie Douglas were willing.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t care,” answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing disposition
+poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it rather
+a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.
+
+So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs.
+Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, “Go down with
+me,” at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her
+daughters, Nellie, and ’Lena. In the hall they met with John Jr. He had
+heard Nellie’s voice, and stationing himself at the head of the stairs,
+was waiting her appearance.
+
+“Miss Ross,” said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time
+indicating her willingness to give her into his care.
+
+But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he
+passed on toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie’s train
+and drawing from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness. Mrs.
+Livingstone glanced backward just in time to see the look of affection
+with which her son regarded Nellie, as she placed her soft hand
+confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward smilingly into his face. She
+dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with a mental invective
+against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and smoothing down the
+heavy folds of her _moire antique_, entered the drawing-room, which was
+brilliantly lighted, and filled with the beauty and fashion of
+Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.
+
+At the door they met Durward, who, as he took ’Lena’s hand, said, “It
+is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after
+you.” This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides
+having her son and Nellie under her special cognizance, had also an eye
+upon her niece and Anna. Her espionage of the latter, however, was not
+needed immediately, owing to her being straightway appropriated by
+Captain Atherton, who, in dainty white kids, and vest to match (the
+color not the material), strutted back and forth with Anna tucked under
+his arm, until the poor girl was ready to cry with vexation.
+
+When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham and Durward
+started for ’Lena, the latter reaching her first, and paying her so
+many little attentions, that the curiosity of others was aroused, and
+frequently was the question asked, “Who is she, the beautiful young
+lady in white muslin and curls?”
+
+Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in passing near
+her niece, she managed to whisper, “For heaven’s sake don’t show your
+ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. Bellmont’s good nature any longer.
+It’s very improper to claim any one’s attention so long, and you are
+calling forth remarks.”
+
+Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to
+Durward, “How _can_ you resist such beseeching glances as those ladies
+send toward you?” nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie was one.
+
+’Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room in quest of
+some other shelter when Durward should relinquish her, as she felt he
+would surely do, but none presented itself. Her uncle was playing the
+agreeable to Miss Atherton, Mr. Graham to some other lady, while John
+Jr. kept closely at Nellie’s side, forgetful of all else.
+
+“What shall I do?” said ’Lena, unconsciously and half aloud.
+
+“Stay with me,” answered Durward, drawing her hand further within his
+arm, and bending upon her a look of admiration which she could not
+mistake.
+
+Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who was highly
+incensed at her son’s proceedings, and at last actually asked him “if
+he did not intend noticing anyone except Miss Rivers,” adding, as an
+apology for her rudeness (for Mrs. Graham prided herself upon being
+very polite in her own house), “she has charms enough to win a dozen
+gallants, but there are others here who need attention from you.
+There’s Miss Livingstone, you’ve hardly spoken with her to-night.”
+
+Thus importuned, Durward released ’Lena and walked away, attaching
+himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possible, than did the
+old captain to Anna. About this time Mr. Everett came. He had been
+necessarily detained, and now, after paying his respects to the host
+and hostess, he started in quest of Anna, who was still held “in
+durance vile” by the captain. But the moment she saw Malcolm, she
+uttered a low exclamation of joy, and without a single apology, broke
+abruptly away from her ancient cavalier, whose little watery eyes
+looked daggers after her for an instant; then consoling himself with
+the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her, do what she would, he
+walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her for a time of her charge,
+who was becoming rather tiresome. Frequently, by nods, winks, and
+frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone tried to bring her son to a sense of his
+improper conduct in devoting himself exclusively to one individual, and
+neglecting all others.
+
+But her efforts were all in vain. John Jr. was incorrigible, slyly
+whispering to Nellie, that “he had no idea of beauing a medicine
+chest.” This he said, referring to Mabel’s ill health, for among his
+other oddities, John Jr. had a particular aversion to sickly ladies. Of
+course Nellie reproved him for his unkind remarks, at the same time
+warmly defending Mabel, “who,” she said, “had been delicate from
+infancy, and suffered far more than was generally suspected.”
+
+“Let her stay at home, then,” was John Jr.’s answer, as he led Nellie
+toward the supper-room, which the company were just then entering.
+
+About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs. Livingstone
+being the first to propose going. As she was ascending the stairs, John
+Jr. observed that Mabel was with her, and turning to ’Lena, who now
+leaned on his arm, he said, “There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.—so
+mother thinks!”
+
+“Where?” asked ’Lena, looking around.
+
+“Why, there,” continued John, pointing toward Mabel. “Haven’t you
+noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches over her?”
+
+“I saw them together,” answered ’Lena, “and I thought it very kind in
+my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and I felt sorry for
+her. She is going home with us, I believe.”,
+
+“Going home with _us_!” repeated John Jr. “In the name of the people,
+what is she going home with us for?”
+
+“Why,” returned ’Lena, “your mother thinks the country air will do her
+good.”
+
+“_Un_-doubtedly,” said John, with a sneer. “Mother’s motives are
+usually very disinterested. I wonder she don’t propose to the old
+captain to take up _his_ quarters with us, so she can nurse him!”
+
+With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr. should
+be very polite toward Mabel, and when his mother asked him to help her
+into the carriage, he complied so ungraciously, that Mabel observed it,
+and looked wonderingly at her _patroness_ for an explanation.
+
+“Only one of his freaks, love—he’ll get over it,” said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while poor Mabel, sinking back amoung the cushions, wept
+silently, thinking that everybody hated her.
+
+When ’Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good-night, the former
+retained her hand, while he expressed his sorrow at her leaving so
+soon. “I meant to have seen more of you,” said he, “but you must visit
+us often—will you not?”
+
+Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham’s observation, and
+the lecture which she that night read her offending spouse, had the
+effect to keep him awake until the morning was growing gray in the
+east. Then, when he was asleep, he so far forgot himself and the
+wide-open ears beside him as actually to breathe the name of ’Lena in
+his dreams!
+
+Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspicions, and at
+the breakfast-table next morning, she gave her son a lengthened account
+of her husband’s great sin in dreaming of a young girl, and that girl
+’Lena Rivers. Durward laughed heartily and then, either to tease his
+mother, or to make his father’s guilt less heinous in her eyes, he
+replied, “It is a little singular that our minds should run in the same
+channel, for, I, too, dreamed of ’Lena Rivers!”
+
+Poor Mrs. Graham. A double task was now imposed upon her—that of
+watching both husband and son; but she was accustomed to it, for her
+life, since her second marriage, had been one continued series of
+watching for evil where there was none. And now, with a growing hatred
+toward ’Lena, she determined to increase her vigilance, feeling sure
+she should discover something if she only continued faithful to the
+end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+MABEL.
+
+
+The morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone’s family were
+assembled in the parlor, discussing the various events of the previous
+night. John Jr., ’Lena, and Anna declared themselves to have been
+highly pleased with everything, while Carrie in the worst of humors,
+pronounced it “a perfect bore,” saying she never had so disagreeable a
+time in all her life, and ending her ill-natured remarks by a malicious
+thrust at ’Lena, for having so long kept Mr. Bellmont at her side.
+
+“I suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, but I think
+he showed his good taste by preferring ’Lena,” said John Jr.; then
+turning toward the large easy-chair, where Mabel sat, pale, weary, and
+spiritless, he asked “how she had enjoyed herself.”
+
+With the exception of his accustomed “good-morning,” this was the first
+time he had that day addressed her, and it was so unexpected, that it
+brought a bright glow to her cheek, making John Jr. think she was “not
+so horribly ugly after all.”
+
+But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, “that on account
+of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed anything of the kind.” Then
+pressing her hand upon her forehead, she continued, “My head is aching
+dreadfully, as a punishment for last night’s dissipation.”
+
+Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching head, and now,
+with an impatient gesture, he was turning away, when his mother said,
+“Poor girl, she really looks miserable. I think a ride would do her
+good. Suppose you take her with you—I heard you say you were going to
+Versailles.”
+
+If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horsemanship, she
+being a better rider, if possible; than ’Lena, and now, at Mrs.
+Livingstone’s proposition, she looked up eagerly at John Jr., who
+replied,
+
+“Oh, hang it all! mother, I can’t always be bothered with a girl;” then
+as he saw how Mabel’s countenance fell, he continued, “Let ’Lena ride
+with her—she wants to, I know.”
+
+“Certainly,” said ’Lena, whose heart warmed toward the orphan girl,
+partly because she was an orphan, and partly because she saw that she
+was neglected and unloved.
+
+As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected his
+mother’s object in detaining her as a guest. So when ’Lena was proposed
+as a substitute she seemed equally well pleased, and the young man, as
+he walked off to order the ponies, mentally termed himself a bear for
+his rudeness; “for after all,” thought he, “it’s mother who has designs
+upon me, not Mabel. She isn’t to blame.”
+
+This opinion once satisfactorily settled, it was strange how soon John
+Jr. began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her much more agreeable
+than he had at first supposed, and even acknowledging to ’Lena that
+“she was a good deal of a girl, after all, were it not for her
+everlasting headaches and the smell of medicine,” which he declared she
+always carried about with her.
+
+“Hush-sh,” said ’Lena—“you shan’t talk so, for she is sick a great
+deal, and she does not feign it, either.”
+
+“Perhaps not,” returned John Jr., “but she can at least keep her
+_miserable feelings_ to herself. Nobody wants to know how many times
+she’s been blistered and bled!”
+
+Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were somethings in Mabel which
+he liked, for no one could live long with her and not admire her
+gentleness and uncommon sweetness of disposition, which manifested
+itself in numerous little acts of kindness to those around her. Never
+before in her life had she been so constantly associated with a young
+gentleman, and as she was quite susceptible, it is hardly more than
+natural that erelong thoughts of John Jr. mingled in both her sleeping
+and waking dreams. She could not understand him, but the more his
+changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in him, and
+her eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word from him, or fill
+with tears at the abruptness of his speeches; while he seemed to take
+special delight in seeing how easily he could move her from one extreme
+to the other.
+
+Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each change, and
+warily calculating its result. Not once since Mabel became an inmate of
+her family had she mentioned her to her son, for she deemed it best to
+wait, and let matters take their course. But at last, anxious to know
+his real opinion, she determined to sound him. Accordingly, one day
+when they were alone, she spoke of Mabel, asking him if he did not
+think she improved upon acquaintance, at the same time enumerating her
+many excellent qualities, and saying that whoever married her would get
+a prize, to say nothing of a fortune.
+
+Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. replied, “I
+dare say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome to
+them for all me.”
+
+“I thought you liked Mabel,” said his mother; and John answered, “So I
+do like her, but for pity’s sake, is a man obliged to marry every girl
+he likes? Mabel does very well to tease and amuse one, but when you
+come to the marrying part, why, that’s another thing.”
+
+“And what objection have you to her,” continued his mother, growing
+very fidgety and red.
+
+“Several,” returned John, “She has altogether too many aches and pains
+to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever; and last, but not least, I
+like somebody else. So, mother mine, you may as well give up all hopes
+of that hundred thousand down in Alabama, for I shall never marry Mabel
+Ross, never.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very angry, and,
+in an elevated tone of voice, she said, “I s’pose it’s Nellie Douglass
+you mean, but if you knew all of her that I do, I reckon——”
+
+Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something dreadful, if
+she would! But John Jr. took no notice of her hints, and when he got a
+chance, he replied, “You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie
+will have me, I surely will have her.”
+
+“Marry her, then,” retorted his mother—“marry her with all her poverty,
+but for heaven’s sake, don’t give so much encouragement to a poor
+defenseless girl.”
+
+Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he’d neither speak to nor look
+at her again, if common civilities were construed into encouragement,
+John Jr. strode out of the room, determining, as the surest method of
+ending the trouble, to go forthwith to Nellie, and in a plain,
+straight-forward way make her an offer of himself. With him, to will
+was to do, and in about an hour he was descending the long hill which
+leads into Frankfort. Unfortunately, Nellie had gone for a few weeks to
+Madison, and again mounting Firelock, the young man galloped back,
+reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper. Not
+feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, the sight of
+his mother and Mabel, whom he believed were leagued against him, he
+repaired to the parlor, whistling loudly, and making much more noise
+than was at all necessary.
+
+“If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won’t you be a little more quiet, for
+my head aches so hard to-night,” said a languid voice, from the depths
+of the huge easy-chair which stood before the glowing grate.
+
+Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle of shawls,
+John Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up and her lips white as
+ashes, while the purple rings about her heavy eyes, told of the pain
+she was enduring.
+
+“Thunder!” was John’s exclamation, as he strode from the room, slamming
+together the door with unusual force.
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of hot tea and a
+slice of toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find her sobbing like a
+child. It did not take long for her to learn the cause, and then, as
+well as she could, she soothed her, telling her not to mind John’s
+freaks—it was his way, and he always had a particular aversion to sick
+people, never liking to hear them talk of their ailments. This hint was
+sufficient for Mabel, who ever after strove hard to appear well and
+cheerful in his presence. But in no way, if he could help it, would he
+notice her.
+
+Next to Mrs. Livingstone, ’Lena was Mabel’s best friend, and when she
+saw how much her cousin’s rudeness and indifference pained her, she
+determined to talk with him about it, So the first time they were
+alone, she broached the subject, speaking very kindly of Mabel, and
+asking if he had any well-grounded reason for his uncivil treatment of
+her. There was no person in the world who possessed so much influence
+over John Jr. as did ’Lena, and now, hearing her patiently through, he
+replied, “I know I’m impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I can help it.
+She is so flat and silly, and takes every little attention from me as a
+declaration of love. Still, I don’t blame her as much as I do mother,
+who is putting her up to it, and if she’d only go home and mind her own
+business, I should like her well enough.”
+
+“I don’t understand you,” said ’Lena, and her cousin continued; “Why,
+when Mabel first came here, I do not think she knew what mother was
+fishing for, so she was not so much at fault, but she does now——”
+
+“Are you sure?” interrupted ’Lena, and John Jr. replied, “She’s a
+confounded fool if she don’t. And what provokes me, is to think she’ll
+still keep staying here, when modesty, if nothing else, should prompt
+her to leave. You wouldn’t catch Nellie doing so. Why, she’ll hardly
+come her at all, for fear folks will say she comes to see me, and
+that’s why I like her so well.”
+
+“I think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel,” said Lena, “for I’ve
+no idea she’s in love with you a bit more than I am. I dare say she
+likes you well enough, for there’s nothing in you to dislike.”
+
+“Thank you,” interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a
+kiss, a liberty he often took with her.
+
+“Behave, can’t you?” said ’Lena, at the same time continuing—“No, I
+don’t suppose Mabel is dying for you at all. All of us girls like to
+receive attention from you gentlemen, and she’s not an exception.
+Besides that, you ought to be polite to her, because she’s your
+mother’s guest, if for nothing else. I don’t ask you to love her,” said
+she, “but I do ask you to treat her well. Kind words cost nothing, and
+they go far toward making others happy.”
+
+“So they do,” answered John, upon whom ’Lena’s words were having a good
+effect. “I’ve nothing under heaven against Mabel Ross, except that
+mother wants me to marry her; but if you’ll warrant me that the young
+lady herself has no such intentions, why, I’ll do my very best.”
+
+“I’ll warrant you,” returned ’Lena, who really had no idea that Mabel
+cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satisfied with the result
+of her interview she started to leave the room.
+
+As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, “You are sure
+she don’t care for me?”
+
+“Perfectly sure,” was ’Lena’s answer.
+
+“The plague, she don’t,” thought John, as the door closed upon ’Lena;
+and such is human nature, that the young man began to think that if
+Mabel didn’t care for him, he’d see if he couldn’t make her, for after
+all, there was something pleasant in being liked, even by Mabel!
+
+The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in the parlor,
+John Jr. joined them, and after wringing Carrie’s nose, pulling ’Lena’s
+and Anna’s curls, he suddenly upset Mabel’s work-box, at the same time
+slyly whispering to his cousin, “Ain’t I coming round?”
+
+Abrupt as this proceeding, was, it pleased Mabel, who with the utmost
+good humor, commenced picking up her things, John Jr. assisting her,
+and managing once to bump his head against hers! After this, affairs at
+Maple Grove glided on as smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could wish.
+John and Mabel were apparently on the most amicable terms, he deeming
+’Lena’s approbation a sufficient reward for the many little attentions
+which he paid to Mabel, and she, knowing nothing of all that had
+passed, drinking in his every word and look, learning to live upon his
+smile, and conforming herself, as far as possible, to what she thought
+would best please him.
+
+Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone unfolded to
+Mabel her own wishes, saying she should be perfectly happy could she
+only call her “daughter,” and hinting that such a thing “by wise
+management could easily be brought about.” With a gush of tears the
+orphan girl laid her head in Mrs. Livingstone’s lap, mentally blessing
+her as her benefactress, and thanking the Giver of all good for the
+light and happiness which she saw dawning upon her pathway.
+
+“John is peculiar,” said Mrs. Livingstone, “and if he fancied you liked
+him very much, it might not please him as well as indifference on your
+part.”
+
+So, with this lesson, Mabel, for the first time in her life attempted
+to act as she did not feel, feigning carelessness or indifference when
+every pulse of her heart was throbbing with joy at some little
+attention paid her by John Jr., who could be very agreeable when he
+chose, and who, observing her apparent indifference, began to think
+that what ’Lena had said was true, and that Mabel really cared nothing
+for him. With this impression he exerted himself to be agreeable,
+wondering how her many good qualities had so long escaped his
+observation.
+
+“There is more to her than I supposed,” said he one day to ’Lena, who
+was commending him for his improved manner. “Yes, a heap more than I
+supposed. Why, I really like her!”
+
+And he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid aside, he, as is
+often the case, began to find virtues in her the existence of which he
+had never suspected. Frequently, now, he talked, laughed, and rode with
+her, praising her horsemanship, pointing out some points wherein it
+might be improved, and never dreaming the while of the deep affection
+his conduct had awakened in the susceptible girl.
+
+“Oh, I am so happy,” said she one day to ’Lena, who was speaking of her
+improved health. “I never thought it possible for _me_ to be so happy.
+I dreaded to come here at first, but now I shall never regret it,
+never.”
+
+She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, adjusting the
+feathers to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her neatly fitting
+riding-dress, became her better than anything else. The excitement of
+her words sent a deep glow to her cheek, while her large black eyes
+sparkled with unusual brilliancy. She was going out with John Jr., who,
+just as she finished speaking, appeared in the doorway, and catching a
+glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, jocose way, “Upon my word,
+Meb, if you keep on, you’ll get to be quite decent looking in time.”
+
+’Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid her, and
+questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast forming belief
+that her affection for him was returned.
+
+“I can’t expect him to do anything like other people, he’s so odd,”
+thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which charmed her.
+
+At length Nellie, who had returned from Madison, and felt rather
+lonely, wrote to Mabel, asking her to come home. This plan Mrs.
+Livingstone opposed, but Mabel was decided, and the week before
+Christmas was fixed upon for her departure. John Jr., anxious to see
+Nellie, proposed accompanying her, but when the day came he was
+suffering from a severe cold, which rendered his stay in the house
+absolutely necessary. So his mother, who had reasons of her own for
+doing so, went in his stead. Carrie, who never had any fancy for Mabel,
+and only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite, merely
+offering her hand, and then resumed the novel she was reading, even
+before Mabel had left. Anna and ’Lena bade her a more affectionate
+adieu, and then advancing toward John Jr., who, in his dressing-gown
+and slippers, reclined upon the sofa, she offered him her hand.
+
+As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young man
+accompanied her to the door, playfully claiming the privilege of taking
+leave just as his sister and cousin had done.
+
+“It’s only me, you know,” said he, imprinting upon her forehead a kiss
+which sent the rich blood to her neck and face.
+
+John Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with Nellie, while
+Mabel, simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the world, saw in it a
+world of meaning, and for a long time after the carriage roiled away
+from Maple Grove the bright glow on her cheek told of happy thoughts
+within.
+
+“Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?” asked Mrs.
+Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city.
+
+“No, madam,” answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone continued, “That’s
+strange. He confessed to me that he—ah—he—loved you, and I supposed he
+intended telling you so; but bashfulness prevented, I dare say!”
+
+Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this down-right falsehood cost
+Mrs. Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied the case required it,
+and after a few twinges, her conscience felt easy, particularly when
+she saw how much satisfaction her words gave to her companion, to whom
+the improbability of the affair never occurred. Could she have known
+how lightly John Jr. treated the matter, laughingly describing his
+leave-taking to his sisters and ’Lena, and saying, “Meb wasn’t the
+worst girl in the world, after all,” she might not have been so easily
+duped.
+
+But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion perfect.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+NELLIE AND MABEL.
+
+
+Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with
+articles of elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from being
+wealthy, still loved to surround his only daughter with everything
+which could increase her comfort. So the best, the fairest, and the
+most Costly was always for her, his “darling Nellie,” as he called her,
+when with bounding footsteps she flew to greet him on his return at
+night, ministering to his wants in a thousand ways, and shedding over
+his home such a halo of sunshine that ofttimes he forgot that he was a
+lonely widower, while in the features of his precious child he saw
+again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed from his side
+forever.
+
+But not on him were Nellie’s thoughts resting, as she sat there alone
+that afternoon. She was thinking of the past—of John Livingstone, and
+the many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of words to
+tell her she was beloved. And freely did her heart respond. That John
+Jr. was not perfect, she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so
+easily influenced by those he loved, that she knew it would be an easy
+task to soften down some of the rougher shades of his character. Three
+times during her absence had he called, expressing so much
+disappointment, that with woman’s ready instinct she more than half
+divined his intentions, and regretted that she was gone. But Mabel was
+coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for so had ’Lena written,
+and Nellie’s cheeks glowed and her heart beat high, as she thought of
+what might occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she was not his
+equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father was
+poor—but one of John Jr.’s nature would never take that into
+consideration. They had known each other from childhood, and he had
+always evinced for her the same preference which he now manifested.
+Several weeks had elapsed since she had seen him, and now, rather
+impatiently, she awaited his arrival,
+
+“If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the
+parlor,” said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her
+reverie.
+
+“Mrs. Livingstone!” she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a
+mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, “Mrs.
+Livingstone!—and so _he_ has not come. I wonder what’s the matter!” and
+with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor, where, with
+rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs.
+Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of
+furniture, and her proud spirit whispering to herself, “Poverty,
+poverty.”
+
+With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming her
+back, congratulated her upon her improved health and looks, saying,
+“the _air_ of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;” then turning
+toward Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning than the
+one she intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at
+the same time for the fire being so low.
+
+“Father is absent most of the day,” said she; “and as I am much in my
+chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor.”
+
+“Just as well,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs.
+“One fire is _cheaper_ than two, and in these times I suppose it is
+necessary for some people to economize.”
+
+Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her
+visitor. After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking straight
+in Nellie’s face.
+
+“My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold
+prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute.”
+
+Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left the
+room. When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible improvement
+in her health.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily in
+her chair, “Yes, Mabel isn’t the same creature she was when she came to
+us, but then it’s no wonder, for love, you know, will work miracles.”
+
+No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming
+next.
+
+“Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you’ve no curiosity whatever. Why don’t
+you ask with whom Mabel is in love?”
+
+“Who is it?” laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the tassel
+of her blue silk apron.
+
+After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “It may seem out of place for
+me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of
+excellent sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either party.”
+
+“Certainly not,” answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her tormentor
+continued: “Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you, both myself and
+husband are well pleased that it should be so. From the moment I first
+saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for which I could not
+account, and if I were now to select my future daughter-in-law, I
+should prefer her to all others.”
+
+Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and
+again Mrs. Livingstone spoke: “It may be a weakness, but I have always
+felt anxious that John should make a match every way worthy of him,
+both as to wealth and station. Indeed, I would hardly be willing for
+him to marry one whose fortune is less than Mabel’s. But I need have no
+fears, for John has his own views on that subject, and though he may
+sometimes be attentive to girls far beneath him, he is pretty sure in
+the end to do as I think best!”
+
+Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to
+madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she
+heard. Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if
+John Jr. really loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there
+not been a thousand opportunities for him to tell her so? At this
+moment Mabel reentered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to
+the dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither, until she
+found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden, where many
+and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where he would never sit
+again—so she thought, so she believed—and throwing herself upon one of
+the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to meet the worst—to
+conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising within her toward
+Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only one she had
+ever loved.
+
+Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer
+reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering
+Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged her. “She is an orphan—a
+lonely orphan,” thought she, “and God forbid that through me one drop
+of bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.”
+
+With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders
+concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering
+when Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the
+little blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being
+over, Mrs. Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her
+leave, bidding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as
+if she had indeed been her mother.
+
+“Good-bye, darling Meb,” said she. “I shall come for you to visit us
+erelong.” Turning to Nellie, she said, “Do take care of her health,
+which you know is now precious to more than one;” then in a whisper she
+added, “Remember that what I have told you is sacred.”
+
+The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the
+parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits
+contrasted painfully with the silence and sadness which lay around her
+heart. That night, Mr. Douglass had some business in the city, and the
+two girls were left alone. The lamps were unlighted, for the full
+golden moonlight, which streamed through the window-panes, suited
+better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the sofa, looked
+listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little stool
+at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie’s lap, and her hand
+searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and
+farther away, as hers advanced.
+
+At length she spoke: “Nellie, dear Nellie—there is something I want so
+much to tell you—if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.”
+
+With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the
+sofa-cushion, came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon Mabel’s
+brow, while Nellie’s voice answered, softly and slow, “What is it,
+Mabel? I will hear you.”
+
+Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at the
+time when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother, chiding
+her for her tears, and threatening her with punishment if she did not
+desist. “Since then,” said she, “I have been so lonely—how lonely, none
+but a friendless orphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a
+time they seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten times
+more wretched than before. I never once dreamed that—that Mr.
+Livingstone could care aught for one so ugly as I know I am. I thought
+him better suited for you, Nellie. (How cold your hand is, but don’t
+take it away, for it cools my forehead.”)
+
+The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued: “Yes, I think him
+better suited to you, and when his mother told me that he loved me, and
+that he would, undoubtedly, one day make me his wife, it was almost too
+much for me to believe, but it makes me so happy—oh, so happy.”
+
+“And he—he, too, told you that he loved you?” said Nellie, very low,
+holding her breath for the answer.
+
+“Oh, no—_he_ never told me in _words_. ’Twas his mother that told me—he
+only _acted_!”
+
+“And what did he do?” asked Nellie, smiling in spite of herself, at the
+simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention of exaggerating,
+proceeded to tell what John Jr. had said and done, magnifying every
+attention, until Nellie, blinded as she was by what his mother had
+said, was convinced that, at all events, he was not true to herself. To
+be sure, he had never told her he loved her in words; but in actions he
+had said it many a time, and if he could do the same with Mabel, he
+must be false either to one or the other. Always frank and open-hearted
+herself, Nellie despised anything like deception in others, and the
+high opinion she had once entertained for John Jr., was now greatly
+changed.
+
+Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, and the
+hour of midnight found her restless and wakeful. At length, rising up
+and leaning upon her elbow, she looked down upon the face of Mabel, who
+lay sleeping sweetly at her side. Many and bitter were her thoughts,
+and as she looked upon her rival, marking her plain features and sallow
+skin, an expression of scorn flitted for an instant across her face.
+
+“And _she_ is preferred to me!” said she. “Well, let it be so, and God
+grant I may not hate her.”
+
+Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms wound round
+Mabel’s neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her unkind thoughts, she
+fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.
+
+
+After leaving Mr. Douglass’s, Mrs. Livingstone ordered her coachman to
+drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, where she was frequently
+in the habit of stopping, partly as a matter of convenience when
+visiting in town, and partly to learn the latest news of the day, for
+Mrs. Atkins was an intolerable gossip. Without belonging exactly to the
+higher circles, she still managed to keep up a show of intimacy with
+them, possessing herself with their secrets, and kindly intrusting them
+to the keeping of this and that “dear friend.”
+
+From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the amount of Mr.
+Douglass’ property, and how he was obliged to economize in various
+ways, in order to keep up the appearance of style. From her, too, had
+she learned how often her son was in the habit of calling there, and
+what rumor said concerning those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had learned,
+in return, that the ambitious lady had other views for John, and that
+anything which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to further the plans of her
+friend, would be gratefully received. On this occasion she was at home,
+and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“It is such an age since I’ve seen you, that I began to fear you were
+offended at something,” said she, as she led the way into a cozy little
+sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was blazing on the nicely
+painted hearth. “Do sit down and make yourself as comfortable as you
+can, on such poor accommodations. I have just finished dinner but will
+order some for you.”
+
+“No, no,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, “I dined at Mr. Douglass’s—thank
+you.”
+
+“Ah, indeed,” returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal relieved, for
+to tell the truth, her larder, as was often the case, was rather empty.
+“Dined at Mr. Douglass’s! Of course, then, nothing which I could offer
+you could be acceptable, after one of his sumptuous meals. I suppose
+Nellie brought out all her mother’s old silver, and made quite a
+display. It’s a wonder to me how they hold their heads so high, and
+folks notice them as they do, for between you and me, I shouldn’t be
+surprised to hear of his failing any minute.”
+
+“Is it possible?” said Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Why, yes,” returned Mrs. Atkins. “There’s nothing to prevent it, they
+say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of Nellie, who seems to be
+doing her best.”
+
+“Has she any particular one in view?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Mrs.
+Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone’s aversion to the match, replied,
+“Why, you know she tried to get your son——”
+
+“But didn’t succeed,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“No, didn’t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems she’s spreading
+sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison——”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone’s eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose one word,
+she drew her chair nearer to her friend, who proceeded; “He’s a rich
+bachelor—brother to Mary Wilbur, Nellie’s most intimate friend. You’ve
+heard of her?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. “Hasn’t Nellie been visiting
+her?”
+
+“Her or her brother,” answered Mrs. Atkins. “Mary’s health is poor, and
+you know it’s mighty convenient for Nellie to go there, under pretense
+of staying with her,”
+
+“Exactly,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied smile, and
+another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, after a moment,
+continued: “The brother came home with Nellie, stayed over Sunday, rode
+out with her Monday, indorsed ever so many notes for her father, so I
+reckon, and then went home. If that don’t mean something, then I’m
+mistaken”—and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice of cake.
+
+After an hour’s confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone told of
+Mabel’s prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks who were at Mr.
+Graham’s party praised ’Lena Rivers’ beauty, and predicted a match
+between her and Mr. Bellmont, the former rose to go; and calling upon
+one or two others, and by dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them to
+say “they shouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie
+Douglas,” she started for home, exulting to think how everything seemed
+working together for her good, and how, in the denouement, nothing
+particular could be laid to her charge.
+
+“I told Nellie no falsehood,” thought she. “I did not say John loved
+Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else for her to infer.
+And it has commenced operating, too. I could see it in the spots on her
+face and neck, when I was talking. Nellie’s a fine girl, though, but
+too poor for the Livingstones;” and with this conclusion, she told the
+coachman to drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach home.
+
+Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, grandma and all,
+assembled in the parlor, and with them Durward Bellmont. His arm was
+thrown carelessly across the back of ’Lena’s chair, while he
+occasionally bent forward to look at a book of prints which she was
+examining. The sight of him determined her to wait a little ere she
+retailed her precious bit of gossip to her son. He was Nellie’s cousin,
+and as such, would in all probability repeat to her what he heard.
+However communicative John Jr. might be in other respects, she knew he
+would never discuss his heart-troubles with any one, so, upon second
+thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until they were alone.
+
+Durward and ’Lena, however, needed watching, and by a little
+maneuvering, she managed to separate them, greatly to the satisfaction
+of Carrie, who sat upon the sofa, one foot bent under her, and the
+other impatiently tapping the carpet. From the moment Durward took his
+seat by her cousin, she had appeared ill at ease, and as he began to
+understand her better, he readily guessed that her silent mood was
+owing chiefly to the attentions he paid to ’Lena, and not to a nervous
+headache, as she said, when her grandmother, inquiring the cause of her
+silence, remarked, that “she’d been chipper enough until Mr. Bellmont
+came in.”
+
+But he did not care. He admired ’Lena, and John Jr. like, it made but
+little difference with him who knew it. Carrie’s freaks, which he
+plainly saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs. Livingstone
+he had no suspicion whatever. Consequently, when she sent ’Lena from
+the room on some trifling errand, herself appropriating the vacated
+seat, he saw in it no particular design, but in his usual pleasant way
+commenced talking with Carrie, who brightened up so much that grandma
+asked “if her headache wasn’t e’en-a’most well!”
+
+When ’Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise
+visit to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays. “We’ll invite
+Mr. Everett, and all go down. What do you say, girls?” said he, turning
+toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning ’Lena quite as much as either of
+them.
+
+“Capital,’ answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm instantly
+passing before her mind.
+
+“I should like it very much,” said Carrie, visions of a ride with
+Durward crossing her mind.
+
+“And I too,” said ’Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.’s shoulder, as if
+he would of course be her escort.
+
+Carrie’s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly
+insolent tone, she said, “How do you know you are included?”
+
+’Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at Carrie’s
+manner, prevented her by saying “Of course I meant Miss Rivers, and I
+will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me, either on
+horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers.”
+
+In a very graceful manner ’Lena accepted the invitation saying that
+“she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she
+usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in any
+other way.”
+
+“Fleetfoot sold! what’s that for?” asked Anna; and her mother replied,
+“We’ve about forty horses on our hands now, and as Fleetfoot was seldom
+used by any one except ’Lena, your father thought we couldn’t afford to
+keep him.”
+
+She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever since
+the morning when ’Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward, Fleetfoot’s fate
+had been decreed. Repeatedly had she urged the sale upon her husband,
+who, wearied with her importunity, at last consented, selling him to a
+neighboring planter, who had taken him away that very day.
+
+“That’s smart,” said John Jr. looking at his father, who had not
+spoken. “What is ’Lena going to ride, I should like to know.”
+
+’Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her.
+“Isn’t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?”
+
+“Certainly,” answered his father, compelled now to speak; “plenty of
+feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled. Perhaps
+we’ll get ’Lena a better and younger horse.”
+
+This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to ’Lena’s
+eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat looking
+into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing
+around her.
+
+“That reminds me of Christmas gifts,” said Durward, anxious to change
+the conversation. “I wonder how many of us will get one?”
+
+Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the door,
+asking Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly, the
+superannuated negress, who will be remembered as having nursed Mrs.
+Nichols during her attack of rheumatism, and for whom grandma had
+conceived a strong affection. For many days she had been very ill,
+causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder “what old niggers wanted to live
+for, bothering everybody to death.”
+
+The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with her
+from Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but the
+root was there still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly’s illness
+she had been revolving in her mind the momentous question, whether she
+would not be most guilty if Polly were suffered to die in bondage.
+
+“I promised Nancy Scovandyke,” said she, “that I’d have some on ’em set
+free, but I’ll be bound if ’taint harder work than I s’posed ’twould
+be.”
+
+Still Aunt Polly’s freedom lay warm at grandma’s heart and now when she
+was mentioned together with “Christmas gifts,” a bright idea entered
+her mind,
+
+“John,” said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the medicine,
+“John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since I’ve been here?”
+
+“I believe not,” was his answer.
+
+“Wall,” continued grandma, “bein’s the fashion, I want you to give me
+somethin’ this Christmas, will you?”
+
+“Certainly,” said he, “what is it?”
+
+Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then—she would wait
+until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here the
+conversation ended. Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling ’Lena
+he should call for her on Thursday.
+
+“That’s a plaguy smart feller,” said grandma, as the door closed upon
+him; “and I kinder think he’s got a notion after ’Leny.”
+
+“Ridiculous!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added, “Just
+reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!”
+
+“Shut up your head,” growled John Jr. “You are only angry because he
+asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself. I reckon he knows what
+he’s about.”
+
+“I reckon he does, too!” said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar smile,
+which nettled ’Lena more than any open attack would have done.
+
+With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the
+parlor, and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her
+opportunity for telling him what she had heard. Taking a light from the
+table, he was about retiring, when she said, “I learned some news
+to-day which a little surprised me.”
+
+“Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,” answered John, still advancing
+toward the door.
+
+“Partly from her, and partly from others,” said his mother, adding, as
+she saw him touch the door-knob, “It’s about Nellie Douglass.”
+
+This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he
+asked, “What of her?”
+
+“Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,” said Mrs.
+Livingstone, “only people in Frankfort think she’s going to be
+married.”
+
+“_I_ think so, too,” was John’s mental reply, while his verbal one was,
+“Married! To whom?”
+
+“Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?”
+
+“Yes, she’s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham’s party.”
+
+“Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, who they say
+is very attentive to Nellie. He came home with her from Madison,
+staying at her father’s the rest of the week, and paying her numberless
+attentions, which——”
+
+“_I don’t believe it_,” interrupted John Jr., striking his fist upon
+the table, to which he had returned.
+
+“Neither did I, at first,” said his mother, “but I heard it in so many
+places that there must be something in it. And I’m sure it’s a good
+match. He is rich, and willing, they say, to help her father, who is in
+danger of failing any moment.”
+
+Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jealous,
+particularly of those whom he loved very much, and now suddenly
+remembering to have heard Nellie speak in high terms of Robert Wilbur,
+he began to feel uneasy, lest what his mother had said were true. She
+saw her advantage, and followed it up until, in a fit of anger, he
+rushed from the room and repaired to his own apartment, where for a
+time he walked backward and forward, chafing like a caged lion, and
+wishing all manner of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed false to
+him.
+
+He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such a pitch,
+that he determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, to demand of
+Nellie if what he had heard were true! Upon cooler reflection, however,
+he concluded not to make a “perfect fool of himself,” and plunging into
+bed, he fell asleep, as what man will not be his trouble what it may.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
+
+
+The sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly dawned upon the
+earth, when from many a planter’s home in the sunny south was heard the
+joyful cry of “Christmas Gift,” “Christmas Gift,” as the negroes ran
+over and against each other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came
+within hailing distance, when their loud “Christmas Gift” would make
+all echo again. On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was
+remembered, for Anna and ’Lena had worked both early and late in
+preparing some little present, and feeling amply compensated for their
+trouble, when they saw how much happiness it gave. Mabel, too, while
+she stayed, had lent a helping hand, and many a blessing was that
+morning invoked upon her head from the hearts made glad by her generous
+gifts. Carrie, when asked to join them, had turned scornfully away,
+saying “she’d plenty to do, without working for niggers; who could not
+appreciate it.”
+
+So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine cambric
+handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, and which with a
+delicate note was, the evening previous, sent to Woodlawn, with
+instructions to have it placed next morning on Mrs. Graham’s table. Of
+course Mrs. Graham felt in duty bound to return the compliment, and
+looking over her old jewelry, she selected a diamond ring which she had
+formerly worn, but which was now too small for her fat chubby fingers.
+This was immediately forwarded to Maple Grove, reaching there just as
+the family were rising from the breakfast-table.
+
+“Oh, isn’t it beautiful—splendid—magnificent!” were Carrie’s
+exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham’s generosity, secretly
+wondering if “Durward did not have something to do with it.”
+
+On this point she was soon set right, for the young man himself erelong
+appeared, and after bidding them all a “Merry Christmas,” presented
+Anna with a package which, on being opened, proved to be a large and
+complete copy of Shakspeare, elegantly bound, and bearing upon its
+heavy golden clasp the words “Anna Livingstone, from Durward,”
+
+“This you will please accept from me,” said he. “Mother, I believe, has
+sent Carrie something, and if ’Lena will step to the door, she will see
+her gift from father, who hopes it will give her as much pleasure to
+accept it, as it does him to present it.”
+
+“What can it be?” thought Carrie, rising languidly from the sofa, and
+following ’Lena and her sister to the side door, where stood one of Mr.
+Graham’s servants, holding a beautiful gray pony, all nicely equipped
+for riding.
+
+Never dreaming that this was intended for ’Lena, Carrie looked vacantly
+around, saying, “Why, where is it? I don’t see anything.”
+
+“Here,” said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro’s hand, and
+playfully throwing it across ’Lena’s neck, “Here it is—this pony, which
+we call Vesta. Vesta, allow me to introduce you and your new mistress,
+Miss ’Lena, to each other,” and catching her up, as if she had been a
+feather, he placed her in the saddle. Then, at a peculiar whistle, the
+well-trained animal started off upon an easy gallop, bearing its burden
+lightly around the yard, and back again to the piazza.
+
+“Do you like her ?” he asked of ’Lena, extending his arms to lift her
+down.
+
+For a moment ’Lena could not speak, her heart was so full. But at last,
+forcing down her emotion, she replied, “Oh, very, very much; but it
+isn’t for me, I know—there must be some mistake. Mr. Graham never
+intended it for me.”
+
+“Yes, he did,” answered Durward. “He has intended it ever since the
+morning when you and I rode to Woodlawn. A remark which your cousin
+John made at the table, determined him upon him buying and training a
+pony for you. So here it is, and as I have done my share toward
+teaching her, you must grant me the favor of riding her to Frankfort
+day after to-morrow.”
+
+“Thank you, thank you—you and Mr. Graham too—a thousand times,” said
+’Lena, winding her arms around the neck of the docile animal, who did
+her best to return the caress, rubbing her face against ’Lena, and
+evincing her gentleness in various ways.
+
+By this time Mr. Livingstone had joined them, and while he was admiring
+the pony, Durward said to him, “I am commissioned by my father to tell
+you that he will defray all the expense of keeping Vesta.”
+
+“Don’t mention such a thing again,” hastily interposed Mr. Livingstone.
+“I can keep fifty horses, if I choose, and nothing will give me more
+pleasure than to take care of this one for ’Lena, who deserves it if
+any one does.”
+
+“That’s my Christmas gift from you, uncle, isn’t it?” asked ’Lena, the
+tears gushing from her shining, brown eyes. “And now please may I
+return it?”
+
+“Certainly,” said he, and with a nimble spring she caught him around
+the neck, imprinting upon his lips the first and only kiss she had ever
+given him; then, amid blushes and tears, which came from a heart full
+of happiness, she ran away upstairs followed by the envious eyes of
+Carrie, who repaired to her mother’s room, where she stated all that
+had transpired—“How Mr. Graham had sent ’Lena a gray pony—how she had
+presumed to accept it—and how, just to show off before Mr. Bellmont,
+she had wound her arms around its neck, and then actually _kissed pa_!”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was equally indignant with her daughter, wondering if
+Mr. Graham had lost his reason, and reckoning his wife knew nothing
+about Vesta! But fret as she would, there was no help for it. Vesta
+belonged to ’Lena—Mr. Livingstone had given orders to have it
+well-cared for—and worse than all the rest, ’Lena was to accompany
+Durward to Frankfort. Something must be done to meet the emergency, but
+what, Mrs. Livingstone didn’t exactly know, and finally concluded to
+wait until she saw Mrs. Graham.
+
+Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised Christmas gift,
+which was nothing less than “the freedom of old Aunt Polly.”
+
+“You won’t refuse me, John, I know you won’t,” said she, laying her
+bony hand on his. “Polly’s arnt her freedom forty times over, even
+s’posin’ you’d a right to her in the fust place which I and Nancy
+Scovandyke both doubt; so now set down like a man, make out her free
+papers, and let me carry ’em to her right away.”
+
+Without a word Mr. Livingstone complied with his mother’s request,
+saying, as he handed her the paper, “It’s not so much the fault of the
+south as of the north that every black under heaven is not free.”
+
+Grandma looked aghast. Her son, born, brought up, and baptized in a
+purely orthodox atmosphere, to hold such treasonable opinions in
+opposition to everything he’d ever been taught in good old
+Massachusetts! She was greatly shocked, but thinking she could not do
+the subject justice, she said, “Wall, wall, it’s of no use for you and
+I to arger the pint, for I don’t know nothin’ what I want to say, but
+if Nancy Scovandyke was here, she’d convince you quick, for she’s good
+larnin’ as any of the gals nowadays.”
+
+So saying, she walked away to Polly’s cabin. The old negress was better
+to-day, and attired in the warm double-gown which Mabel had purchased
+and ’Lena had made, she sat up in a large, comfortable rocking-chair
+which John Jr. had given her at the commencement of her illness, saying
+it was “his Christmas gift in advance.” Going straight up to her,
+grandma laid the paper in her lap, bidding her “read it and thank the
+Lord.”
+
+“Bless missus’ dear old heart,” said Aunt Polly, “I can’t read a word.”
+
+“Sure enough,” answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the paper she read
+it through, managing to make the old creature comprehend its meaning.
+
+“Praise the Lord! praise Master John, and all the other apostles!”
+exclaimed Aunt Polly, clasping together her black, wrinkled hands,
+while tears of joy coursed their way down her cheeks. “The breath of
+liberty is sweet—sweet as sugar,” she continued, drawing long
+inspirations as if to make up for lost time.
+
+Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having made her an
+humble instrument in contributing so much to another’s happiness.
+
+“Set down,” said Aunt Polly, motioning toward a wooden bottomed chair;
+“set down, and let’s us talk over this great meracle, which I’ve prayed
+and rastled for mighty nigh a hundred times, without havin’ an atom of
+faith that ’twould ever be.”
+
+So Mrs. Nichols sat down, and for nearly an hour the old ladies talked,
+the one of her newly-found freedom, and the other of her happiness in
+knowing that “’twasn’t for nothin’ she was turned out of her old home
+and brought away over land and sea to Kentucky.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+FRANKFORT.
+
+
+Thursday morning came, bright, sunshiny and beautiful, and at about ten
+o’clock ’Lena, dressed and ready for her ride, came down to the parlor,
+where she found John Jr. listlessly leaning upon the table with his
+elbows, and drumming with his fingers.
+
+“Come, cousin,” said she, “why are you not ready?”
+
+“Ready for what?” he answered, without raising his head.
+
+“Why, ready for our visit,” replied Lena, at the same time advancing
+nearer, to see what ailed him.
+
+“All the visit I make to-day won’t hurt me, I reckon,” said he; pushing
+his hat a little more to one side and looking up at ’Lena, who, in some
+surprise, asked what he meant.
+
+“I mean what I say,” was his ungracious answer; “I’ve no intention
+whatever of going to Frankfort.”
+
+“Not going?” repeated ’Lena. “Why not? What will Carrie do?”
+
+“Stick herself in with you and Durward, I suppose,” said John Jr., just
+as Carrie entered the room, together with Mr. Bellmont, Malcolm, and
+Anna.
+
+“Not going?—of course then I must stay at home, too,” said Carrie,
+secretly pleased at her brother’s decision.
+
+“Why of course?” asked Durward, who, in the emergency, felt constrained
+to offer his services to Carrie though he would greatly have preferred
+’Lena’s company alone. “The road is wide enough for three, and I am
+fully competent to take charge of two ladies. But why don’t you go?”
+turning to John Jr.
+
+“Because I don’t wish to. If it was anywhere in creation but there, I’d
+go,” answered the young man; hastily leaving the room to avoid all
+further argument.
+
+“He does it just to be hateful and annoy me,” said Carrie, trying to
+pout, but making a failure, for she had in reality much rather go under
+Durward’s escort than her brother’s.
+
+The horses were now announced as ready, and in a few moments the little
+party were on their way, Carrie affecting so much fear of her pony that
+Durward at last politely offered to lead him a while. This would of
+course bring him close to her side, and after a little well-feigned
+hesitation, she replied, “I am sorry to trouble you, but if you would
+be so kind——”
+
+’Lena saw through the ruse, and patting Vesta gently, rode on in
+advance, greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, and greatly to the
+chagrin of Durward, who replied to his loquacious companion only in
+monosyllables. Once, indeed, when she said something concerning ’Lena’s
+evident desire to show off her horsemanship, he answered rather coolly,
+that “he’d yet to discover in Miss Rivers the least propensity for
+display of any kind.”
+
+“You’ve never lived with her,” returned Carrie, and here the
+conversation concerning ’Lena ceased.
+
+Meantime, Nellie Douglass was engaged in answering a letter that
+morning received from Mary Wilbur. A few years before, Mary had spent
+some months in Mr. Douglass’s family, conceiving a strong affection for
+Nellie, whom she always called her sister, and with whom she kept up a
+regular correspondence. Mary was an orphan, living with her only
+brother Robert, who was a bachelor of thirty or thirty-five. Once she
+had ventured to hope that Nellie would indeed be to her a sister, but
+fate had decreed it otherwise, and her brother was engaged to a lady
+whom he found a school-girl in Montreal, and who was now at her own
+home in England. This was well-known to Nellie, but she did not deem it
+a matter of sufficient importance to discuss, so it was a secret in
+Frankfort, where Mr. Wilbur’s polite attentions to herself was a
+subject of considerable remark. For a long time Mary had been out of
+health, and the family physician at last said that nothing could save
+her except a sea voyage, and as her brother was about going to Europe
+to consummate his marriage, it was decided that she should accompany
+him. This she was willing to do, provided Nellie Douglass would go too.
+
+“It would be much pleasanter,” she said, “having some female companion
+besides her attendant, and then, too, Nellie had relatives in England;”
+so she urged her to accompany them, offering to defray all expenses for
+the pleasure of her society.
+
+Since Nellie’s earliest recollection, her fondest dreams had been of
+England, her mother’s birthplace; and now when so favorable an
+opportunity for visiting it was presented, she felt strongly tempted to
+say “Yes.” Still, she would give Mary no encouragement until she had
+seen her father and John Jr., the latter of whom would influence her
+decision quite as much as the former. But John Jr. no longer loved
+her—she was sure of that—and with her father’s consent she had half
+determined to go. Still she was undecided, until a letter came from
+Mary, urging her to make up her mind without delay, as they were to
+sail the 15th of January.
+
+“Brother is so sensitive concerning his love affairs,” wrote Mary,
+“that whether you conclude to join us or not, you will please say
+nothing about his intended marriage.”
+
+Nellie had seated herself to answer this letter, when a servant came
+up, saying that “Marster Bellmont, all the Livingstones, and a heap
+more were downstars, and had sent for her.”
+
+She was just writing, “I will go,” when this announcement came, and
+quickly suspending her pen, she thought, “He’s come, at last. It may
+all be a mistake. I’ll wait.” With a beating heart she descended to the
+parlor, where she politely greeted Mr. Everett and Durward, and then
+anxiously glanced around for the missing one. Mabel, who felt a similar
+disappointment, ventured to inquire for him, in a low tone, whereupon
+Carrie replied, loudly enough for Nellie to hear, “Oh, pray don’t speak
+of that bear. Why, you don’t know how cross he’s been ever since—let me
+see—ever since you came away. He doesn’t say a civil word to anybody,
+and I really wish you’d come back before he kills us all.’
+
+“Did you invite him to come ?” said Nellie.
+
+“To be sure we did,” answered Carrie, “and he said, ‘anywhere in
+creation but there.’”
+
+Nellie needed no further confirmation, and after conversing awhile with
+her guests, she begged leave to be excused for a few moments, while she
+finished a letter of importance, which must go out in the next mail.
+Alone in her room, she wavered, but the remembrance of the words,
+“anywhere in creation but there,” decided her, and with a firm hand she
+wrote to Mary that she would go. When the letter was finished and sent
+to the office, Nellie returned to her visitors, who began to rally her
+concerning the important letter which must be answered.
+
+“Now, coz,” said Durward, pulling her down upon the sofa by his side,
+“now, coz, I claim a right to know something about this letter. Was it
+one of acceptance or rejection?”
+
+“Acceptance, of course,” answered Nellie, who, knowing no good reason
+why her intended tour should be kept a secret, proceeded to speak of
+it, telling how they were to visit Scotland, France, Switzerland, and
+Italy, and almost forgetting, in her enthusiasm, how wretched the
+thought of the journey made her.
+
+“And Miss Wilbur’s brother is to be your escort—he is unmarried, I
+believe?” said Durward, looking steadily upon the carpet.
+
+In a moment Nellie would have told of his engagement, and the object of
+his going, but she remembered Mary’s request in time, and the blush
+which the almost committed mistake called to her cheek, was construed
+by all into a confession that there was something between her and Mr.
+Wilbur.
+
+“That accounts for John’s sudden churlishness,” thought ’Lena,
+wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so.
+
+“Oh, I see it all,” exclaimed Mabel. “I understand now what has made
+Nellie so absent-minded and restless these many days. She was making up
+her mind to become Mrs. Wilbur, while I fancied she was offended with
+me.”
+
+“I don’t know what you mean,” answered Nellie, without smiling in the
+least. “Mary Wilbur wishes me to accompany her to Europe, and I intend
+doing so. Her brother is nothing to me, nor ever will be.”
+
+“Quite a probable story,” thought Mr. Everett, without forming his
+reflections into words.
+
+Toward the middle of the afternoon, a violent ringing of the door-bell,
+and a heavy tramp in the hall, announced some new arrival, and Nellie
+was about opening the parlor door, when who should appear but John Jr.!
+From his room he had watched the departure of the party, one moment
+wishing he was with them, and the next declaring he’d never go to
+Frankfort again so long as he lived! At length inclination getting the
+ascendency of his reason, he mounted Firelock, and rushing furiously
+down the ’pike, never once slackened his speed until the city was in
+sight.
+
+“I dare say she’ll think me a fool,” thought he, “tagging her round,
+but she needn’t worry. I only want to show her how little her pranks
+affect me.”
+
+With these thoughts he could not fail to meet Nellie otherwise than
+coldly, while she received him with equal indifference, calling him Mr.
+Livingstone, and asking if he were cold, with other questions, such as
+any polite hostess would ask of her guest. But her accustomed smile and
+usual frankness of manner were gone, and while John Jr. felt it keenly,
+he strove under a mask of indifference, to conceal his chagrin. Mabel
+seemed delighted to see him, and for want of something better to do, he
+devoted himself to her, calling her Meb, and teasing her about her
+“Indian locks,” as he called her straight, black hair. Could he have
+seen the bitter tears which Nellie constantly forced back, as she moved
+carelessly among her guests, far different would have been his conduct.
+But he only felt that she had been untrue to him, and in his anger he
+was hardly conscious of what he was doing.
+
+So when Mabel said to him, “Nellie is going to Europe with Mr. Wilbur
+and Mary,” he replied, “Glad of it—hope she’ll”—be drowned, he
+thought—“have a good time,” he said—and Nellie, who heard all, never
+guessed how heavily the blow had fallen, or that the hand so suddenly
+placed against his heart, was laid there to still the wild throbbing
+which he feared she might hear.
+
+When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked when she was
+going, and how long she intended to be gone. “What! so soon?” said he,
+when told that she sailed the 15th of January, and other than that, not
+a word did he say to Nellie concerning her intended visit, until just
+before they left for home. Then for a moment he stood alone with her in
+the recess of a window. There was a film upon his eyes as he looked
+upon her, and thought it might be for the last time. There was anguish,
+too, in his heart, but it did not mingle in the tones of his voice,
+which was natural, and, perhaps, indifferent, as he said, “Why do you
+go to Europe, Nellie?”
+
+Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced up into his
+face, but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest they should betray
+themselves, were resting upon Mabel, who, on a stool across the room,
+was petting and caressing a kitten. ’Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie
+answered, “Because I want to; what do you suppose?”
+
+Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked away to where
+Mabel sat, and commenced teasing her and her kitten, while Nellie,
+maddened with herself, with him, with everybody, precipitately left the
+room, and going to her chamber hastily, and without a thought as to
+what she was doing, gathered together every little token which John Jr.
+had given her, together with his notes and letters, written in his own
+peculiar and scarcely legible hand. Tying them in a bundle, she wrote
+with unflinching nerve, “Do thou likewise,” and then descending to the
+hall, laid it upon the hat-stand, managing, as he was leaving, to place
+it unobserved in his hand. Instinctively he knew what it was, glanced
+at the three words written thereon, and in a cold, sneering voice,
+replied, “I will, with pleasure.”
+
+And thus they parted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE DEPARTURE.
+
+
+“John, how would you like to take a trip to New York—the city, I mean?”
+said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks following
+the events narrated in the last chapter.
+
+“Well enough—why do you ask?” answered John.
+
+“Because,” said his father, “I have to-day received a letter which
+makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are
+fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You had better start
+immediately—say to-morrow.”
+
+John Jr. started from his chair. To-morrow she left her home—the 15th
+she sailed. He might see her again, though at a distance, for she
+should never know he followed her! Since that night in Frankfort he had
+not looked upon her face, but he had kept his promise, returning to her
+everything—everything except a withered rose-bud, which years before,
+when but a boy, he had twined among the heavy braids of her hair, and
+which she had given back to him, playfully fastening it in the
+button-hole of his roundabout! How well he remembered that day. She was
+a little romping girl, teasing him unmercifully about his _flat feet_
+and _big hands_, chiding him for his _negro slang_, as she termed his
+favorite expressions, and with whatever else she did, weaving her image
+into his heart’s best and noblest affections, until he seemed to live
+only for her, But now ’twas changed—terribly changed. She was no longer
+“his Nellie,” the Nellie of his boyhood’s love; and with a muttered
+curse and a tear, large, round, and hot, such as only John Jr. could
+shed, he sent her back every memento of the past, all save that
+rose-bud, with which he could not part, it seemed so like his early
+hopes—withered and dead.
+
+Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box containing
+the treasures was handed her. Again and again she examined to see if
+there were not one farewell word, but there was nothing save, “Here
+endeth the first lesson!” followed by two exclamation points, which
+John Jr. had dashed off at random. Every article seemed familiar to her
+as she looked them over, and everything was there but one—she missed
+the rose-bud—and she wondered at the omission for she knew he had it in
+his possession. He had told her so not three months before. Why, then,
+did he not return it? Was it a lingering affection for her which
+prompted the detention? Perhaps so, and down in Nellie’s heart was one
+warm, bright spot, the memory of that bud, which grew green and fresh
+again, as on the day when first it was torn from its parent stem.
+
+When it was first known at Maple Grove, that Nellie was going to
+Europe, Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in the future the full consummation
+of her plans, proposed that Mabel should spend the period of Nellie’s
+absence with her. But to this Mr. Douglass would not consent.
+
+“He could not part with both his daughters,” he said, and Mabel decided
+to remain, stipulating that ’Lena, of whom she was very fond, should
+pass a portion of the time with her.
+
+“All the time, if she chooses,” said Mr. Douglass, who also liked
+’Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately proposed that she
+should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont, who had recently come to
+the city, and who was said to be a superior teacher. “She is fond of
+music,” said she, “and has always wanted to learn, but that aunt of
+hers never seemed willing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she
+can use my piano all the time if she chooses.”
+
+“Capital!” exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she would pay the
+bills, and how much she would assist ’Lena, for Mabel was an excellent
+musician, singing and playing admirably.
+
+When this plan was proposed to ’Lena, she objected, for two reasons.
+The first, that she could not leave her grandmother, and second, that
+much as she desired the lessons, she would not suffer Mabel to pay for
+them, and she had no means of her own. On the first point she began to
+waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who was in unusually good health, insisted
+upon her going.
+
+“It will do you a sight of good,” said she, “and there’s no kind of use
+why you should stay hived up with me. I’d as lief be left alone as not,
+and I shall take comfort thinkin’ you’re larnin’ to play the pianner,
+for I’ve allus wondered ’Tildy didn’t set you at Car’line’s. So, go,”
+the old lady continued, whispering in ’Lena’s ear, “Go, and mebby some
+day you’ll be a music teacher, and take care of us both.”
+
+Still, ’Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, after a
+moment’s thought, exclaimed, “Why, I can teach you myself! I should
+love to dearly. It will be something to occupy my mind; and my
+instructors have frequently said that I was capable of teaching
+advanced pupils, if I chose. You’ll go now, I know”—and Mabel plead her
+cause so well, that ’Lena finally consented, saying she should come
+home once a week to see her grandmother.
+
+“A grand arrangement, I must confess,” said Carrie, when she heard of
+it. “I should think she sponged enough from her connections, without
+living on other folks, and poor ones, too, like Mr. Douglass.”
+
+“How ridiculous you talk,” said John Jr., who was present. “You’d be
+perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham’s, or Mr. Douglass’s
+either, if he had a son whom you considered an eligible match. Then as
+to his being so poor, that’s one of Mother Atkins’ yarns, and she knows
+everybody’s history, from Noah down to the present day. For ’Lena’s
+sake I am glad to have her go, though heaven knows what I shall do
+without her.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone, too, was secretly pleased, for she would thus be more
+out of Durward’s way, and the good lady was again becoming somewhat
+suspicious. So when her husband objected, saying ’Lena could take
+lessons at home if she liked, she quietly overruled him, giving many
+good reasons why ’Lena should go, and finally saying that if Mrs.
+Nichols was very lonely without her, she might spend her evenings in
+the parlor when there was no company present! So it was decided that
+’Lena should go, and highly pleased with the result of their call, Mr.
+Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort.
+
+At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her journey. Mr.
+Wilbur had arrived the night before, together with his sister, whose
+marble cheek and lusterless eye even then foretold the lonely grave
+which awaited her far away ’neath a foreign sky. Durward and Mr.
+Douglass accompanied them as far as Cincinnati, where they took the
+cars for Buffalo. Just before it rolled from the depot, a young man
+closely muffled, who had been watching our party, sprang into a car
+just in the rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first
+vacant seat, abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have
+been very absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded
+the call of “Your ticket, sir.”
+
+Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellie’s tears
+were dropping. They had gushed forth when she saw the quivering chin
+and trembling lips of her gray-haired father, as he bade his only child
+good-bye, and now that he was gone, she wept on, never heeding her
+young friend, who strove in vain to call her attention to the fast
+receding hills of Kentucky, which she—Mary—was leaving forever. Other
+thoughts than those of her father mingled with Nellie’s tears, for she
+could not forget John Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last that he
+would come to say farewell. But he did not. They had parted in
+coldness, if not in anger, and she might never see him again.
+
+“Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass; I cannot suffer you to be so sad,” said
+Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and thoughtlessly throwing his
+arm across the back of the seat, while at the same time he bent
+playfully forward to peep under her bonnet.
+
+And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she did not
+observe the flashing eyes which watched her through the window at the
+rear of the car. Always restless and impatient of confinement, John Jr.
+had come out for a moment upon the platform, ostensibly to take the
+air, but really to see if it were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie.
+She was sitting not far from the door, and he looked in, just in time
+to witness Mr. Wilbur’s action, which he of course construed just as
+his jealousy dictated.
+
+“Confounded fool!” thought he. “_I_ wouldn’t hug Nellie in the cars in
+good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!”
+
+And returning to his seat; he wondered which was the silliest, “for
+Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run after her. Six
+of one and half a dozen of the other, I reckon,” said he; at the same
+time wrapping himself in his shawl, he feigned sleep at every station,
+for the sake of retaining his entire seat, and sometimes if the crowd
+was great, going so far as to snore loudly!
+
+And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting the close
+espionage kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the night, at a
+crowded depot, passed so closely to her that he felt her warm breath on
+his cheek. And when, on the morning of the 15th, she sailed, she little
+thought who it was that followed her down to the water’s edge, standing
+on the last spot where she had stood, and watching with a swelling
+heart the vessel which bore her away.
+
+“I’m nothing better than a walking dead man, now,” said he, as he,
+retraced his steps back to his hotel. “Nellie’s gone, and with her all
+for which I lived, for she’s the only girl except ’Lena who isn’t a
+libel on the sex—or, yes—there’s Anna—does as well as she knows how—and
+there’s Mabel, a little simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and
+good-natured, and on the whole, as smart as they’ll average. ’Twas kind
+in her, anyway, to offer to pay ’Lena’s music bills.”
+
+And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men whom he had
+come to see, transacted his business, and then started for home, where
+he found his mother in unusually good spirits. Matters thus far had
+succeeded even beyond her most sanguine expectations. Nellie was gone
+to Europe, and the rest she fancied would be easy. ’Lena, too, was
+gone, but the result of this was not what she had hoped. Durward had
+been at Maple Grove but once since ’Lena left, while she had heard of
+his being in Frankfort several times.
+
+“Something must be done”—her favorite expression and in her difficulty
+she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, whom she had not seen since
+Christmas. “It is quite time she knew about the gray pony, as well as
+other matters,” thought she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one
+morning for Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its
+mistress amiably disposed, which was not always the case.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+THE VISIT.
+
+
+Mrs. Graham reclined upon a softly-cushioned sofa, her tasteful lace
+morning-cap half falling from her head, and her rich cashmere gown
+flowing open, so as to reveal the flounced cambric skirt which her
+sewing-girl had sat up till midnight to finish. A pair of delicate
+French slippers pinched rather than graced her fat feet, one of which
+angrily beat the carpet, as if keeping time to its mistress’ thoughts.
+Nervous and uncomfortable was the lady of Woodlawn this morning, for
+she had just passed through a little conjugal scene with her husband,
+whom she had called a _brute_, lamenting the dispensation of Providence
+which took from her “her beloved Sir Arthur, who always thought
+whatever she said was right,” and ending by throwing herself in the
+most theatrical manner upon the sofa in the parlor, where, with both
+her blood and temper at a boiling heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid,
+but recently purchased, announced the approach of a carriage.
+
+“Mercy,” exclaimed the distressed lady, “whose is it? I hope no one
+will ask for me.”
+
+“Reckon how it’s Marster Livingstone’s carriage, ’case thar’s Tom on
+the box,” answered the girl, who had her own private reason for knowing
+Tom at any distance.
+
+“Mrs. Livingstone, I’ll venture to say,” groaned Mrs. Graham, burying
+her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the silken cushions.
+“Just because I stopped there a few days last summer, she thinks she
+must run here every week; and there’s no way of escaping her. Do shut
+that blind; it lets in so much light. There, would you think I’d been
+crying?”
+
+“Lor, no,” returned the stupid servant, “Lor, no; I should sooner think
+your eyes and face were swelled with _pisen_.”
+
+“The Lord help me,” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, “you don’t begin to know as
+much as poor Charlotte did. She was a jewel, and I don’t see anything
+what she wanted to die for, just as I had got her well trained; but
+that’s all the thanks I ever get for my goodness. Now go quick, and
+tell her I’ve got an excruciating headache.”
+
+“If you please, miss,” said the girl, trying in vain to master the big
+word, “if you please, give me somethin’ shorter, ’case I done forgit
+that ar, sartin’.”
+
+“Fool! Idiot!” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for want of something
+better, one of her satin slippers at the woolly head, which dodged out
+of the door in time to avoid it.
+
+“Is your mistress at home?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Martha,
+uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, “Yes—no—I dun know,
+’case she done driv me out afore I know’d whether she was at home or
+not.”
+
+“Martha, show the lady this way,” called out Mrs. Graham, who was
+listening. “Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it you. I’m glad to see you,” said
+she, half rising and shading her swollen eyes with her hand, as if the
+least effort were painful. “You must excuse my dishabille, for I am
+suffering from a bad headache, and when Martha said some one had come,
+I thought at first I could not see them, but you are always welcome.
+How have you been this long time, and why have you neglected me so,
+when you know how I must feel the change from Louisville, where I was
+constantly in society, to this dreary neighborhood?” and the lady lay
+back upon the sofa, exhausted with and astonished at her own eloquence.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was quite delighted with her friend’s unusual
+cordiality, and seating herself in the large easy-chair, began to make
+herself very agreeable, offering to bathe Mrs. Graham’s aching head,
+which kind offer the lady declined, bethinking herself of sundry gray
+hairs, which a close inspection would single out from among her flaxen
+tresses.
+
+“Are your family all well?” she asked; to which Mrs. Livingstone
+replied that they were, at the same time speaking of her extreme
+loneliness since Mabel left them.
+
+“Ah, you mean the little dark-eyed brunette, whom I saw with you at my
+party. She was a nice-looking girl—showed that she came of a good
+family. I think everything of that. I believe I’d rather Durward would
+marry a poor aristocrat, than a wealthy plebeian—one whose family were
+low and obscure.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone wondered what she thought of her family, the
+Livingstones. The Richards’ blood she knew was good, but the Nichols’
+was rather doubtful. Still, she would for once make the best of it, so
+she hastened to say that few American ladies were so fortunate as Mrs.
+Graham had been in marrying a noble man. “In this country we have no
+nobility, you know,” said she, “and any one who gets rich and into good
+society, is classed with the first.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” returned Mrs. Graham, “but in my mind there’s a great
+difference. Now, Mr. Graham’s ancestors boast of the best blood of
+South Carolina, while my family, everybody knows, was one of the first
+in Virginia, so if Durward had been Mr. Graham’s son instead of Sir
+Arthur’s, I should be just as proud of him, just as particular whom he
+married.”
+
+“Certainly,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, a little piqued, for there was
+something in Mrs. Graham’s manner which annoyed her—“certainly—I
+understand you. I neither married a nobleman, nor one of the best
+bloods of South Carolina, and still I should not be willing for my son
+to marry—let me see—well, say ’Lena Rivers.”
+
+“’Lena Rivers !” repeated Mrs. Graham—“why, I would not suffer Durward
+to look at her, if I could help it. She’s of a horridly low family on
+both sides, as I am told.”
+
+This was a home thrust which Mrs. Livingstone could not endure quietly,
+and as she had no wish to defend the royalty of a family which she
+herself despised, she determined to avenge the insult by making her
+companion as uncomfortable as possible. So she said, “Perhaps you are
+not aware that your son’s attentions to this same ’Lena Rivers, are
+becoming somewhat marked.”
+
+“No, I was not aware of it,” and the greenish-gray eyes fastened
+inquiringly upon Mrs. Livingstone, who continued: “It is nevertheless
+true, and as I can appreciate your feelings, I thought it might not be
+out of place for me to warn you.”
+
+“Thank you,” returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself upon her elbow,
+“Thank you—-but do you know anything positive? What has Durward done?”
+
+“’Lena is in Frankfort now, at Mr. Douglass’s,” answered Mrs.
+Livingstone, “and your son is in the constant habit of visiting there;
+besides that, he invited her to ride with him when they all went to
+Frankfort—’Lena upon the gray pony which your husband gave her as a
+Christmas present.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone had touched the right spot. ’Twas the first intimation
+of Vesta which Mrs. Graham had received, and now sitting bolt upright,
+she demanded what Mrs. Livingstone meant. “My husband give ’Lena Rivers
+a pony! Harry Graham do such a thing! It can’t be possible. There must
+be some mistake.”
+
+“I think not,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. “Your son came over with it,
+saying ‘it was a present from his father, who sent it, together with
+his compliments.’”
+
+Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, groaning, and
+pronouncing herself wholly heart-broken. “I knew he was bad,” said she,
+“but I never dreamed it had come to this. And I might have known it,
+too, for from the moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a
+crazy creature. Talks about her in his sleep—wants me to adopt
+her—keeps his eyes on her every minute when he’s where she is; and to
+crown all, without consulting me, his lawful wife, he has made her a
+present, which must have cost more than a hundred dollars! And she
+accepted it—the vixen!”
+
+“That’s the worst feature in the case,” said Mrs. Livingstone. “I have
+always been suspicious of ’Lena, knowing what her mother was, but I
+must confess I did not think her quite so presumptuous as to accept so
+costly a present from a gentleman, and a married one, too. But she has
+a peculiar way of making them think what she does is right, and neither
+my husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keeping Vesta.
+Carrie wouldn’t have done such a thing.”
+
+“Indeed she wouldn’t. She is too well-bred for that,” said Mrs. Graham,
+who had been completely won by Carrie’s soft speeches and fawning
+manner.
+
+This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, who
+straightway proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by pulling ’Lena
+down. Accordingly, every little thing which she could remember, and
+many which she could not, were told in an aggravated manner, until
+quite a case was made out, and ’Lena would never have recognized
+herself in the artful, designing creature which her aunt kindly
+pictured her to be.
+
+“Of course,” said she, “if you ever repeat this, you will not use my
+name, for as she is my husband’s niece it will not look well in me to
+be proclaiming her vices, except in cases where I think it my duty.”
+
+Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own reflections to make a
+reply, and as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her company was hardly desired,
+she soon arose to go, asking Mrs. Graham “why she did not oftener visit
+Maple Grove.”
+
+When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make others so, too,
+and to her friend’s question she answered, “I may as well be plain as
+not, and to tell you the truth, I should enjoy visiting you very much,
+were it not for one thing. That mother of yours——”
+
+“Of my husband’s,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs. Graham
+continued just where she left off.
+
+“Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a resemblance to
+some down-east creature or other—what is her name—Sco—Sco—Scovandyke;
+yes, that’s it—Scovandyke. Of course it’s not pleasant for me to be
+told every time I meet your mother——”
+
+“Mr. Livingstone’s mother,” again interrupted the lady.
+
+“That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that
+families of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken.”
+
+“Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that “she was
+herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols’s vulgarity, but her
+husband insisted that she should come to the table, so what could she
+do?”
+
+And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about
+her husband’s mother, the two amiable ladies parted.
+
+Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham entered the room,
+finding his wife, who had heard his footsteps, in violent hysterics. He
+had seen her so too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the
+bellrope, when she found voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself
+who was killing her by inches, and that the sooner she was dead, the
+better she supposed he would like it. “But, for my sake,” she added, in
+a kind of howl, between crying and scolding, “do try to behave yourself
+during the short time I have to live, and not go to giving away ponies,
+and mercy knows what.”
+
+Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except
+through the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked
+him, he was at a great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all
+became plain, and on the whole, he felt glad that the worst was over.
+He would not acknowledge, even to himself, that he was afraid of his
+wife, still he had a little rather she would not always know what he
+did. He supposed, as a matter of course, that she would, earlier or
+later, hear of his present to ’Lena, and he well knew that such an
+event would surely be followed by a storm, but after what had taken
+place between them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for
+he had thought her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable
+of great things—as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband
+with his preference for ’Lena, accusing him of loving her better than
+he did herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.
+
+“Say,” she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a slipper),
+“say—I will be answered. Don’t you like ’Lena better than you do me?”
+
+Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated
+question, he at length replied, “God knows I’ve far more reason to love
+her than I have you.” At the same moment he left the room, in time to
+avoid a sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who
+did not expect such an answer, had fallen.
+
+“Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?” he thought, as he wiped the
+drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of
+his spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew
+calmer, and cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what
+he was) whispered, “Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace.”
+
+So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking
+how his conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him
+far than his own life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his
+wife lay upon her sofa, Durward entered the parlor and began
+good-humoredly to rally his mother upon her wobegone face, asking what
+was the matter now.
+
+“Oh, you poor boy, you,” she sobbed, “you’ll soon have no mother to go
+to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather, who
+alone will be to blame for making you an orphan!”
+
+Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too,
+and while he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of
+which he was becoming weary. He knew there had been a jar in the
+morning, but he had supposed that settled, and now, when he found his
+mother ten times worse than ever, he felt half vexed, and said, “Do be
+a woman mother, and not give way to such fancies. I really wonder
+father shows as much patience with you as he does, for you make our
+home very unpleasant; and really,” he continued, in a laughing tone,
+“if this goes on much longer, I shall, in self-defense, get me a wife
+and home of my own.”
+
+“And if report is true, that wife will be ’Lena Rivers,” said Mrs.
+Graham, in order to try him.
+
+“Very likely—I can’t tell what may be,” was his answer; to which Mrs.
+Graham replied, “that it would be extremely pleasant to marry a bride
+with whom one’s father was in love.”
+
+“How ridiculous!” Durward exclaimed. “As though my father cared aught
+for ’Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable manners.”
+
+“But, he’s acknowledged it. He’s just told me, ‘God knew he loved her
+better than he did me.’ What do you think of that?”
+
+“Did Mr. Graham say that?” asked Durward, looking his mother directly
+in her face.
+
+“Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it’s not a
+secret either. Others know it and talk about it. Think of his giving
+her that pony.”
+
+Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the circumstances, he
+felt deeply pained at his father’s remark. He had always supposed he
+liked ’Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his
+own wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life
+Durward distrusted his father. Still, ’Lena was not to blame; there was
+comfort in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side,
+admiring her more and more, and learning each time he saw her to love
+her better. And she—she dared not confess to herself how dear he was to
+her—she dared not hope her affection was returned. She could not think
+of the disappointment the future might bring, so she lived on the
+present, waiting anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the
+things which she thought would please him best.
+
+True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon
+the piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who
+should walk in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying “he had been
+hired by von nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in
+musique.”
+
+’Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her
+sharing in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was
+overruled by his wife.
+
+“’Twas my uncle, was it not?” she asked of Du Pont, who replied, “I
+promised not to tell. He say, though, he connected with mademoiselle.”
+
+And ’Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his
+wife’s account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du
+Pont as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her
+willingness to assist her whenever it was necessary. Naturally fond of
+music, ’Lena’s improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified
+Durward appeared, she redoubled her exertions, practicing always five,
+and sometimes six hours a day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+A FATHER’S LOVE.
+
+
+When it was known at Maple Grove that ’Lena was taking lessons of Du
+Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first proposed,
+paid the bills.
+
+“Mighty kind in her, and no mistake,” said John Jr., throwing aside the
+stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to himself
+that “Mabel was a nice girl, after all.”
+
+The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he suddenly
+wondered why he had never thought to call upon ’Lena. “To be sure, I’ll
+feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know she is not there,
+but it’s lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I’m bound to do
+something.”
+
+So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no regrets
+from his mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had been
+intolerably cross and fault-finding. He found a servant in the door, so
+he was saved the trouble of ringing, and entering unannounced, walked
+noiselessly to the parlor-door, which was ajar. ’Lena, as usual, sat at
+the piano, wholly absorbed, while over her bent Mabel, who was
+assisting her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly, and patiently
+helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel’s health was
+improved since first we saw her, and though she was still plain—ugly,
+many would say—there was something pleasing in her face, and in the
+expression of her black, eyes, which looked down so kindly upon ’Lena.
+John Jr. noticed it, and never before had Mabel appeared to so good
+advantage to him as she did at that moment, as he watched her through
+the open door.
+
+At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, ’Lena said, “I know I
+should never learn if it were not for you,” at the same time winding
+her arm about Mabel’s neck and kissing her glowing cheek.
+
+“Let me have a share of that,” exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward and
+clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his
+presence.
+
+With a gay laugh they shook him off, and ’Lena, leading him to the
+sofa, sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and her
+grandmother. John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed to ask
+if there had come any tidings of the absent one; but he would not—she
+had left him of her own accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for
+her. So he sat gazing dreamily upon her piano, the chair she used to
+occupy and the books she used to read, until ’Lena, either divining his
+thoughts, or fancying he would wish to know, said, “We’ve not heard
+from Nellie since she left us.”
+
+“You didn’t expect to, so soon, I suppose,” was John’s indifferent
+reply.
+
+“Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they’d taken
+a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,” said ’Lena.
+
+“I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could
+have with Nellie, looking out upon the sea,” was John’s answer, while
+Mabel quickly rejoined, that “he had chosen a sailing vessel solely on
+Mary’s account.”
+
+In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment
+after, Durward was ushered into the parlor. “He was in town on
+business,” he said, “and thought he would call.”
+
+Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time
+admitting Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also
+found it convenient to call. Involuntarily Durward glanced toward
+’Lena, but her face was as calm and unruffled as if the visitor had
+been her uncle.
+
+“All right there,” thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her, he
+fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat disconcerted
+when he saw him there. Mentally blaming himself for the distrust which
+he felt rising within him, he still determined to watch, and judge for
+himself how far his mother’s suspicions were correct. Taking up a book
+which lay near, he pretended to be reading, while all the time his
+thoughts were elsewhere. It was ’Lena’s lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont
+came in, appearing both pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.
+
+“I hope you don’t expect me to expose my ignorance before all these
+people,” said ’Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.
+
+“Suppose we adjourn to another room,” said Mabel, leading the way and
+followed by John Jr. only.
+
+Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on
+observing that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed his
+seat and book, poring over the latter as intently as if it had not been
+wrong side up!
+
+“Does monsieur incline to stay,” asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took his
+station at the end of the piano.
+
+“Certainly,” answered Mr. Graham, “unless Miss Rivers insists upon my
+leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much interest
+I take in her progress.”
+
+So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed
+upon ’Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his book
+was watching him. Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all seemed
+mingled in the expression of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt
+that there was a something which he could not fathom.
+
+“I never knew he was so fond of music,” thought he—“I mean to put him
+to the test.”
+
+Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was an
+excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best
+pieces—“something lively and new which will wake us up,” said he.
+
+Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she was
+habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking her seat
+at the piano, she brought out sounds far different from those of a new
+performer. But Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes
+and ears being alone for ’Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced
+talking to her in an undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else
+around him, and it was not until Durward twice asked how he liked
+Mabel’s playing, that he heard a note. Then, starting up and going
+toward the instrument, he said, “Ah, yes, that was a fine march, (’twas
+the ‘Rainbow Schottish,’ then new,) please repeat it, or something just
+like it!”
+
+Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off
+into a spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr.
+Graham, who seemed in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece of
+white paper which lay upon the piano, and of which Durward managed to
+get possession, finding thereon the name, “Helena Nichols,” to which
+was added that of “Rivers,” the Nichols being crossed out. It would
+seem as if both father and son were determined each to outstay the
+other, for hour after hour went by and neither spoke of leaving,
+although John Jr. had been gone some time. At last, as the sun was
+setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his father contemplated
+spending the night; “and if so,” said he, with a meaning in his manner,
+“where shall I tell my mother I left you?”
+
+This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to
+start, adding, that “he could not find it in his heart to tear him away
+from two so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the weakness of
+his own youth.”
+
+“In your second youth, now, I fancy,” thought Durward, watching him as
+he bade ’Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much longer
+he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.
+
+“Does she see as I do, or not?” thought he, as he took the hand his
+father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes, which
+returned his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a little
+child.
+
+“All right here,” again thought Durward, slightly pressing the soft,
+warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw how
+quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+“Durward,” said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city, “I have a
+request to make of you.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham
+again spoke.
+
+“You know your mother as well as I do——”
+
+“Well.”
+
+Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; “You know how groundlessly
+jealous she is of me—and it may be just as well for her not to know
+that——”
+
+Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.
+
+“Just as well for her not to know that you’ve spent the afternoon with
+’Lena Rivers; is that it?”
+
+“That’s it—yes—yes”—answered Mr. Graham, adding, ere Durward had time
+to utter the angry words which he felt rising within him, “I wish you’d
+marry ’Lena.”
+
+This was so sudden—so different from anything which Durward had
+expected, that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little
+time ere he answered,
+
+“Perhaps I shall.”
+
+“I wish you would,” continued Mr. Graham, “I’d willingly give every
+dollar I’m worth for the privilege of calling her my daughter.”
+
+Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If his father had
+an undue regard for ’Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife of
+another, and that other his son? Was it his better and nobler nature
+struggling to save her from evil, which prompted the wish? Durward
+hoped so—he believed so; and the confidence which had so recently been
+shaken was fully restored, when, by the light of the hall lamp at home,
+he saw how white and almost ghostly was the face which, ere they
+entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him, asking him “to
+be careful.”
+
+Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of
+Mrs. Livingstone’s call, and now, though she had not seen her husband
+for several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head,
+meantime, and replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a
+much-injured-woman way, as provoking as it was uncalled for.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+“Father’s suggestion was a good one,” thought Durward, when he had
+retired to rest. “’Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the world. I
+will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of danger.”
+
+But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there to Woodlawn,
+where scarcely a day passed without some domestic storm? No, his home
+should be full of sunlight, of music and flowers, where no angry word
+or darkening frown could ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a
+blissful future, when ’Lena should be his bride, he fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+JOEL SLOCUM.
+
+
+In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an individual
+who, though not a very important personage, is still in some degree
+connected with our story. On the night when Durward and his father were
+riding home from Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the
+exception of grandma, were as usual assembled in the parlor. John Jr.
+had returned, and purposely telling his mother and Carrie whom he had
+left with ’Lena, had succeeded in putting them both into an
+uncomfortable humor, the latter secretly lamenting the mistake which
+she had committed in suffering ’Lena to stay with Mabel. But it could
+not be remedied now. There was no good reason for calling her home, and
+the lady broke at least three cambric-needles in her vigorous jerks at
+the handkerchief she was hemming.
+
+A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and Carrie
+straightened up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, who had called
+on his way home, but the voice was strange, and rather impatiently she
+waited.
+
+“Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?” asked the stranger of the negro
+who answered the summons.
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance.
+
+“And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?”
+
+The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young
+man to walk in.
+
+“Wall, guess I will,” said he, advancing a few steps toward the parlor
+door. Then suddenly halting, he added, more to himself than to the
+negro, “Darned if I don’t go the hull figger, and send in my card as
+they do to Boston.”
+
+So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and bending his
+knee for a table, he wrote with sundry nourishes, “Mr. Joel Slocum,
+Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts.”
+
+“There, hand that to your _boss_,” said he, “and tell him I’m out in
+the entry.” At the same time he stepped before the hat-stand, rubbing
+up his oily hair, and thinking “Mr. Joel Slocum would make an
+impression anywhere.”
+
+“Who is it, Ben ?” whispered Carrie.
+
+“Dunno, miss,” said the negro, passing the card to his master, and
+waiting in silence for his orders.
+
+“Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,” slowly read Mr.
+Livingstone, wondering where he had heard that name before.
+
+“Who?” simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their mother looked
+wonderingly up.
+
+Instantly John Jr. remembered ’Lena’s love-letter, and anticipating
+fun, exclaimed, “Show him in, Ben—show him in.”
+
+While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him more fully to our
+readers, promising that the picture is not overdrawn, but such as we
+saw it in our native state. Joel belonged to that extreme class of
+Yankees with which we sometimes, though not often meet. Brought up
+among the New England mountains, he was almost wholly ignorant of what
+really belonged to good manners, fancying that he knew everything, and
+sneering at those of his acquaintance who, being of a more quiet turn
+of mind, were content to settle down in the home of their fathers,
+caring little or nothing for the world without. But as for him, “he was
+bound,” he said, “to see the elephant, and if his brothers were green
+enough to stay tied to their mother’s apron strings, they might do it,
+but he wouldn’t. No, _sir_! he was going to make something of himself.”
+
+To effect this, about two years before the time of which we are
+speaking, he went to Boston to learn the art of daguerreotype-taking,
+in which he really did seem to excel, returning home with some money, a
+great deal of vanity, and a strong propensity to boast of what he had
+seen. Recollections of ’Lena, his early, and, as he sentimentally
+expressed it, “his undying, all-enduring” love, still haunted him, and
+at last he determined upon a tour to Kentucky, purchasing for the
+occasion a rather fantastic suit, consisting of greenish pants, blue
+coat, red vest, and yellow neck-handkerchief. These he laid carefully
+by in his trunk until he reached Lexington, where he intended stopping
+for a time, hanging out a naming sign, which announced his presence and
+capabilities.
+
+After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to impress its
+inhabitants with a sense of his consequence, and mentally styling them
+all “Know Nothings,” be-cause they did not seem to be more affected, he
+one afternoon donned his best suit, and started for Mr. Livingstone’s,
+thinking he should create a sensation there, for wasn’t he as good as
+anybody? Didn’t he learn his trade in Boston, the very center and
+source of all the _isms_ of the day, and ought not Mr. Livingstone to
+feel proud of such a guest, and wouldn’t ’Lena stare when she saw him
+so much improved from what he was when they picked _checkerberries_
+together?
+
+With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at all probable
+that he felt any misgivings when Ben ushered him at once into the
+presence of Mr. Livingstone’s family, who stared at him in unfeigned
+astonishment. Nothing daunted, he went through with the five changes of
+a bow, which he had learned at a dancing-school, bringing himself up
+finally in front of Mr. Livingstone, and exclaiming,
+
+“How-dy-do?—Mr. Livingstone, I s’pose, it comes more natural to say
+cousin John, I’ve heard Miss Nichols and Aunt Nancy talk of you since I
+was knee high, and seems as how you must be related. How is the old
+lady, and Helleny, too? I don’t see ’em here, though I thought, at
+fust, this might be her,” nodding to Anna.
+
+Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had strong intentions of
+ordering the intruder from the room, but John Jr. had no such idea. He
+liked the fun, and now coming forward, said, “Mr. Slocum, as your card
+indicates, allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my mother—and
+sisters,” at the same time ringing the bell, he ordered a servant to go
+for his grandmother.
+
+“Ah, ladies, how-dy-do? Hope you are well till we are better
+acquainted,” said Joel, bowing low, and shaking out the folds of his
+red silk handkerchief, strongly perfumed with peppermint.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while Anna
+said, “Good-evening, Mr. Slocum.”
+
+Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone’s silence, Joel turned to John Jr.,
+saying, “Don’t believe she heard you—deaf, mebby?”
+
+John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared, in a great flurry
+to know who wanted to see her.
+
+Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, “Now Aunt Martha, if this
+ain’t good for sore eyes. How _do_ you do ?”
+
+“Pretty well, pretty well,” she returned, “but you’ve got the better of
+me, for I don’t know more’n the dead who you be.”
+
+“Now how you talk,” said Joel. “If this don’t beat all my fust wife’s
+relations. Why, I should have known you if I’d met you in a
+porridge-pot. But then, I s’pose I’ve altered for the better since I
+see you. Don’t you remember Joel Slocum, that used to have kind of a
+snickerin’ notion after Helleny?”
+
+“Why-ee, I guess I do,” answered grandma, again seizing his hand.
+“Where did you come from, and why didn’t your Aunt Nancy come with you?
+
+“’Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke’s sister’s boy. Caroline and Anny,
+this is Joel; you’ve heard tell of him.”
+
+“I’ve been introduced, thank you,” said Joel, taking a seat near
+Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample folds of her dress, lest it
+should be polluted.
+
+“Bashful critter, but she’ll get over it by the time she’s seen as much
+of the world as I have,” soliloquized Joel; at the same time thinking
+to make some advances, he hitched a little nearer, and taking hold of a
+strip of embroidery on which she was engaged, he said, “Now, du tell,
+if they’ve got to workin’ with floss way down here. Waste of time, I
+tell ’em, this makin’ holes for the sake of sewin’ ’em up. But law!” he
+added, as he saw the deepening scowl on Carrie’s face, “wimmin may jest
+as well by putterin’ about that as anything else, for their time ain’t
+nothin’ moren’ an old settin’ hen’s.”
+
+This speech called forth the first loud roar in which John Jr. had
+indulged since Nellie went away, and now settling back in his chair, he
+gave vent to his feelings in peals of laughter, in which Joel also
+joined, thinking he’d said something smart. When at last he’d finished
+laughing, he thought again of ’Lena, and turning to Mrs. Livingstone,
+asked where she was, raising his voice to a high key on account of her
+supposed deafness.
+
+“Did you speak to me?” asked the lady, with a look which she meant
+should annihilate him, and in a still louder tone Joel repeated his
+question, asking Anna, aside, if her mother had ever tried
+“McAllister’s All-Healing Ointment,” for her deafness, saying it had
+“nighly cured his grandmother when she was several years older than
+Mrs. Livingstone.”
+
+“Much obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately, I do not
+need,” said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while Joel thought, “how strange
+it was that deaf people would always hear in the wrong time!”
+
+“Mother don’t seem inclined to answer your question concerning ’Lena,”
+said John Jr., “so I will do it for her. She is in Frankfort, taking
+music lessons. You used to know her, I believe.”
+
+“Lud, yes! I chased her once with a streaked snake, and if she didn’t
+put ’er through, then I’m no ‘Judge. Takin’ music lessons, is she? I’d
+give a fo’ pence to hear her play.”
+
+“Are you fond of music?” asked John Jr., in hopes of what followed.
+
+“Wall, I wouldn’t wonder much if I was,” answered Joel, taking a
+tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it upon the table. “I’ve kep’
+singin’ school one term, besides leadin’ the Methodis’ choir in
+Slocumville: so I orto know a little somethin’ about it.”
+
+“Perhaps you play, and if so, we’d like to hear you,” continued John
+Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance cast upon him by Carrie.
+
+“Not such a dreadful sight,” answered Joel, sauntering toward the piano
+and drumming a part of “Auld Lang Syne.” “Not such a dreadful sight,
+but I guess these girls do. Come, girls, play us a jig, won’t you?”
+
+“Go, Cad, it won’t hurt you,” whispered John, but Carrie was immovable,
+and at last, Anna, who entered more into her brother’s spirit, took her
+seat at the instrument, asking what he would have.
+
+“Oh, give us ‘Money Musk,’ ‘Hail Columby,’ ‘Old Zip Coon,’ or anything
+to raise a feller’s ideas.”
+
+Fortunately, Anna’s forte lay in playing old music, which she preferred
+to more modern pieces, and, Joel was soon beating time to the lively
+strains of “Money Musk.”
+
+“Wall, I declare,” said he, when it was ended, “I don’t see but what
+you Kentucky gals play most as well as they do to hum. I didn’t s’pose
+many on you ever seen a pianner. Come,” turning to Carrie, “less see
+what you can do. Mebby you’ll beat her all holler,” and he offered his
+hand to Carrie, who rather petulantly said she “must be excused.”
+
+“Oh, get out,” he continued. “You needn’t feel so bashful, for I shan’t
+criticise you very hard. I know how to feel fer new beginners.”
+
+“Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?” asked Mr. Livingstone, pitying
+Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the performance.
+
+“No, I hain’t, and I’m hungrier than a bear,” answered Joel, whereupon
+Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was her guest, arose, saying she would see
+that he had some.
+
+When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone’s wrath boiled
+over.
+
+“That’s what comes of harboring your relatives,” said she, looking
+indignantly upon her husband, and adding that she hoped “the insolent
+fellow did not intend staying all night, for if he did he couldn’t.”
+
+“Do you propose turning him into the street?” asked Mr. Livingstone,
+looking up from his paper.
+
+“I don’t propose anything, except that he won’t stay in my house, and
+you needn’t ask him.”
+
+“I hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume he expects to
+stay,” returned Mr. Livingstone; while John Jr. rejoined, “Of course he
+does, and if mother doesn’t find him a room, I shall take him in with
+me, besides going to Frankfort with him to-morrow.”
+
+This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost anything rather
+than have her son seen in the city with that specimen. Accordingly,
+when the hour for retiring arrived, she ordered Corinda to show him
+into the “east chamber,” a room used for her common kind of visitors,
+but which Joel pronounced “as neat as a fiddle.”
+
+The next morning he announced his intention of visiting Frankfort,
+proposing to grandma that she should accompany him, and she was about
+making up her mind to do so, when ’Lena and Mabel both appeared in the
+yard. They had come out for a ride, they said, and finding the morning
+so fine, had extended their excursion as far as Maple Grove, sending
+their servant back to tell where they were going. With his usual
+assurance, Joel advanced toward ’Lena, greeting her tenderly, and
+whispering in her ear that “he found she was greatly improved as well
+as himself,” while ’Lena wondered in what the improvement consisted.
+She had formerly known him as a great, overgrown, good-natured boy, and
+now she saw him a “conceited gawky.” Still, her manner was friendly
+toward him, for he had come from her old home, had breathed the air of
+her native hills, and she well remembered how, years ago, he had with
+her planted and watered the flowers which he told her were still
+growing at her mother’s grave.
+
+And yet there was something about her which puzzled Joel, who felt that
+the difference between them was great. He was disappointed, and the
+declaration which he had fully intended making was left until another
+time, when, as he thought, “he shouldn’t be so confounded shy of her.”
+His quarters, too, at Maple Grove were not the most pleasant, for no
+one noticed him except grandma and John Jr., and with the conviction
+that “the Kentuckians didn’t know what politeness meant,” he ordered
+his horse after dinner, and started back to Lexington, inviting all the
+family to call and “set for their picters,” saying that “seein’ ’twas
+them, he’d take ’em for half price.”
+
+As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and drawing a large,
+square case from his pocket, passed it to ’Lena, saying it was a
+daguerreotype of her mountain home, which he had taken on purpose for
+her, forgetting to give it to her until that minute. The look of joy
+which lighted up ’Lena’s face made Joel almost repent of not having
+said to her what he intended to, but thinking he would wait till next
+time, he started off, his heart considerably lightened by her warm
+thanks for his thoughtfulness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+THE DAGUERREOTYPE.
+
+
+“Look, grandmother!—a picture of our old home. Isn’t it natural?”
+exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.
+
+Yes, it was natural, and the old lady’s tears gushed forth the moment
+she looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, the gate partially
+open, the barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the curtain of the
+west window rolled up as it was wont to be, while on the doorstep,
+basking in the warm sunshine, lay a cat, which Mrs. Nichols’ declared
+was hers.
+
+“John ought to see this,” said she, wiping the tears from her eyes, and
+turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting her
+son, together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called. “Look here,
+John,” said she, calling him to her side—“Do you remember this?”
+
+The deep flush which mounted to John’s brow, showed that he did, and
+his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: “It is our old
+home in Massachusetts. There’s the room where John and Helleny both
+were born, and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but
+yesterday since she died, and they carried her out of this door, and
+down the road, there—do you see?”
+
+This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or not,
+made no answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon the
+prospect beyond, which for him had no attractions then. The sight of
+that daguerreotype had stirred up many bitter memories, and for some
+time he stood gazing vacantly through the window, and thinking—who
+shall say of what? It would seem that the daguerreotype possessed a
+strong fascination for him, for after it had been duly examined and
+laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it minutely, asking where
+it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure a similar one.
+
+“I have a fancy for such scenes,” said he, “and would like to have just
+such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say. He can
+take one from this, I suppose. I mean to see him;” and with his usual
+good-morning, he departed.
+
+Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort,
+determining, if a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer
+’Lena his heart and fortune.
+
+He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day. For a time
+they conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which was
+entirely foreign from that which lay nearest Durward’s heart. At last
+the conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had
+heard.
+
+“I really think, ’Lena,” said he, laughingly, “that you ought to
+patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the sake
+of seeing you. Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for me, will
+you?”
+
+Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls,
+’Lena answered lightly, “Oh, no, no. I have never had my picture taken
+in my life, and I shan’t begin with Joel.”
+
+“Never had it taken!” repeated Durward, in some surprise.
+
+“No, never,” said ’Lena, and Durward continued drawing her nearer to
+him, “It is time you had, then. So have it taken for me. I mean what I
+say,” he continued, as he met the glance of her merry eyes. “There is
+nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except, indeed the
+original, which you will not refuse me, when I ask it, will you?”
+
+’Lena’s mirth was all gone—she knew he was in earnest now. She felt it
+in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her waist; she saw it in
+his eye, and heard it in the tones of his voice. But what should she
+say? Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon her
+cheek; and an inaudible answer trembled on her lips, when noiselessly
+through the door came _Mr. Graham_, starting when he saw their
+position, and offering to withdraw if he was intruding. ’Lena was
+surprised and excited, and springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm
+as he was about to leave the room, bidding him stay and saying he was
+always welcome there.
+
+So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which ’Lena had
+ever seen, Durward left—left without receiving an answer to his
+question, or even referring to it again, though ’Lena accompanied him
+to the door, half dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it. But he did
+not, and wishing her much pleasure in his father’s company, he walked
+away, writing in his heart bitter things against _him_, not her. On his
+way home he fell in with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a
+little too much wine, and was very talkative.
+
+“Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,” said he. “She be von fine
+girl. What relation be she to Monsieur Graham?”
+
+“None whatever. Why do you ask?”
+
+“Because he pay her musique lessons and——”
+
+Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he kept back Mr.
+Graham’s assertion that he was a near relative, adding in its place,
+that “he thought probable he related; but you no tell,” said he, “for
+Monsieur bid me keep secret and I forgot.”
+
+Here, having reached a cross-road, they parted, and again Durward wrote
+down bitter things against his father, for what could be his object in
+wishing it kept a secret that he was paying for ’Lena’s lessons, or why
+did he pay for them at all—and did ’Lena know it? He thought not, and
+for a time longer was she blameless in his eyes.
+
+On reaching home he found both the parlor and drawing-room deserted,
+and upon inquiry learned that his mother was in her own room.
+Something, he could hardly tell what, prompted him to knock for
+admission, which being granted, he entered, finding her unusually pale,
+with the trace of tears still upon her cheek. This of itself was so
+common an occurrence, that he would hardly have observed it had not
+there been about her a look of unfeigned distress which he had seldom
+seen before.
+
+“What’s the matter, mother?” said he, advancing toward her; “What has
+happened to trouble you?”
+
+Without any reply, Mrs. Graham placed in his hand a richly-cased
+daguerreotype, and laying her head upon the table, sobbed aloud. A
+moment Durward stood transfixed to the spot, for on opening the case,
+the fair, beautiful face of ’Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon him!
+
+“Where did you get this, mother?—how came you by it?” he asked, and she
+answered, that in looking through her husband’s private drawer, the key
+of which she had accidentally found in his vest pocket, she had come
+upon it, together with a curl of soft chestnut-brown hair which she
+threw across Durward’s finger, and from which he recoiled as from a
+viper’s touch.
+
+For several minutes not a word was spoken by either, and then Mrs.
+Graham, looking him in the face, said, “You recognize that countenance,
+of course?”
+
+“I do,” he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Durward was
+terribly moved.
+
+Twice had ’Lena asserted that never in her life had her daguerreotype
+been taken, and yet he held it in his hands; there was no mistaking
+it—the same broad, open brow—the same full, red lips—the same smile—and
+more than all, the same clustering ringlets, though arranged a little
+differently from what she usually wore them, the hair on the picture
+being combed smoothly over the forehead, while ’Lena’s was generally
+brushed up after the style of the prevailing fashion. Had Durward
+examined minutely, he might have found other points of difference, but
+he did not think of that. A look had convinced him that ’twas ’Lena—his
+’Lena, he had fondly hoped to call her. But that was over now—she had
+deceived him—told him a deliberate falsehood—refused him her
+daguerreotype and given it to his father, whose secrecy concerning it
+indicated something wrong. His faith was shaken, and yet for the sake
+of what she had been to him, he would spare her good name. He could not
+bear to hear the world breathe aught against her, for possibly she
+might be innocent; but no, there was no mistaking the falsehood, and
+Durward groaned in bitterness as he handed the picture to his mother,
+bidding her return it where she found it. Mrs. Graham had never seen
+her son thus moved, and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm,
+asking, “why he was so affected—what she was to him?”
+
+“Everything, everything,” said he, laying his face upon the table.
+“’Lena Rivers was all the world to me. I loved her as I shall never
+love again.”
+
+And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his mother all—how
+he had that very morning gone to Frankfort with the intention of
+offering ’Lena his hand—how he had partially done so, when they were
+interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, he did not say whom.
+
+“Thank heaven for your escape. I can bear your father’s conduct, if it
+is the means of saving you from her,” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while her
+son continued: “And now, mother, I have a request to make of you—a
+request which you must grant. I have loved ’Lena too well to cease from
+loving her so soon. And though I can never again think to make her my
+wife, I will not hear her name lightly spoken by the world, who must
+never know what we do. Promise me, mother, to keep secret whatever you
+may know against her.”
+
+“Do you think me bereft of my senses,” asked Mrs. Graham petulantly,
+“that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every one?”
+
+“No, no, mother,” he answered, “but you are easily excited, and say
+things you had better not. Mrs. Livingstone bears ’Lena no good will,
+you know, and sometimes when she is speaking disparagingly of her, you
+may be thrown off your guard, and tell what you know. But this must not
+be. Promise me, mother, will you?”
+
+Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly about his
+mouth as he asked this of his mother who, mentally congratulating
+herself upon her son’s escape, promised what he asked, at the same time
+repeating to him all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone concerning
+’Lena, until Durward interrupted her with, “Stop, stop, I’ve heard
+enough. Nothing which Mrs. Livingstone could say would have weighed a
+straw, but the conviction of my own eyes and ears have undeceived me,
+and henceforth ’Lena and I are as strangers.”
+
+Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of her son’s
+marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and though she felt
+indignant toward her husband so peculiar was her nature that she would
+not have had matters otherwise if she could and when Durward, who
+disliked _scenes_, suggested the propriety of her not speaking to his
+father on the subject at present he assented, saying that it would be
+more easy for her to refrain, as she was intending to start for
+Louisville on the morrow.
+
+“I’ve been contemplating a visit there for some time and before Mr.
+Graham left home this morning, I had decided to go,” said she, at the
+same time proposing that Durward should accompany her.
+
+To this consented willingly, for in the first shock of his
+disappointment, a change of place and scene was what he most desired.
+The hot blood of the south, which burned in his veins, seemed all on
+fire, and he felt that he could not, for the present, at least be daily
+associated with his stepfather. An absence of several days, he thought,
+might have the effect of calming him down. It was accordingly decided
+that he should on the morrow, start with her for Louisville, to be gone
+two weeks; and with this understanding they parted, Durward going to
+his own chamber, there to review the past and strive, if possible, to
+efface from his heart every memory of ’Lena, whom he had loved so well.
+But ’twas all in vain; he could not so soon forget her and far into the
+hours of night he sat alone striving to frame some excuse for her
+conduct. The fact that his father possessed her daguerreotype might
+possibly be explained, without throwing censure upon her; but the
+falsehood—never; and with the firm conviction that she was lost to him
+forever, he at last retired to rest, just as the clock in the ball
+below proclaimed the hour of midnight.
+
+Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind the probable result
+of a letter which, in the heat of passion, she had that day dispatched
+to ’Lena, accusing her of “marring the domestic peace of a hitherto
+happy family,” and while she cast some reflections upon her birth,
+commanding her never, under any circumstances, “to venture into her
+presence!”
+
+This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward’s return,
+and as she well knew how much he would disapprove of it, she resolved
+not to tell him, secretly hoping ’Lena would keep her own counsel.
+“Base creature!” said she, “to give my husband her likeness—but he
+shall never see it again;” and with stealthy step she advanced toward
+the secret drawer, which she again opened, and taking from it both
+daguerreotype and ringlet, locked it, replacing the key in the pocket
+where she found it. Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled it
+into the glowing grate, shuddering as she did so, and trembling, as if
+she really knew a wrong had been done to the dead.
+
+Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated features, which
+now seemed to regard her mournfully, as if reproaching her for what she
+had done. No part of the dress was visible—nothing except the head and
+neck, which was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut curls,
+whose companion so recently lay seething and scorching on the burning
+coals.
+
+There was a footstep without—her husband had returned—and quick as
+thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while Mrs. Graham, forcing
+down her emotion, took up a book, which she seemed to be intently
+reading when her husband entered. After addressing to her a few
+commonplace remarks, all of which she answered civilly, he went to the
+wardrobe, and on pretense of looking for his knife, which, he said he
+believed he left in his vest pocket, he took out the key, and then
+carelessly proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his wife watching
+him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation when he
+saw that his treasure was gone. Again and again was his drawer
+searched, but all to no purpose, and casting an anxious glance toward
+his wife, whose face, for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he commenced
+walking the floor in a very perturbed state of mind, his wife exulting
+in his discomfiture, and thinking herself amply avenged for all that
+she had endured.
+
+At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day
+received from South Carolina, containing the news of the death of a
+distant relative, who had left him some property. “It is not necessary
+for me to be there in person,” said he, “but still I should like to
+visit my old home once more. What do you think of it?”
+
+“Go, by all means,” said she, glad of anything which would place
+distance between him and ’Lena. “No one can attend to your business
+one-half as well as yourself. When will you start if you go?”
+
+“Immediately—before your return from Louisville—unless you wish to
+accompany me.”
+
+“I’m afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather not,” said
+she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him to wonder what had come
+over her.
+
+“You can do as you choose,” said he, “but I should be glad of your
+company.”
+
+“No, I thank you,” was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, wondered
+what had come over him.
+
+The next morning the carriage came up to the door to convey Mrs. Graham
+and Durward to Frankfort. The latter was purposely late, and he did not
+see his father until he came down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the
+carriage. Then Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise, “where he was
+going?”
+
+“With my mother to Louisville, sir,” answered Durward, stiffly. “I am
+not willing she should travel alone, if you are;” and he sprang into
+the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive off ere another word could
+be spoken.
+
+“Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!—my usual luck!”
+mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the house, and sure of no prying
+eyes, recommenced his search for the daguerreotype, which was nowhere
+to be found. Could she have found it? Impossible! for it was not in her
+jealous nature to have held her peace; and again he sought for it, but
+all to no purpose, and finally thinking he must have taken it with him
+and lost it, he gave it up, mourning more for the loss of the curl,
+which could never, never be replaced, while the picture might be found.
+
+“Why do I live so?” thought he, as he nervously paced the room. “My
+life is one of continual fear and anxiety, but it shall be so no
+longer. I’ll tell her all when she returns. I’ll brave the world, dare
+her displeasure, take ’Lena home, and be a man.”
+
+Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that he should
+keep it, he started for Versailles, where he had an engagement with a
+gentleman who transacted business for him in Lexington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+
+
+Mabel had gone out, and ’Lena sat alone in the little room adjoining
+the parlor which Mr. Douglass termed his library, but which Nellie had
+fitted up for a private sewing-room. It was ’Lena’s favorite resort
+when she wished to be alone, and as Mabel was this morning absent, she
+had retired thither, not to work, but to think—to recall every word and
+look of Durward’s, to wonder when and how he would repeat the question,
+the answer to which had been prevented by Mr. Graham.
+
+Many and blissful were her emotions as she sat there, wondering if it
+were not a bright dream, from which she would too soon awaken, for
+could it be that one so noble, so good, and so much sought for as
+Durward Bellmont had chosen her, of all others, to be his bride? Yes,
+it must be so, for he was not one to say or act what he did not mean;
+he would come that day and repeat what he had said before; and she
+blushed as she thought what her answer would be.
+
+There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered, bringing her a
+letter, which she eagerly seized, thinking it was from him. But ’twas
+not his writing, though bearing the post-mark of Versailles. Hastily
+she broke the seal, and glancing at the signature, turned pale, for it
+was “Lucy Graham,” his mother, who had written, but for what, she could
+not guess. A moment more and she fell back on the sofa, white and rigid
+as a piece of marble. ’Twas a cruel and insulting letter, containing
+many dark insinuations, which she, being wholly innocent; could not
+understand. She knew indeed, that Mr. Graham had presented her with
+Vesta, but was there anything wrong in that? She did not think so, else
+she had never taken her. Her uncle, her cousin, and Durward, all three
+approved of her accepting it, the latter coming with it himself—so it
+could not be that; and for a long time Lena wept passionately,
+resolving one moment to answer the letter as it deserved determining,
+the next, to go herself and see Mrs. Graham face to face; and then
+concluding to treat it with silent contempt, trusting that Durward
+would erelong appear and make it all plain between them.
+
+At last, about five o’clock, Mabel returned, bringing the intelligence
+that Mrs. Graham was in the city, at the Weisiger House, where she was
+going to remain until the morrow. She had met with an accident, which
+prevented her arrival in Frankfort until the train which she was
+desirous of taking had left.
+
+“Is her husband with her?” asked ’Lena, to which Mabel replied, that
+she understood she was alone.
+
+“Then I’ll see her and know what she means,” thought ’Lena, trembling,
+even then, at the idea of venturing into the presence of the cold,
+haughty woman.
+
+
+Supper was over at the Weisiger House, and in a handsome private parlor
+Mrs. Graham lay, half asleep, upon the sofa, while in the dressing-room
+adjoining Durward sat, trying to frame a letter which should tell poor
+’Lena that their intimacy was forever at an end. For hours, and until
+the last gleam of daylight had faded away, he had sat by the window,
+watching each youthful form which passed up and, down the busy street,
+hoping to catch a glimpse of her who once had made his world. But his
+watch was in vain, and now he had sat down to write, throwing aside
+sheet after sheet, as he thought its beginning too cold, too harsh, or
+too affectionate. He was about making up his mind not to write at all,
+but to let matters take their course, when a knock at his mother’s
+door, and the announcement that a lady wished to see her arrested his
+attention.
+
+“Somebody want to see me? Just show her up,” said Mrs. Graham,
+smoothing down her flaxen hair, and wiping from between her eyes a spot
+of powder which the opposite mirror revealed.
+
+In a moment the visitor entered—a slight, girlish form, whose features
+were partially hidden from view by a heavy lace veil, which was thrown
+over her satin hood. A single glance convinced Mrs. Graham that it was
+a lady, a well-bred lady, who stood before her, and very politely she
+bade her be seated.
+
+Rather haughtily the proffered chair was declined, while the veil was
+thrown aside, disclosing to the astonished gaze of Mrs. Graham the face
+of ’Lena Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, while her dark eyes grew
+darker with the intensity of her feelings.
+
+“’Lena Rivers! why came you here?” she asked, while at the mention of
+that name Durward started to his feet, but quickly resumed his seat,
+listening with indescribable emotions to the sound of a voice which
+made every nerve quiver with pain.
+
+“You ask me why I am here, madam,” said ’Lena. “I came to seek an
+explanation from you—to know of what I am accused—to ask why you wrote
+me that insulting letter—me, an orphan girl, alone and unprotected in
+the world, and who never knowingly harmed you or yours.”
+
+“Never harmed me or mine!” scornfully repeated Mrs. Graham. “Don’t add
+falsehood to your other sins—though, if you’ll lie to my son, you of
+course will to me, his mother.”
+
+“Explain yourself, madam, if you please,” exclaimed ’Lena, her olden
+temper beginning to get the advantage of her.
+
+“And what if I do not please?” sneeringly asked Mrs. Graham.
+
+“Then I will compel you to do so, for my good name is all I have, and
+it shall not be wrested from me without an effort on my part to
+preserve it,” answered ’Lena.
+
+“Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help you. I am sure
+it would be very ungentlemanly in him to desert you, now,” said Mrs.
+Graham, her manner conveying far more meaning than her words.
+
+’Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly distinct as
+she replied, “Will you explain yourself, or will you not? What have I
+done, that you should treat me thus?”
+
+“Done? Done enough, I should think! Haven’t you whiled him away from me
+with your artful manners? Has he ever been the same man since he saw
+you? Hasn’t he talked of you in his sleep? made you most valuable
+presents which a true woman would have refused? and in return, haven’t
+you bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together with a lock of your
+hair, on which you no doubt pride yourself, but which to me and my son
+seem like so many coiling serpents?”
+
+’Lena had sat down. She could stand no longer, and burying her face in
+her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had finished. Then, lifting up
+her head, she replied in a voice far more husky than the one in which
+she before had spoken—“You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs. Graham, for as I
+hope for heaven, I never entertained a feeling for your husband which I
+would not have done for my own father, and indeed, he has seemed to me
+more like a parent than a friend——”
+
+“Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,” interrupted
+Mrs. Graham.
+
+’Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but continued: “I
+know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it was wrong, and if it was,
+I will make amends by immediately returning her, for much as I love
+her, I shall never use her again.”
+
+“But the daguerreotype?” interrupted Mrs. Graham, anxious to reach that
+point. “What have you to say about the daguerreotype? Perhaps you will
+presume to deny that, too.”
+
+Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched ’Lena, whose dark
+brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, “It is false, madam. You know
+it is false. I never yet have had my picture taken.”
+
+“But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?”
+
+“Again I repeat, that is false!” said ’Lena, while Mrs. Graham,
+strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, “I can prove it,
+miss.”
+
+“I defy you to do so,” said ’Lena, strong in her own innocence.
+
+“Shall I show it to her, Durward,” asked Mrs. Graham, and ’Lena,
+turning suddenly round, became for the first time conscious of his
+presence.
+
+With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly toward him,
+asking him, in piteous tones, to save her from his mother. Durward
+would almost have laid down his life to prove her innocent, but he felt
+that could not be. So he made her no reply, and in his eye she read
+that he, too, was deceived. With a low, wailing moan she again covered
+her face with her hands, while Mrs. Graham repeated her question,
+“Shall I show it to her?”
+
+Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and he
+answered, “Why do you ask, when you know you cannot do so?”
+
+Oh, how joyfully ’Lena started up; he did not believe it, after all,
+and if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that was which she gave
+to Durward, who returned her no answering glance, save one of pity; and
+again that wailing cry smote painfully on his ear. Taking the case from
+her pocket, Mrs. Graham advanced toward ’Lena, saying, “Here, see for
+yourself, and then deny it if you can.”
+
+But ’Lena had no power to take it. Her faculties seemed benumbed and
+Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded brow stood leaning against
+the mantel, construed her hesitation into guilt, which dreaded to be
+convicted.
+
+“Why don’t you take it?” persisted Mrs. Graham. “You defied me to prove
+it, and here it is. I found it in my husband’s private drawer, together
+with one of those long curls, which last I burned out of my sight.”
+
+Durward shuddered, while ’Lena involuntarily thought of the mass of
+wavy tresses which they had told her clustered around her mother’s
+face, as she lay in her narrow coffin. Why thought she of her mother
+then? Was it because they were so strangely alike, that any allusion to
+her own personal appearance always reminded her of her lost parent?
+Perhaps so. But to return to our story ’Lena would have sworn that the
+likeness was not hers, and still an undefined dread crept over her,
+preventing her from moving.
+
+“You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist you,” said
+Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case and holding to view
+the picture, on which with wondering eyes, ’Lena gazed in astonishment.
+
+“It is I—it is; but oh, heaven, how came he by it?” she gasped, and the
+next moment she fell fainting at Durward’s feet.
+
+In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, “Pray,
+don’t touch her—she does it for effect.”
+
+But he knew better. He knew there was no feigning the corpse-like
+pallor of that face, and pushing his mother aside, he took the
+unconscious girl in his arms, and bearing her to the sofa, laid her
+gently upon it, removing her hand and smoothing back from her cold brow
+the thick, clustering curls which his mother had designated as “coiling
+serpents.”
+
+“Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants,” said he, to
+his mother, who had seized the bell-rope. “Bring some water from your
+bedroom, and we will take charge of her ourselves.”
+
+There was something commanding in the tones of his voice, and Mrs.
+Graham, now really alarmed at the deathly appearance of ’Lena, hastened
+to obey. When he was alone, Durward bent down, imprinting upon the
+white lips a burning kiss—the first he had ever given her. In his heart
+he believed her unworthy of his love, and yet she had never seemed
+one-half so dear to him as at that moment, when she lay there before
+him helpless as an infant, and all unmindful of the caresses which he
+lavished upon her. “If it were indeed death;” he thought, “and it had
+come upon her while yet she was innocent, I could have borne it, but
+now I would I had never seen her;” and the tears which fell like rain
+upon her cheek, were not unworthy of the strong man who shed them. The
+cold water with which they profusely bathed her face and neck, restored
+her, and then Durward, who could bear the scene no longer, glided
+silently into the next room.
+
+When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting ’Lena,
+asked “what she thought about it now?”
+
+“Please don’t speak to me again, for I am very, very wretched,” said
+’Lena softly, while Mrs. Graham continued: “Have you nothing to offer
+in explanation?”
+
+“Nothing, nothing—it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was
+dead,” answered ’Lena, sobbing passionately.
+
+“Better wish to live and repent,” said Mrs. Graham, beginning to read
+her a long sermon on her duty, to which ’Lena paid no attention, and
+the moment she felt that she could walk, she arose to go.
+
+The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass lived not far away,
+Mrs. Graham did not deem an escort necessary. But Durward thought
+differently. He could not walk with her side by side, as he had often
+done before, but he would follow at a distance, to see that no harm
+came near her. There was no danger of his being discovered, for ’Lena
+was too much absorbed in her own wretchedness to heed aught about her,
+and in silence he walked behind her until he saw the door of Mr.
+Douglass’s house close upon her. Then feeling that there was an
+inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, where he
+found his mother exulting over the downfall of one whom, for some
+reason, she had always disliked.
+
+“Didn’t she look confounded, though, when I showed her the picture?”
+said she; to which Durward replied, by asking “when and why she sent
+the letter.”
+
+“I did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it, either,”
+was Mrs. Graham’s crusty answer, whereupon the conversation was
+dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the subject was not again
+resumed during their stay in Louisville.
+
+
+It would be impossible to describe ’Lena’s emotion as she returned to
+the house. Twice in the hall was she obliged to grasp at the banister
+to keep from falling, and knowing that such excessive agitation would
+be remarked, she seated herself upon the stairs until she felt composed
+enough to enter the parlor. Fortunately, Mabel was alone, and so
+absorbed in the fortunes of “Uncle True and little Gerty,” as scarcely
+to notice ’Lena at all. Once, indeed, as she sat before the grate so
+motionless and still, Mabel looked up, and observing how white she was,
+asked what was the matter.
+
+“A bad headache,” answered ’Lena, at the same time announcing her
+intention of retiring.
+
+“Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save those who like
+her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, as prostrate upon the
+floor she lay, her long silken curls falling about her white face,
+which looked ghastly and haggard by the moonlight that fell softly
+about her, as if to soothe her woe.
+
+“What is it,” she cried aloud—“this dark mystery, which I cannot
+explain.”
+
+The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham. He could explain it—he must
+explain it. She would go to him the next day, asking him what it meant.
+She felt sure that he could make it plain, for suspicious as matters
+looked, she exculpated him from any wrong intention toward her. Still
+she could not sleep, and when the gray morning light crept in, it found
+her too much exhausted to rise.
+
+For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by Mabel and her
+grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her illness, hastened down
+to nurse her. Every day did ’Lena ask of Mr. Douglass if Mr. Graham had
+been in the city, saying that the first time he came she wished to see
+him. Days, however, went by, and nothing was seen or heard from him,
+until at last John Jr.; who visited her daily, casually informed her
+that Mr. Graham had been unexpectedly called away to South Carolina. A
+distant relative of his had died, bequeathing him a large property,
+which made it necessary for him to go there immediately; so without
+waiting for the return of his wife, he had started off, leaving
+Woodlawn alone.
+
+“Gone to South Carolina!” exclaimed ’Lena. “When will he return?”
+
+“Nobody knows. He’s away from home more than half the time, just as I
+should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife,” answered John Jr., at the same
+time playfully remarking that ’Lena need not look so blank, as it was
+not Durward who had gone so far.
+
+For an instant ’Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask him what
+to do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at all excited, she
+finally decided to keep her own secret, determining, however, to write
+to Mr. Graham, as soon as she was able. Just before John Jr. left her,
+she called him to her side, asking him if he would do her the favor of
+seeing that Vesta was sent back to Woodlawn, as she did not wish for
+her any longer.
+
+“What the plague is that for—has mother been raising a row?” asked John
+Jr., and ’Lena replied, “No, no, your mother has nothing to do with it.
+I only want Vesta taken home. I cannot at present tell you why, but I
+have a good reason, and some time, perhaps, I’ll explain. You’ll do it,
+won’t you?”
+
+With the determination of questioning Durward as to what had happened,
+John Jr. promised, and when Mrs. Graham and her son returned from
+Louisville, they found Vesta safely stabled with their other horses,
+while the saddle with its tiny slipper hung upon a beam, and seemingly
+looked down with reproach upon Durward, who turned away with a bitter
+pang as he thought of the morning when he first took it to Maple Grove.
+
+The next day was dark and rainy, precluding all outdoor exercise, and
+weary, sad, and spiritless, Durward repaired to the library, where, for
+an hour or more, he sat musing dreamily of the past—of the morning,
+years ago, when first he met the little girl who had since grown so
+strongly into his love, and over whom so dark a shadow had fallen. A
+heavy knock at the door, and in a moment John Jr. appeared, with
+dripping garments and a slightly scowling face. There was a faint
+resemblance between him and ’Lena, manifest in the soft, curling hair
+and dark, lustrous eyes. Durward had observed it before—he thought of
+it now—and glad to see any one who bore the least resemblance to her,
+he started up, exclaiming, “Why, Livingstone, the very one of all the
+world I am glad to see.”
+
+John made no reply, but shaking the rain-drops from his overcoat, which
+he carelessly threw upon the floor, he took a chair opposite the grate,
+and looking Durward fully in the face, said, “I’ve come over, Bellmont,
+to ask you a few plain, unvarnished questions, which I believe you will
+answer truthfully. Am I right?”
+
+“Certainly, sir—go on,” was Durward’s reply.
+
+“Well, then, to begin, are you and ’Lena engaged?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Have you been engaged?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Do you ever expect to be engaged?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Have you quarreled?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home?”
+
+“I suppose I do.”
+
+“Will you tell me?”
+
+“No, sir,” said Durward, determined, for ’Lena’s sake, that no one
+should wring from him the secret.
+
+John Jr. arose, jammed both hands into his pockets—walked to the
+window—made faces at the weather—walked back to the grate—made faces at
+that—kicked it—and then turning to Durward, said, “There’s the old Nick
+to pay, somewhere.”
+
+Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct questions.
+
+“I tell you, there’s the old Nick to pay, somewhere,” continued John,
+raising his voice. “I knew it all the while ’Lena was sick. I read it
+in her face when I told her Mr. Graham had gone south——”
+
+A faint sickness gathered around Durward’s heart, and John Jr.
+proceeded: “She wouldn’t tell me, and I’ve come to you for information.
+Will you give it to me?”
+
+“No, sir,” said Durward. “The nature of our trouble is known only to
+ourselves and one other individual, and I shall never divulge the
+secret.”
+
+“Is that other individual my mother?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Is it Cad?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Had they any agency in the matter?”
+
+“None, whatever, that I know of.”
+
+“Then I’m on the wrong track, and may as well go home,” said John Jr.,
+starting for the door, where he stopped, while he added, “If, Bellmont,
+I ever do hear of your having misled me in this matter——” He did not
+finish the sentence in words, but playfully producing a revolver, he
+departed. The next moment he was dashing across the lawn, the mud
+flying in every direction, and himself thinking how useless it was to
+try to unravel a love quarrel.
+
+In the meantime, ’Lena waited impatiently for an answer to the letter
+which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day glided by, and
+still no tidings came. At last, as if everything had conspired against
+her, she heard that he was lying dangerously ill of a fever at Havana,
+whither he had gone in quest of an individual whose presence was
+necessary in the settlement of the estate.
+
+The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, also
+contained a request that she would come to him immediately, and within
+a few days after its receipt, she started for Cuba, together with
+Durward, who went without again seeing ’Lena.
+
+They found him better than they expected. The danger was past, but he
+was still too weak to move himself, and the physician said it would be
+many weeks ere he was able to travel. This rather pleased Mrs. Graham
+than otherwise. She was fond of change, and had often desired to visit
+Havana, so now that she was there, she made the best of it, and for
+once in her life enacted the part of a faithful, affectionate wife.
+
+Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham spoke of
+“Helena,” imploring her forgiveness for his leaving her so long, and
+promising to return. Sometimes he spoke of her as being dead, and in
+piteous accents he would ask of Durward to bring him back his
+“beautiful ’Lena,” who was sleeping far away among the New England
+mountains.
+
+One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, he
+brought one directed to Mr. Graham, which had been forwarded from
+Charleston, and which bore the post-marks of several places, it having
+been sent hither and thither, ere it reached its place of destination.
+It was mailed at Frankfort, Kentucky, and in the superscription Durward
+readily recognized the handwriting of ’Lena.
+
+“Worse and worse,” thought he, now fully assured of her worthlessness.
+
+For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this act he
+instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might contain, it was
+not for him to read it. But what should he do with it? Must he give it
+to his mother who already had as much as she could bear? No, ’twas not
+best for her to know aught about it, and as the surest means of
+preventing its doing further trouble, he destroyed it—burned it to
+ashes—repenting the next moment of the deed, wishing he had read it,
+and feeling not that he had wronged the dead, as his mother did when
+she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had done a wrong to ’Lena.
+
+In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, leaving his
+father and mother to travel leisurely from place to place, as the still
+feeble state of the former would admit. ’Lena, who had returned from
+Frankfort, trembled lest he should come to Maple Grove, but he seemed
+equally desirous of avoiding a meeting, and after lingering about
+Woodlawn for several days, he suddenly departed for Louisville, where,
+for a time, we leave him, while we follow the fortunes of others
+connected with our story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+JOHN JR. AND MABEL.
+
+
+Time and absence had gradually softened John Jr.’s feelings toward
+Nellie. She was not married to Mr. Wilbur—possibly she never would
+be—and if on her return to America he found her the same, he would lose
+no time in seeing her, and, if possible, secure her to himself. Such
+was the tenor of his thoughts, as on one bright morning in June he took
+his way to Lexington, whither he was going on business for his father.
+Before leaving the city, he rode down to the depot, as was his usual
+custom, reaching there just as the cars bound for Frankfort were
+rolling away. Upon the platform of the rear car stood an acquaintance
+of his, who called out, “Halloo, Livingstone, have you heard the news?”
+
+“News, no. What news?” asked John Jr., following after the fast moving
+train.
+
+“Bob Wilbur and Nellie Douglass are married,” screamed the young man,
+who, having really heard of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage, supposed it must of
+course be with Nellie.
+
+John Jr. had no doubt of it, and for a moment his heart fainted beneath
+the sudden blow. But he was not one to yield long to despair, and soon
+recovering from the first shock, he raved in uncontrollable fury,
+denouncing Nellie as worthless, fickle, and good for nothing, mentally
+wishing her much joy with her husband, who in the same breath he hoped
+“would break his confounded neck,” and ending his tirade by solemnly
+vowing to offer himself to the first girl he met, whether black or
+white!
+
+Full of this resolution he put spurs to Firelock and sped away over the
+turnpike, looking neither to the right nor the left, lest a chance
+should offer for the fulfillment of his vow. It was the dusk of evening
+when he reached home, and giving his horse into the care of a servant,
+he walked with rapid strides into the parlor, starting back as he saw
+_Mabel Ross_, who, for a few days past, had been visiting at Maple
+Grove.
+
+“There’s no backing out,” thought he. “It’s my destiny, and I’ll meet
+it like a man. Nellie spited me, and I’ll let her know how good it
+feels.”
+
+“Mabel,” said he, advancing toward her, “will you marry me? Say yes or
+no quick.”
+
+This was not quite the kind of wooing which Mabel had expected. ’Twas
+not what she read of in novels, but then it was in keeping with the
+rest of John Jr.’s conduct, and very frankly and naturally she answered
+“Yes.”
+
+“Very well,” said he, beginning to feel better already, and turning to
+leave the room—“Very well, you fix the day, and arrange it all
+yourself, only let it be very soon, for now I’ve made up my mind, I’m
+in a mighty hurry.”
+
+Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in earnest or not,
+asked “if she should speak to the minister, too.”
+
+“Yes, no,” said he. “Just tell mother, and she’ll fix it all right.
+Will you?”
+
+And he walked away, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, except that he
+was engaged. Engaged! The very idea seemed to add new dignity to _him_,
+while it invested Mabel with a charm she had not hitherto possessed.
+John Jr. liked everything that belonged to him exclusively, and Mabel
+now was his—his wife she would be—and when next he met her in the
+drawing-room, his manner toward her was unusually kind, attracting the
+attention of his mother, who wondered at the change. One after another
+the family retired, until there was no one left in the parlor except
+Mabel and Mrs. Livingstone, who, as her husband chanced to be absent,
+had invited her young visitor to share her room. When they were alone,
+Mabel, with many blushes and a few tears, told of all that had
+occurred, except, indeed, of John’s manner of proposing, which she
+thought best not to confide to a third person.
+
+Eagerly Mrs. Livingstone listened, mentally congratulating herself upon
+the completion of her plan without her further interference, wondering
+the while how it had been so suddenly brought about, and half trembling
+lest it should prove a failure after all. So when Mabel spoke of John
+Jr.’s wish that the marriage should be consummated immediately, she
+replied, “Certainly—by all means. There is no necessity for delay. You
+can marry at once, and get ready afterwards. It is now the last of
+June. I had thought of going to Saratoga in July, and a bride is just
+the thing to give eclat to our party.”
+
+“But,” answered Mabel, who hardly fancied a wedding without all the
+usual preparations, which she felt she should enjoy so much, “I cannot
+think of being married until October, when Nellie perhaps will be
+here.”
+
+Nellie’s return was what Mrs. Livingstone dreaded, and very ingeniously
+she set herself at work to put aside Mabel’s objections, succeeding so
+far that the young girl promised compliance with whatever she should
+think proper. The next morning, as John Jr. was passing through the
+hall, she called him into her room, delicately broaching the subject of
+his engagement, saying she knew he could not help loving a girl
+possessed of so many excellent qualities as Mabel Ross. Very patiently
+John Jr. heard her until she came to speak of love. Then, in much
+louder tones than newly engaged men are apt to speak of their
+betrothed, he exclaimed, “Love! Fudge! If you think I’m marrying Mabel
+for love, you are greatly mistaken, I like her, but love is out of the
+question.”
+
+“Pray what are you marrying her for? Her property?”
+
+“Property!” repeated John, with a sneer, “I’ve seen the effect of
+marrying for property, and I trust I’m not despicable enough to try it
+for myself. No, madam, I’m not marrying her for money—but to spite
+Nellie Douglass, if you must know the reason. I’ve loved her as I shall
+never again love womankind, but she cheated me. She’s married to Robert
+Wilbur, and now I’ve too much spirit to have her think _I_ care. If she
+can marry, so can I—she isn’t the only girl in the world—and when I
+heard what she had done, I vowed I’d offer myself to the first female I
+saw. As good or bad luck would have it, ’twas Mabel, who you know said
+yes, of course, for I verily believe she likes me far better than I
+deserve. What kind of a husband I shall make, the Lord only knows, but
+I’m in for it. My word is passed, and the sooner you get us tied
+together the better, but for heaven’s sake, don’t go to making a great
+parade. Mabel has no particular home. She’s here now, and why not let
+the ceremony take place here. But fix it to suit yourselves, only don’t
+let me hear you talking about it, for fear I’ll get sick of the whole
+thing.”
+
+This was exactly what Mrs. Livingstone desired. She had the day before
+been to Frankfort herself, learning from Mrs. Atkins of Mr. Wilbur’s
+marriage with the English girl. She knew her son was deceived, and it
+was highly necessary that he should continue so. She felt sure that
+neither her daughters, Mabel, nor ’Lena knew of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage,
+and she resolved they should not. It was summer, and as many of their
+city friends had left Frankfort for places of fashionable resort, they
+received but few calls; and by keeping them at home until the wedding
+was over, she trusted that all would be safe in that quarter. Durward,
+too, was fortunately absent, so she only had to deal with Mabel and
+John Jr. The first of these she approached very carefully, casually
+telling her of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage, and then hastily adding, “But
+pray don’t speak of it to any one, as there are special reasons why it
+should not at present be discussed. Sometime I may tell you the
+reason.”
+
+Mabel wondered why so small a matter should be a secret, but Mrs.
+Livingstone had requested her to keep silence and that was a sufficient
+reason why she should do so. The next step was to win her consent for
+the ceremony to take place there, and in the course of three weeks,
+saying that it was her son’s wish. But on this point she found more
+difficulty than she had anticipated, for Mabel shrank from being
+married at the house of his father.
+
+“It didn’t look right,” said she, “and she knew Mr. Douglass would not
+object to having it there.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone knew so, too, but there was too much danger in such an
+arrangement, and she replied, “Of course not, if you request it, but
+will it be quite proper for you to ask him to be at all that trouble
+when Nellie is gone, and there is no one at home to superintend?”
+
+So after a time Mabel was convinced, thinking, though, how differently
+everything was turning out from what she expected. Three weeks from
+that night was fixed upon for the bridal, to which but few were to be
+invited, for Mrs. Livingstone did not wish to call forth remark.
+
+“Everything should be done quietly and in order,” she said, “and then,
+when autumn came, she would give a splendid party in honor of the
+bride.”
+
+Mr. Douglass, when told of the coming event by Mrs. Livingstone, who
+would trust no one else, expressed much surprise, saying he greatly
+preferred that the ceremony should take place at his own house.
+
+“Of course,” returned the oily-tongued woman, “of course you had, but
+even a small wedding party is a vast amount of trouble, and in Nellie’s
+absence you would be disturbed. Were she here I would not say a word,
+but now I insist upon having it my own way, and indeed, I think my
+claim upon Mabel is the strongest.”
+
+Silenced, but not quite convinced, Mr. Douglass said no more, thinking,
+meanwhile, that if he only _could_ afford it, Mabel should have a
+wedding worthy of her. But he could not; he was poor, and hence Mrs.
+Livingstone’s arguments prevailed the more easily. Fortunately for her,
+John Jr. manifested no inclination to go out at all. A kind of torpor
+seemed to have settled upon him, and day after day he remained at home,
+sometimes in a deep study in his own room, and sometimes sitting in the
+parlor, where his very unlover-like deportment frequently brought tears
+to Mabel’s eyes, while Carrie loudly denounced him as the most clownish
+fellow she ever saw.
+
+“I hope you’ll train him, Mabel,” said she, “for he needs it. He ought
+to have had Nellie Douglass. She’s a match for him. Why didn’t you have
+her, John?”
+
+With a face dark as night, he angrily requested Carrie “to mind her own
+business,” saying “he was fully competent to take charge of himself,
+without the interference of either wife or sister.”
+
+“Oh, what if he should look and talk so to me!” thought Mabel,
+shuddering as a dim foreboding of her sad future came over her.
+
+’Lena who understood John Jr. better than any one else, saw that all
+was not right. She knew how much he had loved Nellie; she believed he
+loved her still; and why should he marry another? She could not tell,
+and as he withheld his confidence from her, appearing unusually moody
+and cross, she dared not approach him. At last, having an idea of what
+she wanted, and willing to give her a chance, he one day, when they
+were alone, abruptly asked her what she thought of his choice.
+
+“If you ask me what I think of Mabel,” said she, “I answer that I
+esteem her very highly, and the more I know her the better I love her.
+Still, I never thought she would be your wife.”
+
+“Ah—indeed!—never thought she would, hey?” answered John, beginning to
+grow crusty, and elevating his feet to the top of the mantel. “You see
+now what _thought_ did; but what is your objection to her?”
+
+“Nothing, nothing,” returned ’Lena. “Mabel is amiable, gentle, and
+confiding, and will try to be a good wife.”
+
+“What the deuce are you grumbling for, then?” interrupted John Jr. “Do
+you want me yourself? If you do, just say the word, and it shall be
+done! I’m bound to be married, and I’d sooner have you than anybody
+else. Come, what do you say?”
+
+’Lena smiled, while she disclaimed any intention toward her cousin,
+who, resuming the position which in his excitement he had slightly
+changed, continued: “I have always dealt fairly with you, ’Lena, and
+now I tell you truly, I have no particular love for Mabel, although I
+intend making her my wife, and heartily wish she was so now.”
+
+’Lena started, and clasping John’s arm, exclaimed, “Marry Mabel and not
+love her! You cannot be in earnest. You will not do her so great a
+wrong—you shall not.”
+
+“I don’t know how you’ll help it, unless you meddle with what does not
+concern you,” said John. “I am doing her no wrong, I never told her I
+loved her—never acted as though I did, and if she is content to have me
+on such terms, it’s nobody’s business. She loves me half to death, and
+if the old adage be true that love begets love, I shall learn to love
+her, and when I do I’ll let you know.”
+
+So saying, the young man shook down his pants, which had become
+disarranged, and walked away, leaving ’Lena to wonder what course she
+had better pursue. Once she resolved on telling Mabel all that had
+passed between them, but the next moment convinced her that, as he had
+said, she would be meddling, so she decided to say nothing, silently
+hoping that affairs would turn out better than she feared.
+
+It was Mabel’s wish that ’Lena and Anna should be her bridesmaids,
+Durward and Malcolm officiating as groomsmen, and as Mr. Bellmont was
+away, she wrote to him requesting his attendance, but saying she had
+not yet mentioned the subject to ’Lena. Painful as was the task of
+being thus associated with ’Lena, Durward felt that to refuse might
+occasion much remark, so he wrote to Mabel that “he would comply with
+her request, provided Miss Rivers were willing.”
+
+“Of course she’s willing,” said Mabel to herself, at the same time
+running with the letter to ’Lena, who, to her utter astonishment, not
+only refused outright, but also declined giving any particular reason
+for her doing so. “Carrie will suit him much better than I,” said she,
+but unfortunately, Carrie, who chanced to be present, half hidden in
+the recess of a window, indignantly declined “going Jack-at-a-pinch”
+with any one, so Mabel was obliged to content herself with Anna and Mr.
+Everett.
+
+But here a new difficulty arose, for Mrs. Livingstone declared that the
+latter should not be invited, and Anna, in a fit of anger, insisted
+that if _he_ were not good enough to be present, neither was she, and
+she should accordingly remain in her own room. Poor Mabel burst into
+tears, and when, a few moments afterward, John Jr. appeared, asking
+what ailed her, she hid her face in his bosom and sobbed like a child.
+Then, frightened at her own temerity, for he gave her no answering
+caress, she lifted up her head, while with a quizzical expression John
+Jr. said, “So-ho, Meb, seems to me you’ve taken to crying on my jacket
+a little in advance. But what’s the matter?”
+
+In a few words Mabel told him how everything went wrong, how neither
+’Lena, Carrie, nor Anna would be her bridesmaids, and how Anna wouldn’t
+see her married because Malcolm was not invited.
+
+“I can manage that,” said John Jr. “Mr. Everett _shall_ be invited, so
+just shut up crying, for if there’s anything I detest, it’s a woman’s
+sniveling;” and he walked off thinking he had begun just as he meant to
+hold out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+THE BRIDAL.
+
+
+’Twas Mabel’s wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms of Mr.
+Livingstone’s house she stood awaiting the summons to the parlor. They
+had arrayed her for the bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, ’Lena, Anna,
+and the seamstress, all had had something to do with her toilet, and
+now they had left her for a time with him who was so soon to be her
+husband. She knew—for they had told her—she was looking uncommonly
+well. Her dress, of pure white satin, was singularly becoming; pearls
+were interwoven in the heavy braids of her raven hair; the fleecy folds
+of the rich veil, which fell like a cloud around her, swept the floor.
+In her eye there was an unusual sparkle and on her cheek an unwonted
+bloom.
+
+Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain at her heart—a
+foreboding of coming evil—and many an anxious glance she cast toward
+the stern, silent man, who, with careless tread, walked up and down the
+room, utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed in
+bitter reflections. Once only had she ventured to speak, and then, in
+childlike simplicity, she had asked him “how she looked.”
+
+“Well enough,” was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he
+continued his walk.
+
+The tears gathered in Mabel’s eyes—she could not help it; drop after
+drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until John Jr., who saw
+more than he pretended, came to her side, asking “why she wept.”
+
+Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a moment she
+hesitated, but at length, summoning all her courage, she wound her arms
+about his neck, and in low, earnest tones said, “Tell me truly, do you
+wish to marry me?”
+
+“And suppose I do not?” he asked, with the same stony composure.
+
+Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, and answered,
+“Then would I die rather than wed you!”
+
+There was something in her appearance and attitude peculiarly
+attractive to John Jr. Never in his life had he felt so much interested
+in her, and drawing her toward him and placing his arm around her, he
+said, gently, “Be calm, little Meb, you are nervous to-night. Of course
+I wish you to be my wife, else I had not asked you. Are you satisfied?”
+
+The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly to his, was a
+sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the injustice he was about to
+do her, John Jr. bent for an instant over her slight figure, mentally
+resolving, that so far as in him lay he would be true to his trust.
+There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Livingstone herself looked in,
+pale, anxious, and expectant. Mr. Douglass, who was among the invited
+guests, had arrived, and _must_ have an interview with John Jr. ere the
+ceremony. ’Twas in vain she attempted politely to waive his request. He
+_would_ see him, and distracted with fear, she had at last conducted
+him into the upper hall, and out upon an open veranda, where in the
+moonlight he awaited the coming of the bridegroom, who, with some
+curiosity, approached him, asking what he wanted.
+
+“It may seem strange to you,” said Mr. Douglass, “that I insist upon
+seeing you now, when another time might do as well, but I believe in
+having a fair understanding all round.”
+
+“Meddling old rascal!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, of course, was
+within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose a word.
+
+But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., Mr.
+Douglass said, so low as to prevent her catching anything further, save
+the sound of his voice:
+
+“I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such things have
+been, and there has something come to my knowledge to-day, which I deem
+it my duty to tell you, so that hereafter you can neither blame me nor
+Mabel.”
+
+“What is it?” asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, “To be brief,
+then, Mabel’s large fortune is, with the exception of a few thousands,
+of which I have charge, all swept away by the recent failure of the
+Planters’ Bank, in which it was invested. I heard of it this morning,
+and determined on telling you, knowing that if you loved her for
+herself, it would make no difference, while if you loved her for her
+money, it were far better to stop here.”
+
+Nothing could have been further from John’s thoughts than a desire for
+Mabel’s wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his mother’s eyes, was
+valueless to him, and after a moment’s silence, in which he was
+thinking what a rich disappointment it would be to his mother, who, he
+knew, prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed, “Good, I’m glad of
+it. I never sought Mabel’s hand for what there was in it, and I’m more
+ready to marry her now than ever. But,” he added, as a sudden impulse
+of good came over him, “She need not know it; it would trouble her
+uselessly, and for the present we’ll keep it from her.”
+
+John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by turns
+censured and admired him, but now there was but one feeling in his
+bosom toward him, and that was one of unbounded respect. With a warm
+pressure of the hand he turned away, thinking, perchance, of his fair
+young daughter, who, far away o’er the Atlantic waves, little dreamed
+of the scene on which that summer moon was shining. As the conference
+ended; Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing, glided, from her
+hiding-place, eagerly scanning her son’s face to see if there was aught
+to justify her fears. But there was nothing, and with her heart beating
+at its accustomed pace, she descended the stairs in time to meet
+Durward, who, having reached Woodlawn that day, had not heard of
+’Lena’s decision.
+
+“This way, Marster Bellmont—upstars is the gentleman’s room,” said the
+servant in attendance, and ascending the stairs, Durward met with Anna,
+asking her for her cousin.
+
+“In there—go in,” said Anna, pointing to a half-open door, and then
+hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose coming she had seen from the
+window.
+
+Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated, and as his
+knock met with no response, he ventured at last to enter unannounced
+into the presence of ’Lena, whom he had not met since that
+well-remembered night. Tastefully attired for the wedding in a simple
+white muslin, she sat upon a little stool with her face buried in the
+cushions of the sofa. She had heard his voice in the lower hall, and
+knowing she must soon meet him, she had for a moment abandoned herself
+to the tumult of bitter thoughts, which came sweeping over her in that
+trying hour. She was weeping—he knew that by the trembling of her
+body—and for an instant everything was forgotten.
+
+Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his hand upon those
+clustering curls which fell unheeded around her, when the thought that
+from among them had been cut the hated tress which his mother had cast
+into the flames, arrested his hand, and he was himself again. Forcing
+down his emotion, he said, calmly, “Miss Rivers,” and starting quickly
+to her feet, ’Lena demanded proudly what he would have, and why he was
+there.
+
+“Pardon me,” said he, as he marked her haughty bearing and glanced at
+her dress, which was hardly in accordance with that of a bridesmaid; “I
+supposed I was to be groomsman—am I mistaken?”
+
+“So far as I am concerned you are, sir. I knew nothing of Mabel’s
+writing to you, or I should have prevented it, for after what has
+occurred, you cannot deem me weak enough to lend myself to such an
+arrangement.”
+
+And ’Lena walked out of the room, while Durward looked after her in
+amazement, one moment admiring her spirit, and the next blaming Mabel
+for not informing him how matters stood. “But there’s no help for it
+now,” thought he, as he descended the stairs and made his way into the
+parlor, whither ’Lena had preceded him.
+
+And thus ended an interview of which ’Lena had thought so much, hoping
+and praying that it might result in a reconciliation. But it was all
+over now—the breach was wider than ever—with half-benumbed faculties
+she leaned on the window, unconscious of the earnest desire he felt to
+approach her, for there was about her a strange fascination which it
+required all his power to resist.
+
+When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched to John
+Jr., who, without a word, offered his arm to Mabel, and descending the
+broad staircase, they stood within the parlor in the spot which had
+been assigned them. Once during the ceremony he raised his eyes,
+encountering those of ’Lena, fixed upon him so reproachfully that with
+a scowl he turned away. Mechanically he went through with his part of
+the service, betraying no emotion whatever, until the solemn words
+which made them one were uttered. Then, when it was over—when he was
+bound to her forever—he seemed suddenly to awake from his apathy and
+think of what he had done. Crowding around him, they came with words of
+congratulation—all but ’Lena, who tarried behind, for she had none to
+give. Wretched as she was herself, she pitied the frail young bride,
+whose half-joyous, half-timid glances toward the frigid bridegroom,
+showed that already was she sipping from the bitter cup whose very
+dregs she was destined to drain.
+
+In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr. Douglass and Durward
+stood, speaking together of Nellie, and though John shrank from the
+sound of her name, his hearing faculties seemed unusually sharpened,
+and he lost not a word of what they were saying.
+
+“So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told,” said Durward, “and
+I am glad of it, for I miss her much. But what is it about Mr. Wilbur’s
+marriage. Wasn’t it rather unexpected?”
+
+“No, not very. Nellie knew before she went that he was engaged to Miss
+Allen, but at his sister’s request she kept it still. He found her at a
+boarding-school in Montreal, several years ago.”
+
+“Will they remain in Europe?”
+
+“For a time, at least, until Mary is better—but Nellie comes home with
+some friends from New Haven, whom she met in Paris;” then in a low tone
+Mr. Douglass added, “I almost dread the effect of this marriage upon
+her, for I am positive she liked him better than anyone else.”
+
+The little white, blue-veined hand which rested on that of John Jr.,
+was suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that Mabel looked up inquiringly
+in the face which had no thought for her, for Mr. Douglass’s words had
+fallen upon him like a thunderbolt, crushing him to the earth, and for
+a moment rendering him powerless. Instantly he comprehended it all. He
+had deceived himself, and by his impetuous haste lost all that he held
+most dear on earth. There was a cry of faintness, a grasping at empty
+space to keep from falling, and then forth into the open air they led
+the half-fainting man, followed by his frightened bride, who tenderly
+bathed his damp, cold brow, unmindful how he shrank from her,
+shuddering as he felt the touch of her soft hand, and motioning her
+aside when she stooped to part from his forehead the heavy locks of his
+hair.
+
+That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere kept watch over a
+gentle girl, who ’neath the blue skies of sunny France, dreamed of her
+distant home across the ocean wave; of the gray-haired man, who, with
+every morning light and evening shade, blessed her as his child; of
+another, whose image was ever present with her, whom from her childhood
+she had loved, and whom neither time nor distance could efface from her
+memory.
+
+Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down upon the white,
+haggard face and heavy bloodshot eye of him who counted each long,
+dreary hour as it passed by, cursing the fate which had made him what
+he was, and unjustly hardening his heart against his innocent
+unsuspecting wife.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+MARRIED LIFE.
+
+
+For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabel with at
+least a show of attention, but he was not one to act long as he did not
+feel. Had Nellie been, indeed, the wife of another, he might in time
+have learned to love Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence only
+served to remind him of what he had lost, and at last he began to shun
+her society, never seeming willing to be left with her alone, and
+either repulsing or treating with indifference the many little acts of
+kindness which her affectionate nature prompted. To all this Mabel was
+not blind, and when once she began to suspect her true position, it was
+easy for her to fancy slights where none were intended.
+
+Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one of constant
+unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, which had been
+much improved, began to fail. Her old racking headaches returned with
+renewed force, confining her for whole days to her room, where she lay
+listening in vain for the footsteps which never came, and tended only
+by ’Lena, who in proportion as the others neglected her, clung to her
+more and more. The trip to Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the
+bitterness of his disappointment bitterly refusing to go, and saying
+there was nothing sillier than for a newly-married couple to go riding
+around the country, disgusting sensible people with their fooleries. So
+with a burst of tears Mabel yielded and her bridal tour extended no
+further than Frankfort, whither her husband _did_ once accompany her,
+dining out even then with an old schoolmate whom he chanced to meet,
+and almost forgetting to call at Mr. Douglass’s for Mabel when it was
+time to return home.
+
+Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which shipwrecked
+entirely the poor bride’s happiness. By some means or other it at last
+came to Mrs. Livingstone’s knowledge that Mabel’s fortune was not only
+all gone, but that her son had known it in time to prevent his marrying
+her. Owing to various losses her own property had for a few years past
+been gradually diminishing, and when she found that Mabel’s fortune,
+which she leaned upon as an all-powerful prop, was swept away, it was
+more than she could bear peaceably; and in a fit of disappointed rage
+she assailed her son, reproaching him with bringing disgrace upon the
+family by marrying a poor, homely, sickly girl, who would be forever
+incurring expense without any means of paying it! For once, however,
+she found her match, for in good round terms John Jr. bade her “go to
+thunder,” his favorite point of destination for his particular friends,
+at the same time saying, “he didn’t care a dime for Mabel’s money. It
+was you,” said he, “who kept your eye on that, aiding and abetting the
+match, and now that you are disappointed, I’m heartily glad of it.”
+
+“But who is going to pay for her board,” asked Mrs. Livingstone.
+“You’ve no means of earning it, and I hope you don’t intend to sponge
+out of me, for I think I’ve enough paupers on my hands already!”
+
+“_Board_!” roared John Jr. in a towering passion. “While you thought
+her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything else; and since she has
+become poor, I do not think her appetite greatly increased. You taunt
+me, too, with having no means of earning my own living. Whose fault is
+it?—tell me that. Haven’t you always opposed my having a profession?
+Didn’t you _pet_ and _baby_ ‘Johnny’ when a boy, keeping him always at
+your apron strings, and now that he’s a man, he’s not to be turned
+adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel, too, just as long as I
+please.”
+
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned her battery
+upon poor Mabel, treating her with shameful neglect, intimating that
+she was in the way; that the house was full, and that she never
+supposed John was going to settle down at home for her to support; he
+was big enough to look after himself, and if he chose to marry a wife
+who had nothing, why let them go to work, as other folks did.
+
+Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what was meant, for
+John Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowledge of her loss,
+requesting his mother to do the same in such decided terms, that, hint
+as strongly as she pleased, she dared not tell the whole, for fear of
+the storm which was sure to follow. All this was not, of course,
+calculated to add to Mabel’s comfort, and day by day she grew more and
+more unhappy, generously keeping to herself, however, the treatment
+which she received from Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of his mother,”
+thought she, so the secret was kept, though she could not always
+repress the tears which would start when she thought how wretched she
+was.
+
+We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was anything
+particularly annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying woman, and
+now, when he so often found Mabel indisposed or weeping, he grew more
+morose and fault-finding, sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying to
+provoke him, when, in fact, she had used every means in her power to
+conciliate him. Again, conscience-smitten, he would lay her aching head
+upon his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing temples, would
+soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always awoke refreshed,
+and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her suffer. At such
+times, John would resolve never again to treat her unkindly, but alas!
+his resolutions were too easily broken. Had he married Nellie, a more
+faithful, affectionate husband there could not have been. But now it
+was different. A withering blight had fallen upon his earthly
+prospects, and forgetting that he alone was to blame, he unjustly laid
+the fault upon his innocent wife, who, as far as she was able, loved
+him as deeply as Nellie herself could have done.
+
+One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received a note,
+informing him that several of his young associates were going on a
+three days’ hunting excursion, in which they wished him to join. In the
+large easy-chair, just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported by
+pillows and saturated with camphor, while around her eyes were the dark
+rings which usually accompanied her headaches. Involuntarily John Jr.
+glanced toward her. Had it been Nellie, all the pleasures of the world
+could not have induced him to leave her, but Mabel was altogether
+another person, and more for the sake of seeing what she would say,
+than from any real intention of going, he read the note aloud; then
+carelessly throwing it aside, he said, “Ah, yes, I’ll go. It’ll be rare
+fun camping out these moonlight nights.”
+
+Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him out of her
+sight, and now, at the first intimation of his leaving her, her lip
+began to tremble, while tears filled her eyes and dropped upon her
+cheeks. This was enough, and mentally styling her “a perfect cry baby,”
+he resolved to go at all hazards.
+
+“I don’t think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly,” said
+Anna, who was present.
+
+“I want to know if little Anna’s got so she can dictate me, too,”
+answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that “he reckoned Mabel
+would get over her bad feelings quite as well without him as with him.”
+
+More for the sake of opposition than because she really cared, Carrie,
+too, chimed in, saying that “he was a pretty specimen of a three
+months’ husband,” and asking “how he ever expected to answer for all of
+Mabel’s tears and headaches.”
+
+“Hang her tears and headaches,” said he, beginning to grow angry. “She
+can get one up to order any time, and for my part, I am getting
+heartily tired of the sound of aches and pains.”
+
+“Please _don’t_ talk so,” said Mabel, pressing her hands upon her
+aching head, while ’Lena sternly exclaimed, “Shame on you, John
+Livingstone. I am surprised at you, for I did suppose you had some
+little feeling left.”
+
+“Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but I am happy to
+say it is entirely lost on me,” said John, leaving the room and
+shutting the door with a bang, which made every one of Mabel’s nerves
+quiver anew.
+
+“What a perfect brute,” said Carrie, while ’Lena and Anna drew nearer
+to Mabel, the one telling her “she would not care,” and the other
+silently pressing the little hand which instinctively sought hers, as
+if sure of finding sympathy.
+
+At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately Carrie gave a
+detailed account of her brother’s conduct, at the same time referring
+her mother for proof to Mabel’s red eyes and swollen face.
+
+“I never interfere between husband and wife,” said Mrs. Livingstone
+coolly, “but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of advice. Without
+being at all personal, I would say that few women have beauty enough to
+afford to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have patience
+enough to bear with a woman who is forever whining and complaining,
+first of this and then of that. I don’t suppose that John is so much
+worse than other people, and I think he bears up wonderfully,
+considering his disappointment.”
+
+Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to stare at
+each other in silence, wondering what she meant. Since her marriage,
+Mabel had occupied the parlor chamber, which connected with a cozy
+little bedroom and dressing-room adjoining. These had at the time been
+fitted up and furnished in a style which Mrs. Livingstone thought
+worthy of Mabel’s wealth, but now that she was poor, the case was
+altered, and she had long contemplated removing her to more inferior
+quarters. “She wasn’t going to give her the very best room in the
+house. No, indeed, she wasn’t—wearing out the carpets, soiling the
+furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.”
+
+She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would not do to
+approach him on the subject, so she waited, determining to carry out
+her plans the very first time he should be absent, thinking when it was
+once done, he would submit quietly. On hearing that he had gone off on
+a hunting excursion, she thought, “Now is my time,” and summoning to
+her assistance three or four servants, she removed everything belonging
+to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small and not remarkably convenient room
+which the former had occupied previous to his marriage.
+
+“What are you about?” asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked in.
+
+“About my business,” answered Mrs. Livingstone. I’m not going to have
+my best things all worn out, and if this was once good enough for John
+to sleep in, it is now.”
+
+“But will Mabel like it?” asked Anna, a little suspicious that her
+sister-in-laww’s rights were being infringed.
+
+“Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,” said Mrs. Livingstone.
+“If she don’t like it, all she has to do is to go away.”
+
+“Lasted jest about as long as I thought ’twood,” said Aunt Milly, when
+she heard what was going on. “Ile and crab-apple vinegar won’t mix,
+nohow, and if before the year’s up old miss don’t worry the life out of
+that poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a picked chicken,
+my name ain’t Milly Livingstone.”
+
+The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated with the
+family, they saw things as they were, and while Mrs. Livingstone’s
+conduct was universally condemned, Mabel was a general favorite. After
+Mrs. Livingstone had left the room, Milly, with one or two others,
+stole up to reconnoiter.
+
+“Now I ’clar’ for’t,” said Milly, “if here ain’t Marster John’s
+bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right out in far sight, and
+Miss Mabel comin’ in here to sleep. ’Pears like some white folks hain’t
+no idee of what ’longs to good manners. Here, Corind, put the jack in
+thar, the fish-line thar, the backy thar, and heave that ar other
+thrash out o’door,” pointing to some geological specimens which from
+time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which his mother had not
+thought proper to molest.
+
+Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed good taste,
+began to make some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, and
+under her supervision the room began to present a more cheerful and
+inviting aspect.
+
+“Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,” said she, turning up her
+broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand. “What’s
+them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if ’tain’t to use.
+Go, Corind, and fetch ’em.”
+
+But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the
+precaution to bring them in the tongs, so that in the _denouement_ she
+could stoutly deny having even “tached ’em, or even had ’em in her
+hands!” (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)
+
+When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied. Had
+she been consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for
+wishing her to take another room, she would have consented willingly,
+but to be thus summarily removed without a shadow of warning, hardly
+came up to her ideas of justice. Still, there was no help for it, and
+that night the bride of three months watered her lone pillow with
+tears, never once closing her heavy eyelids in sleep until the dim
+morning light came in through the open window, and the tread of the
+negroes’ feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for many hours, the
+weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the ill-natured remarks which
+her non-appearance was eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said “it
+was strange what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress Mabel
+fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her
+until such time as she chose to appear, but she’d find herself
+mistaken, for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon her,
+and if she couldn’t come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until
+dinner time.”
+
+’Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly had the latter
+stolen up to her cousin’s room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn
+face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had come
+all too soon.
+
+“Let her sleep; it will do her good,” said ’Lena, adjusting the
+bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not
+disturb her, she left the chamber.
+
+An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly preparing
+a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black tea, were to be
+slyly conveyed to Mabel, who was now awake.
+
+“Reckon thar don’t nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the
+roost,” said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner
+of her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who,
+not having seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking
+the world was not, after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet a
+few left who cared for her.
+
+Her headache of the day before still remained, and ’Lena suggested that
+she should stay in her room, saying that she would herself see that
+every necessary attention was paid her. This she could the more readily
+do, as Mrs. Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her husband. That
+afternoon, as Mabel lay watching the drifting clouds as they passed and
+repassed before the window, her ear suddenly caught the sound of
+horses’ feet. Nearer and nearer they came, until with a cry of delight
+she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for very joy—for John Jr. had
+come home! She could not be mistaken, and if there was any lingering
+doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for she heard his voice in the
+hall below, his footsteps on the stairs. He was coming, an unusual
+thing, to see her first.
+
+But how did he know she was there, in his old room? He did not know it;
+he was only coming to put his rifle in its accustomed place, and on
+seeing the chamber filled with the various paraphernalia of a woman’s
+toilet, he started, with the exclamation, “What the deuce! I reckon
+I’ve got into the wrong pew,” and was going away, when Mabel called him
+back. “Meb, you here?” said he. “_You_ in this little tucked-up hole,
+that I always thought too small for me and my traps! What does it
+mean?”
+
+Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband’s voice, and
+knowing from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with
+her, the sense of injustice done her by his mother burst out, and
+throwing her arms around his neck, she told him everything connected
+with her removal, asking what his mother meant by saying, “she should
+never get anything for their board,” and begging him “to take her away
+where they could live alone and be happy.”
+
+Since he had left her, John Jr. had _thought_ a great deal, the result
+of which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner than he
+at first intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently, and if
+possible win back the respect of ’Lena, which he knew he had lost. To
+his companions, who urged him to remain, he replied that “he had left
+his wife sick, and he could not stay longer.”
+
+It cost him a great effort to say “my wife,” for never before had he so
+called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and bidding
+his young friends adieu, he started for home with the same impetuous
+speed which usually characterized his riding. He had fully expected to
+meet Mabel in the parlor, and was even revolving in his own mind the
+prospect of kissing her, provided ’Lena were present. “That’ll prove to
+her,” thought he, “that I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I am;
+so I’ll do it, if Meb doesn’t happen to be all bound up in camphor and
+aromatic vinegar, which I can’t endure, anyway.”
+
+Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old
+room, where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment he
+scarcely knew what to say. By the time, however, that she had finished
+her story, his mind was pretty well made up.
+
+“And so it’s mother’s doings, hey?” said he, violently pulling the
+bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda appeared
+in answer to his summons.
+
+“How many blacks are there in the kitchen?” he asked.
+
+“Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,” answered Corinda.
+
+“Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.”
+
+Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and adding
+that “Marster John looked mighty black in the face”, and she reckoned
+some on ’em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of what might
+happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in
+her mistress’ absence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly’s first thought was
+of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Corinda a
+sense of what she might expect if in any way she implicated her, she
+gave her a cuff in advance, bidding her “be keerful how she blabbed”,
+then heading the sable group, she repaired to the chamber, where John
+Jr. was awaiting them.
+
+Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said, “Take
+hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where they came
+from.”
+
+“Don’t, oh don’t,” entreated Mabel, but laying his hand over her mouth,
+John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the negroes “to
+be quick.”
+
+At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt
+Milly, comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her
+mistress had her match in her son, set to work with a right good will,
+and when about dusk Mrs. Livingstone came home, she was astonished at
+seeing a light in the parlor chamber, while occasionally she could
+discern the outline of a form moving before the window. What could it
+mean? Perhaps they had company, and springing from the carriage she
+hastened into the house, meeting ’Lena in the hall, and eagerly asking
+who was in the front chamber.
+
+“I believe,” said ’Lena, “that my cousin is not pleased with the
+change, and has gone back to the front room.”
+
+“The impudent thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her son’s
+return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to Mabel.
+
+Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing open
+the door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands crammed in
+his pockets and legs crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting
+and ready for whatever might occur.
+
+“John Livingstone!” she gasped in her surprise.
+
+“That’s my name,” he returned, quietly enjoying her look of amazement.
+
+“What do you mean?” she continued.
+
+“Mean what I say,” was his provoking answer.
+
+“What have you been about?” was her next question, to which he replied,
+“Your eyesight is not deficient—you can see for yourself.”
+
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon
+Mabel, abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist,
+bidding her “confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as
+she was not in the least to blame.”
+
+“Your wife!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone—“very affectionate you’ve grown,
+all at once. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you married her to spite
+Nellie, who you then believed was the bride of Mr. Wilbur, but you
+surely remember how you fainted when you accidentally learned your
+mistake.”
+
+A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pillows, prevented
+Mrs. Livingstone from any further remarks, and satisfied with the
+result of her visit, she walked away, while John Jr., springing to the
+bedside, bore his young wife to the open window, hoping the cool night
+air would revive her. But she lay so pale and motionless in his arms,
+her head resting so heavily upon his shoulder, that with a terrible
+foreboding he laid her back upon the bed, and rushing to the door,
+shouted loudly, “Help—somebody—come quick—Mabel is dead, I know she
+is.”
+
+’Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when she
+saw the marble whiteness of Mabel’s face.
+
+“I didn’t kill her, ’Lena. God knows I didn’t. Poor little Meb,” said
+John Jr., quailing beneath ’Lena’s rebuking glance, and bending
+anxiously over the slight form which looked so much like death.
+
+But Mabel was not dead. ’Lena knew it by the faint fluttering of her
+heart, and an application of the usual remedies sufficed, at last, to
+restore her to consciousness. With a long-drawn sigh her eyes unclosed,
+and looking earnestly in ’Lena’s face, she said, “Was it a dream,
+’Lena? Tell me, was it all a dream?”—then, as she observed her husband,
+she added, shudderingly, “No, no, not a dream. I remember it all now.
+And I wish I was dead.”
+
+Again ’Lena’s rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, advancing
+nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her white brow, saying,
+softly, “Poor, poor Meb.”
+
+There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while the hot
+tears gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, “Forgive me, John, I
+couldn’t help it. I didn’t know it, and now, if you say so, I’ll go
+away, alone—where you’ll never see me again.”
+
+She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely torn away the
+veil, and she saw why she was there—knew why he had sought her for his
+wife—understood all his coldness and neglect; but she had no word of
+reproach for him, her husband, and from the depths of her crushed heart
+she forgave him, commiserating him as the greater sufferer.
+
+“May be I shall die,” she whispered, “and then——”
+
+She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John Jr.
+understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as it
+did, he felt half inclined to declare, with his usual impulsiveness,
+that it should never be; but the rash promise was not made, and it was
+far better that it should not be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+THE SHADOW.
+
+
+Mabel’s nerves had received too great a shock to rally immediately, and
+as day after day went by, she still kept her room, notwithstanding the
+very pointed hints of her mother-in-law that “she was making believe
+for the sake of sympathy.” Why didn’t she get up and go out
+doors—anybody would be sick to be flat on their back day in and day
+out; or did she think she was spiting her by showing what muss she
+could keep the “best chamber” in if she chose?
+
+This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Livingstone’s
+dissatisfaction. Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, she would not
+yield without an attempt at making Mabel, at least, as uncomfortable in
+mind as possible. Accordingly, almost every day when her son was not
+present, she conveyed from the room some nice article of furniture,
+substituting in its place one of inferior quality, which was quite good
+enough, she thought, for a penniless bride.
+
+“’Pears like ole miss goin’ to make a clean finish of her dis time,”
+said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress’ daily depredations. “Ole Sam
+done got title deed of her, sure enough. Ki! won’t she ketch it in
+t’other world, when he done show her his cloven foot, and won’t she
+holler for old Milly to fotch her a drink of water? not particular
+then—drink out of the bucket, gourd-shell, or anything; but dis
+nigger’ll sign her post in de parlor afore she’ll go.”
+
+“Why, Milly,” said ’Lena, who overheard this colloquy, “don’t you know
+it’s wrong to indulge in such wicked thoughts?”
+
+“Bless you, child,” returned the old negress, “she ’sarves ’em all for
+treatin’ that poor, dear lamb so. I’d ’nihilate her if I’s Miss Mabel.”
+
+“No, no, Milly,” said Aunt Polly, who was present. “You must heap coals
+of fire on her head.”
+
+“Yes, yes, that’s it—she orto have ’em,” quickly responded Milly,
+thinking Polly’s method of revenge the very best in the world, provided
+the coals were “bilin’ hot,” and with this reflection she started
+upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel she had been preparing for
+the invalid.
+
+Several times each day Grandma Nichols visited Mabel’s room, always
+prescribing some new tea of herbs, whose healing qualities were
+wonderful, having effected cures in every member of Nancy Scovandyke’s
+family, that lady herself, as a matter of course, being first included.
+And Aunt Milly, with the faithfulness characteristic of her race, would
+seek out each new herb, uniting with it her own simple prayer that it
+might have the desired effect. But all in vain, for every day Mabel
+became weaker, while her dark eyes grew larger and brighter, anon
+lighting up with joy as she heard her husband’s footsteps in the hall,
+and again filling with tears as she glanced timidly into his face, and
+thought of the dread reality.
+
+“Maybe I shall die,” was more than once murmured in her sleep, and John
+Jr., as often as he heard those words, would press her burning hands,
+and mentally reply, “Poor little Meb.”
+
+And all this time no one thought to call a physician, until Mr.
+Livingstone himself at last suggested it. At first he had felt no
+interest whatever in his daughter-in-law, but with him force of habit
+was everything, and when she no longer came among them, he missed
+her—missed her languid steps upon the stairs and her childish voice in
+the parlor. At last it one day occurred to him to visit her. She was
+sleeping when he entered the room, but he could see there had been a
+fearful change since last he looked upon her, and without a word
+concerning his intentions, he walked to the kitchen, ordering one of
+his servants to start forthwith for the physician, whose residence was
+a few miles distant.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was in the front parlor when he returned, in company
+with Doctor Gordon, and immediately her avaricious spirit asked who
+would pay the bill, and why was he sent for. Mabel did not need him—she
+was only babyish and spleeny—and so she told the physician, who,
+however, did not agree with her. He did not say that Mabel would die,
+but he thought so, for his experienced eye saw in her infallible signs
+of the disease which had stricken down both her parents, and to which,
+from her birth, she had been a prey. Mabel guessed as much from his
+manner, and when again he visited her, she asked him plainly what he
+thought.
+
+She was young—a bride—surrounded apparently by everything which could
+make her happy, and the physician hesitated, answering her evasively,
+until she said, “Do not fear to tell me truly, for I want to die. Oh, I
+long to die,” she continued, passionately clasping her thin white hands
+together.
+
+“That is an unusual wish in one so young,” answered the physician, “but
+to be plain with you, Mrs. Livingstone, I think consumption too deeply
+seated to admit of your recovery. You may be better, but never well.
+Your disease is hereditary, and has been coming on too long.”
+
+“It is well,” was Mabel’s only answer, as she turned wearily upon her
+side and hid her face in the pillows.
+
+For a long time she lay there, thinking, weeping, and thinking again,
+of the noisome grave through which she must pass, and from which she
+instinctively shrank, it was so dark, so cold, and dreary. But Mabel
+had trusted in One who she knew would go with her down into the lone
+valley—whose arm she felt would uphold her as she crossed the dark,
+rolling stream of death; and as if her frail bark were already safely
+moored upon the shores of the eternal river, she looked back dreamily
+upon the world she had left, and as she saw what she felt would surely
+be, she again murmured through her tears, “It is well.”
+
+That night, when John Jr. came up to his room, he appeared somewhat
+moody and cross, barely speaking to Mabel, and then walking up and down
+the room with the heavy tread which always indicated a storm within. He
+had that day been to Frankfort, hearing that Nellie was really coming
+home very soon—very possibly she was now on her way. Of course she
+would visit Mabel, when she heard she was sick, and of course he must
+meet her face to face, must stand with her at the bedside of _his wife_
+and that wife Mabel. In his heart he did not accuse the latter of
+feigning her illness, but he wished she would get well faster, so that
+Nellie need not feel obliged to visit her. She could at least make an
+effort—a great deal depended upon that—and she had now been confined to
+her room three or four weeks.
+
+Thus he reflected as he walked, and at last his thoughts formed
+themselves into words. Stopping short at the foot of the bed, he said
+abruptly and without looking her in the face, “How do you feel
+tonight?”
+
+The stifled cough which Mabel tried to suppress because it was
+offensive to him, brought a scowl to his forehead, and in imagination
+he anticipated her answer, “I do not think I am any better.”
+
+“And I don’t believe you try to be,” sprang to his lips, but its
+utterance was prevented by a glance at her face, which by the
+flickering lamplight looked whiter than ever.
+
+“Nellie is coming home in a few weeks,” he said at length, with his
+usual precipitancy.
+
+’Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the night when her
+mother-in-law had rang it in her ears, and now she started so quickly,
+that the offending cough could not be forced back, and the coughing fit
+which followed was so violent that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her
+quivering lips, saw that what she had raised was streaked with blood.
+But he was unused to sickness, and he gave it no farther thought,
+resuming the conversation as soon as she became quiet.
+
+“To be plain, Meb,” said he, “I want you to hurry and get well before
+Nellie comes—for if you are sick she’ll feel in duty bound to visit
+you, and I’d rather face a loaded cannon than her.”
+
+Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and she lay so long
+with her eyes closed that John Jr., growing impatient, said, “Are you
+asleep, Meb?”
+
+“No, no,” said she, at the same time requesting him to take the vacant
+chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him.
+
+John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt that
+she had much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and as she
+proceeded, his heart melted toward her in a manner which he had never
+thought possible. Very gently she spoke of her approaching end as sure.
+
+“You ask me to make haste and be well,” said she, “but it cannot be. I
+shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, never join you in
+the parlor below, and before the cold winds of winter are blowing, I
+shall be dead. I hope I shall live until Nellie comes, for I must see
+her, I must make it right between her and you. I must tell her to
+forgive you for marrying me when you loved only her; and she will
+listen—she won’t refuse me, and when I am gone you’ll be happy
+together.”
+
+John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously moved
+toward him was met more than half-way, and thus strengthened, Mabel
+continued: “You must sometimes think and speak of Mabel when she is
+dead. I do not ask you to call me wife. I do not wish it, but you must
+forget how wretched I have made you, for oh, I did not mean it, and had
+I sooner known what I do now, I would have died ere I had caused you
+one pang of sorrow.”
+
+Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given worlds to
+recall that moment, that he might tell the broken-hearted girl how
+bitterly he, too, repented of all the wrong he had done her; but he did
+not say so then—he could only listen, while he mentally resolved that
+if Mabel were indeed about to die, he would make the remainder of her
+short life happy, and thus atone, as far as possible, for the past. But
+alas for John Jr., his resolutions were easily broken, and as days and
+weeks went by, and there was no perceptible change in her, he grew
+weary of well-doing, absenting himself whole days from the sick-room,
+and at night rather unwillingly resuming his post as watcher, for Mabel
+would have no one else.
+
+Since Mabel’s illness he had occupied the little room adjoining hers,
+and often when in the still night he lay awake, watching the shadow
+which the lamp cast upon the wall, and thinking of her for whom the
+light was constantly kept burning, his conscience would smite him
+terribly, and rising up, he would steal softly to her bedside to see if
+she were sleeping quietly. But anon he grew weary of this, too; the
+shadow on the wall troubled him, it kept him awake; it was a continual
+reproach, and he must be rid of it, somehow. He tried the experiment of
+closing his door, but Mabel knew the moment he attempted it, and he
+could not refuse her when she asked him to leave it open.
+
+John Jr. grew restless, fidgety, and nervous. Why need the lamp be kept
+burning? He could light it when necessary; or why need he sleep there,
+when some one else would do as well? He thought of ’Lena—she was just
+the one, and the next day he would speak to her. To his great joy she
+consented to relieve him awhile, provided Mabel were willing; but she
+was not, and John Jr. was forced to submit. He was not accustomed to
+restraint, and every night matters grew worse and worse. The shadow
+annoyed him exceedingly. If he slept, he dreamed that it kept a
+glimmering watch over him, and when he awoke, he, in turn, watched over
+that, until the misty day-light came to dissipate the phantom.
+
+About this time several families from Frankfort started for New
+Orleans, where they were wont to spend the winter, and irresistibly,
+John Jr. became possessed of a desire to visit that city, too. Mabel
+would undoubtedly live until spring, now that the trying part of autumn
+was past and there could be no harm in his leaving her for awhile, when
+he so much needed rest. Accordingly, ’Lena was one day surprised by his
+announcing his intended trip.
+
+“But you cannot be in earnest,” she said; “you surely will not leave
+Mabel now.”
+
+“And why not?” he asked. “She doesn’t grow any worse, and won’t until
+spring, and this close confinement is absolutely killing me! Why, I’ve
+lost six pounds in six months, and you’ll see to her, I know you will.
+You’re a good girl, and I like you, if I did get angry with you, weeks
+ago when I went a hunting.”
+
+’Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to convince him of
+the fact, telling him how much pleasure she had felt in observing his
+improved manner toward Mabel, and that he must not spoil it now.
+
+“It’s no use talking,” said he, “I’m bent on going somewhere. I’ve
+tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I can’t stay _put_. It isn’t
+my nature. I shan’t tell Meb till just before I start, for I hate
+scenes.”
+
+“And suppose she dies while you are gone?” asked ’Lena.
+
+John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was wrong, and
+rather tartly he answered, as he left the room, “Give her a decent
+burial, and present the bill to mother!”
+
+“The next morning, as ’Lena sat alone with Mabel, John Jr. entered,
+dressed and ready for his journey. But he found it harder telling his
+wife than he had anticipated. She looked unusually pale this morning.
+The sallowness of her complexion was all gone, and on either cheek
+there burned a round, bright spot. ’Lena had just been arranging her
+thick, glossy hair, and now, wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her
+pillows, while her large black eyes, unnaturally bright, sparkled with
+joy at the sight of her husband. But they quickly filled with tears
+when told that he was going away, and had come to say good-bye.
+
+“It’s only to New Orleans and back,” he said, as he saw her changing
+face. “I shan’t be gone long, and ’Lena will take care of you a heap
+better than I can.”
+
+“It isn’t that,” answered Mabel, wiping her tears away. “Don’t go,
+John. Wait a little while. I’m sure it won’t be long.”
+
+“You are nervous,” said he, playfully lapping her white cheek. “You’re
+not going to die. You’ll live to be grandmother yet, who knows? But I
+must be off or lose the train. Good bye, little Meb,” grasping her
+hand, “Good-bye, ’Lena. I’ll bring you both something nice—good-bye.”
+
+When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked him to come back to her
+bedside just for one moment. He could not refuse, and winding her long,
+emaciated arms around his neck, she whispered, “Kiss me once before you
+go. I shall never ask it again, and ’twill make me happier when you are
+gone.”
+
+“A dozen times, if you like,” said he, giving her the only husband’s
+kiss she had ever received.
+
+For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed silently for
+heaven’s blessing on his wayward head, and then releasing him, she bade
+him go. Had he known of all that was to follow, he would not have left
+her, but he believed as he said, that she would survive the winter, and
+with one more kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing
+thickly, he departed. The window of Mabel’s room commanded a view of
+the turnpike, and when the sound of horses’ feet was heard on the lawn,
+she requested ’Lena to lead her to the window, where she stood watching
+him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight.
+
+“’Tis the last time,” said she, “and he will never know how much this
+parting cost me.”
+
+That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, Mabel said,
+“If I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell her how it all
+happened, and that she must forgive him, for he was not to blame.”
+
+“I do not understand you,” said ’Lena, and then, in broken sentences,
+Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and how terribly John was
+deceived. “Of course he couldn’t love me after that,” said she, “and
+it’s right that I should die. He and Nellie were made for each other,
+and if the inhabitants of heaven are allowed to watch over those they
+loved on earth, I will ask to be always near them. You will tell her,
+won’t you?”
+
+’Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see Nellie herself
+as she was to sail from Liverpool the 20th, and a few days proved her
+conjecture correct. Entering Mabel’s room one morning about a week
+after John’s departure, she brought the glad news that Nellie had
+returned, and would be with them to-morrow.
+
+The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed. The roundness of
+her form and face was gone; the rose had faded from her cheek, and her
+footsteps were no longer light and bounding as of old. She knew of John
+Jr.’s absence or she would not have come, for she could not meet him
+face to face. She had heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and while
+she felt indignant toward him, she freely forgave his innocent wife,
+who she felt had been more sinned against than sinning.
+
+With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying her face on
+Nellie’s neck, wept like a child. “You do not hate me,” she said at
+last, “or you would not have come so soon.”
+
+“Hate you?—no,” answered Nellie. “I have no cause for hating _you_.”
+
+“And you will stay with me until I die—until he comes home—and forgive
+him, too,” Mabel continued.
+
+“I can promise the first, but the latter is harder,” said Nellie, her
+cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the wreck before her.
+
+“But you must, you will,” exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling all she
+knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, “You’ll forgive him
+Nellie?”
+
+As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging closer to
+Nellie as she felt the dark shadow of death creeping gradually over
+her.
+
+“If he’d only come,” she would say, “and I could place your hand in his
+before I died.”
+
+But it was not to be. Day after day John Jr. lingered, dreading to
+return, for he knew Nellie was there, and he could not meet her, he
+thought, at the bedside of Mabel. So he tarried until a letter from
+’Lena, which said that Mabel would die, decided him, and rather
+reluctantly he started homeward. Meantime Mabel, who knew nothing of
+her loss, conceived the generous idea of willing all her possessions to
+her recreant husband.
+
+“Perhaps he’ll think more kindly of me,” said she to his father, to
+whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Livingstone felt that he
+could not undeceive her.
+
+Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and the will duly
+drawn up, signed, sealed, and delivered into the hands of Mr.
+Livingstone, whose wife, with a mocking laugh, bade him “guard it
+carefully, it was so valuable.”
+
+“It shows her goodness of heart, at least,” said he, and possibly Mrs.
+Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her manner softened
+greatly toward her daughter-in-law.
+
+
+It was midnight at Maple Grove. On the table, in its accustomed place,
+the lamp was burning dimly, casting the shadow upon the wall, whilst
+over the whole room a darker shadow was brooding. The window was open,
+and the cool night air came softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair
+from off the pale brow of the dying. Tenderly above her Nellie and
+’Lena were bending. They had watched by her many a night, and now she
+asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a single one—she would
+rather die alone.
+
+The sound of horses’ hoofs rang out on the still air, but she did not
+heed it. Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up the graveled
+walk, through the yard, and Nellie’s face blanched to an unnatural
+whiteness as she thought who that midnight-rider was. Arrived in
+Frankfort only an hour before, he had hastened forward, impelled by a
+something he could not resist. From afar he had caught the glimmering
+light, and he felt he was not too late. He knew how to enter the house,
+and on through the wide hall and up the broad staircase he came, until
+he stood in the chamber, where before him another guest had entered,
+whose name was Death!
+
+Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay _his_
+wife—_her_ rival—the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom, and the
+pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him.
+
+“Mabel! She is dead!” was all he uttered, and falling upon his knees,
+he buried his face in the pillow, while half scornfully, half
+pityingly, Nellie gazed upon him.
+
+There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not for the wrong
+he had done her, but for the sake of the young girl, now passed forever
+away. ’Lena felt differently. His silent grief conquered all
+resentment, and going to his side, she told him how peacefully Mabel
+had died—how to the last she had loved and remembered him, praying that
+he might be happy when she was gone,
+
+“Poor little Meb, she deserved a better fate,” was all he said, as he
+continued his kneeling posture, until the family and servants, whom
+Nellie had summoned, came crowding round, the cries of the latter
+grating on the ear, and seeming sadly out of place for her whose short
+life had been so dreary, and who had welcomed death as a release from
+all her pain.
+
+It was Mrs. Livingstone’s wish that Mabel should be arrayed in her
+bridal robes, but with a shudder at the idle mockery, John Jr.
+answered, “No,” and in a plain white muslin, her shining hair arrayed
+as she was wont to wear it, they placed her in her coffin, and on a
+sunny slope where the golden sunlight and the pale moonbeams latest
+fell, and where in spring the bright green grass and the sweet wild
+flowers are earliest seen, laid her down to sleep.
+
+That night, when all around was still, John Jr. lay musing sadly of the
+past. His affection for Mabel had been slight and variable, but now
+that she was gone, he missed her. The large easy-chair, with its
+cushions and pillows, was empty, and as he thought of the pale, dark
+face and aching head he had so often seen reclining there, and which he
+would never see again, he groaned in bitterness of spirit, for well he
+knew that he had helped to break the heart now lying cold and still
+beneath the coffin-lid. There was no shadow on the wall, for the lamp
+had gone out with the young life for whom it had been kept burning, but
+many a shadow lay dark and heavy across his heart.
+
+With the sun-setting a driving rain had come on, and as the November
+wind went howling past the window, and the large drops beat against the
+casement, he thought of the lonesome little grave on which that rain
+was falling; and shuddering, he hid his face in the pillows, asking to
+be forgiven, for he knew that all too soon that grave was made, and he
+had helped to make it. At last, long after the clock had told the hour
+of midnight, he arose, and lighting the lamp which many a weary night
+had burned for _her_, he placed it where the shadow would fall upon the
+wall as it had done of old. It was no longer a phantom to annoy him,
+and soothed by its presence, he fell asleep, dreaming that Mabel had
+come back to bring him her forgiveness, but when he essayed to touch
+her, she vanished from his sight, and there was nothing left save that
+shadow on the wall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+MRS. GRAHAM’S RETURN.
+
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn, the former remaining but
+a day and night, and then, without once seeing ’Lena, departing for
+Europe, where business, either fancied or real, called him. Often, when
+lying weary and sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing to his
+wife the secret which he felt was wearing his life away, but the
+cowardice of his nature seemed increased by physical weakness, and from
+time to time was the disclosure postponed, while the chain of evidence
+was fearfully lengthening around poor ’Lena, to whom Mrs. Graham had
+transferred the entire weight of her displeasure.
+
+Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she was ever
+ready to forgive when she saw any indications of reform on his part,
+and as during all their journey he had never once given her cause for
+offense, she began to attribute his former delinquencies wholly to
+’Lena; and when he proposed a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned it,
+hoping that time and absence would remove from his mind all thoughts of
+the beautiful girl, who she thought was her rival. Still, though she
+would not confess it, in her heart she did not believe ’Lena guilty
+except so far as a desire to attract Mr. Graham’s attention would make
+her so.
+
+For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The daguerreotype
+which had caused so much trouble was still in her possession, guarded
+carefully from her husband, who never suspecting the truth, supposed he
+had lost it. Frequently had Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each time
+discovering some point of difference between it and its supposed
+original. Still she never for a moment doubted that it was ’Lena, until
+an event occurred which convinced her of the contrary, leaving her,
+meantime, more mystified than ever.
+
+On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day
+in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first
+individual whom they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel
+Slocum. Not finding his business as profitable in Lexington as he could
+wish, he had recently removed to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had
+prompted him to board at the Burnet House, until he’d seen the “Ohio
+elephant,” when he intended retiring to one of the cheaper
+boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a grin of recognition
+became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very long and
+very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either water
+or brush.
+
+“Who is that loafer who seems to know you?” asked Mrs. Graham,
+directing her husband’s attention toward Joel.
+
+Mr. Graham replied that “he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he
+took daguerreotypes.”
+
+The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one
+of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang,
+“Now you don’t say this is you. And this is your old woman, I s’pose.
+Miss Graham, how-dy-du? Darned if you don’t look like Aunt Nancy, only
+she’s lean and you are squatty. S’posin’ you give me a call and get
+your picters taken. I didn’t get an all-killin’ sight of practice in
+Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn’t know enough to patternize
+me, and ’taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,” turning to Mr.
+Graham, “employed me once, and pretended to be suited.”
+
+Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to
+Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made
+an excuse for leaving her awhile. Looking from the window a moment
+after, Mrs. Graham saw him walking down the street in close
+conversation with Joel, who, by the way of showing his importance,
+lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met. Instantly her
+curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion of
+his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction
+that there was something in his possession which he did not wish her to
+see. Once, when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust
+something into his pocket, appearing so much confused that she resolved
+to ferret out the secret.
+
+Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he
+was asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his pockets,
+found a daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw was a
+_fac-simile_ of the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of
+the hair—everything—was the same, and utterly confounded, she stood
+gazing first at one and then at the other, wondering what it meant.
+Could ’Lena be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the
+last daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the first.
+At all events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done its
+companion, and stealthily returning it to its place, she crept back to
+bed.
+
+The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel was
+buried that day. Of course ’Lena could not have been absent from home.
+Mrs. Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came
+upon her that another than ’Lena was the original of the
+daguerreotypes. And yet she was not generous enough to tell Durward so.
+She knew he was deceived—she wished him to remain so—and to effect it,
+she refrained from seeking an explanation from her husband, fearing
+lest ’Lena should be proved innocent. Her husband knew there was a
+misunderstanding between Durward and ’Lena, and if she were to ask him
+about the pictures, he would, she thought, at once suspect the cause of
+that misunderstanding, and as a matter of course, exonerate ’Lena from
+all blame. The consequence of this she foresaw, and therefore she
+resolved upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if in the end she
+prevented Durward from making ’Lena his wife.
+
+To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter
+almost constantly before Durward’s mind, frequently referring to
+’Lena’s agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had started
+for Europe. She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day
+of her husband’s departure. ’Lena had not met the lady before, since
+that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned
+her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near
+the window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated with
+Carrie.
+
+She did not know before of Mrs. Graham’s return, and when her aunt
+casually asked, “Did your husband come back with you?” she
+involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came, sent
+the blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled
+with joy. She should see him—he would explain everything—and she should
+be guiltless in Durward’s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which
+was quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham’s adding,
+
+“But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three
+months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.”
+
+The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, which did
+not escape the observation or either mother or son, the latter of whom
+had watched her from the first, noting each change, and interpreting it
+according to his fears.
+
+“’Lena, ’Lena, how have I been deceived!” was his mental cry as she
+precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who asked what was the
+matter, that she was faint and dizzy. Death had been but yesterday
+within their walls, and as if softened by its presence, Mrs.
+Livingstone actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that “constant
+watching with poor, dear Mabel had impaired her health.”
+
+“Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,” returned Mrs.
+Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost on Mrs. Livingstone,
+was noticed by Durward, who soon proposed leaving.
+
+On their way home, his mother asked if he observed ’Lena when Mr.
+Graham was mentioned.
+
+Without saying that he did, Durward replied, “I noticed your remark to
+Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to say a
+word which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon ’Lena. Her
+reputation as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught
+against it.”
+
+“I won’t, I won’t,” answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to conciliate her
+son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had first
+supposed.
+
+’Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of
+Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to
+expressions which would have operated unfavorably against the young
+girl, and when at last circumstances occurred which gave her, as she
+thought, liberty to free her mind, she was only too willing to do so.
+Of those circumstances, in which others besides ’Lena were concerned,
+we will speak in another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.
+
+
+Malcolm Everett’s engagement with General Fontaine had expired, and as
+was his original intention, he started for New York, first seeking an
+interview with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, of whom he asked their
+daughter Anna in marriage, at the same time announcing the startling
+fact that they had been engaged for more than a year. “I do not ask you
+for her now,” said he, “for I am not in a situation to support her as I
+would wish to, but that time will come ere long, I trust, and I can
+assure you that her happiness shall be the first object of my life.”
+
+There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett. He was unused to
+that, and as an equal meets an equal, he met them, made known his
+request, and then in silence awaited their answer. Had Mrs. Livingstone
+been less indignant, there would undoubtedly have ensued a clamorous
+call for hartshorn and vinaigrette, but as it was, she started up, and
+confronting the young man, she exclaimed, “How dare you ask such a
+thing? _My_ daughter marry _you_!”
+
+“And why not, madam?” he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone
+continued: “_You_, a low-born Yankee, who have been, as it were, an
+hireling. _You_ presume to ask for _my_ daughter!”
+
+“I do,” he answered calmly, with a quiet smile, ten-fold more
+tantalizing than harsh words would have been, “I do. Can I have her
+with your consent?”
+
+“Never, so long as I live. I’d sooner see her dead than wedded to
+vulgar poverty.”
+
+“That is your answer. Very well,” said Malcolm, bowing stiffly. “And
+now I will hear yours,” turning to Mr. Livingstone, who replied, that
+“he would leave the matter entirely with his wife—it was nothing to
+him—he had nothing personal against Mr. Everett—he rather liked him
+than otherwise, but he hardly thought Anna suited to him, she had been
+brought up so differently;” and thus evasively answering, he walked
+away.
+
+“Cowardly fool!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, as the door closed upon
+him. “If I pretended to be a man, I’d be one;” then turning to Malcolm,
+she said, “Is there anything further you wish to say?”
+
+“Nothing,” he replied. “I have honorably asked you for your daughter.
+You have refused her, and must abide the consequence.”
+
+“And pray what may that be?” she asked, and he answered: “She will soon
+be of an age to act for herself, and though I would far rather take her
+with your consent, I shall not then hesitate to take her without, if
+you still persist in opposing her.”
+
+“There is the door,” said Mrs. Livingstone rising.
+
+“I see it, madam,” answered Malcolm, without deigning to move.
+
+“Oblige me by passing out,” continued Mrs. Livingstone. “Insolent
+creature, to stand here threatening to elope with my daughter, who has
+been destined for another since her infancy.”
+
+“But she shall never become the bride of that old man,” answered
+Malcolm. “I know your schemes. I’ve seen them all along, and I will
+frustrate them, too.”
+
+“You cannot,” fiercely answered Mrs. Livingstone. “It shall be ere
+another year comes round, and when you hear that it is so, know that
+you hastened it forward;” and the indignant lady, finding that her
+opponent was not inclined to move, left the room herself, going in
+quest of Anna, whom she determined to watch for fear of what might
+happen.
+
+But Anna was nowhere to be found, and in a paroxysm of rage she alarmed
+the household, instituting a strict search, which resulted in the
+discovery of Anna beneath the same sycamore where Malcolm had first
+breathed his vows, and whither she had repaired to await the decision
+of her parents.
+
+“I expected as much,” said she, when told of the result, “but it
+matters not. I am yours, and I’ll never marry another.”
+
+The approach of the servants prevented any further conversation, and
+with a hurried adieu they parted. A few days afterward, as Mrs.
+Livingstone, sat in her large easy-chair before the glowing grate,
+Captain Atherton was announced, and shown at once into her room. To do
+Mrs. Livingstone justice, we must say that she had long debated the
+propriety of giving Anna, in all the freshness of her girlhood, to a
+man old as her father, but any hesitancy she had heretofore felt, had
+now vanished. The crisis had come, and when the captain, as he had two
+or three times before done, broached the subject, urging her to a
+decision, she replied that she was willing, provided Anna’s consent
+could be gained.
+
+“Pho! that’s easy enough,” said the captain, complacently rubbing
+together his fat hands and smoothing his colored whiskers—“Bring her in
+here, and I’ll coax her in five minutes.”
+
+Anna was sitting with her grandmother and ’Lena, when word came that
+her mother wished to see her, the servant adding, with a titter, that
+“Mas’r Atherton thar too.”
+
+Instinctively she knew why she was sent for, and turning white as
+marble, she begged her cousin to go with her. But ’Lena refused,
+soothing the agitated girl, and begging her to be calm. “You’ve only to
+be decided,” said she, “and it will soon be over. Captain Atherton, I
+am sure, will not insist when he sees how repugnant to your feelings it
+is.”
+
+But Anna knew her own weakness—she could never say, in her mother’s
+presence, what she felt—and trembling like an aspen, she descended the
+stairs, meeting in the lower hall her brother, who asked what was the
+matter.
+
+“Oh, John, John,” she cried, “Captain Atherton is in there with mother,
+and they have sent for me. What shall I do?”
+
+“Be a woman,” answered John Jr. “Tell him _no_ in good broad English,
+and if the old fellow insists, I’ll blow his brains out!”
+
+But the Captain did not insist. He was too cunning for that, and when,
+with a burst of tears, Anna told him she could not be his wife because
+she loved another, he said, good-humoredly, “Well, well, never mind
+spoiling those pretty blue eyes. I’m not such an old savage as you
+think me. So we’ll compromise the matter this way. If you really love
+Malcolm, why, marry him, and on your bridal day I’ll make you a present
+of a nice little place I have in Frankfort; but if, on the other hand,
+Malcolm proves untrue, you must promise to have me. Come, that’s a fair
+bargain. What do you say?”
+
+“Malcolm will never prove untrue,” answered Anna.
+
+“Of course not,” returned the captain. “So you are safe in promising.’
+
+“But what good will it do you?” queried Anna.
+
+“No good, in particular,” said the captain. “It’s only a whim of mine,
+to which I thought you might perhaps agree, in consideration of my
+offer.”
+
+“I do—I will,” said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad after all.
+
+“There’s mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch,” said John Jr.,
+when he learned from Anna the result of the interview.
+
+But week after week glided by. Mrs. Livingstone’s persecutions ceased,
+and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Malcolm’s letters, which came
+regularly, and when about the first of March Captain Atherton himself
+went off to Washington, Anna gave her fears to the wind, and all the
+day long went singing about the house, unmindful of the snare laid for
+her unsuspecting footsteps. At length Malcolm’s letters suddenly
+ceased, and though Anna wrote again and again, there came no answer.
+Old Cæsar, who always carried and brought the mail for Maple Grove, was
+questioned, but he declared he “done got none from Mas’r Everett,” and
+suspicion in that quarter was lulled. Unfortunately for Anna, both her
+father and John Jr. were now away, and she had no counselor save ’Lena,
+who once, on her own responsibility, wrote to Malcolm, but with a like
+success, and Anna’s heart grew weary with hope deferred. Smilingly Mrs.
+Livingstone looked on, one moment laughing at Anna for what she termed
+love-sickness, and the next advising her to be a woman, and marry
+Captain Atherton. “He was not very old—only forty-three—and it was
+better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave!”
+
+Thus the days wore on, until one evening just as the family were
+sitting down to tea they were surprised by a call from the captain, who
+had returned that afternoon, and who, with the freedom of an old
+friend, unceremoniously entered the supper-room, appropriating to
+himself the extra plate which Mrs. Livingstone always had upon the
+table. Simultaneously with him came Cæsar, who having been to the
+post-office, had just returned, bringing, besides other things, a paper
+for Carrie, from her old admirer, Tom Lakin, who lived in Rockford, at
+which place the paper was printed. Several times had Tom remembered
+Carrie in this way, and now carelessly glancing at the first page, she
+threw it upon the floor, whence it was taken by Anna, who examined it
+more minutely glancing, as a matter of course, to the marriage notices.
+
+Meantime the captain, who was sitting by ’Lena, casually remarked, “Oh,
+I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in Washington.”
+
+“Mr. Everett—Malcolm Everett?” said ’Lena, quickly.
+
+“Yes, Malcolm Everett,” answered the captain.
+
+“He is there spending the honeymoon with his bride!”
+
+’Lena’s exclamation of astonishment was prevented by a shriek from
+Anna, who had that moment read the announcement of Mr. Everett’s
+marriage, which was the first in the list. It was Malcolm H.
+Everett—there could be no mistake—and when ’Lena reached her cousin’s
+side, she found that she had fainted. All was now in confusion, in the
+midst of which the Captain took his leave, having first managed to
+speak a few words in private with Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Fortune favors us,” was her reply, as she went back to her daughter,
+whose long, death-like swoon almost wrung from her the secret.
+
+But Anna revived, and with the first indication of returning
+consciousness, the cold, hard woman stifled all her better feelings,
+and then tried to think she was acting only for the good of her child.
+For a long time Anna appeared to be in a kind of benumbed torpor,
+requesting to be left alone, and shuddering if Mr. Everett’s name were
+mentioned in her presence. It was in vain that ’Lena strove to comfort
+her, telling her there might be some mistake. Anna refused to listen,
+angrily bidding ’Lena desist, and saying frequently that she cared but
+little what became of herself now. A species of recklessness seemed to
+have taken possession of her, and when her mother one day carelessly
+remarked that possibly Captain Atherton would claim the fulfillment of
+her promise, she answered, in the cold, indifferent tone which now
+marked her manner of speaking, “Let him. I am ready and willing for the
+sacrifice.”
+
+“Are you in earnest?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly.
+
+“In earnest? Yes—try me and see,” was Anna’s brief answer, which
+somewhat puzzled her mother, who would in reality have preferred
+opposition to this unnatural passiveness.
+
+But anything to gain her purpose, she thought, and drawing Anna closely
+to her side, she very gently and affectionately told her how happy it
+would make her could she see her the wife of Captain Atherton, who had
+loved and waited for her so long, and who would leave no wish, however
+slight, ungratified. And Anna, with no shadow of emotion on her calm,
+white face, consented to all that her mother asked, and when next the
+captain came, she laid her feverish hand in his, and with a strange,
+wild light beaming from her dark blue eyes, promised to share his
+fortunes as his wife.
+
+“’Twill be winter and spring,” said she, with a bitter, mocking laugh,
+“’Twill be winter and spring, but it matters not.”
+
+Many years before, when a boy of eighteen, Captain Atherton had loved,
+or fancied he loved, a young girl, whose very name afterward became
+hateful to him, and now, as he thought of Anna’s affection for Malcolm,
+he likened it to his own boyish fancy, believing she would soon get
+over it, and thank him for what he had done.
+
+That night Anna saw the moon and stars go down, bending far out from
+her window, that the damp air might cool her burning brow, and when the
+morning sun came up the eastern horizon, its first beams fell on the
+golden curls which streamed across the window-sill, her only pillow the
+livelong night. On ’Lena’s mind a terrible conviction was fastening
+itself—Anna was crazed. She saw it in the wildness of her eye, in the
+tones of her voice, and more than all, in the readiness with which she
+yielded herself to her mother’s schemes, “But it shall not be,” she
+thought, “I will save her,” and then she knelt before her aunt,
+imploring her to spare her daughter—not to sacrifice her on the altar
+of mammon.
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to mind her own
+affairs. Then ’Lena sought her cousin, and winding her arms around her
+neck, besought of her to resist—to burst the chain which bound her, and
+be free. But with a shake other head, Anna bade her go away. “Leave me,
+’Lena Rivers,” she said, “leave me to work out my destiny. It is
+decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not struggle against it.
+Each night I read it in the stars, and the wind, as it sighs through
+the maple trees, whispers it to my ear.”
+
+“Oh, if my aunt could see her now,” thought ’Lena but as if her
+mother’s presence had a paralyzing power, Anna, when with her, was
+quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Livingstone sometimes missed her
+merry laugh and playful ways, she thought the air of dignity which
+seemed to have taken their place quite an improvement, and far more in
+keeping with the bride-elect of Captain Atherton.
+
+About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly surprised
+at the phase which affairs had assumed in his absence, but when ’Lena
+whispered to him her fears, he smilingly answered, “I reckon you’re
+mistaken. Her mother would have found it out—where is she?”
+
+In her chamber at the old place by the open window they found her, and
+though she did not as usual spring eagerly forward to meet her father,
+her greeting was wholly natural; but when Mr. Livingstone, taking her
+upon his knee, said gently, “They tell me you are to be married soon,”
+the wildness came back to her eye, and ’Lena wondered he could not see
+it. But he did not, and smoothing her disordered tresses, he said,
+“Tell me, my daughter, does this marriage please you? Do you enter into
+it willingly?”
+
+For a moment there was a wavering, and ’Lena held her breath to catch
+the answer, which came at last, while the eyes shone brighter than
+ever—“Willing? yes, or I should not do it; no one compels me, else I
+would resist.”
+
+“Woman’s nature,” said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while ’Lena turned
+away to hide her tears.
+
+Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone would have the
+ceremony a grand and imposing one. In the neighborhood, the fast
+approaching event was discussed, some pronouncing it a most fortunate
+thing for Anna, who could not, of course, expect to make so eligible a
+match as her more brilliant sister, while others—the sensible
+portion—wondered, pitied, and blamed, attributing the whole to the
+ambitious mother, whose agency in her son’s marriage was now generally
+known. At Maple Grove closets, chairs, tables, and sofas were loaded
+down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna stood up while they
+fitted to her the rich white satin, scarcely whiter than her own face,
+and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw her daughter’s indifference, would
+pinch her bloodless cheeks, wondering how she could care so little for
+her good fortune.
+
+Unnatural mother!—from the little grave on the sunny slope, now
+grass-grown and green, came there no warning voice to stay her in her
+purpose? No; she scarcely thought of Mabel now, and with unflinching
+determination she kept on her way.
+
+But there was one who, night and day, pondered in her mind the best way
+of saving Anna from the living death to which she would surely awake,
+when it was too late. At last she resolved on going herself to Captain
+Atherton, telling him just how it was, and if there was a spark of
+generosity in his nature, she thought he would release her cousin. But
+this plan required much caution, for she would not have her uncle’s
+family know of it, and if she failed, she preferred that it should be
+kept a secret from the world. There was then no alternative but to go
+in the night, and alone. She did not now often sit with the family, and
+she knew they would not miss her. So, one evening when they were as
+usual assembled in the parlor, she stole softly from the house, and
+managing to pass the negro quarters unobserved, she went down to the
+lower stable, where she saddled the pony she was now accustomed to
+ride, and leading him by a circuitous path out upon the turnpike,
+mounted and rode away.
+
+The night was moonless, and the starlight obscured by heavy clouds, but
+the pale face and golden curls of Anna, for whose sake she was there
+alone, gleamed on her in the darkness, and ’Lena was not afraid.
+Once—twice—she thought she caught the sound of another horse’s hoofs,
+but when she stopped to listen, all was still, and again she pressed
+forward, while her pursuer (for ’Lena was followed) kept at a greater
+distance. Durward had been to Frankfort, and on his way home had
+stopped at Maple Grove to deliver a package. Stopping only a moment, he
+reached the turnpike just after ’Lena struck into it. Thinking it was a
+servant, he was about to pass her, when her horse sheered at something
+on the road-side, and involuntarily she exclaimed, “Courage, Dido,
+there’s nothing to fear.”
+
+Instantly he recognized her voice, and was about to overtake and speak
+to her, but thinking that her mission was a secret one, or she would
+not be there alone, he desisted. Still he could not leave her thus. Her
+safety might be endangered, and reining in his steed, and accommodating
+his pace to hers, he followed without her knowledge. On she went until
+she reached the avenue leading to “Sunnyside,” as Captain Atherton
+termed his residence, and there she stopped, going on foot to the
+house, while, hidden by the deep darkness Durward waited and watched.
+
+Half timidly ’Lena rang the door-bell, dropping her veil over her face
+that she might not be recognized. “I want to see your master,” she said
+to the woman who answered her ring, and who in some astonishment
+replied, “Bless you, miss, Mas’r Atherton done gone to Lexington and
+won’t be home till to-morry.”
+
+“Gone!” repeated ’Lena in a disappointed tone. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
+
+“Is you the new miss what’s comin’ here to live?” asked the negro, who
+was Captain Atherton’s house keeper.
+
+Instantly the awkwardness of her position flashed upon ’Lena, but
+resolving to put a bold face on the matter, she removed her veil,
+saying, playfully, “You know me now, Aunt Martha.”
+
+“In course I do,” answered the negro, holding up both hands in
+amazement, “but what sent you here this dark, unairthly night?”
+
+“Business with your master,” and then suddenly remembering that among
+her own race Aunt Martha was accounted an intolerable gossip, she began
+to wish she had not come.
+
+But it could not now be helped, and turning away, she walked slowly
+down the avenue, wondering what the result would be. Again they were in
+motion, she and Durward, who followed until he saw her safe home, and
+then, glad that no one had seen her but himself, he retraced his steps,
+pondering on the mystery which he could not fathom. After ’Lena left
+Sunnyside, a misty rain came on, and by the time she reached her home,
+her long riding-dress was wet and drizzled, the feathers on her cap
+were drooping, and to crown all, as she was crossing the hall with
+stealthy step, she came suddenly upon her aunt, who, surprised at her
+appearance, demanded of her where she had been. But ’Lena refused to
+tell, and in quite a passion Mrs. Livingstone laid the case before her
+husband.
+
+“Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding somewhere with
+somebody, she wouldn’t tell who, but she (Mrs. Livingstone) most knew
+if was Durward, and something must be done.”
+
+Accordingly, next day; when they chanced to be alone, Mr. Livingstone
+took the opportunity of questioning ’Lena, who dared not disobey him,
+and with many tears she confessed the whole, saying that “if it were
+wrong she was very sorry.”
+
+“You acted foolishly, to say the least of it,” answered her uncle,
+adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself altogether too much
+about Anna, who seemed happy and contented.
+
+Still he was ill at ease. ’Lena’s fears disturbed him, and for many
+days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to himself that there
+was something strange about her. But possibly all engaged girls acted
+so; his wife said they did; and hating anything like a scene, he
+concluded to let matters take their course, half hoping, and half
+believing, too, that something would occur to prevent the marriage.
+What it would be, or by what agency it would be brought about, he
+didn’t know, but he resolved to let ’Lena alone, and when his wife
+insisted upon his “lecturing her soundly for meddling,” he refused,
+venturing even to say, that, “she hadn’t meddled.”
+
+Meantime a new idea had entered ’Lena’s mind. She would write to Mr.
+Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such things
+in stories, and it could do no harm. Gradually as she wrote, hope grew
+strong within her, and it became impressed upon her that there had been
+some deep-laid, fiendish plot. If so, she dared not trust her letter
+with old Cæsar, who might be bribed by his mistress. And how to convey
+it to the office was now the grand difficulty. As if fortune favored
+her plan, Durward, that very afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as
+he said, on his way to Frankfort.
+
+’Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but
+to save Anna she could do almost any thing. Hastily securing the
+letter, and throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn and
+out upon the turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming.
+
+“’Lena—excuse me—Miss Rivers, is it you?” asked Durward, touching his
+hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if she could
+trust him.
+
+“Trust me? Yes, with anything,” answered Durward, quickly dismounting,
+and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful face which looked
+up to him so eagerly.
+
+“Then,” answered ’Lena, “take this letter and see it deposited safely,
+will you?”
+
+Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while he
+instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said concerning
+’Lena’s attachment to Mr. Everett.
+
+“Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,” said ’Lena, observing the
+expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness,
+“I assure you there is no harm in it.”
+
+“Of course not,” answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and riding
+away more puzzled than ever, while ’Lena returned to the house, which
+everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials.
+
+Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a
+box from the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs.
+Livingstone placed in her daughter’s waving hair, bidding her mark
+their effect. But not a muscle of Anna’s face changed; nothing moved
+her; and with the utmost indifference she gazed on the preparations
+around her. A stranger would have said ’Lena was the bride, for, with
+flushed cheeks and nervously anxious manner, she watched each sun as it
+rose and set, wondering what the result would be. Once, when asked whom
+she would have for her bridesmaid and groomsman, Anna had answered,
+“Nellie and John!” but that could not be, for the latter had imposed
+upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year ere he spoke to Nellie
+of that which lay nearest his heart, and in order the better to keep
+his vow, he had gone from home, first winning from her the promise that
+she would not become engaged until his return. And now, when he learned
+of his sister’s request, he refused to come, saying, “if she would make
+such a consummate fool of herself, he did not wish to see her.”
+
+So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrangement brought
+the latter occasionally to the house, ’Lena had opportunities of asking
+him if there had yet come any answer to her letter; and much oftener
+than he would otherwise have done, Durward went down to Frankfort, for
+he felt that it was no unimportant matter which thus deeply interested
+’Lena. At last, the day before the bridal came, Durward had gone to the
+city, and in a state of great excitement ’Lena awaited his return,
+watching with a trembling heart as the sun went down behind the western
+hills. Slowly the hours dragged on, and many a time she stole out in
+the deep darkness to listen, but there was nothing to be heard save the
+distant cry of the night-owl, and she was about retracing her steps for
+the fifth time, when from behind a clump of rose-bushes started a
+little dusky form, which whispered softly, “Is you Miss ’Leny?”
+
+Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, ’Lena
+answered, “Yes; what do you want?” while at the same moment she
+recognized a little hunch back belonging to General Fontaine.
+
+“Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the answer,”
+said the boy, passing her a tiny note.
+
+“Master Everett! Is he here?” she exclaimed, catching the note and
+re-entering the house, where by the light of the hall lamp she read
+what he had written.
+
+It was very short, but it told all—how he had written again and again,
+receiving no answer, and was about coming himself when a severe illness
+prevented. The marriage, he said, was that of his uncle, for whom he
+was named, and who had in truth gone on to Washington, the home of his
+second wife. It closed by asking her to meet him, with Anna, on one of
+the arbor bridges at midnight. Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a book
+which chanced to be lying in the hall, ’Lena wrote, “We will be there,”
+and giving it to the negro, bade him hasten back.
+
+There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he got no letter,
+was not to call, and trembling in every nerve, ’Lena sought her
+chamber, there to consider what she was next to do. For some time past
+Carrie had occupied a separate room from Anna, who, she said disturbed
+her with her late hours and restless turnings, so ’Lena’s part seemed
+comparatively easy. Waiting until the house was still, she entered
+Anna’s room, finding her, as she had expected, at her old place by the
+open window, her head resting upon the sill, and when she approached
+nearer, she saw that she was asleep.
+
+“Let her sleep yet awhile,” said she; “it will do her good.”
+
+In the room adjoining lay the bridal dress, and ’Lena’s first impulse
+was to trample it under her feet, but passing it with a shudder, she
+hastily collected whatever she thought Anna would most need. These she
+placed in a small-sized trunk, and then knowing it was done, she
+approached her cousin, who seemed to be dreaming, for she murmured the
+name of “Malcolm.”
+
+“He is here, love—he has come to save you,” she whispered, while Anna,
+only partially aroused, gazed at her so vacantly, that ’Lena’s heart
+stood still with fear lest the poor girl’s reason were wholly gone.
+“Anna, Anna,” she said, “awake; Malcolm is here—in the garden, where
+you must meet him—come.”
+
+“Malcolm is married,” said Anna, in a whisper—married—and my bridal
+dress is in there, all looped with flowers; would you like to see it?”
+
+“Our Father in heaven help me,” cried ’Lena, clasping her hands in
+anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna’s upturned face.
+
+This seemed to arouse her, for in a natural tone she asked why ’Lena
+wept. Again and again ’Lena repeated to her that Malcolm had come—that
+he was not married—that he had come for her; and as Anna listened, the
+torpor slowly passed away—the wild light in her eyes grew less bright,
+for it was quenched by the first tears she had shed since the shadow
+fell upon her; and when ’Lena produced the note, and she saw it was
+indeed true, the ice about her heart was melted, and in choking,
+long-drawn sobs, her pent-up feelings gave way, as she saw the gulf
+whose verge she had been treading. Crouching at ’Lena’s feet, she
+kissed the very hem of her garments, blessing her as her preserver, and
+praying heaven to bless her, also. It was the work of a few moments to
+array her in her traveling dress, and then very cautiously ’Lena led
+her down the stairs, and out into the open air.
+
+“If I could see father once,” said Anna; but such an act involved too
+much danger, and with one lingering, tearful look at her old home, she
+moved away, supported by ’Lena, who rather dragged than led her over
+the graveled walk.
+
+As they approached the arbor bridge, they saw the glimmering light of a
+lantern, for the night was intensely dark, and in a moment Anna was
+clasped in the arms which henceforth were to shelter her from the
+storms of life. Helpless as an infant she lay, while ’Lena, motioning
+the negro who was in attendance to follow her, returned to the house
+for the trunk, which was soon safely deposited in the carriage at the
+gate.
+
+“Words cannot express what I owe you,” said Malcolm, when he gave her
+his hand at parting, “but of this be assured, so long as I live you
+have in me a friend and brother.” Turning back for a moment, he added,
+“This flight is, I know, unnecessary, for I could prevent to-morrow’s
+expected event in other ways than this, but revenge is sweet, and I
+trust I am excusable for taking it in my own way.”
+
+Anna could not speak, but the look of deep gratitude which beamed from
+her eyes was far more eloquent than words. Upon the broad piazza ’Lena
+stood until the last faint sound of the carriage wheels died away;
+then, weary and worn, she sought her room, locking Anna’s door as she
+passed it, and placing the key in her pocket. Softly she crept to bed
+by the side of her slumbering grandmother, and with a fervent prayer
+for the safety of the fugitives, fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+THE RESULT.
+
+
+The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused ’Lena from her heavy
+slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the
+night previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing it
+were not morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and after a
+hasty toilet, descended to the breakfast-room, where another chair was
+vacant, another face was missing. Without any suspicion of the truth,
+Mrs. Livingstone spoke of Anna’s absence, saying she presumed the poor
+girl was tired and sleepy, and this was admitted as an excuse for her
+tardiness. But when breakfast was over and she still did not appear,
+Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon with the information that
+“she’d knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna would not answer, and when
+she tried the door she found it locked.”
+
+Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at ’Lena; whose face wore a
+scarlet hue as she hastily quitted the table. With a presentiment of
+something, he himself started for Anna’s room; followed by his wife and
+Carrie, while ’Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened breathlessly for
+the result. It was useless knocking for admittance, for there was no
+one within to bid them enter, and with a powerful effort Mr.
+Livingstone burst the lock. The window was open, the lamp was still
+burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed was undisturbed, the
+room in confusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs. Livingstone’s eye took in
+all this at a glance, but her husband saw only the latter, and ere he
+was aware of what he did, a fervent “Thank heaven,” escaped him.
+
+“She’s gone—run away—dead, maybe,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, wringing
+her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively drawing nearer to
+her husband for comfort.
+
+By this time ’Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward her,
+Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, “’Lena, where is our child?”
+
+“In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at
+Midway for Cincinnati,” said ’Lena, thinking she might as well tell the
+whole at once.
+
+“In Ohio!” shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping ’Lena’s arm.
+“What has she gone to Ohio for? Speak, ingrate, for you have done the
+deed—I am sure of that!”
+
+“It was Mr. Everett’s wish to return home that way I believe,” coolly
+answered ’Lena, without quailing in the least from the eyes bent so
+angrily upon her.
+
+Instantly Mrs. Livingstone’s fingers loosened their grasp, while her
+face grew livid with mingled passion and fear. Her fraud was
+discovered—her stratagem had failed—and she was foiled in this, her
+second darling scheme. But she was yet to learn what agency ’Lena had
+in the matter, and this information her husband obtained for her. There
+was no anger in the tones of his voice when he asked his niece to
+explain the mystery, else she might not have answered, for ’Lena could
+not be driven. Now, however, she felt that he had a right to know, and
+she told him all she knew; what she had done herself and why she had
+done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Malcolm had gone in his
+trouble, had kindly assisted him by lending both servants and carriage;
+but upon the intercepted letters she could throw no light.
+
+“’Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is unworthy the name
+of either man or woman,” said Mr. Livingstone, while his eye rested
+sternly upon his wife.
+
+She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and resolving to
+make the best of the matter, she, too, united with him in denouncing
+the deed, wondering who could have done it, and meanly suggesting Maria
+Fontaine, a pupil of Mr. Everett’s, who had, at one time, felt a slight
+preference for him. But this did not deceive her husband—neither did it
+help her at all in the present emergency. The bride was gone, and
+already she felt the tide of scandal and gossip which she knew would be
+the theme of the entire neighborhood. Still, if her own shameful act
+was kept a secret she could bear it, and it must be. No one knew of it
+except Captain Atherton and Cæsar, the former of whom would keep his
+own counsel, while fear of a passport down the river, the negroes’
+dread, would prevent the latter from telling.
+
+Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to treat the
+whole matter as a capital joke, worthy of being immortalized in
+romance, she returned to her room, and hastily writing a few lines,
+rang the bell for Cæsar who soon appeared, declaring that “as true as
+he lived and breathed and drew the breath of life, he’d done gin miss
+every single letter afore handin’ ’em to anybody else.”
+
+“Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you’ll find yourself in
+New Orleans,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s very lady-like response, as she
+handed him the note, bidding him take it to Captain Atherton.
+
+For some reason or other the captain this morning was exceedingly
+restless, walking from room to room, watching the clock, then the sun,
+and finally, in order to pass the time away, trying on his wedding
+suit, to see how he was going to look! Perfectly satisfied with his
+appearance, he was in imagination going through the ceremony, and had
+just inclined his head in token that he would take Anna for his wife,
+when Mrs. Livingstone’s note was handed him. At first he could hardly
+believe the evidence of his own eyes.
+
+Anna gone!—run away with Mr. Everett! It could not be, and sinking into
+a chair, he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, “mighty queer and
+shaky.”
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on it, and
+this, upon second thought, he determined to do. Hastily changing his
+dress, now useless, he mounted his steed, and was soon on his way
+toward Maple Grove, a new idea dawning upon his mind, and ere his
+arrival, settling itself into a fixed purpose. From Aunt Martha he had
+heard of ’Lena’s strange visit, and he now remembered the many times
+she had tried to withdraw him from Anna, appropriating him to herself
+for hours. The captain’s vanity was wonderful. Sunnyside needed a
+mistress—he needed a wife, ’Lena was poor—perhaps she liked him—and if
+so there might be a wedding, after all. She was beautiful, and would
+sustain the honors of his house with a better grace, he verily
+believed, than Anna! Full of these thoughts, he reached Maple Grove,
+where he found Durward, to whom Mrs. Livingstone had detailed the whole
+circumstance, dwelling long upon ’Lena’s meddling propensities, and
+charging the whole affair upon her.
+
+“But she knew what she was about—she had an object in view,
+undoubtedly,” she added, glad of an opportunity to give vent to her
+feelings against ’Lena.
+
+“Pray, what was her object?” asked Durward, and Mrs. Livingstone
+replied, “I told you once that ’Lena was ambitious, and I have every
+reason to believe she would willingly marry Captain Atherton,
+notwithstanding he is so much older.”
+
+She forgot that there was the same disparity between the captain and
+Anna as between him and ’Lena, but Durward did not, and with a derisive
+smile he listened, while she proceeded to give her reasons for thinking
+that a desire to supplant Anna was the sole object which ’Lena had in
+view, for what else could have prompted that midnight ride to
+Sunnyside. Again Durward smiled, but before he could answer, the
+bride-groom elect stood before them, looking rather crestfallen, but
+evidently making a great effort to appear as usual.
+
+“And so the bird has flown?” said he, “Well, it takes a Yankee, after
+all, to manage a case, but how did he find it out?”
+
+Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him Lena’s agency in the matter,
+omitting, this time, to impute to her the same motive which she had
+done when stating the case to Durward.
+
+“So ’Lena is at the bottom of it?” said he, rubbing his little fat, red
+hands. “Well, well, where is she? I’d like to see her.”
+
+“Corinda, tell ’Lena she is wanted in the parlor,” said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the interview, arose
+to go, but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to stay, that he at last
+resumed his seat on the sofa by the side of Carrie.
+
+“Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the part you have
+taken in this elopement,” said Mrs. Livingstone, sternly, as ’Lena
+appeared in the doorway.
+
+“No, I don’t,” said the captain, gallantly offering ’Lena a chair. “My
+business with Miss Rivers concerns herself.”
+
+“I am here, sir, to answer any proper question,” said ’Lena, proudly,
+at the same time declining the proffered seat.
+
+“There’s an air worthy of a queen,” thought the captain, and
+determining to make his business known at once, he arose, and turning
+toward Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, whom he considered his
+audience, he commenced: “What I am about to say may seem strange, but
+the fact is, I want a wife. I’ve lived alone long enough. I waited for
+Anna eighteen years, and now’s she gone. Everything is in readiness for
+the bridal; the guests are invited; nothing wanting but the bride. Now
+if I _could_ find a substitute.”
+
+“Not in me,” muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, while with a
+sarcastic leer the captain continued: “Don’t refuse before you are
+asked, Miss Livingstone. I do not aspire to the honor of your hand, but
+I do ask Miss Rivers to be my wife—here before you all. She shall live
+like a princess—she and her grandmother both. Come, what do you say?
+Many a poor girl would jump at the chance.”
+
+The rich blood which usually dyed ’Lena’s cheek was gone, and pale as
+the marble mantel against which she leaned, she answered, proudly, “I
+would sooner die than link my destiny with one who could so basely
+deceive my cousin, making her believe it was her betrothed husband whom
+he saw in Washington instead of his uncle! Marry you? Never, if I beg
+my bread from door to door!”
+
+“Noble girl!” came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, who had held
+his breath for her answer, and who now glanced triumphantly at Mrs.
+Livingstone, whose surmises were thus proved incorrect.
+
+The captain’s self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble girl should
+refuse him with his half million. A sense of the ridiculous position in
+which he was placed maddened him, and in a violent rage he replied,
+“You won’t, hey? What under heavens have you hung around me so for,
+sticking yourself in between me and Anna when you knew you were not
+wanted?”
+
+“I did it, sir, at Anna’s request, to relieve her—and for nothing
+else.”
+
+“And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that
+dark, rainy night?” chimed in Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“No, madam,” said ’Lena, turning toward her aunt. “I had in vain
+implored of you to save her from a marriage every way irksome to her,
+when in her right mind, but you would not listen, and I resolved to
+appeal to the captain’s better nature. In this I failed, and then I
+wrote to Mr. Everett, with the result which you see.”
+
+In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask who was
+the bearer of ’Lena’s letter, but remembering it now, she put the
+question. ’Lena would not implicate Durward without his permission, but
+while she hesitated, he answered for her, “_I_ carried that letter,
+Mrs. Livingstone, though I did not then know its nature. Still if I
+had, I should have done the same, and the event has proved that I was
+right in so doing.”
+
+“Ah, indeed!” said the captain growing more and more nettled and
+disagreeable. “Ah, indeed! Mr. Bellmont leagued with Miss Rivers
+against me. Perhaps she would not so bluntly refuse an offer coming
+from you, but I can tell you it won’t sound very well that the Hon.
+Mrs. Bellmont once rode four miles alone in the night to visit a
+bachelor. Ha! ha! Miss ’Lena; better have submitted to my terms at
+once, for don’t you see I have you in my power?”
+
+“And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you answer for it
+to me; do you understand?” exclaimed Durward, starting up and
+confronting Captain Atherton, who, the veriest coward in the world,
+shrank from the flashing of Durward’s eye, and meekly answered, “Yes,
+yes—yes, yes, I won’t, I won’t. I don’t want to fight. I like ’Lena. I
+don’t blame Anna for running away if she didn’t want me—but it’s left
+me in a deuced mean scrape, which I wish you’d help me out of.”
+
+Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his proffered
+hand, promised to render him any assistance in his power, and advising
+him to be present himself in the evening, as the first meeting with his
+acquaintances would thus be over. Upon reflection, the captain
+concluded to follow this advice, and when evening arrived and with it
+those who had not heard the news, he was in attendance, together with
+Durward, who managed the whole affair so skillfully that the party
+passed off quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests playfully
+condoling with the deserted bridegroom, who received their jokes with a
+good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but there.
+
+That night, when the company were gone and all around was silent, Mrs.
+Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears she had shed for
+her youngest born, whom she well knew _she_ had driven from home, and
+when her husband asked what they should do, she answered with a fresh
+burst of tears, “Send for Anna to come back.”
+
+“And Malcolm, too?” queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless to
+send for one without the other.
+
+“Yes, Malcolm too. There’s room for both,” said the weeping mother,
+feeling how every hour she should miss the little girl, whose presence
+had in it so much of sunlight and joy.
+
+But Anna would not return. Away to the northward, in a fairy cottage
+overhung with the wreathing honeysuckle and the twining grape-vine,
+where the first summer flowers were blooming and the song-birds were
+caroling all the day long, her home was henceforth to be, and though
+the letter which contained her answer to her father’s earnest appeal
+was stained and blotted, it told of perfect happiness with Malcolm, who
+kissed away her tears as she wrote, “Tell mother I cannot come.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+MORE CLOUDS.
+
+
+Since the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed himself ’Lena’s
+champion, her health and spirits began to improve. That she was not
+wholly indifferent to him she had every reason to believe, and
+notwithstanding the strong barrier between them, hope sometimes
+whispered to her of a future, when all that was now so dark and
+mysterious should be made plain. But while she was thus securely
+dreaming, a cloud, darker and deeper than any which had yet
+overshadowed her, was gathering around her pathway. Gradually had the
+story of her ride to Captain Atherton’s gained circulation, magnifying
+itself as it went, until at last it was currently reported that at
+several different times had she been seen riding away from Sunnyside at
+unseasonable hours of the night, the time varying from nine in the
+evening to three in the morning according to the exaggerating powers of
+the informer.
+
+But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that each and every
+one repeated it to his or her neighbor, until at last it reached Mrs.
+Graham, who, forgetting the caution of her son, said, with a very wise
+look, that “she was not at all surprised—she had from the first
+suspected ’Lena, and she had the best of reasons for so doing!”
+
+Of course Mrs. Graham’s friend was exceedingly anxious to know what she
+meant, and by dint of quizzing, questioning and promising never to
+tell, she at last drew out just enough of the story to know that Mr.
+Graham had a daguerreotype which looked just like ’Lena, and that Mrs.
+Graham had no doubt whatever that she was in the habit of writing to
+him. This of course was repeated, notwithstanding the promise of
+secrecy, and many of the neighbors suddenly remembered some little
+circumstance trivial in itself, but all going to swell the amount of
+evidence against poor ’Lena, who, unconscious of the gathering storm,
+did not for a time observe the sidelong glances cast toward her
+whenever she appeared in public.
+
+Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of her
+acquaintances began to attract her attention, causing her to wonder
+what it all meant. But there was no one of whom she would ask an
+explanation. John Jr. was gone—Anna was gone—and to crown all, Durward,
+too, left the neighborhood just as the first breath of scandal was
+beginning to set the waves of gossip in motion. In his absence, Mrs.
+Graham felt no restraint, whatever, and all that she knew, together
+with many things she didn’t know, she told, until it became a matter of
+serious debate whether ’Lena ought not to be _cut_ entirely. Mrs.
+Graham and her clique decided in the affirmative, and when Mrs.
+Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed by public opinion, gave
+a small party for her daughter Maria, ’Lena was purposely omitted.
+Hitherto she had been greatly petted and admired by both Maria and her
+mother, and she felt the slight sensibly, the more so, as Carrie darkly
+hinted that girls who could not behave themselves must not associate
+with respectable people. “’Leny not invited!” said Mrs. Nichols,
+espousing the cause of her granddaughter. “What’s to pay, I wonder?
+Miss Fontaine and the gineral, too, allus appeared to think a sight on
+her.”
+
+“I presume the _general_ does now,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, “but
+it’s natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particular about the
+reputation of her daughter’s associates.”
+
+“And ain’t ’Leny’s reputation as good as the best on ’em,” asked Mrs.
+Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with insulted pride.
+
+“It’s the general opinion that it might be improved,” was Mrs.
+Livingstone’s haughty answer, as she left her mother-in-law to her own
+reflections.
+
+“It’ll kill her stone dead,” thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving in her own
+mind the propriety of telling ’Lena what her aunt had said. “It’ll kill
+her stone dead, and I can’t tell her. Mebby it’ll blow over pretty
+soon.”
+
+That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of calling upon
+’Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one asked for her, and with her
+eyes and ears now sharpened, she fancied that once, as she was passing
+the parlor door, she heard her own name coupled with that of Mr.
+Graham. A startling light burst upon her, and staggering to her room,
+she threw herself, half fainting, upon the bed, where an hour
+afterwards she was found by Aunt Milly.
+
+The old negress had also heard the story in its most aggravated form,
+and readily divining the cause of ’Lena’s grief, attempted to console
+her, telling her “not to mind what the good-for-nothin’ critters said;
+they war only mad ’cause she’s so much handsomer and trimmer built.”
+
+“You know, then,” said ’Lena, lifting her head from the pillow. “You
+know what it is; so tell me, for I shall die if I remain longer in
+suspense.”
+
+“Lor’ bless the child,” exclaimed old Milly, “to think she’s the very
+last one to know, when it’s been common talk more than a month!”
+
+“What’s been common talk? What is it?” demanded ’Lena; and old Milly,
+seating herself upon a trunk, commenced: “Why, honey, hain’t you hearn
+how you done got Mr. Graham’s pictur and gin him yourn ’long of one of
+them curls—how he’s writ and you’ve writ, and how he’s gone off to the
+eends of the airth to get rid on you—and how you try to cotch young
+Mas’r Durward, who hate the sight on you—how you waylay him one day,
+settin’ on a rock out by the big gate—and how you been seen mighty nigh
+fifty times comin’ home afoot from Captain Atherton’s in the night,
+rainin’ thunder and lightnin’ hard as it could pour—how after you done
+got Miss Anna to ’lope, you ax Captain Atherton to have you, and git
+mad as fury ’cause he ’fuses—and how your mother warn’t none too
+likely, and a heap more that I can’t remember—hain’t you heard of none
+on’t?”
+
+“None, none,” answered ’Lena, while Milly continued, “It’s a sin and
+shame for quality folks that belong to the meetin’ to pitch into a poor
+’fenseless girl and pick her all to pieces. Reckon they done forgot
+what our Heabenly Marster told ’em when he lived here in old Kentuck,
+how they must dig the truck out of thar own eyes afore they go to
+meddlin’ with others; but they never think of him these days, ’cept
+Sundays, and then as soon as meetin’ is out they done git together and
+talk about you and Mas’r Graham orfully. I hearn ’em last Sunday, I and
+Miss Fontaine’s cook, Cilly, and if they don’t quit it, thar’s a heap
+on us goin’ to leave the church!”
+
+’Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who arose to leave
+the room, again told her not to care, as all the blacks were for her,
+she felt that she was not utterly alone in her wretchedness. Still, the
+sympathy of the colored people alone could not help her, and dally
+matters grew worse, until at last even Nellie Douglass’s faith was
+shaken, and ’Lena’s heart died within her as she saw in her signs of
+neglect. Never had Mr. Livingstone exchanged a word with her upon the
+subject, but the reserve with which he treated her plainly indicated
+that he, too, was prejudiced, while her aunt and Carrie let no
+opportunity pass of slighting her, the latter invariably leaving the
+room if she entered it. On one such occasion, in a state bordering
+almost on distraction ’Lena flew back to her own chamber, where to her
+great surprise, she found her uncle in close conversation with her
+grandmother, whose face told the pain his words were inflicting.
+’Lena’s first impulse was to fall at his feet and implore his
+protection, but he prevented her by immediately leaving the room.
+
+“Oh, grandmother, grandmother,” she cried, “help me, or I shall die.”
+
+In her heart Mrs. Nichols believed her guilty, for John had said so—he
+would not lie; and to ’Lena’s touching appeal for sympathy, she
+replied, as she rocked to and fro, “I wish you _had_ died, ’Leny, years
+and years ago.”
+
+’Twas the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with the wailing cry,
+“God help me now—no one else can,” the heart-broken girl fell fainting
+to the floor, while in silent agony Mrs. Nichols hung over her,
+shouting for help.
+
+Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but at the first call
+Aunt Milly hastened to the room. “Poor sheared lamb,” said she,
+gathering back the thick, clustering curls which shaded ’Lena’s marble
+face, “she’s innocent as the new-born baby.”
+
+“Oh, if I could think so,” said grandma; but she could not, and when
+the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and eagerly sought hers, they read
+distrust and doubt, and motioning her grandmother away, ’Lena said she
+would rather be alone.
+
+Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded upon her as she lay
+there watching the daylight fade from the distant hills, and musing of
+the stern realities around her. Gradually her thoughts assumed a
+definite purpose; she would go away from a place where she was never
+wanted, and where she now no longer wished to stay. Mr. Everett had
+promised to be her friend, and to him she would go. At different
+intervals her uncle and cousin had given her money to the amount of
+twenty dollars, which was still in her possession, and which she knew
+would take her far on her road.
+
+With ’Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when sure her
+grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly made the needful
+preparations for her flight. Unlike most aged people, Mrs. Nichols
+slept soundly, and ’Lena had no fears of waking her. Very stealthily
+she moved around the room, placing in a satchel, which she could carry
+upon her arm, the few things she would need. Then, sitting down by the
+table, she wrote:
+
+“DEAR GRANDMA: When you read this I shall be gone, for I cannot longer
+stay where all look upon me as a wretched, guilty thing. I am innocent,
+grandma, as innocent as my angel mother when they dared to slander her,
+but you do not believe it, and that is the hardest of all. I could have
+borne the rest, but when you, too, doubted me, it broke my heart, and
+now I am going away. Nobody will care—nobody will miss me but you.
+
+“And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to write than it
+will you to read
+
+“’LENA’S LAST GOOD-BYE”
+
+
+All was at length ready, and then bending gently over the wrinkled face
+so calmly sleeping, ’Lena gazed through blinding tears upon each
+lineament, striving to imprint it upon her heart’s memory, and
+wondering if they would ever meet again. The hand which had so often
+rested caressingly upon her young head, was lying outside the
+counterpane, and with one burning kiss upon it she turned away, first
+placing the lamp by the window, where its light, shining upon her from
+afar, would be the last thing she could see of the home she was
+leaving.
+
+The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was well known to her,
+and without once pausing, lest her courage should fail her, she pressed
+forward. The distance which she had to travel was about three and a
+half miles, and as she did not dare trust herself in the highway, she
+struck into the fields, looking back as long as the glimmering light
+from the window could be seen, and then when that home star had
+disappeared from view, silently imploring aid from Him who alone could
+help her now. She was in time for the cars, and, though the depot agent
+looked curiously at her slight, shrinking figure, he asked no
+questions, and when the train moved rapidly away, ’Lena looked out upon
+the dark, still night, and felt that she was a wanderer in the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+REACTION.
+
+
+The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the window of
+Grandma Nichols’s room, and roused her from her slumber. On the pillow
+beside her rested no youthful head—there was no kind voice bidding her
+“good-morrow”—no gentle hand ministering to her comfort—for ’Lena was
+gone, and on the table lay the note, which at first escaped Mrs.
+Nichols’s attention. Thinking her granddaughter had arisen early and
+gone before her, she attempted to make her own toilet, which was nearly
+completed, when her eye caught the note. It was directed to her, and
+with a dim foreboding she: took it up, reading that her child was
+gone—gone from those who should have sustained her in her hour of
+trial, but who, instead, turned against her, crushing her down, until
+in a state of desperation she had fled. It was in vain that the
+breakfast-bell rang out its loud summons. Grandma did not heed it; and
+when Corinda came up to seek her, she started back in affright at the
+scene before her. Mrs. Nichols’s cap was not yet on, and her thin gray
+locks fell around her livid face as she swayed from side to side,
+moaning at intervals, “God forgive me that I broke her heart.”
+
+The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up she said,
+pointing toward the vacant bed, “’Leny’s gone; I’ve killed her.”
+
+Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and down the
+stairs, she rushed into the dining-room, announcing the startling news
+that “old miss had done murdered Miss ’Lena, and hid her under the
+bed!”
+
+“What _will_ come next!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following her
+husband to his mother’s room where a moment sufficed to explain the
+whole.
+
+’Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled the poor old
+lady’s reason. The sight of his mother’s distress aroused all the
+better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly soothing her, he told
+her that ’Lena should be found—he would go for her himself. Carrie,
+too, was touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up the
+scattered locks, and tying on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an
+instant on the wrinkled brow.
+
+“Keep it there; it feels soft, like ’Leny’s,” said Mrs. Nichols, the
+tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy.
+
+Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with his wife,
+hurried off to the neighbors, none of whom knew aught of the fugitive,
+and all of whom offered their assistance in searching. Never once did
+it occur to Mr. Livingstone that she might have taken the cars, for
+that he knew would need money, and he supposed she had none in her
+possession. By a strange coincidence, too, the depot agent who sold her
+the ticket, left the very next morning for Indiana, where he had been
+intending to go for some time, and where he remained for more than a
+week, thus preventing the information which he could otherwise have
+given concerning her flight. Consequently, Mr. Livingstone returned
+each night, weary and disheartened, to his home, where all the day long
+his mother moaned and wept, asking for her ’Lena.
+
+At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of the
+wanderer, she ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger came to
+the house, she would whisper softly to them, “’Leny’s dead. I killed
+her; did you know it?” at the same time passing to them the crumpled
+note, which she ever held in her hand.
+
+’Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had so recently
+denounced her, and when it became known that she was gone, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been the most bitter against her now
+changed their opinion, wondering how they could ever have thought her
+guilty. The stories concerning her visits to Captain Atherton’s were
+traced back to their source, resulting in exonerating her from all
+blame, while many things, hitherto kept secret, concerning Anna’s
+engagement, were brought to light, and ’Lena was universally commended
+for her efforts to save her cousin from a marriage so wholly unnatural.
+Severely was the captain censured for the part he had taken in
+deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly confessed, while he openly
+espoused the cause of the fugitive.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough to make a
+like confession. Public suspicion pointed to her as the interceptor of
+Anna’s letters, and though she did not deny it, she wondered what that
+had to do with ’Lena, at the same time asking “how they expected to
+clear up the Graham affair.”
+
+This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of feeling the
+neighborhood were willing to overlook many things which had before
+seemed dark and mysterious, while Mrs. Graham, for some most
+unaccountable reason, suddenly retracted almost everything she had
+said, acknowledging that she was too hasty in her conclusions, and
+evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest perfectly surprising
+to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in utter astonishment, wondering
+what the end would be. About this time Durward returned, greatly pained
+at the existing state of things. In Frankfort, where ’Lena’s flight was
+a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot agent, who was on his
+way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose rather singular manner
+had attracted his attention. This was undoubtedly ’Lena, and after a
+few moments’ conversation with his mother, Durward announced his
+intention of going after her, at least as far as Rockford, where he
+fancied she might have gone.
+
+To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her manner seemed so
+strange that he at last asked what was the matter.
+
+“Nothing—nothing in particular,” said she, “only I’ve been thinking it
+all over lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps ’Lena is
+innocent after all.”
+
+Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost
+before she had finished speaking, with, “_Do_ you know anything? Have
+you heard anything?”
+
+She _had_ heard—she _did_ know; but ere she could reply, the violent
+ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, prevented her
+answer. In a perfect fever of excitement Durward glanced at his watch.
+If he waited long, he would be too late for the cars, and with a hasty
+adieu he left the parlor, turning back ere he reached the outer door,
+and telling his mother he must speak with her alone. If Mrs. Graham had
+at first intended to divulge what she knew, the impulse was now gone,
+and to her son’s urgent request that she should disclose what she knew,
+she replied, “It isn’t much—only your father has another daguerreotype,
+the counterpart of the first one. He procured it in Cincinnati, and
+’Lena I know was not there.”
+
+“Is that all?” asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.
+
+“Why no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures closely, and I do
+not think they resemble ’Lena as much as we at first supposed. Possibly
+it might have been some one else, her mother, may be,” and Mrs. Graham
+looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently answered, “Her
+mother died years ago.”
+
+At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he had heard, and
+hoping, half believing, that ’Lena would yet be exonerated from all
+blame. For a moment Mrs. Graham gazed after him, regretting that she
+had not told him all, but thinking there was time enough yet, and
+remembering that her husband had said she might wait until his return,
+if she chose, she went back to the parlor while Durward kept on his
+way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+THE WANDERER.
+
+
+Fiercely the noontide blaze of a scorching July sun was falling upon
+the huge walls of the “Laurel Hill Sun,” where a group of idlers were
+lounging on the long, narrow piazza, some niching into still more
+grotesque carving the rude, unpainted railing, while others, half
+reclining on one elbow, shaded their eyes with their old slouch hats,
+as they gazed wistfully toward the long hill, eager to catch the first
+sight of the daily stage which was momentarily expected.
+
+“Jerry is late, to-day—but it’s so plaguy hot he’s favorin’ his hosses,
+I guess,” said the rosy-faced landlord, with that peculiar intonation
+which stamped him at once a genuine Yankee.
+
+“A watched pot never biles,” muttered one of the loungers, who
+regularly for fifteen years had been at his post, waiting for the
+stage, which during all that time had brought him neither letter,
+message, friend, nor foe.
+
+But force of habit is everything, and after the very wise saying
+recorded above, he resumed his whittling, never again looking up until
+the loud blast of the driver’s horn was heard on the distant hill-top,
+where the four weary, jaded horses were now visible. It was the
+driver’s usual custom to blow his horn from the moment he appeared on
+the hill, until with a grand flourish he reined his panting steeds
+before the door of the inn. But this time there was one sharp, shrill
+sound, and then all was still, the omission eliciting several remarks
+not very complimentary to the weather, which was probably the cause of
+“Jerry’s” unwonted silence. Very slowly the vehicle came on, the horses
+never leaving a walk, and the idler of fifteen years’ standing, who for
+a time had suspended his whittling, “wondered what was to pay.”
+
+A nearer approach revealed three or four male passengers, all occupied
+with a young lady, who, on the back seat, was carefully supported by
+one of her companions.
+
+“A sick gal, I guess. Wonder if the disease is catchin’?” said the
+whittler, standing back several paces and looking over the heads of the
+others, who crowded forward as the stage came up. The loud greeting of
+the noisy group was answered by Jerry with a low “sh—sh,” as he pointed
+significantly at the slight form which two of the gentlemen were
+lifting from the coach, asking at the same time if there were a
+physician near.
+
+“What’s the matter on her? Hain’t got the cholery, has she,” said the
+landlord, who, having hallooed to his wife to “fetch up her vittles,”
+now appeared on the piazza ready to welcome his guests.
+
+At the first mention of cholera, the fifteen years’ man vamosed,
+retreating across the road, and seating himself on the fence under the
+shadow of the locust trees.
+
+“Who is she, Jerry?” asked the younger of the set, gazing curiously
+upon the white, beautiful face of the stranger, who had been laid upon
+the lounge in the common sitting-room.
+
+“Lord only knows,” said Jerry, wiping the heavy drops of sweat from his
+good-humored face; “I found her at the hotel in Livony. She came there
+in the cars, and said she wanted to go over to ’tother railroad. She
+was so weak that I had to lift her into the stage as I would a baby,
+and she ain’t much heavier. You orto seen how sweet she smiled when she
+thanked me, and asked me not to drive very fast, it made her head ache
+so. Zounds, I wouldn’t of trotted the horses if I’d never got here.
+Jest after we started she fainted, and she’s been kinder talkin’
+strange like ever since. Some of the gentlemen thought I’d better leave
+her back a piece at Brown’s tavern, but I wanted to fetch her here,
+where Aunt Betsy could nuss her up, and then I can kinder tend to her
+myself, you know.”
+
+This last remark called forth no answering joke, for Jerry’s companions
+all knew his kindly nature, and it was no wonder to them that his
+sympathies were so strongly enlisted for the fair girl thus thrown upon
+his protection. It was a big, noble heart over which Jerry Langley
+buttoned his driver’s coat, and when the physician who had arrived
+pronounced the lady too ill to proceed any further, he called aside the
+fidgety landlord, whose peculiarities he well knew, and bade him “not
+to fret and stew, for if the gal hadn’t money, Jerry Langley was good
+for a longer time than she would live, poor critter;” and he wiped a
+tear away, glancing, the while, at the burying-ground which lay just
+across the garden, and thinking how if she died, her grave should be
+beneath the wide-spreading oak, where often in the summer nights he
+sat, counting the head-stones which marked the last resting place of
+the slumbering host, and wondering if death were, as some had said, a
+long, eternal sleep.
+
+Aunt Betsey, of whom he had spoken, was the landlady, a little dumpy,
+pleasant-faced, active woman, equally in her element bending over the
+steaming gridiron, or smoothing the pillows of the sick-bed, where her
+powers of nursing had won golden laurels from Others than Jerry
+Langley. When the news was brought to the kitchen that among the
+passengers was a sick girl, who was to be left, her first thought,
+natural to everybody, was, “What shall I do ?” while the second,
+natural to her, was, “Take care of her, of course.”
+
+Accordingly, when the dinner was upon the table, she laid aside her
+broad check apron, substituting in its place a half-worn silk, for
+Jerry had reported the invalid to be “every inch a lady;” then
+smoothing her soft, silvery hair with her fat, rosy hands, she repaired
+to the sitting-room, where she found the driver watching his charge,
+from whom he kept the buzzing flies by means of his bandana, which he
+waved to and fro with untiring patience.
+
+“Handsome as a London doll,” was her first exclamation, adding, “but I
+should think she’d be awful hot with them curls, dangling’ in her neck!
+If she’s goin’ to be sick they’d better be cut off!”
+
+If there was any one thing for which Aunt Betsey Aldergrass possessed a
+particular passion, it was for _hair-cutting_, she being barber general
+for Laurel Hill, which numbered about thirty houses, store and church
+inclusive, and now when she saw the shining tresses which lay in such
+profusion upon the pillow, her fingers tingled to their very tips,
+while she involuntarily felt for her scissors! Very reverentially, as
+if it were almost sacrilege, Jerry’s broad palm was laid protectingly
+upon the clustering ringlets, while he said, “No, Aunt Betsey, if she
+dies for’t, you shan’t touch one of them; ’twould spile her hair, she
+looks so pretty.”
+
+Slowly the long, fringed lids unclosed, and the brown eyes looked up so
+gratefully at Jerry, that he beat a precipitate retreat, muttering to
+himself that “he never could stand the gals, anyway, they made his
+heart thump so!”
+
+“Am I very sick, and can’t I go on?” asked the young lady, attempting
+to rise, but sinking back from extreme weakness.
+
+“Considerable sick, I guess,” answered the landlady, taking from a side
+cupboard an immense decanter of camphor, and passing it toward the
+stranger. “Considerable sick, and I wouldn’t wonder if you had to lay
+by a day or so. Will they be consarned about you to home, ’cause if
+they be, my old man’ll write.”
+
+“I have no home,” was the sad answer, to which Aunt Betsey responded in
+astonishment, “Hain’t no home! Where does your marm live?”
+
+“Mother is dead,” said the girl, her tears dropping fast upon the
+pillow.
+
+Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, “And your
+pa—where is he?”
+
+“I never saw him,” said the girl, while her interrogator continued:
+“Never saw your pa, and your marm is dead—poor child, what is your
+name, and where did you come from?”
+
+For a moment the stranger hesitated, and then thinking it better to
+tell the truth at once, she replied, “My name is ’Lena. I lived with my
+uncle a great many miles from here, but I wasn’t happy. They did not
+want me there, and I ran away. I am going to my cousin, but I’d rather
+not tell where, so you will please not ask me.”
+
+There was something in her manner which silenced Aunt Betsey, who,
+erelong, proposed that she should go upstairs and lie down on a nice
+little bed, where she would be more quiet. But ’Lena refused, saying
+she should feel better soon.
+
+“Mebby, then, you’d eat a mouffle or two. We’ve got some roasted pork,
+and Hetty’ll warm over the gravy;” but ’Lena’s stomach rebelled at the
+very thought, seeing which, the landlady went back to the kitchen,
+where she soon prepared a bowl of gruel, in spite of the discouraging
+remarks of her husband, who, being a little after the _Old Hunks_
+order, cautioned her “not to fuss too much, as gals that run away
+warn’t apt to be plagued with money”
+
+Fortunately, Aunt Betsey’s heart covered a broader sphere, and the
+moment the stage was gone she closed the door to shut out the dust,
+dropped the green curtains, and drawing from the spare-room a large,
+stuffed chair, bade ’Lena “see if she couldn’t set up a minit.” But
+this was impossible, and all that long, sultry afternoon she lay upon
+the lounge, holding her aching head, which seemed well-nigh bursting
+with its weight of pain and thought. “Was it right for her to run away?
+Ought she not to have stayed and bravely met the worst? Suppose she
+were to die there alone, among strangers and without money, for her
+scanty purse was well-nigh drained.” These and similar reflections
+crowded upon her, until her brain grew wild and dizzy, and when at
+sunset the physician came again he was surprised to find how much her
+fever had increased.
+
+“She ought not to lie here,” said he, as he saw how the loud shouts of
+the school-boys made her shudder. “Isn’t there some place where she can
+be more quiet?”
+
+At the head of the stairs was a small room, containing a single bed and
+a window, which last looked out upon the garden and the graveyard
+beyond. Its furniture was of the plainest kind, it being reserved for
+more common travelers, and here the landlord said ’Lena must be taken.
+His wife would far rather have given her the front chamber, which was
+large, airy and light, but Uncle Tim Aldergrass said “No,” squealing
+out through his little peaked nose that “’twarn’t an atom likely he’d
+ever more’n half git his pay, anyway, and he warn’t a goin’ to give up
+the hull house.”
+
+“How much more will it be if she has the best chamber,” asked Jerry,
+pulling at Uncle Tim’s coattail and leading him aside. “How much will
+it be, ’cause if ’taint too much, she shan’t stay in that eight by nine
+pen.”
+
+“A dollar a week, and cheap at that,” muttered Uncle Tim, while Jerry,
+going out behind the wood-house, counted over his funds, sighing as he
+found them quite too small to meet the extra, dollar per week, should
+she long continue ill.
+
+“If I hadn’t of fooled so much away for tobacker and things, I
+shouldn’t be so plaguy poor now,” thought he, forgetting the many
+hearts which his hard-earned gains had made glad, for no one ever
+appealed in vain for help from Jerry Langley, who represented one class
+of Yankees, while Timothy Aldergrass represented another.
+
+The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry
+knocked softly at Aunt Betsey’s door, telling her that for more than an
+hour he’d heard the young lady takin’ on, and he guessed she was worse.
+Hastily throwing on her loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to ’Lena’s
+room, where she found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and
+whispering, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a
+disordered brain.
+
+“The Lord help us! she’s crazy as a loon. Run for the doctor, quick!”
+exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot or shoe, Jerry ran off in
+his stocking-feet, alarming the physician, who immediately hastened to
+the inn, pronouncing ’Lena’s disease to be brain fever, as he had at
+first feared.
+
+Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was sometimes in
+Kentucky and sometimes in Massachusetts, where she said they had buried
+her mother. At other times she would ask Aunt Betsey to send for
+Durward when she was dead, and tell him how innocent she was.
+
+“Didn’t I tell you there was something wrong?” Uncle Timothy would
+squeak. “Nobody knows who we are harborin’ nor how much ’twill damage
+the house.”
+
+But as day after day went by, and ’Lena’s fever raged more fiercely,
+even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of them to take her
+home and bury her by the side of Mabel, where Durward could see her
+grave, he would sigh, “Poor critter, I wish you was to home,” but
+whether this wish was prompted by a sincere desire to please ’Lena, or
+from a more selfish motive, we are unable to state. One morning, the
+fifth of ’Lena’s illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly
+and tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild disorder
+over her pillow, or streaming down her shoulders. Hitherto Aunt Betsey
+had restrained her _barberic_ desire, each day arranging the heavy
+locks, and tucking them under the muslin cap, where they refused to
+stay. Once the doctor himself had suggested the propriety of cutting
+them away, adding, though, that they would wait awhile, as it was a
+pity to lose them.
+
+“Better be cut off than yanked off,” said Aunt Betsey, on the morning
+when ’Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear out handfulls of her
+shining hair and scatter it over the floor.
+
+Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached the
+bedside, and taking one of the curls in her hand, was about to sever
+it, when ’Lena, divining her intentions, sprang up, and gathering up
+her hair, exclaimed, “No, no, not these; take everything else, but
+leave me my curls. Durward thought they were beautiful, and I cannot
+lose them.”
+
+At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its passengers,
+and as the tones of their voices came in at the open window, ’Lena
+suddenly grew calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered,
+“Hark! He’s come. Don’t you hear him?”
+
+But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling her to come
+down, and leaving ’Lena, who had almost instantly become quiet, to the
+care of a neighbor, she started for the kitchen, meeting in the lower
+hall with Hetty, who was showing one of the passengers to a room where
+he could wash and refresh himself after his dusty ride. As they passed
+each other, Hetty asked, “Have you clipped her curls?”
+
+“No,” answered Mrs. Aldergrass, “she wouldn’t let me touch ’em, for she
+said that Durward, whom she talks so much about, liked ’em, and they
+mustn’t be cut off.”
+
+Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty and her
+mistress had been admiring, stopped, and turning to the latter, said,
+“Of whom are you speaking?”
+
+“Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days ago,”
+answered Mrs. Aldergrass.
+
+“What is her name, and where does she live?” continued the stranger.
+
+“She calls herself ’Lena, but the ’tother name I don’t know, and I
+guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts.”
+
+The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically followed Hetty
+to his room, starting and turning pale as a wild, unnatural laugh fell
+on his ear.
+
+“It is the young lady, sir,” said Hetty, observing his agitated manner.
+“She raves most all the time, and the doctor says she’ll die if she
+don’t stop.”
+
+The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he wished to be,
+alone. He had found her then—his lost ’Lena—sick, perhaps dying, and
+his heart gave one agonized throb as he thought, “What if she should
+die? Yet why should I wish her to live?” he asked, “when she is as
+surely lost to me as if she were indeed resting in her grave!”
+
+And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet
+be well, else, perhaps, he had never followed her. Believing she would
+stop at Mr. Everett’s, he had come on thus far, finding her where he
+least expected it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure
+mingled with his pain as he thought how he would protect and care for
+her, ministering to her comfort, and softening, as far as possible, the
+disagreeable things which he saw must necessarily surround her. Money,
+he knew, would purchase almost everything, and if ever Durward Bellmont
+felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found ’Lena Rivers sick and
+alone at the not very comfortable inn of Laurel Hill.
+
+As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry—whose long, lank
+figure and original manner had afforded him much amusement during his
+ride—handing a dozen or more oranges to Mrs. Aldergrass, saying, as he
+did so, “They are for Miss ’Lena. I thought mebby they’d taste good,
+this hot weather, and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest and
+best.”
+
+For a moment Durward’s cheek flushed at the idea of Lena’s being cared
+for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart grew warm toward
+the uncouth driver who, without any possible motive save the promptings
+of his own kindly nature, had thus thought of the stranger girl.
+Erelong the stage was announced as ready and waiting, but to the
+surprise and regret of his fellow-passengers, who had found him a most
+agreeable traveling companion, Durward said he was not going any
+further that day.
+
+“A new streak, ain’t it?” asked Jerry, who knew he was booked for the
+entire route; but the young man made no reply, and the fresh, spirited
+horses soon bore the lumbering vehicle far out of sight, leaving him to
+watch the cloud of dust which it carried in its train.
+
+Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that a guest of
+Durward’s appearance honored his house with more than a passing call,
+and with the familiarity so common to a country landlord, he slapped
+him on the shoulder, telling him “there was the tallest kind of fish in
+the Honeoye,” whose waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were
+just discernible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
+
+“I never fish, thank you, sir,” answered Durward, while the
+good-natured landlord continued: “Now you don’t say it! Hunt, then,
+mebby?”
+
+“Occasionally,” said Durward, adding, “But my reason for stopping here
+is of entirely a different nature. I hear there is with you a sick
+lady. She is a friend of mine, and I am staying to see that she is well
+attended to.”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his opinion of ’Lena,
+whose want of money had made him sadly suspicious of her. “Yes, yes, a
+fine gal; fell into good hands, too, for my old woman is the greatest
+kind of a nuss. Want to see her, don’t you?—the lady I mean.”
+
+“Not just yet; I would like a few moments’ conversation with your wife
+first,” answered Durward.
+
+Greatly frustrated when she learned that the stylish looking gentleman
+wished to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her shining face with
+flour, and donning another cap, repaired to the sitting-room, where she
+commenced making excuses about herself, the house, and everything else,
+saying, “’twant what he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he’d try
+to put up with it.”
+
+As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded to ask her
+every particular concerning ’Lena’s illness, and whether she would
+probably recognize him should he venture into her presence,
+
+“Bless your dear heart, no. She hain’t known a soul on us these three
+days. Sometimes she calls me ‘grandmother,’ and says when she’s dead
+I’ll know she’s innocent. ’Pears Like somebody has been slanderin’ her,
+for she begs and pleads with Durward, as she calls him, not to believe
+it. Ain’t you the one she means?”
+
+Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued:
+
+“I thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin’ straight in
+the bed, ravin’ and screechin’, but the minit she heard your voice she
+dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since. Will you go up now?”
+
+Durward signified his willingness, and following his landlady, he soon
+stood in the close, pent-up room where, in an uneasy slumber, ’Lena lay
+panting for breath, and at intervals faintly moaning in her sleep. She
+had fearfully changed since last he saw her, and with a groan, he bent
+over her, murmuring, “My poor ’Lena,” while he gently laid his cool,
+moist hand upon her burning brow. As if there were something soothing
+in its touch, she quickly placed her little hot, parched hand on his,
+whispering, “Keep it there. It will make me well.”
+
+For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and carefully removing
+from her face and neck the thick curls which Mrs. Aldergrass had
+thought to cut away. At last she awoke, but Durward shrank almost in
+fear from the wild, bright eyes which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in
+them was no ray of reason. She called him “John” blessing him for
+coming, and saying, “Did you tell Durward. Does _he_ know?”
+
+“I am Durward,” said he. “Don’t you recognize me? Look again.”
+
+“No, no,” she answered, with a mocking laugh, which made him shudder,
+it was so unlike the merry, ringing tones he had once loved to hear.
+“No, no, you are not Durward. He would not look at me as you do. He
+thinks me guilty.”
+
+It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his identity. She
+would only answer with a laugh, which grated so harshly on his ear that
+he finally desisted, and suffered her to think he was her cousin. The
+smallness of her chamber troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up
+he asked if there was no other apartment where ’Lena would be more
+comfortable.
+
+“Of course there is,” said Aunt Betsy. “There’s the best chamber I was
+goin’ to give to you.”
+
+“Never mind me,” said he. “Let her have every comfort the house
+affords, and you shall be amply paid.”
+
+Uncle Timothy had now no objection to the offer, and the large, airy
+room with its snowy, draped bed was soon in readiness for the sufferer,
+who, in one of her wayward moods, absolutely refused to be moved. It
+was in vain that Aunt Betsey plead, persuaded, and threatened, and at
+last in despair Durward was called in to try his powers of persuasion.
+
+“That’s something more like it,” said ’Lena, and when he urged upon her
+the necessity of her removal, she asked, “Will you go with me?”
+
+“Certainly,” said he.
+
+“And stay with me?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Then I’ll go,” she continued, stretching her arms toward him as a
+child toward its mother.
+
+A moment more and she was reclining on the soft downy pillows, the
+special pride of Mrs. Aldergrass, who bustled in and out, while her
+husband, ashamed of his stinginess, said “they should of moved her
+afore, only ’twas a bad sign.”
+
+During the remainder of the day she seemed more quiet, talking
+incessantly, it is true, but never raving if Durward were near. It is
+strange what power he had over her, a word from him sufficing at any
+time to subdue her when in her most violent fits of frenzy. For two
+days and nights he watched by her side, never giving himself a moment’s
+rest, while the neighbors looked on, surmising and commenting as people
+always will. Every delicacy of the season, however costly, was
+purchased for her comfort, while each morning the flowers which he knew
+she loved the best were freshly gathered from the different gardens of
+Laurel Hill, and in broken pitchers, cracked tumblers, and nicked
+saucers, adorned the room.
+
+At the close of the third day she fell into a heavy slumber, and
+Durward, worn out and weary, retired to take the rest he so much
+needed. For a long time ’Lena slept, watched by the physician, who,
+knowing that the crisis had arrived, waited anxiously for her waking,
+which came at last, bringing with it the light of returning reason.
+Dreamily she gazed about the room, and in a voice no longer strong with
+the excitement of delirium, asked, “Where am I, and how came I here?”
+
+In a few words the physician explained all that was necessary for her
+to know, and then going for Mrs. Aldergrass, told her of the favorable
+change in his patient, adding that a sudden shock might still prove
+fatal. “Therefore,” said he, “though I know not in what relation this
+Mr. Bellmont stands to her, I think it advisable for her to remain
+awhile in ignorance of his presence. It is of the utmost consequence
+that she be kept quiet for a few days, at the end of which time she can
+see him.”
+
+All this Aunt Betsey communicated to Durward, who unwilling to do
+anything which would endanger ’Lena’s safety, kept himself aloof,
+treading softly and speaking low, for as if her hearing were sharpened
+by disease she more than once, when he was talking in the hall below,
+started up, listening eagerly; then, as if satisfied that she had been
+deceived, she would resume her position, while the flush on her cheek
+deepened as she thought, “Oh, what if it had indeed been he!”
+
+Nearly all the day long he sat just without the door, holding his
+breath as he caught the faint tones of her voice, and longing for the
+hour when he could see her, and obtain, if possible, some clue to the
+mystery attending her and his father. His mother’s words, together with
+what he had heard ’Lena say in her ravings, had tended to convince him
+that _she_, at least, might be innocent, and once assured of this, he
+felt that he would gladly fold her to his bosom, and cherish her there
+as the choicest of heaven’s blessings. All this time ’Lena had no
+suspicion of his presence, but she wondered at the many luxuries which
+surrounded her, and once, when Mrs. Aldergrass offered her some choice
+wine, she asked who it was that supplied her with so many comforts.
+Aunt Betsey’s, forte did not lay in keeping a secret, and rather
+evasively she replied, “You mustn’t ask me too many questions just
+yet!”
+
+’Lena’s suspicions were at once aroused, and for more than an hour she
+lay thinking—trying to recall something which seamed to her like a
+dream. At last calling Aunt Betsey to her, she said, “There was
+somebody here while I was so sick—somebody besides strangers—somebody
+that stayed with me all the time—who was it?”
+
+“Nobody, nobody—I mustn’t tell,” said Mrs. Aldergrass, hurriedly, while
+’Lena continued, “Was it Cousin John?”
+
+“No, no; don’t guess any more,” was Mrs. Aldergrass’s reply, and ’Lena,
+clasping her hands together, exclaimed, “Oh, could it he be?”
+
+The words reached Durward’s ear, and nothing but a sense of the harm it
+might do prevented him from going at once to her bedside. That night,
+at his earnest request, the physician gave him permission to see her in
+the morning, and Mrs. Aldergrass was commissioned to prepare her for
+the interview. ’Lena did not ask who it was; she felt that she knew;
+and the knowledge that he was there—that he had cared for her—operated
+upon her like a spell, soothing her into the most refreshing slumber
+she had experienced for many a weary week. With the sun-rising she was
+awake, but Mrs. Aldergrass, who came in soon after, told her that the
+visitor was not to be admitted until about ten, as she would by that
+time have become more composed, and be the better able to endure the
+excitement of the interview. A natural delicacy prevented ’Lena from
+objecting to the delay, and, as calmly as possible, she watched Mrs.
+Aldergrass while she put the room to rights, and then patiently
+submitted to the arranging of her curls, which during her illness had
+become matted and tangled. Before eight everything was in readiness,
+and soon after, worn out by her own exertions, ’Lena again fell asleep.
+
+“How lovely she looks,” thought Mrs. Aldergrass. “He shall just have a
+peep at her,” and stepping to the door she beckoned Durward to her
+side.
+
+Never before had ’Lena, seemed so beautiful to him, and as he looked
+upon her, he felt his doubts removing, one by one. She was innocent—it
+could not be otherwise—and very impatiently he awaited the lapse of the
+two hours which must pass ere he could see her, face to face. At
+length, as the surest way of killing time, he started out for a walk in
+a pleasant wood, which skirted the foot of Laurel Hill.
+
+Here for a time we leave him, while in another chapter we speak of an
+event which, in the natural order of things, should here be narrated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+’LENA’S FATHER.
+
+
+Two or three days before the morning of which we have spoken, Uncle
+Timothy, who like many of his profession had been guilty of a slight
+infringement of the “Maine” liquor law, had been called to answer for
+the same at the court then in session in the village of Canandaigua,
+the terminus of the stage route. Altogether too stingy to pay the coach
+fare, his own horse had carried him out, going for him on the night
+preceding Durward’s projected meeting with ’Lena. On the afternoon of
+that day the cars from New York brought up several passengers, who
+being bound for Buffalo, were obliged to wait some hours for the
+arrival of the Albany train.
+
+Among those who stopped at the same house with Uncle Timothy, was our
+old acquaintance, Mr. Graham, who had returned from Europe, and was now
+homeward bound, firmly fixed in his intention to do right at last. Many
+and many a time, during his travels had the image of a pale, sad face
+arisen before him, accusing him of so long neglecting to own his child,
+for ’Lena was his daughter, and she, who in all her bright beauty had
+years ago gone down to an early grave, was his wife, the wife of his
+first, and in bitterness of heart he sometimes thought, of his only
+love. His childhood’s home, which was at the sunny south, was not a
+happy one, for ere he had learned to lisp his mother’s name, she had
+died, leaving him to the guardianship of his father, who was cold,
+exacting, and tyrannical, ruling his son with a rod of iron, and by his
+stern, unbending manner increasing the natural cowardice of his
+disposition. From his mother Harry had inherited a generous, impulsive
+nature, frequently leading him into errors which his father condemned
+with so much severity that he early learned the art of concealment, as
+far, at least, as his father was concerned.
+
+At the age of eighteen he left home for Yale, where he spent four happy
+years, for the restraints of college life, though sometimes irksome,
+were preferable far to the dull monotony of his southern home; and when
+at last he was graduated, and there was no longer an excuse for
+tarrying, he lingered by the way, stopping at the then village of
+Springfield, where, actuated by some sudden freak, he registered
+himself as Harry _Rivers_, the latter being his middle name. For doing
+this he had no particular reason, except that it suited his fancy, and
+Rivers, he thought, was a better name than Graham. Here he met with
+Helena Nichols, whose uncommon beauty first attracted his attention,
+and whose fresh, unstudied manners afterward won his love to such an
+extent, that in an unguarded moment, and without a thought of the
+result, he married her, neglecting to tell her his real name before
+their marriage, because he feared she would cease to respect him if she
+knew he had deceived her, and then afterward finding it harder than
+ever to confess his fault.
+
+As time wore on, his father’s letters, commanding him to return, grew
+more and more peremptory, until at last he wrote, “I am sick—dying—and
+if you do not come, I’ll cast you off forever.”
+
+Harry knew this was no unmeaning threat, and he now began to reap the
+fruit of his folly. He could not give up Helena, who daily grew dearer
+to him, neither could he brave the displeasure of his father by
+acknowledging his marriage, for disinheritance was sure to follow. In
+this dilemma he resolved to compromise the matter. He would leave
+Helena awhile; he would visit his father, and if a favorable
+opportunity occurred, he would confess all; if not, he would return to
+his wife and do the best he could. But she must be provided for during
+his absence, and to effect this, he wrote to his father, saying he
+stood greatly in need of five hundred dollars, and that immediately on
+its receipt he would start for home. Inconsistent as it seemed with his
+general character, the elder Mr. Graham was generous with his money,
+lavishing upon his son all that he asked for, and the money was
+accordingly sent without a moment’s hesitation.
+
+And now Harry’s besetting sin, _secrecy_, came again in action, and
+instead of manfully telling Helena the truth, he left her privately,
+stealing away at night, and quieting his conscience by promising
+himself to reveal all in a letter, which was actually written, but as
+at the time of its arrival Helena was at home, and the postmaster knew
+of no such person, it was at last sent to Washington with thousands of
+its companions. The reader already knows how ’Lena’s young mother
+watched for her recreant husband’s coming until life and hope died out
+together, and it is only necessary to repeat that part of the story
+which relates to Harry, who on his return home found his father much
+worse than he expected. At his bedside, ministering to his wants, was a
+young, dashing widow, who prided herself upon being Lady Bellmont. On
+his death-bed her father had committed her to the guardianship of Mr.
+Graham, who, strictly honorable in all his dealings, had held his trust
+until the time of her marriage with a young Englishman.
+
+Unfortunately, as it proved for Harry, and fortunately for Sir Arthur,
+who had nothing in common with his wife, the latter died within two
+years after his marriage, leaving his widow and infant son again to the
+care of Mr. Graham, with whom Lady Bellmont, as she was pleased to call
+herself, lived at intervals, swaying him whichever way she listed, and
+influencing him as he had never been influenced before. The secret of
+this was, that the old man had his eye upon her vast possessions, which
+he destined for his son, who, ignorant of the honor intended him, had
+presumed to marry according to the promptings of his heart.
+
+Scarcely was the first greeting over, ere his father at once made known
+his plans, to which Harry listened with mingled pain and amazement.
+“Lucy—Lady Bellmont!” said he, “why, she’s a mother—a widow—beside
+being ten years my senior.”
+
+“Three years,” interrupted his father. “She is twenty-five, you
+twenty-two, and then as to her being a widow and a mother, the
+immensity of her wealth atones for that. She is much sought after, but
+I think she prefers you. She will make you a good wife, and I am
+resolved to see the union consummated ere I die.”
+
+“Never sir, never,” answered Harry, in a more decided manner than he
+had before assumed toward his father. “It is utterly impossible.”
+
+Mr. Graham was too much exhausted to urge the matter at that time, but
+he continued at intervals to harass Harry, until the very sight of Lucy
+Bellmont became hateful to him. It was not so, however, with the son,
+the Durward of our story. He was a fine little fellow, whom every one
+loved, and for hours would Harry amuse himself with him, while his
+thoughts were with his own wife and child, the latter of whom was to be
+so strangely connected with the fortunes of the boy at his side. For
+weeks his father lingered, each day seeming an age to Harry, who,
+though he did not wish to hasten his father’s death, still longed to be
+away. Twice had he written without obtaining an answer, and he was
+about making up his mind to start, at all events, when his father
+suddenly died, leaving him the sole heir of all his princely fortune,
+and with his latest breath enjoining it upon him to marry Lucy
+Bellmont, who, after the funeral was over, adverted to it, saying, in
+her softest tones, “I hope you don’t feel obliged to fulfill your
+father’s request.”
+
+“Of course not,” was Harry’s short answer, as he went on with his
+preparations for his journey, anticipating the happiness he should
+experience in making Helena the mistress of his luxurious home.
+
+But alas for human hopes. The very morning on which he was intending to
+start, he was seized with a fever, which kept him confined to his bed
+until the spring was far advanced. Sooner than he was able he started
+for Springfield in quest of Helena, learning from the woman whom he had
+left in charge, that she was dead, and her baby too! The shock was too
+much for him in his weak state, and for two weeks he was again confined
+to a sick-bed, sincerely mourning the untimely end of one whom he had
+truly loved, and whose death his own foolish conduct had hastened.
+
+Soon after their marriage her portrait had been taken by the best
+artist in the town, and this he determined to procure as a memento of
+the few happy days he had spent with Helena. But the cottage where he
+left her was now occupied by strangers, and after many inquiries, he
+learned that the portrait, together with some of the furniture, had
+been sold to pay the rent, which became due soon after his departure.
+His next thought was to visit her parents, but from this his natural
+timidity shrank. They would reproach him, he thought, with the death of
+their daughter, whom he had so deeply wronged, and not possessing
+sufficient courage to meet them face to face, he again started for
+home, bearing a sad heart, which scarcely again felt a thrill of joy
+until the morning when he first met with ’Lena, whose exact resemblance
+to her mother so startled him as to arouse the jealousy of his wife.
+
+It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the many ways and
+means by which Lucy Bellmont sought to ensnare him. Suffice it to say,
+that she at last succeeded, and he married her, finding in the
+companionship of her son more real pleasure than he ever experienced in
+her society. After a time Mrs. Graham, growing weary of Charleston,
+where her haughty, overbearing manner made her unpopular, besought her
+husband to remove, which he finally did, going to Louisville, where he
+remained until the time of his removal to Woodlawn. Fully believing
+what the old nurse had told him of the death of his wife and child, he
+had no idea of the existence of the latter, though often in the
+stillness of night the remembrance of the little girl whom Durward had
+pointed out to him in the cars, arose before him, haunting him with
+visions of the past, but it was not until he met her at Maple Grove
+that he entertained a thought of her being his daughter.
+
+From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there was now an
+object for which to live. Carefully had he guarded from his wife a
+knowledge of his first marriage, for he dreaded her sneering
+reproaches, and he could not hear his beloved Helena’s name breathed
+lightly by one so greatly her inferior. When he saw ’Lena, however, his
+first impulse was to clasp her in his arms and compel his wife to own
+her, but day after day went by, and he still delayed, hoping for a more
+favorable opportunity, which never came. Had he found her in less
+favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but seeing
+only the brightest side of her life, he believed her comparatively
+happy. She was well educated, accomplished, and beautiful, and so he
+waited, secure in the fact that he was near to see that no harm should
+befall her. Once it occurred to him that possibly he might die
+suddenly, thus leaving his relationship to her a secret forever, and
+acting upon this thought, he immediately made his will, bequeathing all
+to ’Lena, whom he acknowledged to be his daughter, adding an
+explanation of the whole affair, together with a most touching letter
+to his child, who would never see it until he was dead.
+
+This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some good
+excuse for still keeping it from his wife, who worried him incessantly
+concerning his evident preference for ’Lena. Many and many a time he
+resolved to tell her all, but as often postponed the matter, until,
+with the broad Atlantic between them, he ventured to write what he
+could not tell her verbally and, strange to say, the effect upon his
+wife was far different from what he had expected. She did not faint,
+for there was no one by to see her, neither did she rave, for there was
+no one to hear her, but with her usual inconsistency, she blamed her
+husband for not telling her before. Then came other thoughts of a
+different nature. _She_ had helped to impair ’Lena’s reputation, and if
+disgrace attached to her, it would also fall upon her own family.
+Consequently, as we have seen, she set herself at work to atone, as far
+as possible, for her conduct. Her husband had given her permission to
+wait, if she chose, until his return, ere she made the affair public,
+and as she dreaded the remarks it would necessarily call forth, she
+resolved to do so. He had advised her to tell ’Lena, but she was
+gone—no one knew whither, and nervously she waited for some tidings of
+the wanderer. She was willing to receive ’Lena, but not the
+grandmother, _she_ was voted an intolerable nuisance, who should never
+darken the doors of Woodlawn—never!
+
+Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, landing in New York,
+from whence he started for home, meeting, as we have seen, with a
+detention in Canandaigua, where he accidentally fell in with Uncle
+Timothy, who, being minus quite a little sum of money on account of his
+transgression, was lamenting his ill fortune to one of his
+acquaintances, and threatening to give up tavern keeping if the Maine
+law wasn’t repealed.
+
+“Here,” said he, “it has cost me up’ards of fifty dollars, and I’ll bet
+I hain’t sold mor’n a barrel, besides what wine that Kentucky chap has
+bought for his gal, and I suppose they call that nothin’, bein’ it’s
+for sickness. Why, good Lord, the hull on’t was for medicine, or
+chimistry, or mechanics!”
+
+This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name he
+did not remember.
+
+“It’s ’Lena,” answered Uncle Timothy, “’Lena Rivers that dandified chap
+calls her, and it’s plaguy curis to me what she’s a runnin’ away for,
+and he a streakin’ it through the country arter her; there’s mischief
+summers, so I tell ’em, but that’s no consarn of mine so long as he
+pays down regular.”
+
+Mr. Graham’s curiosity was instantly aroused, and the moment he could
+speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he meant by the sick lady.
+
+In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, “A
+relation of yourn, mebby?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Graham. “Is it far to Laurel Hill?”
+
+“Better’n a dozen miles! Was you goin’ out there?”
+
+Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time asking if he
+could procure a horse and carriage there.
+
+Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a penny, and
+now nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, “Them liv’ry scamps’ll
+charge you tew dollars, at the lowest calkerlation. I’m going right
+out, and will take you for six shillin’. What do you think?”
+
+Mr. Graham’s thoughts were not very complimentary to the shrewd Yankee,
+but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied that he would go,
+suggesting that they should start immediately.
+
+“In less than five minits. You jest set down while I go to the store
+arter some jimcracks for the old woman,” said Uncle Timothy, starting
+up the street, which was the last Mr. Graham saw of him for three long
+hours.
+
+At the end of that time, the little man came stubbing down the walk,
+making many apologies, and saying “he got so engaged about the darned
+‘liquor law,’ and the putty-heads that made it, that he’d no idee ’twas
+so late.”
+
+On their way home he still continued to discourse on his favorite
+topic, lamenting that he had voted for the present governor, announcing
+his intention of “jinin’ the _Hindews_ the fust time they met at
+Suckerport,” a village at the foot of Honeoye lake, and stopping every
+man whom he knew to belong to that order, to ask if they took a _fee_,
+and if “there was any bedivelment of _gridirons_ and _goats_, such as
+the Masons and Odd Fellers had!” Being repeatedly assured that the fee
+was only a dollar, and that the initiatory process was not very
+painful, he concluded “to go it, provided they’d promise to run him for
+constable. Office is the hull any of the scallywags jine ’em for, and I
+may as well go in for a sheer,” said he, thinking if he could not have
+the privilege of selling liquor, he would at least secure the right of
+arresting those who drank it!
+
+In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and the clock had
+struck ten long ere they reached the inn, which they found still and
+dark, save the light which was kept burning in ’Lena’s room.
+
+“That’s her chamber—the young gal’s—where you see the candle,” said
+Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge walls of the tavern. “I
+guess you won’t want to disturb her to-night.”
+
+“Certainly not,” answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt a twinge of
+his inveterate habit of secrecy, “If you’d just as lief, you need not
+speak of me to the young gentleman; I wish to take him by
+surprise”—meaning Durward.
+
+There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle Timothy
+was too much absorbed in his loss to think of anything else, and when
+his wife asked “who it was that he lighted up to bed,” he replied, “A
+chap that wanted to come out this way, and so rid with me.”
+
+Mr. Graham was very tired, and now scarcely had his head pressed the
+pillow ere he was asleep, dreaming of ’Lena, whose presence was to shed
+such a halo of sunlight over his hitherto cheerless home. The ringing
+of the bell next morning failed to arouse him, but when Mrs.
+Aldergrass, noticing his absence from the table, inquired for him,
+Uncle Timothy answered, “Never mind, let him sleep—tuckered out,
+mebby—and you know we allus have a sixpence more for an extra meal!”
+
+About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usually careful
+toilet, he sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, for now that the
+interview was so near, his ideas seemed suddenly to forsake him. From
+the window he saw Durward depart for his walk, watching him until he
+disappeared in the dim shadow of the woods.
+
+“I will wait until his return, and let him tell her,” thought he, but
+when a half hour or more went by and Durward did not come, he concluded
+to go down and ask to see her by himself.
+
+In order to do this, it was necessary for him to pass ’Lena’s room, the
+door of which was ajar. She was awake, and hearing his step, thought it
+was Mrs. Aldergrass, and called to her. A thrill of exquisite delight
+ran through his frame at the sound of her voice, and for an instant he
+debated the propriety of going to her at once. A second call decided
+him, and in a moment he was at her bedside, clasping her in his arms,
+and exclaiming, “My precious ’Lena! My _daughter_! Has nothing ever
+told you that I am your father, the husband of your angel mother, who
+lives again in her child—_my_ child—my ’Lena?”
+
+For a moment ’Lena’s brain grew dizzy, and she had well-nigh fainted,
+when the sound of Mr. Graham’s voice brought her back to consciousness.
+Pressing his lips to her white brow, he said, “Speak to me my daughter.
+Say that you receive me as your father for such I am.”
+
+With lightning rapidity ’Lena’s thoughts traversed the past, whose dark
+mystery was now made plain, and as the thought that it might be so—that
+it was so—flashed upon her, she clasped her hands together, exclaiming,
+“My father! Is it true? You are not deceiving me?”
+
+“Deceive you, darling?—no,” said he. “I am your father, and Helena
+Nichols was my wife.”
+
+“Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left me
+unacknowledged?” asked ’Lena.
+
+Mr. Graham groaned bitterly. The hardest part was yet to come, but he
+met it manfully, telling her the whole story, sparing not himself in
+the least, and ending by asking if, after all this, she could forgive
+and love him as her father.
+
+Raising herself in bed, ’Lena wound her arms around his neck, and
+laying her face against his, wept like a little child. He felt that he
+was sufficiently answered, and holding her closer to his bosom, he
+pushed back the clustering curls, kissing her again and again, while he
+said aloud, “I have your answer, dearest one; we will never be parted
+again.”
+
+So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he did not
+observe the fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched fist of
+Durward Bellmont, who had returned from his walk, and who, in coming up
+to his, room, had recognized the tones of his father’s voice. Recoiling
+backward a step or two, he was just in time to see ’Lena as she threw
+herself into Mr. Graham’s, arms—in time to hear the tender words of
+endearment lavished upon her by his father. Staggering backward, he
+caught at the banister to keep from falling, while a moan of anguish
+came from his ashen lips. Alone in his room, he grew calmer, though his
+heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he strode up and down
+the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before, “I would far rather
+see her dead than thus—my lost, lost ’Lena!”
+
+Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his father, whom
+he believed to be far more guilty than she. “I cannot meet him,”
+thought he; “there is murder at my heart, and I must away ere he knows
+of my presence.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stairs, glancing
+back once, and seeing ’Lena reclining upon his father’s arm, while her
+eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding smile, which told of
+perfect happiness.
+
+“Thank God that I am unarmed, else he could not live,” thought he,
+hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in Uncle Timothy’s hands
+double the sum due for himself and ’Lena, and then, without a word of
+explanation, he walked away.
+
+He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in his present state
+of feeling, he determined to go on foot to Canandaigua, a distance of
+little more than a dozen miles. Meantime, Mr. Graham was learning from
+’Lena the cause of her being there, and though she, as far as possible,
+softened the fact of his having been accessory to her misfortunes, he
+felt it none the less keenly, and would frequently interrupt her with
+the exclamation that it was the result of his cowardice—his despicable
+habit of secrecy. When she spoke of the curl which his wife had burned,
+he seemed deeply affected, groaning aloud as he hid his face in his
+hands,
+
+“And _she_ found it—she burned it,” said he; “and it was all I had left
+of my Helena. I cut it from her head on the morning of my departure,
+when she lay sleeping, little dreaming of my cruel desertion. But,” he
+added, “I can bear it better now that I have you, her living image, for
+what she was when last I saw her, you are now.”
+
+Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the tact he so
+well knew how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from his blushing daughter a
+confession of the love she bore him.
+
+“He is worthy of you,” said he, while ’Lena, without seeming to heed
+the remark, said, “I have not seen him yet, but I am expecting him
+every moment, for he was to visit me this morning.”
+
+At this juncture Mrs. Aldergrass, who had been at one of her
+neighbors’, came in, appearing greatly surprised at the sight of the
+stranger, whom ’Lena quietly introduced as “her father,” while Mr.
+Graham colored painfully as Mrs. Aldergrass, curtsying very low, hoped
+_Mr. Rivers_ was well!
+
+“Let it go so,” whispered ’Lena, as she saw her father about to speak.
+
+Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his daughter’s
+eyes sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was heard, he asked Mrs.
+Aldergrass for Mr. Bellmont, saying they would like to see him, if he
+had returned.
+
+Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, announcing
+that “he’d paid his bill and gone off.”
+
+“Gone!” said Mr. Graham. “There must be some mistake. I will go down
+and inquire.”
+
+With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing the gold,
+Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, that “’twan’t noways likely but
+he’d come back agin, for he’d left things in his room to the vally of
+five or six dollars.”
+
+Upon reflection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and returning to ’Lena,
+he sat by her all day, soothing her with assurances that Durward would
+surely come back, as there was no possible reason for his leaving them
+so abruptly. As the day wore away and the night came on he seemed less
+sure, while even Uncle Timothy began to fidget, and when in the evening
+a young pettifogger, who had recently hung out his shingle on Laurel
+Hill, came in, he asked him, in a low tone, “if, under the present
+governor, they _hung_ folks on circumstantial evidence alone.”
+
+“Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evidence,”
+answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little ivory tablets and
+making a charge against Uncle Timothy for professional advice!
+
+“But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off in broad
+daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any sign he was
+murdered—by the landlord?” continued Uncle Timothy, beginning to think
+there might be a worse law than the Maine liquor law.
+
+“That depends upon the previous character of the landlord,” answered
+the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Timothy, brightening up,
+exclaimed, “I shall stand the racket, then, for my character is
+tip-top.”
+
+In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of going in quest of
+Durward, and with a magnanimity quite praiseworthy, Uncle Timothy
+offered his _hoss_ and wagon “for nothin’, provided Mr. Graham would
+leave his watch as a guaranty against _his_ runnin’ off!”
+
+Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, saying he
+had come from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. Bellmont, who wished
+him to bring letters for Mr. Graham and Miss Rivers.
+
+“And where is Mr. Bellmont?” asked Mr. Graham, to which the man
+replied, that he took the six o’clock train the night before, saying,
+further, that his manner was so strange as to induce a suspicion of
+insanity on the part of those who saw him.
+
+Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to ’Lena’s room, giving her her
+letter, and then reading his, which was full of bitterness, denouncing
+him as a villain and cautioning him, as he valued his life, never again
+to cross the track of his outraged step-son.
+
+“You have robbed me,” he wrote, “of all I hold most dear, and while I
+do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, for you are older in
+experience, older in years, and ten-fold older in sin, and I know you
+must have used every art your foul nature could suggest, ere you won my
+lost ’Lena from the path of rectitude.”
+
+In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at ’Lena, who had
+fainted. It was long ere she returned to consciousness, and then her
+fainting fit was followed by another more severe, if possible, than the
+first, while in speechless agony Mr. Graham hung over her.
+
+“I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child,” thought he.
+
+But at last ’Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow the
+crumpled note, she passed it toward her father, bidding him read it. It
+was as follows;
+
+“MY LOST ’LENA: By this title it seems appropriate for me to call you,
+for you are more surely lost to me than you would be were this summer
+sun shining upon your grave. And, ’Lena, believe me when I say I would
+rather, far rather, see you dead than the guilty thing you are, for
+then your memory would be to me as a holy, blessed influence, leading
+me on to a better world, where I could hope to greet you as my spirit
+bride. But now, alas! how dark the cloud which shrouds you from my
+sight.
+
+“Oh, ’Lena, ’Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I thought you so
+pure and innocent, when even now, I would willingly lay down my life
+could that save you from ruin.
+
+“Do you ask what I mean? I have only to refer you to what this morning
+took place between you and the vile man I once called father, and whom
+I believed to be the soul of truth and honor. With a heart full of
+tenderness toward you, I was hastening to your side, when a scene met
+my view which stilled the beatings of my pulse and curdled the very
+blood in my veins, I saw you throw your arms around _his_ neck—the
+husband of _my_ mother. I saw you lay your head upon his bosom. I heard
+him as he called you _dearest_, and said you would never be parted
+again!
+
+“You know all that has passed heretofore, and can you wonder that my
+worst fears are now confirmed? God knows how I struggled against those
+doubts, which were nearly removed, when, by the evidence of my own
+eyesight, uncertainty was made sure.
+
+“And now, my once loved, but erring ’Lena, farewell. I am going
+away—whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear your name
+coupled with disgrace. Another reason why I go, is that the hot blood
+of the south burns too fiercely in my veins to suffer me to meet your
+destroyer and not raise my hand against him. When this reaches you, I
+shall be far away. But what matters it to you? And yet, ’Lena, there
+will come a time when you’ll remember one who, had you remained true to
+yourself, would have devoted his life to make you happy, for I know I
+am not indifferent to you. I have read it in your speaking eye, and in
+the childlike confidence with which you would yield to _me_ when no one
+else could control your wild ravings.
+
+“But enough of this. Time hastens, and I must say farewell—farewell
+forever—my _lost, lost_ ’Lena!
+
+“DURWARD.”
+
+
+Gradually as Mr. Graham read, he felt a glow of indignation at
+Durward’s hastiness. “Rash boy! he might at least have spoken with me,”
+said he, as he finished the letter, but ’Lena would hear no word of
+censure against him. She did not blame him. She saw it all, understood
+it all, and as she recalled the contents of his letter, her own heart
+sadly echoed, “_lost forever_.”
+
+As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but in spite
+of his endeavors, there was still at her heart the same dull, heavy
+pain, and most anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, waiting impatiently
+for the time when she would be able to start for home, as he hoped a
+change of place and scene would do much toward restoring both her
+health and spirits. Soon after his arrival at Laurel Hill, Mr. Graham
+had written to Mr. Livingstone, telling him what he had before told his
+wife, and adding, “Of course, my _daughter’s_ home will in future be
+with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see yourself and family
+at any time.”
+
+This part of the letter he showed to ’Lena, who, after reading it,
+seemed for a long time absorbed in thought.
+
+“What is it, darling? Of what are you thinking?” Mr. Graham asked, at
+length, and ’Lena, taking the hand which he had laid gently upon her
+forehead, replied, “I am thinking of poor grandmother. She is not
+happy, now, at Maple Grove. She will be more unhappy should I leave
+her, and if you please, I would rather stay there with her. I can see
+you every day.”
+
+“Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from your grandmother?”
+interrupted Mr. Graham. “No, no, I am not quite so bad as that.
+Woodlawn is large—there are rooms enough—and grandma shall have her
+choice, provided it is a reasonable one.”
+
+“And your wife—Mrs. Graham? What will she say?” timidly inquired ’Lena,
+involuntarily shrinking from the very thought of coming in contact with
+the little lady who had so recently come up before her in the new and
+formidable aspect of _stepmother_!
+
+Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, neither did he
+care. The fault of his youth once confessed, he felt himself a new man,
+able to cope with almost anything, and if in the future his wife
+objected to what he knew to be right, it would do her no good, for
+henceforth he was to rule his own house. Some such thoughts passed
+through his mind, but it would not be proper, he knew, to express
+himself thus to ’Lena, so he laughingly replied, “Oh, we’ll fix that,
+easily enough.”
+
+At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a letter to
+his wife, announcing his safe return from Europe, and saying that he
+should be at home as soon as ’Lena’s health would admit of her
+traveling. Not wishing to alarm her unnecessarily, he merely said of
+Durward, that he had found him at Laurel Hill. To this letter Mrs.
+Graham replied immediately, and with a far better grace than her
+husband had expected. Very frankly she confessed the unkind part she
+had acted toward ’Lena, and while she said she was sorry, she also
+spoke of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of Lena’s
+friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back,
+
+The continued absence of Durward was now the only drawback to ’Lena’s
+happiness, and with a comparatively light heart, she began to
+anticipate her journey home. Most liberally did Mr. Graham pay for both
+himself and ’Lena, and Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining coin,
+dropping it upon the table to make sure it was not _bogus_, felt quite
+reconciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars. Jerry, the driver, was
+also generously rewarded for his kindness to the stranger-girl, and
+just before he left, Mr. Graham offered to make him his chief overseer,
+if he would accompany him to Kentucky.
+
+“You are just the man I want,” said he, “and I know you’ll like it.
+What do you say?”
+
+For the sake of occasionally seeing ’Lena, whom he considered as
+something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly have gone, but he was a
+staunch abolitionist, dyed in the wool, and scratching his head, he
+replied, “I’m obleeged to you, but I b’lieve I’d rather drive _hosses_
+than _niggers_!”
+
+“Mebby you could run one on ’em off, and so make a little sumthin’,”
+slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on the main chance, but
+it was no part of Jerry’s creed to make anything, and as ’Lena at that
+moment appeared, he beat a precipitate retreat, going out behind the
+church, where he watched the departure of his southern friends, saying
+afterward, to Mrs. Aldergrass, who chided him for his conduct, that “he
+never could bid nobody good-bye, he was so darned tender-hearted!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.
+
+
+“’Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after her!
+That is smart, I must say. Why didn’t you let me know it before!”
+exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his appearance
+at Maple grove.
+
+During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for some
+reason or other she delayed telling him of ’Lena’s flight until quite
+recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning for a
+year, he came home with headlong haste, determining to start
+immediately after his cousin.
+
+“I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you wouldn’t
+feel quite so anxious to get her back,” said Carrie. “For my part, I
+feel quite relieved at her absence.”
+
+“Shut up your head,” roared John Jr. “’Lena is no more guilty than
+_you_. By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she worked to
+save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious Peter! I
+sometimes wish there wasn’t a woman in the world!”
+
+“If they’d all marry you, there wouldn’t be long!” retorted Carrie.
+
+“You’ve said it now, haven’t you?” answered John Jr., while his father
+suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for his own
+neglect, that Durward had gone after ’Lena, who was probably at Mr.
+Everett’s, and that he himself had advertised in all the principal
+papers.
+
+“Just like Bellmont! He’s a fine fellow and deserves ’Lena, if anybody
+does,” exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, “Pshaw! I’ve no idea
+he’s gone for her. Why, they’ve hardly spoken for several months, and
+besides that, Mrs. Graham will never suffer him to marry one of so low
+origin.”
+
+“The deary me!” said John Jr., mimicking his sister’s manner, “how much
+lower is her origin than yours?”
+
+Carrie’s reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother, who,
+hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him. Perfectly
+rational on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying
+of ’Lena, that she had killed her, and now, when her first greeting
+with John Jr. was over, she whispered in his ear, “Have they told you
+’Lena was dead? She is—I killed her—it says so here,” and she handed
+him the almost worn-out note which she constantly carried with her.
+Rough as he seemed at times, there was in John Jr.’s nature many a
+tender spot, and when he saw the look of childish imbecility on his
+grandmother’s face, he pressed his strong arm around her, and a tear
+actually dropped upon her gray hair as he told her ’Lena was not
+dead—he was going to find her and bring her home. At that moment old
+Cæsar, who had been to the post-office, returned, bringing Mr. Graham’s
+letter, which had just arrived.
+
+“That’s Mr. Graham’s handwriting,” said Carrie; glancing at the
+superscription. “Perhaps _he_ knows something of ’Lena!” and she looked
+meaningly at her mother, who, with a peculiar twist of her mouth,
+replied, “Very likely.”
+
+“You are right. He _does_ know something of her,” said Mr. Livingstone,
+as he finished reading the letter. “She is with him at a little village
+called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York.”
+
+“There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must go
+and see her immediately,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself
+back quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her
+brother, asked “what he thought of ’Lena now.”
+
+“Just what I always did,” he replied. “There’s fraud somewhere. Will
+you let me see that, sir?” advancing toward his father, who, placing
+the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied
+emotions of his face.
+
+Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was
+finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted,
+“Hurrah! Hurrah for _Miss ’Lena Rivers Graham_, daughter of the
+Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life. Hurrah!”
+and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly vase, the
+fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young
+man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
+
+“Is the boy crazy?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the coat as
+he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from his
+hand.
+
+“Crazy?—yes,” said he. “Who do you think ’Lena’s father is? No less a
+person than Mr. Graham himself. Now taunt her again, Cad, with her low
+origin, if you like. She isn’t coming here to live any more. She’s
+going to Woodlawn. She’ll marry Durward, while you’ll be a cross,
+dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?” and he chucked her under the chin, while
+she began to cry, bidding him let her alone.
+
+“What do you mean?” interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it
+might be true.
+
+“I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,” replied John.
+
+Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a
+syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue.
+Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up
+as she occasionally caught the meaning of what she heard; but she could
+not understand it at once, and turning to her son, she said, “What is
+it, John? what does it mean?”
+
+As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to
+her, and when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way
+she exclaimed, “Thank God that ’Leny is a lady, at last—as good as the
+biggest on ’em. Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her husband
+was. Poor critter! Mebby he’ll give me money to go back and see the old
+place, once more, afore I die.”
+
+“If he don’t I will,” said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his wife, who
+had not spoken before, wondered “where he’d get it.”
+
+By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance that as
+’Lena was now Durward’s sister, he would not, of course, marry her, and
+determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother, who
+rallied her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly mistaken, for
+“she was as pleased as any one at ’Lena’s good fortune, but it did not
+follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some others did.”
+
+The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left the
+room. In the first excitement, he had thought “how glad Nellie will
+be,” and acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now ordered his
+horse, and dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised Nellie,
+first, with his sudden appearance, second, with his announcement of
+’Lena’s parentage, and third, by an offer of himself!
+
+“It’s your destiny,” said he, “and it’s of no use to resist. What did
+poor little Meb die for, if it wasn’t to make room for you. So you may
+as well say yes first as last. I’m odd, I know, but you can fix me
+over. I’ll do exactly what you wish me to. Say yes, Nellie, won’t you
+?”
+
+And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, if ever before woman had
+such wooing. We think not, for never was there another John Jr.
+
+“I have had happiness enough for one day,” said he, kissing her
+blushing cheek and hurrying away.
+
+As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he
+went straight from Mr. Douglass’s to the marble factory, where he
+ordered a costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as yet
+unmarked save by the tall grass and rank weeds which grew above it.
+
+“What inscription will you have?” asked the engraver. John Jr. thought
+for a moment, and then replied; “Simply ‘Mabel.’ Nothing more or less;
+that tells the whole story,” and involuntarily murmuring to himself,
+“Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I am,” he started for home,
+where he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs. Graham.
+
+She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy no
+longer advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her great
+satisfaction, she found that the news had preceded her. Feeling sure
+that Mrs. Graham must feel greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother
+began, at first, to act the part of consolers, telling her it might not
+be true, after all, for perhaps it was a ruse of Mr. Graham’s to cover
+some deep-laid, scheme. But for once in her life Mrs. Graham did well,
+and to their astonishment, replied, “Oh, I hope not, for you do not
+know how I long for the society of a daughter, and as Mr. Graham’s
+child I shall gladly welcome ’Lena home, trying, if possible, to
+overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!”
+
+Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter were
+to be outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her tactics, so
+could they, and for the next half hour they lauded ’Lena to the skies.
+They had always liked her—particularly Mrs. Livingstone—who said, “If
+allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a
+good deal pained by those reports which you put in circulation.”
+
+“_I_ put reports in circulation!” retorted Mrs. Graham. “What do you
+mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole
+neighborhood!”
+
+The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John Jr.’s
+appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they might as
+well be friends as enemies, introduced another topic of conversation,
+soon after which Mrs. Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway,
+she said, “Would it afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn when
+’Lena arrives?”
+
+Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, Mrs.
+Livingstone said “yes,” while Carrie, thinking Durward would be there,
+made a similar reply, saying “she was exceedingly anxious to see her
+cousin.”
+
+“Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,” said Mrs. Graham,
+curtsying herself from the room.
+
+“Spell _Toady_, Cad,” whispered John Jr., and with more than her usual
+quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.
+
+“That’ll do,” said he, as he walked off to the back yard, where he
+found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel
+employment for them.
+
+The news of ’Lena’s good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing much
+excitement, for she was a favorite there.
+
+“’Clar for’t,” said Aunt Milly, “we orto have a bonfire. It won’t hurt
+nothin’ on the brick pavement.”
+
+Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work
+gathering blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the
+time John Jr. appeared, they had collected quite a pile. Not knowing
+how he would like it, they all took to their heels, except Thomas
+Jefferson, who, having some of his mother’s spirit, stood his ground,
+replying, when asked what they were about, that they were “gwine to
+celebrate Miss ’Lena.” Taking in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called
+out, “Good! come back here, you scapegraces.”
+
+Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach,
+the smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes
+and ivories shining with the expected frolic. Taught by John Jr., they
+hurrahed at the top of their voices when the flames burst up, and one
+little fellow, not yet able to talk plain, made his bare, shining legs
+fly like drumsticks as he shouted, “Huyah for Miss ’Leny Yivers
+Gayum——”
+
+“Bellmont, too, say,” whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the back
+piazza.
+
+“_Bellmont, too, say_,” yelled the youngster, leaping so high as to
+lose his balance.
+
+Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of
+Carrie, who, spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the parlor,
+where for more than an hour she cried from pure vexation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
+
+
+It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The windows were open, and
+through the richly-wrought curtains the balmy air of evening was
+stealing, mingling its delicious perfume of flowers without with the
+odor of those which drooped from the many costly vases which adorned
+the handsome parlors. Lamps were burning, casting a mellow light over
+the gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy white the mistress of
+the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous, a little
+fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross. For more than
+two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the supper, which
+the cook, quite as anxious as herself, pronounced spoiled by the delay.
+
+According to promise the party from Maple Grove had arrived, with the
+exception of John Jr., who had generously remained with his
+grandmother, she having been purposely omitted in the invitation. From
+the first, Mrs. Graham had decided that Mrs. Nichols should never live
+at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to have it understood at once.
+Accordingly, as she was conducting Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie to
+’Lena’s room, she casually remarked, “I’ve made no provision for Mrs.
+Nichols, except as an occasional visitor, for of course she will remain
+with her son. She is undoubtedly much attached to your family, and will
+be happier there!”
+
+“_This_ ’Lena’s!” interrupted Carrie, ere her mother had time to reply.
+“It’s the very best chamber in the house—Brussels carpets, marble and
+rosewood furniture, damask curtains. Why, she’ll hardly know how to
+act,” she continued, half unconsciously, as she gazed around the
+elegant apartment, which, with one of her unaccountable freaks, Mrs.
+Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
+
+“Yes, this is Lena’s,” said Mrs. Graham, complacently. “Will it compare
+at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I do not wish it to seem
+inferior!”
+
+Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, “Ye-es, on
+the whole _quite_ as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is
+new!”
+
+“Have I told you,” continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting
+them,—“have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New Orleans,
+where ’Lena will of course be the reigning belle? You ought to be
+there, dear,” laying her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “It would be so
+gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!”
+
+“Spiteful old thing—she tries to insult us,” thought Carrie, her heart
+swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated ’Lena, whose future life
+seemed so bright and joyous.
+
+The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower
+hall just as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at
+Midway, drove up at a side door. Carrie’s first thought was for
+Durward, and shading her eyes with her hand, she looked anxiously out.
+But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently lifting out his daughter, who was
+still an invalid.
+
+“Mighty careful of her,” thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms he
+bore her up the marble steps.
+
+Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he said,
+turning to his wife, “Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and
+love her as such, for my sake?”
+
+In a moment ’Lena’s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of Mrs.
+Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her “’Lena,” and saying “she
+was welcome to Woodlawn.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her with
+caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence, chiding
+her for running away, calling her a _naughty puss_, and perfectly
+bewildering her with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone’s turn
+came next, but he neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in
+keeping with his nature, but very, very tenderly he looked into her
+eyes, as he said, “You know, ’Lena, that _I_ am glad—most glad for
+you.”
+
+Unostentatious as was this greeting, ’Lena felt that there was more
+sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed
+forth involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one “a baby,” and the
+other “a fool,” Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor,
+while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show ’Lena to her room.
+
+“Hadn’t you better go up and assist your cousin,” whispered Mrs.
+Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking at the door, an
+act of politeness she had never before thought it necessary to offer
+’Lena. But she was an _heiress_, now, fully, yes, more than equal, and
+that made a vast difference.
+
+“I came to see if I could render you any service,” she said in answer
+to ’Lena’s look of inquiry.
+
+“No I thank you,” returned ’Lena, beginning to get an inkling of the
+truth. “You know I’m accustomed to waiting upon myself, and if I want
+anything, Drusa can assist me. I’ve only to change my soiled dress and
+smooth my hair,” she continued, as she shook out her long and now
+rather rough tresses.
+
+“What handsome hair you’ve got,” said Carrie, taking one of the curls
+in her hand. “I’d forgotten it was so beautiful. Hasn’t it improved
+during your absence?”
+
+“A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one’s hair, I
+believe,” answered ’Lena, as she proceeded to brush and arrange her
+wavy locks, which really had lost some of their luster.
+
+Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack. Looking
+’Lena in the face, she said, “What is it? I can’t make it out, but—but
+somehow you’ve changed, you don’t look so—so——”
+
+“So _well_ you would say, I suppose,” returned ’Lena, laughingly, “I’ve
+grown thin, but I hope to improve by and by.”
+
+Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, and her
+large eyes sparkled as she thought her young mistress “a heap the best
+lookin’ _now_.”
+
+By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward. Instantly ’Lena
+turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, and in an unsteady
+voice she replied, that “she did not know.”
+
+“Not know!” repeated Carrie, her own countenance brightening visibly.
+“Haven’t you seen him? Wasn’t he at that funny, out-of-the-way place,
+where you were?”
+
+“Yes, but he left before I saw him,” returned ’Lena, her manner plainly
+indicating that there was something wrong.
+
+Carrie’s spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and on their way
+downstairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly, that ’Lena wondered
+if it could be the same haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her
+except to repulse or command her. The supper-bell rang just as they
+reached the parlor, and Mr. Graham, taking ’Lena on his arm, led the
+way to the dining-room, where the entire silver tea-set had been
+brought out, in honor of the occasion.
+
+“Hasn’t ’Lena changed, mother?” said Carrie, feeling hateful, and
+knowing no better way of showing it “Hasn’t her sickness changed her?”
+
+“It has made her grow _old_; that’s all the difference I perceive,”
+returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she’d said the thing which
+she knew would most annoy herself.
+
+“How old are you, dear?” asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the table.
+
+“Eighteen,” was ’Lena’s answer, to which Mrs. Graham replied, “I
+thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, I believe.”
+
+“Two, only two,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie exclaimed,
+“Horrors! How old do you take me to be?”
+
+Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and soon
+after they rose from the table. Scarcely had they returned to the
+parlor, when John Jr. was announced. “He had,” he said, “got his
+grandmother to sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his
+respects to _Miss Graham_!”
+
+Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, “Little girl! I’m as much
+delighted with your good fortune as I should be had it happened to
+myself. But where is Bellmont?” he continued, looking about the room.
+
+Mr. Graham replied that he was not there.
+
+“Not here?” repeated John Jr. “What have you done with him, ’Lena?”
+
+Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin’s face, ’Lena said,
+softly, “Please don’t talk about it now.”
+
+“There’s something wrong,” thought John Jr. “I’ll bet I’ll have to
+shoot that dog yet.”
+
+’Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she
+could confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of whispering
+to him, “Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it.”
+
+Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and
+Carrie taking a most affectionate leave of ’Lena, urging her not to
+fail of coming over the next day, as they should be expecting her. The
+ludicrous expression of John Jr.’s face was a sufficient interpretation
+of his thoughts, as whispering aside to ’Lena, he said, “I can’t do it
+justice if I try!”
+
+The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry ’Lena to
+Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. But she excused
+herself, on the plea of a headache, and they set off without her. The
+meeting between ’Lena and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in
+order to sustain the character she had assumed, walked to the window,
+to hide her emotions, probably—at least John Jr. thought so, for with
+the utmost gravity he passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the
+first transports of her interview with ’Lena were over, Mrs. Nichols
+fastened herself upon Mr. Graham, while John Jr. invited ’Lena to the
+garden, where he claimed from her the promised story, which she told
+him unreservedly.
+
+“Oh, that’s nothing, compared with my experience,” said John Jr.,
+plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters above
+his head. “That’s easily settled. I’ll go after Durward myself, and
+bring him back, either dead or alive—the latter if possible, the former
+if necessary. So cheer up. I’ve faith to believe that you and Durward
+will be married about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are
+engaged—did I tell you?”
+
+Involuntarily ’Lena’s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny slope
+and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.
+
+“I know what you think,” said John Jr. rather testily, “but hang me if
+I can help it. Meb was never intended for me, except by mother. I
+suppose there is in the world somebody for whom she was made, but it
+wasn’t I, and that’s the reason she died. I am sorry as anybody, and
+every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well, and
+who met with so poor a return. I’ve bought her some gravestones,
+though,” he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for the past.
+
+While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs.
+Nichols the propriety of her removing to Woodlawn.
+
+“I shan’t live long to trouble anybody,” said she when asked if she
+would like to go, “and I’m nothin’ without ’Leny.”
+
+So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when ’Lena returned
+to the house, she found her grandmother in her chamber, packing up,
+preparatory to her departure.
+
+“We’ll have to come agin,” said she, “for I’ve as much as two loads.”
+
+“Don’t take them,” interposed ’Lena. “You won’t need them, and nothing
+will harm them here.”
+
+After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to Mrs.
+Livingstone and Carrie was, “that they keep the dum niggers from her
+things.”
+
+Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had lived at Maple Grove
+for years, and every niche and corner of her room she understood. She
+knew the blacks and they knew her, and ere she was half-way to
+Woodlawn, she began to wish she had not started. Politely, but coldly,
+Mrs. Graham received her, saying “I thought, perhaps, you would return
+with them to _spend the day_!” laying great emphasis on the last words,
+as if that, of course, was to be the limit of her visit Grandma
+understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of not remaining
+long.
+
+“Miss Graham don’t want to be pestered with me,” said she to ’Lena, the
+first time they were alone, “and I don’t mean that she shall be. ’Tilda
+is used to me, and she don’t mind it now, so I shall go back afore
+long. You can come to see me every day, and once in a while I’ll come
+here.”
+
+That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham remarked to Mrs.
+Nichols that “she hoped she was not homesick, as there was every
+probability of her being obliged to _stay over night_!” adding, by way
+of comfort, that “she was going to Frankfort the next day to make
+purchases for ’Lena, and would take her home.”
+
+Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not very agreeably
+surprised by the return of her mother-in-law, who, Mrs. Graham said,
+“was so home-sick they couldn’t keep her.”
+
+That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, returned from
+the city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle for grandma,
+consisting of dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, which she had
+purchased as a sort or peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her
+having decamped so quietly from Woodlawn. But the poor old lady did not
+live to wear them. Both her mind and body were greatly impaired, and
+for two or three years she had been failing gradually. There was no
+particular disease, but a general breaking up of the springs of life,
+and a few weeks after ’Lena’s arrival at Woodlawn,, they made another
+grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer slept alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+DURWARD.
+
+
+From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had hurried, caring
+nothing except to forget, if possible, the past, and knowing not where
+he was going, until he at last found himself in Richmond, Virginia.
+This was his mother’s birthplace, and as several of her more distant
+relatives were still living here, he determined to stop for awhile,
+hoping that new objects and new scenes would have some power to rouse
+him from the lethargy into which he had fallen. Constantly in terror
+lest he should hear of ’Lena’s disgrace, which he felt sure would be
+published to the world, he had, since his departure from Laurel Hill,
+resolutely refrained from looking in a newspaper, until one morning
+some weeks after his arrival at Richmond.
+
+Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Gazette, and after
+assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did not contain what he so
+much dreaded to see, he sat down to read it, paying no attention to the
+date, which was three or four weeks back. Accidentally he cast his eye
+over the list of arrivals at the Burnet House, seeing among them the
+names of “Mr. H. R. Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford county,
+Kentucky!”
+
+“_Audacious_! How dare they be so bold!” he exclaimed, springing to his
+feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered upon the
+floor.
+
+“Considerable kind of uppish, ’pears to me,” said a strange voice,
+having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain class of
+Yankees.
+
+Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose style of dress
+and freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slocum. Wearying of
+Cincinnati, as he had before done with Lexington, he had traveled at
+last to Virginia. Remembering to have heard that his grandmother’s aunt
+had married, died, and left a daughter in Richmond, he determined, if
+possible, to find some trace of her. Accordingly, he had come on to
+that city, making it the theater of his daguerrean operations. These
+alone not being sufficient to support him, he had latterly turned his
+attention to _literary pursuits_, being at present engaged in
+manufacturing a book after the Sam Slick order, which, to use his own
+expression, “he expected would have a thunderin’ sale.”
+
+In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, he came
+every day to the reading-room, tumbling over books and papers,
+generally carrying one of the former in his hand, affecting an utter
+disregard of his personal appearance, daubing his fingers with ink,
+wiping them on the pocket of his coat, and doing numerous other things
+which he fancied would stamp him a distinguished person.
+
+On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel’s attention was attracted
+toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he had seen at Maple Grove, and
+though he did not recognize the original, he fancied he might have met
+him before, and was about making his acquaintance, when Durward’s
+action drew from him the remark we have mentioned. Thinking him to be
+some impertinent fellow, Durward paid him no attention, and was about
+leaving, when, hitching his chair a little nearer, Joel said, “Be you
+from Virginny?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“From York state?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“From Pennsylvany?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?”
+
+No answer.
+
+“Be you from Kentucky?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do you know Mr. Graham’s folks?”
+
+“Yes,” said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something
+concerning his stepfather—but it was not.
+
+Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel continued:
+“Wall, I calkerlate that I’m some relation to Miss Graham. Be you
+’quainted with her?”
+
+Durward knew that a relationship with _Mrs_. Graham also implied a
+relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious as well as
+somewhat amused, he replied, “Related to Mrs. Graham! Pray how?”
+
+“Why, you see,” said Joel, “that my grandmarm’s aunt—she was younger
+than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew. Wall, she went off to Virginia to
+teach music, and so married a nabob—know what that is, I s’pose; she
+had one gal and died, and this gal was never heard from until I took it
+into my head to look her up, and I’ve found out that she was _Lucy
+Temple_. She married an Englishman, first—then a man from South
+Carolina, who is now livin’ in Kentucky, between Versailles and
+Frankfort.”
+
+“What was your grandmother’s aunt’s name?” asked Durward.
+
+“Susan Howard,” returned Joel. “The Howards were a stuck-up set,
+grandmarm and all—not a bit like t’other side of the family. My
+mother’s name was Scovandyke——”
+
+“And yours?” interrupted Durward.
+
+“Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,” said
+the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow, which
+he always used on great occasions.
+
+In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said, “Can
+you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your
+great-great-aunt’s daughter, would be to you?”
+
+“My third cousin, of course,” answered Joel. “I figgered that out with
+a slate and pencil.”
+
+“And her son, if she had one?”
+
+“Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure—but enough
+to brag on, if they happened to be smart!”
+
+“Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple’s son?” said Durward, to
+which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, “Wall, s’posin’ you du,
+’twon’t make it so.”
+
+“But I _am_, really and truly,” continued Durward. “Her first husband
+was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it
+seems.”
+
+“_Jehosiphat_! If this ain’t curis,” exclaimed Joel, grasping Durward’s
+hand. “How _do_ you du, and how is your marm. And do you know Helleny
+Rivers?”
+
+Durward’s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel
+continued: “We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of
+each other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she’d got to be
+mighty toppin’. Mebby, though, ’twas only my notion.”
+
+Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, “I
+suppose you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin’. I’m goin’ to
+my office now, and if you’ll come with me I’ll take yourn for nothin’,
+bein’ you’re related.”
+
+Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed
+the young man to his “office,” which was a dingy, cheerless apartment
+in the fourth story of a crazy old building. On the table in the center
+of the room were several likenesses, which he carelessly examined.
+Coming at last to a larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly
+it dropped from his hand, while an exclamation of surprise escaped his
+lips.
+
+“What’s the row, old feller,” asked Joel, coming forward and picking up
+the picture which Durward had recognized as ’Lena Rivers.
+
+“How came you by it?” said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing wink,
+Joel replied, “I know, and that’s enough.”
+
+“But I must know, too. It is of the utmost importance that I know,”
+said Durward, and after a moment’s reflection, Joel answered “Wall, I
+don’t s’pose it’ll do any hurt if I tell you. When I was a boy I had a
+hankerin’ for ’Leny, and I didn’t get over it after I was grown,
+either, so a year or two ago I thought I’d go to Kentuck and see her.
+Knowin’ how tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be with a picter of
+their old home in the mountains, I took it for ’em and started. In
+Albany I went to see a family that used to live in Slocumville. The
+woman was a gal with ’Leny’s mother, and thought a sight of her. Wall,
+in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was an old portrait, which
+looked so much like ’Leny that in the mornin’ I asked whose it was, and
+if you b’lieve me, ’twas ’Leny’s mother! You know she married, or
+thought she married, a southern rascal, who got her portrait taken and
+then run off, and the picter, which in its day was an expensive one,
+was sold to pay up. A few years afterward, Miss Rice, the woman I was
+tellin’ you about, came acrost it, and bought it for a little or
+nothin’ to remember Helleny Nichols by. Thinks to me, nothin’ can
+please ’Leny better than a daguerreotype of her mother, so I out with
+my apparatus and took it. But when I come to see that they were as nigh
+alike as two peas, I hated to give it up, for I thought it would be
+almost as good as lookin’ at ’Leny. So I kept it myself, but I don’t
+want her to know it, for she’d be mad.”
+
+“Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?” asked Durward, a faint
+light beginning to dawn upon him.
+
+“What a feller to hang on,” answered Joel, “but bein’ I’ve started,
+I’ll go it and tell the hull. One morning when I was in Lexington, a
+gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Graham, and saying he wanted a
+copy of an old mountain house which he had seen at Mr. Livingstone’s.
+Whilst I was gettin’ it ready, he happened to come acrost this one, and
+what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away. I had to throw
+water in his face and everything. Bimeby he cum to, and says he, ‘Where
+did you get that?’ I told him all about it, and then, layin’ his head
+on the table, he groaned orfully, wipin’ off the thumpinest great drops
+of sweat and kissin’ the picter as if he was crazy.
+
+“‘Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?’ says I.
+
+“‘Knew her, yes,’ says he, jumpin’ up and walkin’ the room as fast.
+
+“All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin’ had happened, and
+says he, ‘I must have that or one jest like it.’
+
+“At first I hesitated, for I felt kinder mean always about keepin’ it,
+and I didn’t want ’Leny to know I’d got it. I told him so, and he said
+nobody but himself should ever see it. So I took a smaller one, leavin’
+off the lower part of the body, as the dress is old-fashioned, you see.
+He was as tickled as a boy with a new top, and actually forgot to take
+the other one of the mountain house. Some months after, I came across
+him in Cincinnati. His wife was with him, and I thought then that she
+looked like Aunt Nancy. Wall, he went with me to my office, and said he
+wanted another daguerreotype, as he’d lost the first one. Now I’m,
+pretty good at figgerin’, and I’ve thought that matter over until I’ve
+come to this conclusion—_that man_—was—’Lena’s father—the husband or
+something of Helleny Nichols! But what ails you? Are you faintin’,
+too,” he exclaimed, as he saw the death-like whiteness which had
+settled upon Durward’s face and around his mouth.
+
+“Tell me more, everything you know,” gasped Durward.
+
+“I have told you all I know for certain,” said Joel. “The rest is only
+guess-work, but it looks plaguy reasonable. ’Leny’s father, I’ve heard
+was from South Car’lina——”
+
+“So was Mr. Graham,” said Durward, more to himself than to Joel, who
+continued, “And he’s your step-father, ain’t he—the husband of Lucy
+Temple, my cousin?”
+
+Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, he arose to go,
+telling Joel he would see him again. Alone in his room, he sat down to
+think of the strange story he had heard. Gradually as he thought, his
+mind went back to the time when Mr. Graham first came home from
+Springfield. He was a little boy, then, five or six years of age, but
+he now remembered many things calculated to prove what he scarcely yet
+dared to hope. He recalled Mr. Graham’s preparations to return, when he
+was taken suddenly ill. He knew that immediately atter his recovery he
+had gone northward. He remembered how sad he had seemed after his
+return, neglecting to play with him as had been his wont, and when to
+this he added Joel’s story, together with the singularity of his
+father’s conduct towards ’Lena, he could not fail to be convinced.
+
+“She _is_ innocent, thank heaven! I see it all now. Fool that I was to
+be so hasty,” he exclaimed, his whole being seemed to undergo a sudden
+change as the joyous conviction flashed upon him.
+
+In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel Slocum,
+and ere the sun-setting he was far on his road home. Occasionally he
+felt a lingering doubt, as he wondered what possible motive his father
+could have had for concealment, but these wore away as the distance
+between himself and Kentucky diminished. As the train paused at one of
+the stations, he was greatly surprised at seeing John Jr. among the
+crowd gathered at the depot.
+
+“Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?” shouted Durward, leaning
+from the open window.
+
+The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life John Jr.
+bounded upon the platform, and was soon seated by the side of Durward.
+
+“You are a great one, ain’t you?” said he. “Here I’ve been looking for
+you all over Christendom, to tell you the news. You’ve got a new
+sister. Did you know it?”
+
+“’_Lena_! Is it true? _Is_ it ’Lena?” said Durward, and John replied by
+relating the particulars as far as he knew them, and ending by asking
+Durward if “he didn’t think he was sold!”
+
+“Don’t talk,” answered Durward. “I want to think, for I was never so
+happy in my life.”
+
+“Nor I either,” returned John Jr. “So if you please you needn’t speak
+to _me_, as I wish to think, too.”
+
+But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his companion of
+his engagement with Nellie—and he did, falling asleep soon after, and
+leaving Durward to his own reflections.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+We hope the reader does not expect us to describe the meeting between
+Durward and ’Lena, for we have not the least, or, at the most, only a
+faint idea of what took place. We only know that it occurred in the
+summer-house at the foot of the garden, whither ’Lena had fled at the
+first intimation of his arrival, and that on her return to the house,
+after an interview of two whole hours, there were on her cheeks traces
+of tears, which the expression of her face said were not tears of
+grief.
+
+“How do you like my daughter?” asked Mr. Graham, mischievously, at the
+same time laying his arm proudly about her neck.
+
+“So well that I have asked her to become my wife, and she has promised
+to do so, provided we obtain your consent,” answered Durward, himself
+throwing an arm around the blushing girl, who tried to escape, but he
+would not let her, holding her fast until his father’s answer was
+given.
+
+Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, “Now, mother, we will hear you.”
+
+Kind and affectionate as she tried to be toward ’Lena, Mrs. Graham had
+not yet fully conquered her olden prejudice, and had the matter been
+left wholly with herself, she would, perhaps, have chosen for her son a
+bride in whose veins _no plebeian blood_ was flowing; but she well knew
+that her objections would have no weight, and she answered, that “she
+should not oppose him.”
+
+“Then it is settled,” said he, “and four weeks from to-night I shall
+claim ’Lena for my own.”
+
+“No, not so soon after grandma’s death,” ’Lena said, and Durward
+replied:
+
+“If grandma could speak, she would tell you not to wait!” but ’Lena was
+decided, and the most she would promise was, that in the spring she
+would think about it!
+
+“Six months,” said Durward, “I’ll never wait so long!” but he forbore
+pressing her further on the subject, knowing that he should have her in
+the house with him, which would in a great measure relieve the tedium
+of waiting.
+
+During the autumn, his devotion to ’Lena furnished Carrie with a
+subject for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly-engaged people.
+
+“I declare,” said she, one evening after the departure of Durward,
+’Lena, and Nellie, who had been spending the day at Maple Grove, “I’m
+perfectly disgusted, and if this is a specimen, I hope I shall never be
+engaged.”
+
+“Don’t give yourself a moment’s uneasiness,” retorted John Jr., “I’ve
+not the least idea that such a calamity will ever befall you, and years
+hence my grandchildren will read on some gravestone, ‘Sacred to the
+memory of Miss Caroline Livingstone, aged 70. In single blessedness she
+lived—and in the same did die!’”
+
+“You think you are cunning, don’t you,” returned Carrie, more angry
+than she was willing to admit.
+
+She had received the news of Durward’s engagement much better than
+could have been expected, and after a little she took to quoting and
+cousining ’Lena, while John Jr. seldom let an opportunity pass of
+hinting at the very recent date Of her admiration for Miss Graham.
+
+Almost every day for several weeks after Durward’s return, he looked
+for a visit from Joel Slocum, who did not make his appearance until
+some time toward the last of November. Then he came, claiming, and
+_proving_, his relationship with Mrs. Graham, who was terribly annoyed,
+and who, it was rumored, _hired_ him to leave!
+
+During the winter, nothing of importance occurred, if we except the
+fact that a part of Mabel’s fortune, which was supposed to have been
+lost, was found to be good, and that John Jr. one day unexpectedly
+found himself to be the lawful heir of fifty thousand dollars. Upon
+Mrs. Livingstone this circumstance produced a rather novel effect,
+renewing, in its original force, all her old affection for Mabel, who
+was now “our dear little Meb.” Many were the comparisons drawn between
+Mrs. John Jr. No. 1, and Mrs. John Jr. No. 2, that was to be, the
+former being pronounced far more lady-like and accomplished than the
+latter, who, during her frequent visits at Maple Grove, continually
+startled her mother-in-law elect by her loud, ringing laugh, for Nellie
+was very happy. Her influence, too, over John Jr. became ere long,
+perceptible in his quiet, gentle manner, and his abstinence from the
+rude speeches which heretofore had seemed a part of his nature.
+
+Mrs. Graham had proposed spending the winter in New Orleans, but to
+this Durward objected. He wanted ’Lena all to himself, he said, and as
+she seemed perfectly satisfied to remain where she was, the project was
+given up, Mrs. Graham contenting herself with anticipating the splendid
+entertainment she would give at the wedding, which was to take place
+about the last of March. Toward the first of January the preparations
+began, and if Carrie had never before felt a pang of envy, she did now,
+when she saw the elegant trousseau which Mr. Graham ordered for his
+daughter. But all such feelings must be concealed, and almost every day
+she rode over to Woodlawn, admiring this, going into ecstasies over
+that, and patronizingly giving her advice on all subjects, while all
+the time her heart was swelling with bitter disappointment. Having
+always felt so sure of securing Durward, she had invariably treated
+other gentlemen with such cool indifference that she was a favorite
+with but few, and as she considered these few her inferiors, she had
+more than once feared lest John Jr.’s prediction concerning the
+_lettering_ on her tombstone should prove true!
+
+“Anything but that,” said she, dashing away her tears, as she thought
+how ’Lena had supplanted her in the affections of the only person she
+could ever love,
+
+“Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the parlor,” said
+Corinda, putting her head in at the door.
+
+Since his unfortunate affair with Anna, the captain had avoided Maple
+Grove, but feeling lonely at Sunnyside, he had come over this morning
+to call. Finding Mrs. Livingstone absent, he had asked for Carrie, who
+was so unusually gracious that he wondered he had never before
+discovered how greatly superior to her sister she was! All his favorite
+pieces were sung to him, and then, with the patience of a martyr, the
+young lady seated herself at the backgammon board, playing game after
+game, until she could scarcely tell her men from his. On his way home
+the captain fell into a curious train of reflections, while Carrie,
+when asked by Corinda, if “old marster was done gone,” sharply
+reprimanded the girl, telling her “it was very impolite to call anybody
+_old_, particularly one so young as Captain Atherton!”
+
+The next day the captain came again, and the next, and the next, until
+at last his former intimacy at Maple Grove seemed to be re-established.
+And all this time no one had an inkling of the true state of things,
+not even John Jr., who never dreamed it possible for his haughty
+sister, to grace Sunnyside as its mistress. “But stranger things than
+that had happened and were happening every day,” Carrie reasoned, as
+she sat alone in her room, revolving the propriety of answering “Yes”
+to a note which the captain had that morning placed in her hand at
+parting. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was very fair,
+and as yet untouched by a single mark or line. She thought of him,
+_bald_, _wrinkled_, _fat_ and _forty-six_!
+
+“I’ll never do it,” she exclaimed. “Better live single all my days.”
+
+At this moment, the carriage of Mrs. Graham drew up, and from it
+alighted ’Lena, richly clad. The sight of her produced a reaction, and
+Carrie thought again. Captain Atherton was generous to a fault. He was
+able and willing to grant her slightest wish, and as his wife, she
+could compete with, if not outdo, ’Lena in the splendor of her
+surroundings. The pen was resumed, and Carrie wrote the words which
+sealed her destiny for life. This done, nothing could move her, and
+though her father entreated, her mother scolded, and John Jr. _swore_,
+it made no difference. “She was old enough to choose for herself,” she
+said, “and she had done so.”
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone became convinced that her daughter was in
+earnest, she gave up the contest, taking sides with her. Like Durward,
+Captain Atherton was in a hurry, and it was decided that the wedding
+should take place a week before the time appointed for that of her
+cousin. Determining not to be outdone by Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Livingstone
+launched forth on a large scale, and there commenced between the two
+houses a species of rivalry extremely amusing to a looker on. Did Mrs.
+Graham purchase for ’Lena a costly silk, Mrs. Livingstone forthwith
+secured a piece of similar quality, but different pattern, for Carrie.
+Did Mrs. Graham order forty dollars’ worth of confectionery, Mrs.
+Livingstone immediately increased her order to fifty dollars. And when
+it was known that Mrs. Graham had engaged a Louisville French cook at
+two dollars per day, Mrs. Livingstone sent to Cincinnati, offering
+three for one!
+
+Carrie had decided upon a tour to Europe, and the captain had given his
+consent, when it was reported that Durward and ’Lena were also
+intending to sail for Liverpool. In this dilemma there was no
+alternative save a trip to California or the Sandwich Islands! The
+former was chosen, Captain Atherton offering to defray Mrs.
+Livingstone’s expenses if she would accompany them. This plan Carrie
+warmly seconded, for she knew her mother’s presence would greatly
+relieve her from the society of her husband, which was _not_ as
+agreeable to her as it ought to have been. But Mr. Livingstone refused
+to let his wife go, unless Anna came home and stayed with him while she
+was gone.
+
+He accordingly wrote to Anna, inviting her and Malcolm to be present at
+Carrie’s wedding, purposely omitting the name of the bridegroom; and
+three days before the appointed time they came. It was dark when they
+arrived, and as they were not expected that night, they entered the
+house before any one was aware of their presence. John Jr. chanced to
+be in the hall, and the moment he saw Anna, he caught her in his arms,
+shouting so uproariously that his father and mother at once hastened to
+the spot.
+
+“Will you forgive me, father ?” Anna said, and Mr. Livingstone replied
+by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended his hand to Malcolm.
+
+“Where’s Carrie?” Anna said, and John Jr. replied, “In the parlor, with
+her future spouse. Shall I introduce you?”
+
+So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then recoiled in
+terror as she saw Captain Atherton.
+
+“Oh, Carrie!” she exclaimed. “It cannot be——that I see you again!” she
+added, as she met her sister’s warning look.
+
+Another moment and they were in each other’s arms weeping bitterly, the
+one that her sister should thus throw herself away, and the other,
+because she was wretched. It was but for an instant, however, and then
+Carrie was herself again. Playfully presenting Anna to the Captain, she
+said, “Ain’t I good to take up with what you left!”
+
+But no one smiled at this joke—the captain, least of all, and as Carrie
+glanced from him to Malcolm, she felt that her sister had made a happy
+choice. The next day ’Lena came, overjoyed to meet Anna, who more than
+any one else, rejoiced in her good fortune.
+
+“You deserve it all,” she said, when they were alone, “and if Carrie
+had one tithe of your happiness in store I should be satisfied.”
+
+But Carrie asked for no sympathy. “It was no one’s business whom she
+married,” she said; and so one pleasant night in the early spring, they
+decked her in her bridal robes, and then, white, cold, and feelingless
+as a marble statue, she laid her hand in Captain Atherton’s, and took
+upon her the vows which made her his forever. A few days after the
+ceremony, Carrie began to urge their immediate departure for
+California.
+
+“There was no need of further delay,” she said. “No one cared to see
+’Lena married. Weddings were stupid things, anyway, and her mother
+could just as well go one time as another.”
+
+At first Mrs. Livingstone hesitated, but when Carrie burst into a
+passionate fit of weeping, declaring “she’d kill herself if she had to
+stay much longer at Sunnyside and be petted by _that old fool_,” she
+consented, and one week from the day of the marriage they started. In
+Carrie’s eyes there was already a look of weary sadness, which said
+that the bitter tears were constantly welling up, while on her brow a
+shadow was resting, as if Sunnyside were a greater burden than she
+could bear. Alas, for a union without love! It seldom fails to end in
+misery, and thus poor Carrie found it. Her husband was proud of her,
+and, had she permitted, would have loved her after his fashion, but his
+affectionate advances were invariably repulsed, until at last he
+treated her with a cold politeness, far more endurable than his fawning
+attentions had been. She was welcome to go her own way, and he went
+his, each having in San Francisco their own suite of rooms, and setting
+up, as it were, a separate establishment. In this way they got on quite
+comfortably for a few weeks, at the end of which time Carrie took it
+into her capricious head to return to Maple Grove. She would never go
+back to Sunnyside, she said. And without a word of opposition the
+captain paid his bills, and started for Kentucky, where he left his
+wife at Maple Grove, she giving as a reason that “ma could not spare
+her yet.”
+
+Far different from this were the future prospects of Durward and ’Lena,
+who with perfect love in their hearts were married, a week after the
+departure of Captain Atherton for California. Very proudly Durward
+looked down upon her as he placed the first husband’s kiss on her brow,
+and in the soft brown eyes, brimming with tears, which she raised to
+his face, there was a world of tenderness, telling that theirs was a
+union of hearts as well as hands.
+
+The next night a small party assembled at the house of Mr. Douglass, in
+Frankfort, where Nellie was transformed into Nellie Livingstone.
+Perhaps it was the remembrance of the young girl to whom his vows had
+once before been plighted, that made John Jr. appear for a time as if
+he were in a dream. But the moment they rallied him upon the
+strangeness of his manner, he brightened up, saying that he was trying
+to get used to thinking that Nellie was really his. It had been decided
+that he should accompany Durward and ’Lena to Europe, and a day or two
+after his marriage he asked Mr. Everett to go too. Anna’s eyes fairly
+danced with joy, as she awaited Malcolm’s reply. But much as he would
+like to go, he could not afford it, and so he frankly said, kissing
+away the big tear which rolled down Anna’s cheek.
+
+With a smile John Jr. placed a sealed package in his sister’s hand,
+saying to Malcolm, “I have anticipated this and provided for it. I
+suppose you are aware that Mabel willed me all her property, which
+contrary to our expectations, has proved to be considerable. I know I
+do not deserve a cent of it, but as she had no nearer relative than Mr.
+Douglass, I have concluded to use it for the comfort of his daughter
+and for the good of others. I want you and Anna to join us, and I’ve
+given her such a sum as will bear your expenses, and leave you more
+than you can earn dickering at law for three or four years. So, puss,”
+turning to Anna, “it’s all settled. Now hurrah for the sunny skies of
+France and Italy, I’ve talked with father about it, and he’s willing to
+stay alone for the sake of having you go. Oh, don’t thank me,” he
+continued, as he saw them about to speak. “It’s poor little Meb to whom
+you are indebted. She loved Anna, and would willingly have her money
+used for this purpose.”
+
+After a little reflection Malcolm concluded to accept John’s offer, and
+a happier party never stepped on board a steamer than that which, on
+the 15th of April, sailed for Europe, which they reached in safety,
+being at the last accounts in Paris, where they were enjoying
+themselves immensely.
+
+A few words more, and our story is told. Just as Mr. Livingstone was
+getting tolerably well suited with his bachelor life, he was one
+morning surprised by the return of his wife and daughter, the latter of
+whom, as we have before stated, took up her abode at Maple Grove.
+Almost every day the old captain rides over to see her, but he
+generally carries back a longer face than he brings. The bald spot on
+his head is growing larger, and to her dismay Carrie has discovered a
+“crow track” in the corner of her eye. Frequently, after a war of words
+with her mother, she announces her intention of returning to Sunnyside,
+but a sight of the captain is sufficient to banish all such thoughts.
+And thus she lives, that most wretched of all beings, an unloving and
+unloved wife.
+
+During the absence of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Graham remain at
+Woodlawn, which, as it is the property of Durward, will be his own and
+’Lena’s home.
+
+Jerry Langley has changed his occupation of driver for that of a
+brakeman on the railroad between Canandaigua and Niagara Falls.
+
+In conclusion we will say of our old friend, Uncle Timothy, that he
+joined “the _Hindews_” as proposed, was nominated for constable, and,
+sure of success, bought an old gig for the better transportation of
+himself over the town. But alas for human hopes—if funded upon
+politics—the whole American ticket was defeated at Laurel Hill, since
+which time he has gone over to the Republicans, to whom he has sworn
+eternal allegiance.
+
+THE END
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12835 ***
diff --git a/12835-h/12835-h.htm b/12835-h/12835-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e6d1f14
--- /dev/null
+++ b/12835-h/12835-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,17734 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of ’Lena Rivers, by Mary J. Holmes</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+
+body { margin-left: 20%;
+       margin-right: 20%;
+       text-align: justify; }
+
+h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight:
+normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;}
+
+h1 {font-size: 300%;
+    margin-top: 0.6em;
+    margin-bottom: 0.6em;
+    letter-spacing: 0.12em;
+    word-spacing: 0.2em;
+    text-indent: 0em;}
+h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;}
+h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;}
+h4 {font-size: 120%;}
+h5 {font-size: 110%;}
+
+.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */
+
+div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;}
+
+hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+
+p {text-indent: 1em;
+   margin-top: 0.25em;
+   margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+
+p.letter {text-indent: 0%;
+          margin-left: 10%;
+          margin-right: 10%;
+          margin-top: 1em;
+          margin-bottom: 1em; }
+
+p.center  {text-align: center;
+           text-indent: 0em;
+           margin-top: 1em;
+           margin-bottom: 1em; }
+
+p.right {text-align: right;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+         margin-top: 1em;
+         margin-bottom: 1em; }
+
+a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none}
+a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none}
+a:hover {color:red}
+
+</style>
+
+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12835 ***</div>
+
+<h1>&rsquo;LENA RIVERS</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by MRS. MARY J. HOLMES</h2>
+
+
+<h3>AUTHOR OF</h3>
+
+<h5>&ldquo;TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,&rdquo; &ldquo;ENGLISH ORPHANS,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT,&rdquo; &ldquo;MARIAN GRAY,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;ETHELYN&rsquo;S MISTAKE,&rdquo; &ldquo;CAMERON PRIDE,&rdquo; &ldquo;EDNA
+BROWNING,&rdquo; &ldquo;WEST LAWN,&rdquo; &ldquo;EDITH LYLE,&rdquo; ETC.,
+ETC.</h5>
+
+<h3>MDCCCXCVII.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#pref01">PREFACE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. &rsquo;LENA.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. JOHN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. PACKING UP.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. ON THE ROAD.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. MAPLE GROVE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE ARRIVAL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. MALCOLM EVERETT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. SCHEMING.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. FIVE YEARS LATER.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. WOODLAWN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. MABEL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. NELLIE AND MABEL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. MRS. LIVINGSTONE&rsquo;S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. CHRISTMAS GIFTS.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. FRANKFORT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEPARTURE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE VISIT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. A FATHER&rsquo;S LOVE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. JOEL SLOCUM.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. THE DAGUERREOTYPE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. JOHN JR. AND MABEL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. THE BRIDAL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI MARRIED LIFE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. THE SHADOW.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. MRS. GRAHAM&rsquo;S RETURN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. THE RESULT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. MORE CLOUDS.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. REACTION.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. THE WANDERER.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV &rsquo;LENA&rsquo;S FATHER.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV. EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI. ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII. DURWARD.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="pref01"></a>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+If it be true, as some have said, that a <i>secret</i> is safer in a
+<i>preface</i> than elsewhere, it would be worse than folly for me to waste the
+&ldquo;midnight oil,&rdquo; in the manufacture of an article which no one would
+read, and which would serve no purpose, save the adding of a page or so to a
+volume perhaps already too large. But I do not think so. I wot of a few who,
+with a horror of anything savoring of <i>humbug</i>, wade industriously through
+a preface, be it never so lengthy, hoping therein to find the <i>moral</i>,
+without which the story would, of course, be valueless. To such I would say,
+seek no further, for though I claim for &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers,&rdquo; a
+moral&mdash;yes, half a dozen morals, if you please&mdash;I shall not put them
+in the preface, as I prefer having them sought after, for what I have written I
+wish to have read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Reared among the rugged hills of the Bay State, and for a time constantly
+associated with a class of people known the wide world over as <i>Yankees</i>,
+it is no more than natural that I should often write of the places and scenes
+with which I have been the most familiar. In my delineations of New England
+character I have aimed to copy from memory, and in no one instance, I believe,
+have I overdrawn the pictures; for among the New England mountains there lives
+many a &ldquo;Grandma Nichols,&rdquo; a &ldquo;Joel Slocum,&rdquo; or a
+&ldquo;Nancy Scovandyke,&rdquo; while the wide world holds more than one
+&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>, with her high temper, extreme beauty, and rare combination
+of those qualities which make the female character so lovely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nearly the same remarks will also apply to my portraitures of Kentucky life and
+character, for it has been my good fortune to spend a year and a half in that
+state, and in my descriptions of country lanes and country life, I have with a
+few exceptions copied from what I saw. <i>Mrs. Livingstone</i> and <i>Mrs.
+Graham</i> are characters found everywhere, while the impulsive <i>John
+Jr</i>., and the generous-hearted <i>Durward</i>, represent a class of
+individuals who belong more exclusively to the &ldquo;sunny south.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have endeavored to make this book both a good and an interesting one, and if
+I have failed in my attempt, it is too late to remedy it now; and, such as it
+is, I give it to the world, trusting that the same favor and forbearance which
+have been awarded to my other works, will also be extended to this.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+M. J. H.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+B<small>ROCKPORT</small>, N. Y., <i>October</i>, 1856.
+</p>
+
+<h2>LENA RIVERS.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/>
+&rsquo;LENA.</h2>
+
+<p>
+For many days the storm continued. Highways were blocked up, while roads less
+frequented were rendered wholly impassable. The oldest inhabitants of Oakland
+had &ldquo;never seen the like before,&rdquo; and they shook their gray heads
+ominously as over and adown the New England mountains the howling wind swept
+furiously, now shrieking exultingly as one by one the huge forest trees bent
+before its power, and again dying away in a low, sad wail, as it shook the
+casement of some low-roofed cottage, where the blazing fire, &ldquo;high piled
+upon the hearth,&rdquo; danced merrily to the sound of the storm-wind, and
+then, whirling in fantastic circles, disappeared up the broad-mouthed chimney.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For nearly a week there was scarcely a sign of life in the streets of Oakland,
+but at the end of that time the storm abated, and the December sun, emerging
+from its dark hiding-place, once more looked smilingly down upon the white,
+untrodden snow, which covered the earth for miles and miles around. Rapidly the
+roads were broken; paths were made on the narrow sidewalk, and then the
+villagers bethought themselves of their mountain neighbors, who might perchance
+have suffered from the severity of the storm. Far up the mountain side in an
+old yellow farmhouse, which had withstood the blasts of many a winter, lived
+Grandfather and Grandmother Nichols, as they were familiarly called, and ere
+the sun-setting, arrangements were made for paying them a visit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oakland was a small rural village, nestled among rocky hills, where the word
+fashion was seldom heard, and where many of the primitive customs of our
+forefathers still prevailed. Consequently, neither the buxom maidens, nor the
+hale old matrons, felt in the least disgraced as they piled promiscuously upon
+the four-ox sled, which erelong was moving slowly through the mammoth drifts
+which lay upon the mountain road. As they drew near the farmhouse, they noticed
+that the blue paper curtains which shaded the windows of Grandma Nichols&rsquo;
+&ldquo;spare room,&rdquo; were rolled up, while the faint glimmer of a tallow
+candle within, indicated that the room possessed an occupant. Who could it be?
+Possibly it was <i>John</i>, the proud man, who lived in Kentucky, and who, to
+please his wealthy bride exchanged the plebeian name of Nichols, for that of
+<i>Livingstone</i>, which his high-born lady fancied was more aristocratic in
+its sounding!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if it be John,&rdquo; said the passengers of the ox sled, with whom
+that gentleman was no great favorite, &ldquo;if it be John, we&rsquo;ll take
+ourselves home as fast as ever we can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Satisfied with this resolution, they kept on their way until they reached the
+wide gateway, where they were met by Mr. Nichols, whose greeting they fancied
+was less cordial than usual. With a simple &ldquo;how d&rsquo;ye do,&rdquo; he
+led the way into the spacious kitchen, which answered the treble purpose of
+dining-room, sitting-room, and cook-room. Grandma Nichols, too, appeared
+somewhat disturbed, but she met her visitors with an air which seemed to say,
+she was determined to make the best of her trouble, whatever it might be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door of the &ldquo;spare room&rdquo; was slightly ajar, and while the
+visitors were disrobing, one young girl, more curious than the rest, peered
+cautiously in, exclaiming as she did so, &ldquo;Mother! mother! Helena is in
+there on the bed, pale as a ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Heleny is in there,&rdquo; interrupted Grandma Nichols, who
+overheard the girl&rsquo;s remark. &ldquo;She got hum the fust night of the
+storm, and what&rsquo;s queerer than all, she&rsquo;s been married better than
+a year.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Married! Married! Helena married! Who to? Where&rsquo;s her
+husband?&rdquo; asked a dozen voices in the same breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grandfather Nichols groaned as if in pain, and his wife, glancing anxiously
+toward the door of her daughter&rsquo;s room, said in reply to the last
+question, &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the worst on&rsquo;t. He was some grand rascal,
+who lived at the suthard, and come up here to see what he could do. He thought
+Heleny was handsome, I s&rsquo;pose, and married her, making her keep it still
+because his folks in Car&rsquo;lina wouldn&rsquo;t like it. Of course he got
+sick of her, and jest afore the baby was born he gin her five hundred dollars
+and left her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A murmur of surprise ran round the room, accompanied with a look of
+incredulity, which Grandma Nichols quickly divined, and while her withered
+cheek crimsoned at the implied disgrace, she added in an elevated tone of
+voice, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s true as the Bible. Old Father Blanchard&rsquo;s son,
+that used to preach here, married them, and Heleny brought us a letter from
+him, saying it was true. Here &rsquo;tis,&mdash;read it yourselves, if you
+don&rsquo;t b&rsquo;lieve me;&rdquo; and she drew from a side drawer a letter,
+on the back of which, the villagers recognized the well remembered handwriting
+of their former pastor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This proof of Helena&rsquo;s innocence was hardly relished by the clever
+gossips of Oakland, for the young girl, though kind-hearted and gentle, was far
+too beautiful to be a general favorite. Mothers saw in her a rival for their
+daughters, while the daughters looked enviously upon her clear white brow, and
+shining chestnut hair; which fell in wavy curls about her neck and shoulders.
+Two years before our story opens, she had left her mountain home to try the
+mysteries of millinery in the city, where a distant relative of her mother was
+living. Here her uncommon beauty attracted much attention, drawing erelong to
+her side a wealthy young southerner, who, just freed from the restraints of
+college life, found it vastly agreeable making love to the fair Helena.
+Simple-minded, and wholly unused to the ways of the world, she believed each
+word he said, and when at last he proposed marriage, she not only consented,
+but also promised to keep it a secret for a time, until he could in a measure
+reconcile his father, who he feared might disinherit him for wedding a
+penniless bride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait, darling, until he knows you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and then he
+will gladly welcome you as his daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, one dark, wintry night, when neither moon nor stars were visible,
+Helena stole softly from her quiet room at Mrs. Warren&rsquo;s, and in less
+than an hour was the lawful bride of Harry Rivers, the wife of the clergyman
+alone witnessing the ceremony.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I could take you home at once,&rdquo; said young Rivers, who was
+less a rascal than a coward; &ldquo;I wish I could take you home at once, but
+it cannot be. We must wait awhile.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Helena went back to Mrs. Warren&rsquo;s, where for a few weeks she stayed,
+and then saying she was going home, she left and became the mistress of a neat
+little cottage which stood a mile or two from the city. Here for several months
+young Rivers devoted himself entirely to her happiness, seeming to forget that
+there was aught else in the world save his &ldquo;beautiful &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo;
+as he was wont to call her. But at last there came a change. Harry seemed sad,
+and absent-minded, though ever kind to Helena, who strove in vain to learn the
+cause of his uneasiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning when, later than usual, she awoke, she missed him from her side;
+and on the table near her lay a letter containing the following:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Forgive me, darling, that I leave you so abruptly. Circumstances render
+it neccessary, but be assured, I shall come back again. In the mean time, you
+had better return to your parents, where I will seek you. Enclosed are five
+hundred dollars, enough for your present need. Farewell.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;H. R<small>IVERS</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was one bitter cry of hopeless anguish, and when Helena Rivers again
+awoke to perfect consciousness, she lay in a darkened room, soft footsteps
+passed in and out, kind faces, in which were mingled pity and reproach, bent
+anxiously over her, while at her side lay a little tender thing, her infant
+daughter, three weeks old. And now there arose within her a strong desire to
+see once more her childhood&rsquo;s home, to lay her aching head upon her
+mother&rsquo;s lap, and pour out the tale of grief which was crushing the life
+from out her young heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started for Oakland, taking
+the precaution to procure from the clergyman, who had married her, a letter
+confirming the fact. Wretched and weary she reached her home at the dusk of
+evening, and with a bitter cry fell fainting in the arms of her mother, who
+having heard regularly from her, never dreamed that she was elsewhere than in
+the employ of Mrs. Warren. With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man
+and his wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer more than once blessing
+the fearful storm which for a time, at least, would keep away the prying eyes
+of those who, they feared, would hardly credit their daughter&rsquo;s story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And their fears were right, for many of those who visited them on the night of
+which we have spoken, disbelieved the tale, mentally pronouncing the
+clergyman&rsquo;s letter a forgery, got up by Helena to deceive her parents.
+Consequently, of the few who from time to time came to the old farmhouse,
+nearly all were actuated by motives of curiosity, rather than by feelings of
+pity for the young girl-mother, who, though feeling their neglect, scarcely
+heeded it. Strong in the knowledge of her own innocence, she lay day after day,
+watching and waiting for one who never came. But at last, as days glided into
+weeks, and weeks into months, hope died away, and turning wearily upon her
+pillow, she prayed that she might die; and when the days grew bright and
+gladsome in the warm spring sun, when the snow was melted from off the mountain
+tops, and the first robin&rsquo;s note was heard by the farmhouse door, Helena
+laid her baby on her mother&rsquo;s bosom, and without a murmur glided down the
+dark, broad river, whose deep waters move onward and onward, but never return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there came a reaction, and
+those who had been loudest in their condemnation, were now the first to hasten
+forward with offers of kindness and words of sympathy. But neither tears nor
+regrets could recall to life the fair young girl, who, wondrously beautiful
+even in death, slept calmly in her narrow coffin, a smile of sadness wreathing
+her lips, as if her last prayer had been for one who had robbed her thus early
+of happiness and life. In the bright green valley at the foot of the mountain,
+they buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp earth fall upon her
+grave, asked that he too might die. But his wife, younger by several years,
+prayed to live&mdash;live that she might protect and care for the little
+orphan, who first by its young mother&rsquo;s tears, and again by the waters of
+the baptismal fountain, was christened HELENA RIVERS;&mdash;the
+&rsquo;<i>Lena</i> of our story.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/>
+JOHN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Ten years of sunlight and shadow have passed away, and the little grave at the
+foot of the mountain is now grass-grown and sunken. Ten times have the snows of
+winter fallen upon the hoary head of Grandfather Nichols, bleaching his thin
+locks to their own whiteness and bending his sturdy frame, until now, the old
+man lay dying&mdash;dying in the same blue-curtained room, where years agone
+his only daughter was born, and where ten years before she had died. Carefully
+did Mrs. Nichols nurse him, watching, weeping, and praying that he might live,
+while little &rsquo;Lena gladly shared her grandmother&rsquo;s vigils, hovering
+ever by the bedside of her grandfather, who seemed more quiet when her soft
+hand smoothed his tangled hair or wiped the cold moisture from his brow. The
+villagers, too, remembering their neglect, when once before death had brooded
+over the mountain farmhouse, now daily came with offers of assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But one thing still was wanting. John, their only remaining child, was absent,
+and the sick man&rsquo;s heart grew sad and his eyes dim with tears, as day by
+day went by, and still he did not come. Several times had &rsquo;Lena written
+to her uncle, apprising him of his father&rsquo;s danger, and once only had he
+answered. It was a brief, formal letter, written, evidently, under some
+constraint, but it said that he was coming, and with childish joy the old man
+had placed it beneath his pillow, withdrawing it occasionally for &rsquo;Lena
+to read again, particularly the passage, &ldquo;Dear father, I am sorry you are
+sick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Heaven bless him! I know he&rsquo;s sorry,&rdquo; Mr. Nichols would say.
+&ldquo;He was always a good boy&mdash;is a good boy now. Ain&rsquo;t he,
+Martha?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And mother-like, Mrs. Nichols would answer, &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; forcing back the
+while the tears which would start when she thought how long the &ldquo;good
+boy&rdquo; had neglected them, eighteen years having elapsed since he had
+crossed the threshold of his home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With his hand plighted to one of the village maidens, he had left Oakland to
+seek his fortune, going first to New York, then to Ohio, and finally wending
+his way southward, to Kentucky. Here he remained, readily falling into the
+luxurious habits of those around him, and gradually forgetting the low-roofed
+farmhouse far away to the northward, where dwelt a gray-haired pair and a
+beautiful young girl, his parents and his sister. She to whom his vows were
+plighted was neither graceful nor cultivated, and when, occasionally, her tall,
+spare figure and uncouth manners arose before him, in contrast with the fair
+forms around him, he smiled derisively at the thoughts of making her his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About this time there came from New Orleans a wealthy invalid, with his only
+daughter Matilda. She was a proud haughty girl, whose disposition, naturally
+unamiable, was rendered still worse by a disappointment from which she was
+suffering. Accidentally Mr. Richards, her father, made the acquaintance of John
+Nichols, conceiving for him a violent fancy, and finally securing him as a
+constant companion. For several weeks John appeared utterly oblivious to the
+presence of Matilda who, accustomed to adulation, began at last to feel piqued
+at his neglect, and to strive in many ways to attract his attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, who was ambitious, met her advances more than half way, and finally,
+encouraged by her father, offered her his heart and hand. Under other
+circumstances, Matilda would undoubtedly have spurned him with contempt; but
+having heard that her recreant lover was about taking to himself a bride, she
+felt a desire, as she expressed it, &ldquo;to let him know she could marry
+too.&rdquo; Accordingly, John was accepted, on condition that he changed the
+name of Nichols, which Miss Richards particularly disliked, to that of
+Livingstone. This was easily done, and the next letter which went to Oakland
+carried the news of John&rsquo;s marriage with the proud Matilda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few months later and Mr. Richards died, leaving his entire property to his
+daughter and her husband. John was now richer far than even in his wildest
+dreams he had ever hoped to be, and yet like many others, he found that riches
+alone could not insure happiness. And, indeed, to be happy with Matilda
+Richards, seemed impossible. Proud, avaricious, and overbearing, she
+continually taunted her husband with his entire dependence upon her, carefully
+watching him, lest any of her hoarded wealth should find its way to the scanty
+purse of his parents, of whom she always spoke with contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never but once had they asked for aid, and that to help them rear the little
+&rsquo;Lena. Influenced by his wife, John replied sneeringly, scouting the idea
+of Helena&rsquo;s marriage, denouncing her as his sister, and saying of her
+child, that the poor-house stood ready for such as she! This letter &rsquo;Lena
+had accidentally found among her grandfather&rsquo;s papers, and though its
+contents gave her no definite impression concerning her mother, it inspired her
+with a dislike for her uncle, whose coming she greatly dreaded, for it was
+confidently expected that she, together with her grandmother, would return with
+him to Kentucky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be better off there than here,&rdquo; said her grandfather
+one day, when speaking of the subject. &ldquo;Your Uncle John is rich, and
+you&rsquo;ll grow up a fine lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be a lady&mdash;I won&rsquo;t be a lady,&rdquo;
+said &rsquo;Lena passionately. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like Uncle John. He called
+my mother a bad woman and me a little brat! I hate him!&rdquo; and the
+beautiful brown eyes glittering with tears flashed forth their anger quite as
+eloquently as language could express it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment &rsquo;Lena was bending over her grandfather, asking to be
+forgiven for the hasty words which she knew had caused him pain.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to like him,&rdquo; said she, as the palsied hand stroked
+her disordered curls in token of forgiveness, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to like
+him,&rdquo; adding mentally, &ldquo;but I do hope he won&rsquo;t come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would seem that &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s wish was to be granted, for weeks glided
+by and there came no tidings of the absent one. Daily Mr. Nichols grew weaker,
+and when there was no longer hope of life, his heart yearned more and more to
+once more behold his son; to hear again, ere he died, the blessed name of
+father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols one afternoon when her husband
+seemed worse, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, it&rsquo;s time for the stage, and do you run
+down to the &lsquo;turn&rsquo; and see if your uncle&rsquo;s come; something
+tells me he&rsquo;ll be here to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena obeyed, and throwing on her faded calico sunbonnet, she was soon at
+the &ldquo;turn,&rdquo; a point in the road from which the village hotel was
+plainly discernible. The stage had just arrived, and &rsquo;Lena saw that one
+of the passengers evidently intended stopping, for he seemed to be giving
+directions concerning his baggage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s Uncle John, I most know,&rdquo; thought she, and seating
+herself on a rock beneath some white birches, so common in New England, she
+awaited his approach. She was right in her conjecture, for the stranger was
+John Livingstone, returned after many years, but so changed that the jolly
+landlord, who had known him when a boy, and with whom he had cracked many a
+joke, now hardly dared to address him, he seemed so cold and haughty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will leave my trunk here for a few days,&rdquo; said John, &ldquo;and
+perhaps I shall wish for a room. Got any decent accommodations?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonder if he don&rsquo;t calculate to sleep to hum,&rdquo; thought the
+landlord, replying at the same instant, &ldquo;Yes, sir, tip-top
+accommodations. Hain&rsquo;t more&rsquo;n tew beds in any room, and nowadays we
+allers has a wash-bowl and pitcher; don&rsquo;t go to the sink as we used to
+when you lived round here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house and started up the
+mountain road, where &rsquo;Lena still kept her watch. Oh, how that walk
+recalled to him the memories of other days, which came thronging about him as
+one by one familiar way-marks appeared, reminding him of his childhood, when he
+roamed over that mountain-side with those who were now scattered far and wide,
+some on the deep, blue sea, some at the distant west, and others far away
+across the dark river of death. He had mingled much with the world since last
+he had traversed that road, and his heart had grown callous and indifferent,
+but he was not entirely hardened, and when at the &ldquo;turn&rdquo; in the
+road, he came suddenly upon the tall walnut tree, on whose shaggy bark his name
+was carved, together with that of another&mdash;a maiden&mdash;he started as if
+smitten with a heavy blow, and dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed
+&ldquo;Oh that I were a boy again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From her seat on the mossy rock &rsquo;Lena had been watching him. She was very
+ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but quite ready to
+change the latter if she saw any indications of improvement in the person
+disliked. For her uncle she had conceived a great aversion, and when she saw
+him approaching, thrusting aside the thistles and dandelions with his
+gold-headed cane, she mimicked his motions, wondering &ldquo;if he didn&rsquo;t
+feel big because he wore a large gold chain dangling from his jacket
+pocket.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion suddenly
+changed. &ldquo;A very bad man wouldn&rsquo;t cry,&rdquo; she thought, and
+springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, &ldquo;I know you are
+my Uncle John, and I&rsquo;m real glad you&rsquo;ve come. Granny thought you
+never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone would hardly have been
+more startled, for in form and feature &rsquo;Lena was exactly what her mother
+had been at her age. The same clear complexion, large brown eyes, and wavy
+hair; and the tones of her voice, too, how they thrilled the heart of the
+strong man, making him a boy again, guiding the steps of his baby sister, or
+bearing her gently in his arms when the path was steep and stony. It was but a
+moment, however, and then the vision faded. His sister was dead, and the little
+girl before him was her child&mdash;the child of shame he believed, or rather,
+his wife had said it so often that he began to believe it. Glancing at the
+old-womanish garb in which Mrs. Nichols always arrayed her, a smile of mingled
+scorn and pity curled his lips, as he thought of presenting her to his
+fastidious wife and elegant daughters; then withdrawing the hand which she had
+taken, he said, &ldquo;And you are &rsquo;Lena&mdash;&rsquo;Lena Nichols they
+call you, I suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s old dislike began to return, and placing both hands upon
+her hips in imitation of her grandmother she replied, &ldquo;No
+&rsquo;tain&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena Nichols, neither. It&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena
+Rivers. Granny says so, and the town clark has got it so on his book. How are
+my cousins? Are they pretty well? And how is <i>Ant</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at this little specimen
+of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of his mother. Poor little &rsquo;Lena!
+how should she know any better, living as she always had with two old people,
+whose language savored so much of the days before the flood! Some such thought
+passed through Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s mind, and very civilly he answered her
+concerning the health of her cousins and aunt; proceeding next to question her
+of his father, who, she said, &ldquo;had never seen a well day since her mother
+died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there any one with him except your grandmother?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Livingstone; and Lena replied, &ldquo;Aunt Nancy Scovandyke has been with us a
+few days, and is there now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that &rsquo;Lena
+observed it, and asked &ldquo;if he knew Miss Scovandyke?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I used to,&rdquo; said he, while &rsquo;Lena continued:
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a nice woman, and though she ain&rsquo;t any connection, I
+call her aunt. Granny thinks a sight of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr. Livingstone, and
+changing the subject, he said, &ldquo;What makes you say <i>Granny</i>,
+child?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena blushed painfully. &rsquo;Twas the first word she had ever uttered,
+her grandmother having taught it to her, and encouraged her in its use. Besides
+that, &rsquo;Lena had a great horror of anything which she fancied was at all
+&ldquo;stuck up,&rdquo; and thinking an entire change from <i>Granny</i> to
+<i>Grandmother</i> would be altogether too much, she still persisted in
+occasionally using her favorite word, in spite of the ridicule it frequently
+called forth from her school companions. Thinking to herself that it was none
+of her uncle&rsquo;s business what she called her grandmother, she made no
+reply, and in a few moments they came in sight of the yellow farmhouse, which
+looked to Mr. Livingstone just as it did when he left it, eighteen years
+before. There was the tall poplar, with its green leaves rustling in the
+breeze, just as they had done years ago, when from a distant hill-top he looked
+back to catch the last glimpse of his home. The well in the rear was the
+same&mdash;the lilac bushes in front&mdash;the tansy patch on the right and the
+gable-roofed barn on the left; all were there; nothing was changed but himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mechanically he followed &rsquo;Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
+bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he remembered
+had lain there when he went away. One thing alone seemed strange. The blue
+paper curtains were rolled away from the &ldquo;spare room&rdquo; windows,
+which were open as if to admit as much air as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if grandpa was worse,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena,
+hurrying him along and ushering him at once into the sick-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bending tenderly over
+the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the small, scanty pillow. John thought
+&ldquo;how small and scanty they were,&rdquo; while he almost shuddered at the
+sound of his footsteps upon the uncarpeted floor. Everything was dreary and
+comfortless, and his conscience reproached him that his old father should die
+so poor, when he counted his money by thousands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading daylight, causing
+his mother to raise her head, and in a moment her long, bony arms were twined
+around his neck. The cruel letter, his long neglect, were all forgotten in the
+joy of once more beholding her &ldquo;darling boy,&rdquo; whose bearded cheek
+she kissed again and again. John was unused to such demonstrations of
+affection, except, indeed, from his little golden-haired Anna, who was
+<i>refined</i> and <i>polished</i>, and all that, which made a vast difference,
+as he thought. Still, he returned his mother&rsquo;s greeting with a tolerably
+good grace, managing, however, to tear himself from her as soon as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is my father?&rdquo; he asked; and his mother replied, &ldquo;He
+grew worse right away after &rsquo;Leny went out, and he seemed so put
+to&rsquo;t for breath, that Nancy went for the doctor&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here a movement from the invalid arrested her attention and going to the
+bedside she saw that he was awake. Bending over him she whispered softly,
+&ldquo;John has come. Would you like to see him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly the feeble arms were outstretched, as if to feel what could not be
+seen, for the old man&rsquo;s eyesight was dim with the shadows of death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking both his father&rsquo;s hands in his, John said, &ldquo;Here I am,
+father; can&rsquo;t you see me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, John, no; I can&rsquo;t see you.&rdquo; And the poor man wept like a
+little child. Soon growing more calm, he continued: &ldquo;Your voice is the
+same that it was years ago, when you lived with us at home. That hasn&rsquo;t
+changed, though they say your name has. Oh, John, my boy, how could you do so?
+&rsquo;Twas a good name&mdash;my name&mdash;and you the only one left to bear
+it. What made you do so, oh John, John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone did not reply, and after a moment his father again spoke;
+&ldquo;John, lay your hand on my forehead. It&rsquo;s cold as ice. I am dying,
+and your mother will be left alone. We are poor, my son; poorer than you think.
+The homestead is mortgaged for all it&rsquo;s worth and there are only a few
+dollars in the purse. Oh, I worked so hard to earn them for her and the
+girl&mdash;Helena&rsquo;s child. Now, John, promise me that when I am gone they
+shall go with you to your home in the west. Promise, and I shall die
+happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a new idea to John, and for a time he hesitated. He glanced at his
+mother; she was ignorant and peculiar, but she was his mother still. He looked
+at &rsquo;Lena, she was beautiful&mdash;he knew that, but she was odd and
+old-fashioned. He thought of his haughty wife, his headstrong son and his
+imperious daughter. What would they say if he made that promise, for if he made
+it he would keep it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke again:
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you give your old mother a home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice was weaker than when it spoke before, and John knew that life was
+fast ebbing away, for the brow on which his hand was resting was cold and damp
+with the moisture of death. He could no longer refuse, and the promise was
+given.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning, the deep-toned bell of Oakland told that another soul was
+gone, and the villagers as they counted the three score strokes and ten knew
+that Grandfather Nichols was numbered with the dead.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/>
+PACKING UP.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The funeral was over, and in the quiet valley by the side of his only daughter,
+Grandfather Nichols was laid to rest. As far as possible his father&rsquo;s
+business was settled, and then John began to speak of his returning. More than
+once had he repented of the promise made to his father, and as the time passed
+on he shrank more and more from introducing his &ldquo;plebeian&rdquo; mother
+to his &ldquo;lady&rdquo; wife, who, he knew, was meditating an open rebellion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Immediately after his father&rsquo;s death he had written to his wife, telling
+her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth matters over, so that his
+mother might at least have a decent reception. In a violent passion, his wife
+had answered, that &ldquo;she never would submit to it&mdash;never. When I
+married you,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t suppose I was marrying the
+&lsquo;old woman,&rsquo; young one, and all; and as for my having them to
+maintain, I will not, so <i>Mr. John Nichols</i>, you understand it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called her husband <i>Mr.
+John Nichols</i>, and when Mr. John Nichols was particularly angry, he did as
+he pleased, so in this case he replied that &ldquo;he should bring home as many
+&lsquo;old women&rsquo; and &lsquo;young ones&rsquo; as he liked, and she might
+help herself if she could!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This state of things was hardly favorable to the future happiness of Grandma
+Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and deeming herself as good as anybody, never
+dreamed that her presence would be unwelcome to her daughter-in-law, whom she
+thought to assist in various ways, &ldquo;taking perhaps the whole heft of the
+housework upon herself&mdash;though,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;I mean to begin
+just as I can hold out. I&rsquo;ve hearn of such things as son&rsquo;s wives
+shirkin&rsquo; the whole on to their old mothers, and the minit &rsquo;Tilda
+shows any signs of that, I shall back out, I tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, and then burst into
+a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s dismay at hearing
+herself called &rsquo;<i>Tilda</i>. Had John chosen, he could have given his
+mother a few useful hints with regard to her treatment of his wife, but such an
+idea never entered his brain. He was a man of few words, and generally allowed
+himself to be controlled by circumstances, thinking that the easiest way of
+getting through the world. He was very proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it
+would be to present his mother to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was
+in the future&mdash;many miles away&mdash;he wouldn&rsquo;t trouble himself
+about it now; so he passed his time mostly in rambling through the woods and
+over the hills, while his mother, good soul, busied herself with the
+preparations for her journey, inviting each and every one of her neighbors to
+&ldquo;be sure and visit her if they ever came that way,&rdquo; and urging some
+of them to come on purpose and &ldquo;spend the winter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among those who promised compliance with this last request, was Miss Nancy
+Scovandyke, whom we have once before mentioned, and who, as the reader will
+have inferred, was the first love of John Livingstone. On the night of his
+arrival, she had been sent in quest of the physician, and when on her return
+she learned from &rsquo;Lena that he had come, she kept out of sight, thinking
+she would wait awhile before she met him. &ldquo;Not that she cared the snap of
+her finger for him,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;only &rsquo;twas natural that she
+should hate to see him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when the time did come, she met it bravely, shaking his hand and speaking
+to him as if nothing had ever happened, and while he was wondering how he ever
+could have fancied <i>her</i>, she, too, was mentally styling herself &ldquo;a
+fool,&rdquo; for having liked &ldquo;such a <i>pussy</i>, overgrown
+thing!&rdquo; Dearly did Miss Nancy love excitement, and during the days that
+Mrs. Nichols was packing up, she was busy helping her to stow away the
+&ldquo;crockery,&rdquo; which the old lady declared should go, particularly the
+&ldquo;blue set, which she&rsquo;d had ever since the day but one before John
+was born, and which she intended as a part of &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s settin&rsquo;
+out. Then, too, John&rsquo;s wife could use &rsquo;em when she had a good deal
+of company; &rsquo;twould save buyin&rsquo; new, and every little
+helped!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder, now, if &rsquo;Tilda takes snuff,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols,
+one day, seating herself upon an empty drygoods box which stood in the middle
+of the floor, and helping herself to an enormous pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy; &ldquo;I wonder if she takes snuff, &rsquo;cause if she does, we
+shall take a sight of comfort together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t much b&rsquo;lieve she does,&rdquo; answered Miss Nancy,
+whose face was very red with trying to cram a pair of cracked bellows into the
+already crowded top of John&rsquo;s leathern trunk, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+b&rsquo;lieve she does, for somehow it seems to me she&rsquo;s a mighty
+nipped-up thing, not an atom like you nor me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Like enough,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols, finishing her snuff, and
+wiping her fingers upon the corner of her checked apron; &ldquo;but, Nancy, can
+you tell me how in the world I&rsquo;m ever going to carry this <i>mop</i>?
+It&rsquo;s bran new, never been used above a dozen times, and I can&rsquo;t
+afford to give it away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this point, John, who was sitting in the adjoining room, came forward.
+Hitherto he had not interfered in the least in his mother&rsquo;s arrangements,
+but had looked silently on while she packed away article after article which
+she would never need, and which undoubtedly would be consigned to the flames
+the moment her back was turned. The <i>mop</i> business, however, was too much
+for him, and before Miss Nancy had time to reply, he said, &ldquo;For
+heaven&rsquo;s sake, mother, how many traps do you propose taking, and what do
+you imagine we can do with a mop? Why, I dare say not one of my servants would
+know how to use it, and it&rsquo;s a wonder if some of the little chaps
+didn&rsquo;t take it for a horse before night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A <i>nigger</i> ride my mop! <i>my new mop</i>!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs.
+Nichols, rolling up her eyes in astonishment, while Miss Nancy, turning to
+John, said, &ldquo;In the name of the people, how do you live without mops? I
+should s&rsquo;pose you&rsquo;d rot alive!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not much versed in the mysteries of housekeeping,&rdquo; returned
+John, with a smile; &ldquo;but it&rsquo;s my impression that what little
+cleaning our floors get is done with a cloth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, if I won&rsquo;t give it up now,&rdquo; said Miss Nancy. &ldquo;As
+good an abolutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored folks wash the
+floor with a rag, on their hands and knees! It can&rsquo;t be that you indulge
+a hope, if you&rsquo;ll do such things!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, he said,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many useless
+things. <i>We</i> don&rsquo;t want them. Our house is full now, and besides
+that, Mrs. Livingstone is very particular about the style of her furniture, and
+I am afraid yours would hardly come up to her ideas of elegance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That chist of drawers,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an
+old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, &ldquo;cost an ocean of money when
+&rsquo;twas new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, &rsquo;Tilda
+couldn&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;em from gold, unless she&rsquo;s seen more
+on&rsquo;t than I have, which ain&rsquo;t much likely, bein&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
+double her age.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The chest does very well for you, I admit,&rdquo; said John; &ldquo;but
+we have neither use nor room for it, so if you can&rsquo;t sell it, why, give
+it away, or burn it, one or the other.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith &rsquo;Lena was dispatched to
+Widow Fisher&rsquo;s, to see if she would take it at half price. The widow had
+no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy was told &ldquo;to
+keep it, and maybe she&rsquo;d sometime have a chance to send it to Kentucky.
+It won&rsquo;t come amiss, I know, s&rsquo;posin&rsquo; they be well
+on&rsquo;t. I b&rsquo;lieve in lookin&rsquo; out for a rainy day. I can teach
+&rsquo;Tilda economy yet,&rdquo; whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the
+room where John sat, whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the
+best way if reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the cause
+of her uncle&rsquo;s moodiness. The more she saw of him the better she liked
+him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to cure herself of the
+peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he would only notice her a
+little, which he was not likely to do. He seldom noticed any child, much less
+little &rsquo;Lena, who he fancied was ignorant as well as awkward; but he did
+not know her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, &rsquo;Lena approached
+him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather timidly,
+&ldquo;Uncle, I wish you&rsquo;d tell me something about my cousins.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about them,&rdquo; he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon
+his feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the
+best,&rdquo; continued &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll like Anna the best,&rdquo; said her uncle, and &rsquo;Lena
+asked, &ldquo;Why! What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to go to school
+and study?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None too well, I reckon,&rdquo; returned her uncle, adding that
+&ldquo;there were not many little girls who did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why <i>I</i> do,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a
+moment his whittling, replied rather scornfully, &ldquo;<i>You</i>! I should
+like to know what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she bore
+the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her age, and now she
+rather tartly answered, &ldquo;I study geography, arithmetic, grammar,
+and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; history, she was going to add, but her uncle stopped
+her, saying, &ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do, that&rsquo;ll do. You study all these?
+Now I don&rsquo;t suppose you know what one of &rsquo;em is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I do,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, with a good deal of spirit.
+&ldquo;Olney&rsquo;s geography is a description of the earth; Colburn&rsquo;s
+arithmetic is the science of numbers: Smith&rsquo;s grammar teaches us how to
+speak correctly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you do it then,&rdquo; asked her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do what?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and her uncle continued, &ldquo;Why
+don&rsquo;t you make some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar? Why, my
+Anna has never seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don&rsquo;t
+<i>talk like you do</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t <i>what</i>, sir?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t <i>talk like you do</i>,&rdquo; repeated her uncle, while
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eyes fairly danced with mischief as she asked, &ldquo;if
+that were good grammar.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself might
+sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so harshly chided
+&rsquo;Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more favorably. It could
+hardly be said that he treated her with any more attention, and still there was
+a difference which she felt, and which made her very happy.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/>
+ON THE ROAD.</h2>
+
+<p>
+At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to sell, and
+too good to give away, had found a place&mdash;some here, some there, and some
+in John&rsquo;s trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars, dickeys, and so
+forth. Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was made the receiver of sundry
+cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and iron spoons, which could not be
+disposed of elsewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now every box and trunk was ready. Farmer Truesdale&rsquo;s red wagon stood
+at the door, waiting to convey them to the depot, and nothing remained for
+Grandma Nichols, but to bid adieu to the old spot, endeared to her by so many
+associations. Again and again she went from room to room, weeping always, and
+lingering longest in the one where her children were born, and where her
+husband and daughter had died. In the corner stood the old low-post bedstead,
+the first she had ever owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long
+years before, when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, blushing deeply
+at the sly allusion which the cabinet maker made to her approaching marriage.
+<i>He</i>, too, was with her, strong and healthy. Now, he was gone from her
+side forever. <i>His</i> couch was a narrow coffin, and the old bedstead stood
+there, naked&mdash;empty. Seating herself upon it, the poor old lady rocked to
+and fro, moaning in her grief, and wishing that she were not going to Kentucky,
+or that it were possible now to remain at her mountain home. Summoning all her
+courage, she gave one glance at the familiar objects around her, at the flowers
+she had planted, and then taking &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s hand, went down to the
+gate, where her son waited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not appreciate the cause of
+her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and his voice and manner were unusually
+kind as he helped her to the best seat in the wagon, and asked if she were
+comfortable. Then his eye fell upon her dress, and his pity changed to anger as
+he wondered if she was wholly devoid of taste. At the time of his
+father&rsquo;s death, he purchased decent mourning for both his mother and
+&rsquo;Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols pronounced &ldquo;altogether too good for
+the nasty cars; nobody&rsquo;d think any better of them for being rigged out in
+their best meetin&rsquo; gowns.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore a dark blue and
+white spotted calico, which John could have sworn she had twenty years before,
+and which was not unlikely, as she never wore out a garment. She was an enemy
+to long skirts, hence hers came just to her ankles, and as her black stockings
+had been footed with white, there was visible a dark rim. Altogether she
+presented a rather grotesque appearance, with her oblong work-bag, in which
+were her snuff-box, brass spectacles and half a dozen &ldquo;nutcakes,&rdquo;
+which would &ldquo;save John&rsquo;s buying dinner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unlike her grandmother&rsquo;s, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress was a great deal too
+long, and as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of a premature old
+woman, instead of a child ten summers old, as she was. Still the uncommon
+beauty of her face, and the natural gracefulness of her form, atoned in a
+measure for the singularity of her appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her nephew, Joel Slocum, a
+freckle-faced boy, who had frequently shown a preference for &rsquo;Lena, by
+going with her for her grandmother&rsquo;s cow, bringing her harvest apples,
+and letting her ride on his sled oftener than the other girls at school.
+Strange to say, his affection was not returned, and now, notwithstanding he
+several times wiped both eyes and nose, on the end of which there was an
+enormous freck, &rsquo;Lena did not relent at all, but with a simple
+&ldquo;Good-bye, Jo,&rdquo; she sprang into the wagon, which moved rapidly
+away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and when half that
+distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols suddenly seized the reins, ordering
+the driver to stop, and saying, &ldquo;she must go straight back, for on the
+shelf of the north room cupboard she had left a whole paper of tea, which she
+couldn&rsquo;t afford to lose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Drive on</i>,&rdquo; said Johny rather angrily, at the same time
+telling his mother that he could buy her a ton of tea if she wanted it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But that was already bought, and &rsquo;twould have saved so
+much,&rdquo; said she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occasioned partly
+by her son&rsquo;s manner, and partly by the great loss she felt she sustained
+in leaving behind her favorite &ldquo;old hyson.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This <i>saving</i> was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so much, that
+John, who was himself slightly avaricious, began to regret that he ever knew
+the definition of the word <i>save</i>. Lest our readers get a wrong impression
+of Mrs. Nichols, we must say that she possessed very many sterling qualities,
+and her habits of extreme economy resulted more from the manner in which she
+had been compelled to live, than from natural stinginess. For this John hardly
+made allowance enough, and his mother&rsquo;s remarks, instead of restraining
+him, only made him more lavish of his money than he would otherwise have been.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Nichols and &rsquo;Lena entered the cars, they of course attracted
+universal attention, which annoyed John excessively. In Oakland, where his
+mother was known and appreciated, he could bear it, but among strangers, and
+with those of his own caste, it was different, so motioning them into the first
+unoccupied seat, he sauntered on with an air which seemed to say, &ldquo;they
+were nothing to him,&rdquo; and finding a vacant seat at the other end of the
+car, he took possession of it. Scarcely, however, had he entered into
+conversation with a gentleman near him, when some one grasped his arm, and
+looking up, he saw his mother, her box in one hand; and an enormous pinch of
+snuff in the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John,&rdquo; said she, elevating her voice so as to drown the noise of
+the cars, &ldquo;I never thought on&rsquo;t till this minit, but I&rsquo;d just
+as lief ride in the second-class cars as not, and it only costs half as
+much!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone colored crimson, and bade her go back, saying that if he paid
+the fare she needn&rsquo;t feel troubled about the cost. Just as she was
+turning to leave, the loud ring and whistle, as the train neared a crossing,
+startled her, and in great alarm she asked if &ldquo;somethin&rsquo;
+hadn&rsquo;t bust!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John made no answer, but the gentleman near him very politely explained to her
+the cause of the disturbance, after which, she returned to her seat. When the
+conductor appeared, he fortunately came in at the door nearest John, who
+pointed out the two, for whom he had tickets, and then turned again to converse
+with the gentleman, who, though a stranger, was from Louisville, Kentucky, and
+whose acquaintance was easily made. The sight of the conductor awoke in Mrs.
+Nichols&rsquo;s brain a new idea, and after peering out upon the platform, she
+went rushing up to her son, telling him that: &ldquo;the trunks, box, feather
+bed, and all, were every one on &rsquo;em left!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, they are not,&rdquo; said John; &ldquo;I saw them aboard
+myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, then, they&rsquo;re lost off, for as sure as you&rsquo;re born,
+there ain&rsquo;t one on &rsquo;em in here; and there&rsquo;s as much as twenty
+weight of new feathers, besides all the crockery! Holler to &rsquo;em to stop
+quick!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stranger, pitying Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s chagrin, kindly explained to her
+that there was a baggage car on purpose for trunks and the like, and that her
+feather bed was undoubtedly safe. This quieted her, and mentally styling him
+&ldquo;a proper nice man,&rdquo; she again returned to her seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A rare specimen of the raw Yankee,&rdquo; said the stranger to John,
+never dreaming in what relation she stood to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered John, not thinking it at all necessary to make any
+further explanations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Mrs. Nichols had attracted the attention of all the passengers,
+who watched her movements with great interest. Among these was a fine-looking
+youth, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who sat directly in front of
+&rsquo;Lena. He had a remarkably open, pleasing countenance, while there was
+that in his eyes which showed him to be a lover of fun. Thinking he had now
+found it in a rich form, he turned partly round, and would undoubtedly have
+quizzed Mrs. Nichols unmercifully, had not something in the appearance of
+&rsquo;Lena prevented him. This was also her first ride in the cars, but she
+possessed a tact of concealing the fact, and if she sometimes felt frightened,
+she looked in the faces of those around her, gathering from them that there was
+no danger. She knew that her grandmother was making herself ridiculous, and her
+eyes filled with tears as she whispered, &ldquo;Do sit still, granny; everybody
+is looking at you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young lad noticed this, and while it quelled in him the spirit of ridicule,
+it awoke a strange interest in &rsquo;Lena, who he saw was beautiful, spite of
+her unseemly guise. She was a dear lover of nature, and as the cars sped on
+through the wild mountain scenery, between Pittsfield and Albany, she stood at
+the open window, her hands closely locked together, her lips slightly parted,
+and her eyes wide with wonder at the country through which they were passing.
+At her grandmother&rsquo;s suggestion she had removed her bonnet, and the brown
+curls which clustered around her white forehead and neck were moved up and down
+by the fresh breeze which was blowing. The youth was a passionate admirer of
+beauty, come in what garb it might, and now as he watched, he felt a strong
+desire to touch one of the glossy ringlets which floated within his reach.
+There would be no harm in it, he thought&mdash;&ldquo;she was only a little
+girl, and he was <i>almost a man</i>&mdash;had tried to shave, and was going to
+enter college in the fall.&rdquo; Still he felt some doubts as to the propriety
+of the act, and was about making up his mind that he had better not, when the
+train shot into the &ldquo;tunnel,&rdquo; and for an instant they were in total
+darkness. Quick as thought his hand sought the brown curls, but they were gone,
+and when the cars again emerged into daylight, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s arms were
+around her grandmother&rsquo;s neck, trying to hold her down, for the old lady,
+sure of a <i>smash-up</i> this time, had attempted to rise, screaming loudly
+for &ldquo;<i>John</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy laughed aloud&mdash;he could not help it; but when &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+eyes turned reprovingly upon him, he felt sorry; and anxious to make amends,
+addressed himself very politely to Mrs. Nichols, explaining to her that it was
+a &ldquo;tunnel&rdquo; through which they had passed, and assuring her there
+was no danger whatever. Then turning to &rsquo;Lena, he said, &ldquo;I reckon
+your grandmother is not much accustomed to traveling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek at
+being addressed by a stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the first time any one had ever said &ldquo;<i>sir</i>&rdquo; to the
+boy, and now feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he continued:
+&ldquo;I believe old people generally are timid when they enter the cars for
+the first time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing from &rsquo;Lena except a slight straightening up of her body, and a
+smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was broken, and erelong she and her
+companion were conversing as familiarly as if they had known each other for
+years. Still the boy was not inquisitive&mdash;he did not ask her name, or
+where she was going, though he told her that his home was in Louisville, and
+that at Albany he was to take the boat for New York, where his mother was
+stopping with some friends. He also told her that the gentleman near the door,
+with dark eyes and whiskers, was his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing toward the person indicated, &rsquo;Lena saw that it was the same
+gentleman who, all the afternoon, had been talking with her uncle. He was noble
+looking, and she felt glad that he was the father of the boy&mdash;he was just
+such a man, she fancied, as ought to be his father&mdash;just such a man as she
+could wish her father to be&mdash;and then &rsquo;Lena felt glad that the youth
+had asked her nothing concerning her parentage, for, though her grandmother had
+seldom mentioned her father in her presence, there were others ready and
+willing to inform her that he was a villain, who broke her mother&rsquo;s
+heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his hand to &rsquo;Lena,
+said &ldquo;I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but I&rsquo;d like right well to
+go farther with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on seeing how his son was
+occupied, said smilingly, &ldquo;So-ho! Durward, you always manage to make some
+lady acquaintance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, father,&rdquo; returned the boy called Durward, &ldquo;but not
+always one like this. Isn&rsquo;t she pretty,&rdquo; he added in a whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stranger&rsquo;s eyes fell upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face, and for a moment,
+as if by some strange fascination, seemed riveted there; but the crowd pressed
+him forward, and &rsquo;Lena only heard him reply to his son, &ldquo;Yes,
+Durward, very pretty; but hurry, or we shall lose the boat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment they were gone. Leaning from the window, &rsquo;Lena tried to
+catch another glimpse of him, but in vain. He was gone&mdash;she would never
+see him again, she thought; and then she fell into a reverie concerning his
+home, his mother, his sisters, if he had any, and finally ended by wishing that
+she were his sister, and the daughter of his father. While she was thus
+pondering, her grandmother, also, was busy, and when &rsquo;Lena looked round
+for her she was gone. Stepping from the car, &rsquo;Lena espied her in the
+distance, standing by her uncle and anxiously watching for the appearance of
+her &ldquo;great trunk, little trunk, band-box, and bag.&rdquo; Each of these
+articles was forthcoming, and in a few moments they were on the ferry-boat
+crossing the blue waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols declaring that &ldquo;if
+she&rsquo;d known it wasn&rsquo;t a bridge she was steppin&rsquo; onto,
+she&rsquo;d be bound they wouldn&rsquo;t have got her on in one while.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do sit down,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena; &ldquo;the other people
+don&rsquo;t seem to be afraid, and I&rsquo;m sure we needn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This Mrs. Nichols was more willing to do, as directly at her side was another
+old lady, traveling for the first time, frightened and anxious. To her Mrs.
+Nichols addressed herself, announcing her firm belief that &ldquo;she should be
+blew sky high before she reached Kentucky, where she was going to live with her
+son John, who she supposed was well off, worth twenty negroes or more;
+but,&rdquo; she added, lowering her voice, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t b&rsquo;lieve
+in no such, and I mean he shall set &rsquo;em free&mdash;poor critters,
+duddin&rsquo; from mornin&rsquo; till night without a cent of pay. He says they
+call him &lsquo;master,&rsquo; but I&rsquo;ll warrant he&rsquo;ll never catch
+me a&rsquo;callin&rsquo; him so to one on &rsquo;em. I promised Nancy
+Scovandyke that I wouldn&rsquo;t, and I won&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here a little <i>popcorn</i> boy came &rsquo;round, which reminded Mrs. Nichols
+of her money, and that she hadn&rsquo;t once looked after it since she started.
+Thinking this as favorable a time as she would have, she drew from her
+capacious pocket an old knit purse, and commenced counting out its contents,
+piece by piece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beware of pickpockets!&rdquo; said some one in her ear, and with the
+exclamation of &ldquo;Oh the Lord!&rdquo; the purse disappeared in her pocket,
+on which she kept her hand until the boat touched the opposite shore. Then in
+the confusion and excitement it was withdrawn, the purse was forgotten, and
+when on board the night express for Buffalo it was again looked for, <i>it was
+gone</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a wild outcry the horror-stricken matron sprang up, calling for John, who
+in some alarm came to her side, asking what she wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve lost my purse. Somebody&rsquo;s stole it. Lock the door
+quick, and search every man, woman, and child in the car!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conductor, who chanced to be present, now came up, demanding an
+explanation, and trying to convince Mrs. Nichols how improbable it was that any
+one present had her money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop the train then, and let me get off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Had you a large amount?&rdquo; asked the conductor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Every cent I had in the world. Ain&rsquo;t you going to let me get
+off?&rdquo; was the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conductor looked inquiringly at John, who shook his head, at the same time
+whispering to his mother not to feel so badly, as he would give her all the
+money she wanted. Then placing a ten dollar bill in her hand, he took a seat
+behind her. We doubt whether this would have quieted the old lady, had not a
+happy idea that moment entered her mind, causing her to exclaim loudly,
+&ldquo;There, now, I&rsquo;ve just this minute thought. I hadn&rsquo;t but
+<i>five</i> dollars in my purse; t&rsquo;other fifty I sewed up in an old
+night-gown sleeve, and tucked it away in that satchel up there,&rdquo; pointing
+to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s traveling bag, which hung over her head. She would
+undoubtedly have designated the very corner of said satchel in which her money
+could be found, had not her son touched her shoulder, bidding her be silent and
+not tell everybody where her money was, if she didn&rsquo;t want it stolen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols made no reply, but when she thought she was not observed, she
+arose, and slyly taking down the satchel, placed it under her. Then seating
+herself upon it, she gave a sigh of relief as she thought, &ldquo;they&rsquo;d
+have to work hard to get it now, without her knowing it!&rdquo; Dear old soul,
+when arrived at her journey&rsquo;s end, how much comfort she took in
+recounting over and over again the incidents of the robbery, wondering if it
+was, as John said, the very man who had so kindly cautioned her to beware of
+pickpockets, and who thus ascertained where she kept her purse. Nancy
+Scovandyke, too, was duly informed of her loss, and charged when she came to
+Kentucky, &ldquo;to look out on the ferry-boat for a youngish, good-looking
+man, with brown frock coat, blue cravat, and mouth full of white teeth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At Buffalo Mr. Livingstone had hard work to coax his mother on board the
+steamboat, but he finally succeeded, and as the weather chanced to be fine, she
+declared that ride on the lake to be the pleasantest part of her journey. At
+Cleveland they took the cars for Cincinnati, going thence to Lexington by
+stage. On ordinary occasions Mr. Livingstone would have preferred the river,
+but knowing that in all probability he should meet with some of his friends
+upon the boat, he chose the route via Lexington, where he stopped at the
+Phoenix, as was his usual custom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After seeing his mother and niece into the public parlor he left them for a
+time, saying he had some business to transact in the city. Scarcely was he gone
+when the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall announced an arrival, and a
+moment after, a boy, apparently fifteen years of age, appeared in the door. He
+was richly though carelessly dressed, and notwithstanding the good-humored
+expression of his rather handsome face, there was in his whole appearance an
+indescribable something which at once pronounced him to be a &ldquo;fast&rdquo;
+boy. A rowdy hat was set on one side of his head, after the most approved
+fashion, while in his hand he held a lighted cigar, which he applied to his
+mouth when he saw the parlor was unoccupied, save by an &ldquo;old woman&rdquo;
+and a &ldquo;little girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively &rsquo;Lena shrank from him, and withdrawing herself as far as
+possible within the recess of the window, pretended to be busily watching the
+passers-by. But she did not escape his notice, and after coolly surveying her
+for a moment, he walked up to her, saying, &ldquo;How d&rsquo;ye, polywog?
+I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I know to what gender you belong&mdash;woman or
+<i>gal</i>&mdash;which is it, hey?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None of your business,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s ready answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spunky, ain&rsquo;t you,&rdquo; said he, unceremoniously pulling one of
+the brown curls which Durward had so longed to touch. &ldquo;Seems to me your
+hair don&rsquo;t match the rest of you; wonder if &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t somebody
+else&rsquo;s head set on your shoulders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it ain&rsquo;t. It&rsquo;s my own head, and you just let it
+alone,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, growing more and more indignant, and
+wondering if this were a specimen of Kentucky boys.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be saucy,&rdquo; continued her tormentor; &ldquo;I only want
+to see what sort of stuff you are made of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Made of <i>dirt</i>&rdquo; muttered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon you are,&rdquo; returned the boy; &ldquo;but say, where
+<i>did</i> you come from and who <i>do</i> you live with?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I came from Massachusetts, and I live with <i>granny</i>,&rdquo; said
+&rsquo;Lena, thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would perhaps let
+her alone. But she was mistaken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing at &ldquo;<i>granny</i>,&rdquo; he burst into a loud laugh, and then
+placing his hat a little more on one side, and assuming a nasal twang, he said,
+&ldquo;Neow dew tell, if you&rsquo;re from Massachusetts. How dew you dew,
+little Yankee, and how are all the folks to hum?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feeling sure that not only herself but all her relations were included in this
+insult, &rsquo;Lena darted forward hitting him a blow in the face, which he
+returned by puffing smoke into hers, whereupon she snatched the cigar from his
+mouth and hurled it into the street, bidding him &ldquo;touch her again if he
+dared.&rdquo; All this transpired so rapidly that Mrs. Nichols had hardly time
+to understand its meaning, but fully comprehending it now, she was about coming
+to the rescue, when her son reappeared, exclaiming, &ldquo;<i>John</i>, John
+Livingstone, Jr., how came you here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had a cannon exploded at the feet of John Jr., as he was called, he could not
+have been more startled. He was not expecting his father for two or three days,
+and was making the most of his absence by having what he called a regular
+&ldquo;spree.&rdquo; Taking him altogether, he was, without being naturally
+bad, a spoiled child, whom no one could manage except his father, and as his
+father seldom tried, he was of course seldom managed. Never yet had he remained
+at any school more than two quarters, for if he were not sent away, he
+generally ran away, sure of finding a champion in his mother, who had always
+petted him, calling him, &ldquo;Johnny darling,&rdquo; until he one day very
+coolly informed her that she was &ldquo;a silly old fool,&rdquo; and that
+&ldquo;he&rsquo;d thank her not to &lsquo;Johnny darling&rsquo; him any
+longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr. when &rsquo;Lena
+was presented to him as his <i>cousin</i>, and Mrs. Nichols as his
+<i>grandmother</i>. Something which sounded very much like an oath escaped his
+lips, as turning to his father he muttered, &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t mother go into
+fits?&rdquo; Then, as he began to realize the ludicrousness of the whole
+affair, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Rich, good, by gracious!&rdquo; and laughing
+loudly, he walked away to regale himself with another cigar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lena began to tremble for her future happiness, if this boy was to live in the
+same house with her. She did not know that she had already more than half won
+his good opinion, for he was far better pleased with her antagonistical
+demonstrations, than he would have been had she cried or ran from him, as his
+sister Anna generally did when he teased her. After a few moments here turned
+to the parlor, and walking up to Mrs. Nichols, commenced talking very sociably
+with her, calling her &ldquo;Granny,&rdquo; and winking slyly at &rsquo;Lena as
+he did so. Mr. Livingstone had too much good sense to sit quietly by and hear
+his mother ridiculed by his son, and in a loud, stern voice he bade the young
+gentleman &ldquo;behave himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Law, now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, &ldquo;let him talk if he wants to.
+I like to hear him. He&rsquo;s the only grandson I&rsquo;ve got.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This speech had the effect of silencing John Jr. quite as much as his
+father&rsquo;s command. If he could tease his grandmother by talking to her, he
+would take delight in doing so, but if she <i>wanted</i> him to talk&mdash;that
+was quite another thing. So moving away from her, he took a seat near
+&rsquo;Lena, telling her her dress was &ldquo;a heap too short,&rdquo; and
+occasionally pinching her, just to vary the sport! This last, however,
+&rsquo;Lena returned with so much force that he grew weary of the fun, and
+informing her that he was going to a <i>circus</i> which was in town that
+evening, he arose to leave the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone, who partially overheard what he had said, stopped him and
+asked &ldquo;where he was going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that &ldquo;he was
+confounded sleepy and was going to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, where did he say he was going?&rdquo; asked her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena trembled, for John Jr. had clinched his fist, and was shaking it
+threateningly at her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did he say he was going?&rdquo; repeated her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor &rsquo;Lena had never told a lie in her life, and now braving her
+cousin&rsquo;s anger, she said, &ldquo;To the circus, sir. Oh, I wish you had
+not asked me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get your pay for that,&rdquo; muttered John Jr. sullenly
+reseating himself by his father, who kept an eye on him until he saw him safely
+in his room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Much as John Jr. frightened &rsquo;Lena with his threats, in his heart he
+respected her for telling the truth, and if the next morning on their way home
+in the stage, in which his father compelled him to take a seat, he frequently
+found it convenient to step on her feet, it was more from a natural propensity
+to torment than from any lurking feeling of revenge. &rsquo;Lena was nowise
+backward in returning his cousinly attentions, and so between an interchange of
+kicks, wry faces, and so forth, they proceeded toward &ldquo;Maple
+Grove,&rdquo; a description of which will be given in another chapter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/>
+MAPLE GROVE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The residence of Mr. Livingstone, or rather of Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s wife,
+was a large, handsome building, such as one often finds in Kentucky,
+particularly in the country. Like most planters&rsquo; houses, it stood at some
+little distance from the street, from which its massive walls, wreathed with
+evergreen, were just discernible. The carriage road which led to it passed
+first through a heavy iron gate guarded by huge bronze lions, so natural and
+life-like, that Mrs. Nichols, when first she saw them, uttered a cry of fear.
+Next came a beautiful maple grove, followed by a long, green lawn, dotted here
+and there with forest trees and having on its right a deep running brook, whose
+waters, farther on at the rear of the garden, were formed into a miniature
+fish-pond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house itself was of brick&mdash;two storied, and surrounded on three sides
+with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined with climbing roses,
+honey-suckle, and running vines, so closely interwoven as to give it the
+appearance of an immense summer-house. In the spacious yard in front, tall
+shade trees and bright green grass were growing, while in the well-kept garden
+at the left, bloomed an endless variety of roses and flowering shrubs, which in
+their season filled the air with perfume, and made the spot brilliant with
+beauty. Directly through the center of this garden ran the stream of which we
+have spoken, and as its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented the
+appearance of a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the starry dandelion and
+the blue-eyed violet grew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both of which were
+latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grape-vines, whose dark, green foliage was
+now intermingled with clusters of the rich purple fruit. At the right, and
+somewhat in the rear of the building, was a group of linden trees,
+overshadowing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who, imitating as far as
+possible the taste of their master, beautified their dwellings with hop-vines,
+creepers, hollyhocks and the like. Altogether, it was as &rsquo;Lena said,
+&ldquo;just the kind of place which one reads of in stories,&rdquo; and which
+is often found at the &ldquo;sunny south.&rdquo; The interior of the building
+corresponded with the exterior, for with one exception, the residence of a
+wealthy Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone prided herself upon having the best
+furnished house in the county; consequently neither pains nor money had been
+spared in the selection of the furniture, which was of the most costly kind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie, the eldest of the daughters, was now about thirteen years of age.
+Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she was hated by the servants,
+and disliked by her equals. Some thought her pretty. <i>She</i> felt sure of
+it, and many an hour she spent before the mirror, admiring herself and
+anticipating the time when she would be a grown-up lady, and as a matter of
+course, a belle. Her mother unfortunately belonged to that class who seem to
+think that the chief aim in life is to secure a &ldquo;brilliant match,&rdquo;
+and thinking she could not commence too soon, she had early instilled into her
+favorite daughter&rsquo;s mind the necessity of appearing to the best possible
+advantage, when in the presence of wealth and distinction, pointing out her own
+marriage as a proof of the unhappiness resulting from unequal matches. In this
+way Carrie had early learned that her father owed his present position to her
+mother&rsquo;s condescension in marrying him&mdash;that he was once a poor boy
+living among the northern hills&mdash;that his parents were poor, ignorant and
+vulgar&mdash;and that there was with them a little girl, their daughter&rsquo;s
+child, who never had a father, and whom she must never on any occasion call her
+cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this had likewise been told to Anna, the youngest daughter, who was about
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s age, but upon her it made no impression. If her father was
+once poor, he was in her opinion none the worse for that&mdash;and if <i>he</i>
+liked his parents, that was a sufficient reason why she should like them too,
+and if little &rsquo;Lena was an orphan, she pitied her, and hoped she might
+sometime see her and tell her so! Thus Anna reasoned, while her mother,
+terribly shocked at her low-bred taste, strove to instill into her mind some of
+her own more aristocratic notions. But all in vain, for Anna was purely
+democratic, loving everybody and beloved by everybody in return. It is true she
+had no particular liking for books or study of any kind, but she was gentle and
+affectionate in her manner, and kindly considerate of other people&rsquo;s
+feelings. With her father she was a favorite, and to her he always looked for
+sympathy, which she seldom failed to give&mdash;not in words, it is true, but
+whenever he seemed to be in trouble, she would climb into his lap, wind her
+arms around his neck, and laying her golden head upon his shoulder, would sit
+thus until his brow and heart grew lighter as he felt there was yet something
+in the wide world which loved and cared for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For Carrie Mrs. Livingstone had great expectations, but Anna she feared would
+never make a &ldquo;brilliant match.&rdquo; For a long time Anna meditated upon
+this, wondering what a &ldquo;brilliant match&rdquo; could mean, and at last
+she determined to seek an explanation from Captain Atherton, a bachelor and a
+millionaire, who was in the habit of visiting them, and who always noticed and
+petted her more than he did Carrie. Accordingly, the next time he came, and
+they were alone in the parlor, she broached the subject, asking him what it
+meant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Laughing loudly, the Captain drew her toward him, saying, &ldquo;Why, marrying
+rich, you little novice. For instance, if one of these days you should be my
+little wife, I dare say your mother would think you had made a brilliant
+match!&rdquo; and the well-preserved gentleman of forty glanced complacently at
+himself in the mirror thinking how probable it was that his youthfulness would
+be unimpaired for at least ten years to come!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna laughed, for to her his words then conveyed no serious meaning, but with
+more than her usual quickness she replied, that &ldquo;she would as soon marry
+her grandfather.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With Mrs. Livingstone the reader is partially acquainted. In her youth she had
+been pretty, and now at thirty-eight she was not without pretensions to beauty,
+notwithstanding her sallow complexion and sunken eyes, Her hair, which was very
+abundant, was bright and glossy, and her mouth, in which the dentist had done
+his best, would have been handsome, had it not been for a certain draw at the
+corners, which gave it a scornful and rather disagreeable expression. In her
+disposition she was overbearing and tyrannical, fond of ruling, and deeming her
+husband a monster of ingratitude if ever in any way he manifested a spirit of
+rebellion. Didn&rsquo;t she marry him? and now they were married, didn&rsquo;t
+her money support him? And wasn&rsquo;t it exceedingly amiable in her always to
+speak of their children as <i>ours</i>! But as for the rest, &rsquo;twas
+<i>my</i> house, <i>my</i> servants, <i>my</i> carriage, and <i>my</i> horses.
+All <i>mine</i>&mdash;&ldquo;Mrs. John Livingstone&rsquo;s&mdash;Miss Matilda
+Richards that was!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Occasionally, however, her husband&rsquo;s spirit was roused, and then, after a
+series of tears, sick-headaches, and then spasms, &ldquo;Miss Matilda Richards
+that Was&rdquo; was compelled to yield her face for many days wearing the look
+of a much-injured, heart-broken woman. Still her influence over him was great,
+else she had never so effectually weakened every tie which bound him to his
+native home, making him ashamed of his parents and of everything pertaining to
+them. When her husband first wrote, to her that his father was dead and that he
+had promised to take charge of his mother and &rsquo;Lena, she flew into a
+violent rage, which was increased ten-fold when she received his second letter,
+wherein he announced his intention of bringing them home in spite of her.
+Bursting into tears she declared &ldquo;she&rsquo;d leave the house before
+she&rsquo;d have it filled up with a lot of paupers. Who did John Nichols think
+he was, and who did he think she was! Besides that, where was he going to put
+them? for there wasn&rsquo;t a place for them that she knew of!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, mother,&rdquo; said Anna who was pleased with the prospect of a new
+grandmother and cousin, &ldquo;Why, mother, what a story. There&rsquo;s the two
+big chambers and bedrooms, besides the one next to Carrie&rsquo;s and mine. Oh,
+do put them in there. It&rsquo;ll be so nice to have grandma and cousin
+&rsquo;Lena so near me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anna Livingstone!&rdquo; returned the indignant lady, &ldquo;Never let
+me hear you say grandma and cousin again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But they be grandma and cousin,&rdquo; persisted Anna, while her mother
+commenced lamenting the circumstance which had made them so, wishing, as she
+had often done before, that she had never married John Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so,&rdquo; slyly whispered
+John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother&rsquo;s last remark
+awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, causing her to wonder
+whose little girl she would have been, her father&rsquo;s or mother&rsquo;s, in
+case they had each married some one else! As there was no one whose opinion
+Anna dared to ask, the question is undoubtedly to this day, with her, unsolved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger of the day before was
+somewhat abated, and knowing from past experience that it was useless to resist
+her husband when once he was determined, she wisely concluded that as they were
+now probably on the road, it was best to try to endure, for a time, at least,
+what could not well be helped. And now arose the perplexing question,
+&ldquo;What should she do with them? where should she put them that they would
+be the most out of the way? for she could never suffer them to be round when
+she had company.&rdquo; The chamber of which Anna had spoken was out of the
+question, for it was too nice, and besides that, it was reserved for the
+children of her New Orleans friends, who nearly every summer came up to visit
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the rear of the building was a long, low room, containing a fireplace and
+two windows, which looked out upon the negro quarters and the hemp fields
+beyond. This room, which in the summer was used for storing feather-beds,
+blankets, and so forth, was plastered, but minus either paper or paint. Still
+it was quite comfortable, &ldquo;better than they were accustomed to at
+home,&rdquo; Mrs. Livingstone said, and this she decided to give them.
+Accordingly the negroes were set at work scrubbing the floor, washing the
+windows, and scouring the sills, until the room at least possessed the virtue
+of being clean. A faded carpet, discarded as good for nothing, and over which
+the rats had long held their nightly revels, was brought to light, shaken,
+mended, and nailed down&mdash;then came a bedstead, which Mrs. Livingstone had
+designed as a Christmas gift to one of the negroes, but which of course would
+do well enough for her mother-in-law. Next followed an old wooden
+rocking-chair, whose ancestry Anna had tried in vain to trace, and which Carrie
+had often proposed burning. This, with two or three more chairs of a later
+date, a small wardrobe, and a square table, completed the furniture of the
+room, if we except the plain muslin curtains which shaded the windows,
+destitute of blinds. Taking it by itself, the room looked tolerably well, but
+when compared with the richly furnished apartments around it, it seemed meager
+and poor indeed; &ldquo;but if they wanted anything better, they could get it
+themselves. They were welcome to make any alterations they chose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This mode of reasoning hardly satisfied Anna, and unknown to her mother she
+took from her own chamber a handsome hearth-rug, and carrying it to her
+grandmother&rsquo;s room, laid it before the fireplace. Coming accidentally
+upon a roll of green paper, she, with the help of Corinda, a black girl, made
+some shades for the windows, which faced the west, rendering the room
+intolerably hot during the summer season. Then, at the suggestion of Corinda,
+she looped back the muslin curtains with some green ribbons, which she had
+intended using for her &ldquo;dolly&rsquo;s dress.&rdquo; The bare appearance
+of the table troubled her, but by rummaging, she brought to light a cast-off
+spread, which, though soiled and worn, was on one side quite handsome.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, if we only had something for the mantel,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;it
+seems so empty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda thought a moment, then rolling up the whites of her eyes, replied,
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you mind them little pitchers&rdquo; (meaning vases)
+&ldquo;which Master Atherton done gin you? They&rsquo;d look mighty fine up
+thar, full of sprigs and posies.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without hesitating a moment Anna brought the vases, and as she did not know the
+exact time when her grandmother would arrive, she determined to fill them with
+fresh flowers every morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, it looks a heap better, don&rsquo;t it, Carrie?&rdquo; said she
+to her sister, who chanced to be passing the door and looked in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be smart,&rdquo; answered Carrie, &ldquo;taking so much pains
+just for them; and as I live, if you haven&rsquo;t got those elegant vases that
+Captain Atherton gave you for a birthday present! I know mother won&rsquo;t
+like it. I mean to tell her;&rdquo; and away she ran with the important news.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, I told you so,&rdquo; said she, quickly returning. &ldquo;She
+says you carry them straight back and let the room alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna began to cry, saying &ldquo;the vases were hers, and she should think she
+might do what she pleased with them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did you go and blab for, you great for shame, you?&rdquo; exclaimed
+John Jr., suddenly appearing in the doorway, at the same time giving Carrie a
+push, which set her to crying, and brought Mrs. Livingstone to the scene of
+action,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t my vases stay in here? Nobody&rsquo;ll hurt &rsquo;em, and
+they&rsquo;ll look so pretty,&rdquo; said Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t that hateful John behave, and let me alone?&rdquo; said
+Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And can&rsquo;t Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks&rsquo;
+business?&rdquo; chimed in John Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh Lordy, what a fuss,&rdquo; said Corinda, while poor Mrs. Livingstone,
+half distracted, took refuge under one of her dreadful headaches, and telling
+her children &ldquo;to fight their own battles and let her alone,&rdquo;
+returned to her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A body&rsquo;d s&rsquo;pose marster&rsquo;s kin warn&rsquo;t of no kind
+of count,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, the head cook, to a group of sables, who, in
+the kitchen, were discussing the furniture of the &ldquo;trump&rsquo;ry
+room,&rdquo; as they were in the habit of calling the chamber set apart for
+Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;Yes, they would s&rsquo;pose they warn&rsquo;t of no kind
+o&rsquo; count, the way miss goes on, ravin&rsquo; and tarin&rsquo; and
+puttin&rsquo; &rsquo;em off with low-lived truck that we black folks
+wouldn&rsquo;t begin to tache with the tongs. Massy knows ef my ole mother
+warn&rsquo;t dead and gone to kingdom come, I should never think o&rsquo;
+sarvin&rsquo; her so, and I don&rsquo;t set myself up to be nothin&rsquo; but
+an old nigger, and a black one at that. But Lor&rsquo; that&rsquo;s the way
+with more&rsquo;n half the white folks. They jine the church, and then they
+think they done got a title deed to one of them houses up in heaven (that
+nobody ever built) sure enough. Goin&rsquo; straight thar, as fast as a span of
+race-horses can carry &rsquo;em. Ki! Won&rsquo;t they be disappointed, some on
+&rsquo;em, and Miss Matilda &rsquo;long the rest, when she drives up, hosses
+all a reekin&rsquo; sweat, and spects to walk straight into the best room, but
+is told to go to the kitchen and turn hoe-cakes for us niggers, who are
+eatin&rsquo; at the fust table, with silver forks and
+napkins&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here old Milly stopped to breathe, and her daughter Vine, who had listened
+breathlessly to her mother&rsquo;s description of the &ldquo;good time
+coming,&rdquo; asked &ldquo;when these things come to pass, if Miss Carrie
+wouldn&rsquo;t have to swing the feathers over the table to keep off the flies,
+instead of herself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that she will, child,&rdquo; returned her mother; &ldquo;Things is
+all gwine to be changed in the wink of your eye. Miss Anna read that very
+tex&rsquo; to me last Sunday and I knew in a minit what it meant. Now
+thar&rsquo;s Miss Anna, blessed lamb. She&rsquo;s one of &rsquo;em
+that&rsquo;ll wear her white gowns and stay in t&rsquo;other room, with her
+face shinin&rsquo; like an ile lamp!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While this interesting conversation was going on in the kitchen, John Jr., in
+the parlor was teasing his mother for money, with which to go up to Lexington
+the next day. &ldquo;You may just as well give it to me without any
+fuss,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;for if you don&rsquo;t, I&rsquo;ll get my bills at
+the Phoenix charged. The old man is good, and they&rsquo;ll trust. But then a
+feller feels more independent when he can pay down, and treat a friend, if he
+likes; so hand over four or five Vs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Mrs. Livingstone refused, but her head ached so hard and her
+&ldquo;nerves trembled so,&rdquo; that she did not feel equal to the task of
+contending with John Jr., who was always sure in the end to have his own way.
+Yielding at last to his importunities, she gave him fifteen dollars, charging
+him to &ldquo;keep out of bad company and be a good boy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Trust me for that,&rdquo; said he, and pulling the tail of Anna&rsquo;s
+pet kitten, upsetting Carrie&rsquo;s work-box, poking a black baby&rsquo;s ribs
+with his walking cane, and knocking down a cob-house, which &ldquo;Thomas
+Jefferson&rdquo; had been all day building, he mounted his favorite
+&ldquo;Firelock,&rdquo; and together with a young negro, rode off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord send us a little peace now,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, tossing her
+squalling baby up in the air, and telling Thomas Jefferson not to cry,
+&ldquo;for his young master was done gone off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I hope to goodness he&rsquo;ll stay off a spell,&rdquo; she added,
+&ldquo;for thar&rsquo;s ole Sam to pay the whole time he&rsquo;s at home, and
+if ever thar was a tickled critter in this world it&rsquo;s me, when he
+clar&rsquo;s out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad, too,&rdquo; said Anna, who had been sent to the kitchen
+to stop the screaming, &ldquo;and I wish he&rsquo;d stay ever so long, for I
+don&rsquo;t take a bit of comfort when he&rsquo;s at home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Great hateful! I wish he didn&rsquo;t live here,&rdquo; said Carrie,
+gathering up her spools, thimble and scissors, while Mrs. Livingstone, feeling
+that his absence had taken a load from her shoulders, settled herself upon her
+silken lounge and tried to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Amid all this rejoicing at his departure, John Jr. put spurs to the fleet
+Firelock, who soon carried him to Lexington, where, as we have seen, he came
+unexpectedly upon his father, who, not daring to trust him on horseback, lest
+he should play the truant, took him into the stage with himself, leaving
+Firelock to the care of the negro.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/>
+THE ARRIVAL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, mother, get up quick&mdash;the stage has driven up at the gate, and
+I reckon pa has come,&rdquo; said Anna, bursting into the room where her
+mother, who was suffering from a headache, was still in bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Raising herself upon her elbow, and pushing aside the rich, heavy curtains,
+Mrs. Livingstone looked out upon the mud-bespattered vehicle, from which a leg,
+encased in a black and white stocking, was just making its egress. &ldquo;Oh,
+heavens!&rdquo; said she, burying her face again in the downy pillows.
+Woman&rsquo;s curiosity, however, soon prevailed over all other feelings, and
+again looking out she obtained a full view of her mother-in-law, who, having
+emerged from the coach, was picking out her boxes, trunks, and so forth. When
+they were all found, Mr. Livingstone ordered two negroes to carry them to the
+side piazza, where they were soon mounted by three or four little darkies,
+Thomas Jefferson among the rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John, <i>John</i>&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, &ldquo;them niggers
+won&rsquo;t scent my things, will they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk, granny,&rdquo; whispered &rsquo;Lena, painfully
+conscious of the curious eyes fixed upon them by the bevy of blacks, who had
+come out to greet their master, and who with sidelong glances at each other,
+were inspecting the new comers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk! why not?&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, rather sharply.
+&ldquo;This is a free country I suppose.&rdquo; Then bethinking herself, she
+added quickly, &ldquo;Oh, I forgot, &rsquo;taint free <i>here</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After examining the satchel and finding that the night gown sleeve was safe,
+Mrs. Nichols took up her line of march for the house, herself carrying her
+umbrella and band-box, which she would not intrust to the care of the negroes,
+&ldquo;as like enough they&rsquo;d break the umberell, or squash her
+caps.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The trumpery room is plenty good enough for &rsquo;em,&rdquo; thought
+Corinda, retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of
+her contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment &rsquo;Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, &ldquo;Oh,
+mercy, which is the oldest?&rdquo; and truly, poor &rsquo;Lena did present a
+sorry figure,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her bonnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had received an ugly crook in
+front, which neither her grandmother or uncle had noticed, and of which John
+Jr. would not tell her, thinking that the worse she looked the more fun he
+would have! Her skirts were not very full, and her dress hung straight around
+her, making her of the same bigness from her head to her feet. Her shoes, which
+had been given to her by one of the neighbors, were altogether too large, and
+it was with considerable difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as
+they were a present, Mrs. Nichols said &ldquo;it was a pity not to get all the
+good out of them she could.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Livingstone, moody, silent, and
+cross. Behind them was John Jr., mimicking first &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s gait and
+then his grandmother&rsquo;s. The negroes, convulsed with laughter, darted
+hither and thither, running against and over each other, and finally
+disappearing, some behind the house and some into the kitchen, and all
+retaining a position from which they could have a full view of the proceedings.
+On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie, the one with her handkerchief stuffed in
+her mouth, and the other with her mouth open, astounded at the unlooked-for
+spectacle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?&rdquo; groaned Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do? Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your new relations:
+that&rsquo;s what I should do,&rdquo; answered John Jr., who, tired of
+mimicking, had run forward, and now rushed unceremoniously into his
+mother&rsquo;s sleeping-room, leaving the door open behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John Livingstone, what do you mean?&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;shut that
+door this minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he reached
+just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Carrie, and this is Anna,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, pointing
+to each one as he pronounced her name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Now I want to know if this is Car&rsquo;line. I&rsquo;d no idee she was
+so big. You pretty well, Car&rsquo;line?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother&rsquo;s fingers, and
+with stately gravity replied that she was well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, &ldquo;And this is Anny. Looks
+weakly &rsquo;pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she was
+fitty. Never have fits, do you, dear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from
+laughing outright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that she was
+sick, started for her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sick? Is your marm sick?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols of John Jr.
+&ldquo;Wall, I guess I&rsquo;ll go right in and sea if I can&rsquo;t do
+somethin&rsquo; for her. I&rsquo;m tolerable good at nussin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered unannounced into the
+presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, who, with a little shriek, covered her
+head with the bed-clothes. Knowing that she meant well, and never dreaming that
+she was intruding, Mrs. Nichols walked up to the bedside, saying, &ldquo;How de
+do, &rsquo;Tilda? I suppose you know I&rsquo;m your mother&mdash;come all the
+way from Massachusetts to live with you. What is the matter? Do you take
+anything for your sickness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A groan was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s only answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Little hystericky, I guess,&rdquo; suggested Mrs. Nichols, adding that
+&ldquo;settin&rsquo; her feet in middlin&rsquo; hot water is good for
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is nervous, and the sight of strangers makes her worse. So I reckon
+you&rsquo;d better go out for the present,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, who
+really pitied his wife. Then calling Corinda, he bade her show his mother to
+her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda obeyed, and Mrs. Nichols followed her, asking her on the way
+&ldquo;what her surname was, how old she was, if she knew how to read, and if
+she hadn&rsquo;t a good deal rather be free than to be a slave!&rdquo; to which
+Corinda replied, that &ldquo;she didn&rsquo;t know what a surname meant, that
+she didn&rsquo;t know how old she was, that she didn&rsquo;t know how to read,
+and that she didn&rsquo;t know whether she&rsquo;d like to be free or not, but
+reckoned she shouldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A half-witted gal that,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols, &ldquo;and I guess
+&rsquo;Tilda don&rsquo;t set much store by her.&rdquo; Then dropping into the
+wooden rocking-chair and laying aside her bonnet, she for the first time
+noticed that &rsquo;Lena was not with her, and asked Corinda to go for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda complied, leaving the room just in time to stifle a laugh, as she saw
+Mrs. Nichols stoop down to examine the hearth-rug, wondering &ldquo;how much it
+cost when &rsquo;twas new.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We left &rsquo;Lena standing on the steps of the piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At a glance she had taken in the whole&mdash;had comprehended that there was no
+affinity whatever between herself and the objects around her, and a wild,
+intense longing filled her heart to be once more among her native hills. She
+had witnessed the merriment of the blacks, the scornful curl of Carrie&rsquo;s
+lip, the half-suppressed ridicule of Anna, when they met her grandmother, and
+now uncertain of her own reception, she stood before her cousins not knowing
+whether to advance or run away. For a moment there was an awkward silence, and
+then John Jr., bent on mischief, whispered to Carrie, &ldquo;Look at that pinch
+in her bonnet, and just see her shoes! Big as little sailboats!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was too much for Lena. She already disliked John Jr., and now, flying into
+a violent passion, she drew off her shoes, and hurling them at the young
+gentleman&rsquo;s head fled away, away, she knew not, cared not whither, so
+that she got out of sight and hearing. Coming at last to the arbor bridge
+across the brook in the garden, she paused for breath, and throwing herself
+upon a seat, burst into a flood of tears. For several minutes she sobbed so
+loudly that she did not hear the sound of footsteps upon the graveled walk.
+Anna had followed her, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of pity, the
+latter of which preponderated when she saw how bitterly her cousin was weeping.
+Going up to her she said, &ldquo;Don t cry so, &rsquo;Lena. Look up and talk.
+It&rsquo;s Anna, your cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena had not yet recovered from her angry fit, and thinking Anna only
+came to tease her, and perhaps again ridicule her bonnet, she tore the article,
+from her head, and bending it up double, threw it into the stream, which
+carried it down to the fish-pond, where for two or three hours it furnished
+amusement for some little negroes, who, calling it a crab, fished for it with
+hook and line! For a moment Anna stood watching the bonnet as it sailed along
+down the stream, thinking it looked better there than on its owner&rsquo;s
+head, but wondering why &rsquo;Lena had thrown it away. Then again addressing
+her cousin, she asked why she had done so?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a homely old thing, and I hate it,&rdquo; answered
+&rsquo;Lena, again bursting into tears. &ldquo;I hate everybody, and I wish I
+was dead, or back in Massachusetts, I don&rsquo;t care which!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With her impressions of the &ldquo;Bay State,&rdquo; where her mother said
+folks lived on &ldquo;cold beans and codfish,&rdquo; Anna thought she should
+prefer the first alternative, but she did not say so; and after a little she
+tried again to comfort &rsquo;Lena, telling her &ldquo;she liked her, or at
+least she was going to like her a heap.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you ain&rsquo;t,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;You laughed at
+me and granny both. I saw you do it, and you think I don&rsquo;t know anything,
+but I do. I&rsquo;ve been through Olney&rsquo;s geography, and Colburn&rsquo;s
+arithmetic twice!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was more than Anna could say. She had no scholarship of which to boast;
+but she had a heart brimful of love, and in reply to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+accusation of having laughed at her, she replied, &ldquo;I know I laughed, for
+grandma looked so funny I couldn&rsquo;t help it. But I won&rsquo;t any more. I
+pity you because your mother is dead, and you never had any father, ma
+says.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This made &rsquo;Lena cry again, while Anna continued, &ldquo;Pa&rsquo;ll buy
+you some new clothes I reckon, and if he don&rsquo;t, I&rsquo;ll give you some
+of mine, for I&rsquo;ve got heaps, and they&rsquo;ll fit you I most know.
+Here&rsquo;s my mark&mdash;&rdquo; pointing to a cut upon the door-post.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s mine, and Carrie&rsquo;s and brother&rsquo;s. Stand up and
+see if you don&rsquo;t measure like I do,&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena complied, and to Anna&rsquo;s great joy they were just of a height.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so glad,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Now, come to my room and
+Corinda will fix you up mighty nice before mother sees you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hand-in-hand the two girls started for the house, but had not gone far when
+they heard some one calling, &ldquo;Ho, Miss &rsquo;Lena, whar is you? Ole miss
+done want you.&rdquo; At the same time Corinda made her appearance round the
+corner of the piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, Cora,&rdquo; said Anna. &ldquo;Come with me to my room; I want
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a broad grin Corinda followed her young mistress, while &rsquo;Lena, never
+having been accustomed to any negro save the one with whom many New England
+children are threatened when they cry, clung closer to Anna&rsquo;s side,
+occasionally casting a timid glance toward the dark-browed girl who followed
+them. In the upper hall they met with Carrie, who in passing &rsquo;Lena held
+back her dress, as if fearing contamination from a contact with her
+cousin&rsquo;s plainer garments. Painfully alive to the slightest insult,
+&rsquo;Lena reddened, while Anna said, &ldquo;Never mind&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+just like Cad, but nobody cares for <i>her</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus reassured &rsquo;Lena followed on, until they reached Anna&rsquo;s room,
+which they were about to enter, when the shrill voice of Mrs. Nichols fell upon
+their ears, calling, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny, &rsquo;Leny, where upon airth is
+she?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go to her first,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and leading the
+way Anna soon ushered her into her grandmother&rsquo;s room which, child as she
+was, &rsquo;Lena readily saw was far different from the handsome apartments of
+which she had obtained a passing glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Nichols had not thought of this&mdash;and was doubtless better
+satisfied with her present quarters than she would have been with the best
+furnished chamber in the house. The moment her granddaughter appeared, she
+exclaimed, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny Rivers, where have you been? I was worried to
+death, for fear you might be runnin&rsquo; after some of them paltry niggers.
+And now whilst I think on&rsquo;t, I charge you never to go a nigh &rsquo;em;
+I&rsquo;d no idee they were such half-naked, nasty critters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This prohibition was a novelty to Anna, who spent many happy hours with her
+sable-hued companions, never deeming herself the worse for it. Her
+grandmother&rsquo;s first remark, however, struck her still more forcibly, and
+she immediately asked, &ldquo;Grandma, what did you call &rsquo;Lena, just now?
+&rsquo;Lena what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I called her by her name, &rsquo;Lena Rivers. What should I call
+her?&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, I thought her name was &rsquo;Lena Nichols; ma said
+&rsquo;twas,&rdquo; answered Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+birth, and she rather tartly informed Anna, that &ldquo;her mother didn&rsquo;t
+know everything,&rdquo; adding that &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s father was Mr.
+Rivers, and there wasn&rsquo;t half so much reason why she should be called
+Nichols as there was why Anna should, for that was her father&rsquo;s name, the
+one by which he was baptized, the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who&rsquo;s
+jest his age, only he was born about a quarter past four in the morning, and
+she not till some time in the afternoon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where is Mr. Rivers?&rdquo; asked Anna more interested in him than
+in the exact minute of her father&rsquo;s birth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord only knows,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;Little girls
+shouldn&rsquo;t ask too many questions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some mystery connected
+with &rsquo;Lena. The mention of Nancy Scovandyke reminded Mrs. Nichols of the
+dishes which that lady had packed away, and anxious to see if they were safe,
+she turned to &rsquo;Lena saying, &ldquo;I guess we&rsquo;ll have time before
+dinner to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how the crockery stood the
+racket. Anny, you run down and tell your pa to fetch &rsquo;em up here,
+that&rsquo;s a good girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes contained, Anna forgot
+her scheme of dressing &rsquo;Lena, and ran down, not to call her father, but
+the black boy, Adam. It took her a long time to find him, and Mrs. Nichols,
+growing impatient, determined to go herself, spite of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+entreaties that she would stay where she was. Passing down the long stairway,
+and out upon the piazza, she espied a negro girl on her hands and knees engaged
+in cleaning the steps with a cloth. Instantly remembering her mop, she greatly
+lamented that she had left it behind&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;twould come so handy
+now,&rdquo; thought she, but there was no help for it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said, &ldquo;Sissy,
+can you tell me where <i>John</i> is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly &ldquo;Sissy&rsquo;s&rdquo; ivories became visible, as she replied,
+&ldquo;We hain&rsquo;t got any such nigger as John.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one in particular,
+Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t ask for
+a <i>nigger</i>; I want your master, <i>John</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed herself for thus early
+breaking her promise to Nancy Scovandyke. As it was, she mentally asked
+forgiveness, and as the colored girl &ldquo;didn&rsquo;t know where marster
+was,&rdquo; but &ldquo;reckoned he had gone somewhar,&rdquo; she turned aside,
+and seeking her son&rsquo;s room, again entered unannounced. Mrs. Livingstone,
+who was up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor. But Mrs. Nichols did
+not heed it, and advancing forward, she said, &ldquo;Do you feel any better,
+&rsquo;Tilda? I&rsquo;d keep kinder still to-day, and not try to do much, for
+if you feel any consarned about the housework, I&rsquo;d just as lief see
+to&rsquo;t a little after dinner as not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have all confidence in Milly&rsquo;s management, and seldom trouble
+myself about the affairs of the kitchen,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, then,&rdquo; returned her mother-in-law, nothing daunted,
+&ldquo;Wall, then, mebby you&rsquo;d like to have me come in and set with you a
+while.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would be impossible for us to depict Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s look of
+surprise and anger at this proposition. Her face alternately flushed and then
+grew pale, until at last she found voice to say, &ldquo;I greatly prefer being
+alone, madam. It annoys me excessively to have any one round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Considerable kind o&rsquo; touchy,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols,
+&ldquo;but then the poor critter is sick, and I shan&rsquo;t lay it up agin
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking out her snuff-box, she offered it to her daughter, telling her that
+&ldquo;like enough &rsquo;twould cure her headache.&rdquo; Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s first impulse was to strike it from her mother&rsquo;s
+hand, but knowing how unladylike that would be, she restrained herself, and
+turning away her head, replied, &ldquo;Ugh! no! The very sight of it makes me
+sick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How you do talk! Wall, I&rsquo;ve seen folks that it sarved jest so; but
+you&rsquo;ll get over it. Now there was Nancy Scovandyke&mdash;did John ever
+say anything about her? Wall, she couldn&rsquo;t bear snuff till after her
+disappointment&mdash;John told you, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam, my husband has never told me anything concerning his eastern
+friends, neither do I wish to hear anything of them,&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, her patience on the point of giving out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never told you nothin&rsquo; about Nancy Scovandyke! If that don&rsquo;t
+beat all! Why, he was&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was prevented from finishing the sentence, which would undoubtedly have
+raised a domestic breeze, when Anna came to tell her that the trunks were
+carried to her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come right up then,&rdquo; said she, adding, more to herself
+than any one else, &ldquo;If I ain&rsquo;t mistaken, I&rsquo;ve got a little
+paper of saffron somewhere, which I mean to steep for &rsquo;Tilda. Her skin
+looks desput jandissy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife&rsquo;s room, he found her in a
+collapsed state of anger and mortification.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>John</i> Nichols,&rdquo; said she, with a strong emphasis on the
+first word, which sounded very much like <i>Jarn</i>, &ldquo;do you mean to
+kill me by bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room
+without knocking&mdash;calling me &rsquo;<i>Tilda</i>, and prating about Nancy
+somebody&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John started. His wife knew nothing of his <i>affaire du cœur</i> with Miss
+Nancy, and for his own peace of mind &rsquo;twas desirable that she should
+not. Mentally resolving to give her a few hints, he endeavored to conciliate
+his wife, by saying that he knew &ldquo;his mother was troublesome, but she
+must try not to notice her oddities.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon me
+continually,&rdquo; returned his wife. &ldquo;I must either deep the doors
+locked, or live in constant terror.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad, I know,&rdquo; said he, smoothing her glossy hair,
+&ldquo;but then, she&rsquo;s old, you know. Have you seen &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, neither do I wish to, if she&rsquo;s at all like her
+grandmother,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s handsome,&rdquo; suggested Mr. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw! handsome!&rdquo; repeated his wife, scornfully, while he replied,
+&ldquo;Yes, handsomer than either of our daughters, and with the same
+advantages, I&rsquo;ve no doubt she&rsquo;d surpass them both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Those advantages, then, she shall never have,&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, already jealous of a child she had only seen at a distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone made no reply, but felt that he&rsquo;d made a mistake in
+praising &rsquo;Lena, in whom he began to feel a degree of interest for which
+he could not account. He did not know that way down in the depths of his heart,
+calloused over as it was by worldly selfishness, there was yet a tender spot, a
+lingering memory of his only sister whom &rsquo;Lena so strongly resembled. If
+left to himself, he would undoubtedly have taken pride in seeing his niece
+improve, and as it was, he determined that she should at home receive the same
+instruction that his daughters did. Perhaps he might not send her away to
+school. He didn&rsquo;t know how that would be&mdash;his wife held the purse,
+and taking refuge behind that excuse, he for the present dismissed the subject.
+(So much for marrying a <i>rich</i> wife and nothing else. This we throw in
+gratis!)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime grandma had returned to her room, at the door of which she found John
+Jr. and Carrie, both curious to know what was in those boxes, one of which had
+burst open and been tied up with a rope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, children,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t stay out
+there&mdash;come in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We prefer remaining here,&rdquo; said Carrie, in a tone and manner so
+nearly resembling her mother, that Mrs. Nichols could not refrain from saying,
+&ldquo;chip of the old block!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so, by cracky. You&rsquo;ve hit her this time,
+granny,&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., snapping his fingers under Carrie&rsquo;s
+nose, which being rather long, was frequently a subject of his ridicule.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me be, John Livingstone,&rdquo; said Carrie, while &rsquo;Lena
+resolved never again to use the word &ldquo;granny,&rdquo; which she knew her
+cousin had taken up on purpose to tease her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, &rsquo;Lena, catch hold and help me untie this rope, I
+b&rsquo;lieve the crockery&rsquo;s in here,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols to
+&rsquo;Lena, who soon opened the chest, disclosing to view as motley a variety
+of articles as is often seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among the rest was the &ldquo;blue set,&rdquo; a part of her &ldquo;setting
+out,&rdquo; as his grandmother told John Jr., at the same time dwelling at
+length upon their great value. Mistaking Carrie&rsquo;s look of contempt for
+envy, Mrs. Nichols chucked her under the chin, telling her &ldquo;May be there
+was something for her, if she was a good girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your head,&rdquo; said
+John Jr., vastly enjoying his sister&rsquo;s vexation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where does your marm keep her china? I want to put this with it,&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Nichols to Anna, who, uncertain what reply to make, looked at Carrie
+to answer for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon mother don&rsquo;t want that old stuff stuck into her
+china-closet,&rdquo; said Carrie, elevating her nose to a height wholly
+satisfactory to John Jr., who unbuttoned one of his waistband buttons to give
+himself room to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mortal sakes alive! I wonder if she don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Nichols, beginning to get an inkling of Carrie&rsquo;s character, and the
+estimation in which her valuables were held.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a nice little cupboard over the fireplace; I&rsquo;d put
+them here,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother and
+cousin; &ldquo;yes, granny, put &rsquo;em there; the niggers are <i>awful
+critters</i> to steal, and like enough you&rsquo;d &rsquo;lose &rsquo;em if
+they sot in with marm&rsquo;s!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This argument prevailed. The dishes were put away in the cupboard, &rsquo;Lena
+thinking that with all his badness John Jr., was of some use after all. At
+last, tired of looking on, Anna suggested to &rsquo;Lena, who did not seem to
+be helping matters forward much, that the should go and be dressed up as had
+been first proposed. Readily divining her sister&rsquo;s intention, Carrie ran
+with it to her mother, who sent back word that &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena must mind her
+own affairs, and let Anna&rsquo;s dresses alone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This undeserved thrust made &rsquo;Lena cry, while Anna declared &ldquo;her
+mother never said any such thing,&rdquo; which Carrie understood as an
+insinuation that she had told a falsehood. Accordingly a quarrel of words
+ensued between the two sisters, which was finally quelled by John Jr., who
+called to Carrie &ldquo;to come down, as she&rsquo;d got a letter from
+<i>Durward Bellmont</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward! How that name made &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s heart leap! Was it <i>her</i>
+Durward&mdash;the boy in the cars? She almost hoped not, for somehow the idea
+of his writing to Carrie was not a pleasant one. At last summoning courage, she
+asked Anna who he was, and was told that he lived in Louisville with his
+stepfather, Mr. Graham, and that Carrie about two months before had met him in
+Frankfort at Colonel Douglass&rsquo;s, where she was in the habit of visiting.
+&ldquo;Colonel Douglass,&rdquo; continued Anna, &ldquo;has got a right nice
+little girl whose name is Nellie. Then there&rsquo;s Mabel Ross, a sort of
+cousin, who lives with them part of the time. She&rsquo;s an orphan and a great
+heiress. You mustn&rsquo;t tell anybody for the world, but I overheard ma say
+that she wanted John to marry Mabel, she&rsquo;s so rich&mdash;but pshaw! he
+won&rsquo;t for she&rsquo;s awful babyish and ugly looking. Captain Atherton is
+related to Nellie, and during the holidays she and Mabel are coming up to spend
+a week, and I&rsquo;ll bet Durward is coming too. Cad teased him, and he said
+may be he would if he didn&rsquo;t go to college this fall. I&rsquo;ll run down
+and see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon returning, she brought the news that it was as she had conjectured.
+Durward, who was now travelling, was not going to college until the next fall
+and at Christmas he was coming to the country with his cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m so glad,&rdquo; said Anna. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have a time,
+for ma&rsquo;ll invite them here, of course. Cad thinks a heap of Durward, and
+I want so bad to see him. Don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena made no direct reply, for much as she would like to see her
+<i>compagnon du voyage</i>, she felt an unwillingness to meet him in the
+presence of Carrie, who she knew would spare no pains to mortify her. Soon
+forgetting Durward, Anna again alluded to her plan of dressing &rsquo;Lena,
+wishing &ldquo;Cad would mind her own business.&rdquo; Then, as a new idea
+entered her head, she brightened up, exclaiming, &ldquo;I know what I can do.
+I&rsquo;ll have Corinda curl your hair real pretty. You&rsquo;ve got beautiful
+hair. A heap nicer than my yellow flax.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena offered no remonstrance, and Corinda, who came at the call of her
+young mistress, immediately commenced brushing and curling the bright, wavy
+hair which Anna had rightly called beautiful. While this was going on, Grandma
+Nichols, who had always adhered to the good old puritanical custom of dining
+exactly at twelve o&rsquo;clock, began to wonder why dinner was not
+forthcoming. She had breakfasted in Versailles, but like many travelers, could
+not eat much at a hotel, and now her stomach clamored loudly for food. Three
+times had she walked back and forth before what she supposed was the kitchen,
+and from which a savory smell of something was issuing, and at last determining
+to stop and reconnoiter, she started for the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The northern reader at all acquainted with southern life, knows well that a
+kitchen there and a kitchen here are two widely different things&mdash;ours,
+particularly in the country, being frequently used as a dining-room, while a
+southern lady would almost as soon think of eating in the barn as in her
+cook-room. Like most other planters, Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s kitchen was
+separate and at some little distance from the main building, causing grandma to
+wonder &ldquo;how the poor critters managed to carry victuals back and to when
+it was cold and slippery.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Aunt Milly, who was up to her elbows in dough, saw her visitor
+approaching, she exclaimed, &ldquo;Lor&rsquo;-a-mighty, if thar ain&rsquo;t ole
+miss coming straight into this lookin&rsquo; hole! Jeff, you quit that
+ar&rsquo; pokin&rsquo; in dem ashes, and knock Lion out that kittle; does you
+har? And you, Polly,&rdquo; speaking to a superannuated negress who was sitting
+near the table, &ldquo;you just shove that ar&rsquo; piece of dough, I done
+save to bake for you and me, under your char, whar she won&rsquo;t see
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Polly complied, and by this time Mrs. Nichols was at the door, surveying the
+premises, and thinking how differently she&rsquo;d make things look after a
+little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does missus want anything?&rdquo; asked Aunt Milly, and grandma replied,
+&ldquo;Yes, I want to know if &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t nigh about
+<i>noon</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This is a term never used among the blacks, and rolling up her white eyes, Aunt
+Milly answered, &ldquo;You done got me now, sartin, for this chile know
+nothin&rsquo; what you mean more&rsquo;n the deadest critter
+livin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as she could, Mrs. Nichols explained her meaning, and Aunt Milly
+replied, &ldquo;Oh, yes, yes, I know now. &lsquo;Is it most _dinner
+time?&rsquo; Yes&mdash;dinner&rsquo;ll be done ready in an hour. We never has
+it till two no day, and when we has company not till three.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Confident that she should starve, Mrs. Nichols advanced a step or two into the
+kitchen, whereupon Aunt Milly commenced making excuses, saying, &ldquo;she was
+gwine to clar up one of these days, and then if Thomas Jefferson and Marquis De
+Lafayette didn&rsquo;t quit that litterin&rsquo; they&rsquo;d cotch it&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Attracted by the clean appearance of Aunt Polly, who, not having to work,
+prided herself upon always being neatly dressed, Mrs. Nichols walked up to her,
+and, to use a vulgar expression, the two old ladies were soon
+&ldquo;hand-in-glove,&rdquo; Mrs. Nichols informing her of her loss, and how
+sorry Nancy Scovandyke would feel when she heard of it, and ending by giving
+her the full particulars of her husband&rsquo;s sickness and death. In return
+Aunt Polly said that &ldquo;she was born and bred along with ole Marster
+Richards, Miss Matilda&rsquo;s father, and that she, too, had buried a
+husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a deep sigh, Mrs. Nichols was about, to commiserate her, when Aunt Polly
+cut her short by saying, &ldquo;&rsquo;Twant of no kind o&rsquo; count, as she
+never relished him much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some drunken critter, I warrant,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols, at the
+same time asking what his name was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jeems,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked for the surname,
+&ldquo;Jeems what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein&rsquo; he &rsquo;longed to ole Marster
+Atherton,&rdquo; said Polly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a time Mrs. Nichols had forgotten her hunger but the habit of sixty years
+was not so easily broken and she now hinted so strongly of the emptiness of her
+stomach that Aunt Polly, emboldened by her familiarity, said, &ldquo;I never
+wait for the rest, but have my cup of tea or coffee just when I feel like it,
+and if missus wouldn&rsquo;t mind takin&rsquo; a bite with a nigger,
+she&rsquo;s welcome.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say nothin&rsquo; about it. We shall all be white in heaven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dat am de trufe,&rdquo; muttered Milly, mentally assigning Mrs. Nichols
+a more exalted occupation than that of turning hoe-cakes!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two cups and saucers were forthwith produced, Milly acting as a waiter for fear
+Aunt Polly would leave her seat and so disclose to view the loaf of bread which
+had been hidden under the chair! Some coffee was poured from the pot, which
+still stood on the stove, and then the little negroes, amused with the novelty
+of the thing, ran shouting and yelling that, &ldquo;ole miss was eatin&rsquo;
+in the kitchen &rsquo;long with Lion, Aunt Polly and the other dogs!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, thinking
+&ldquo;what sights of comfort she should take with <i>Mrs. Atherton</i>,&rdquo;
+whom she pronounced to be &ldquo;a likely, clever woman as ever was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had she reached her room when the dinner-bell rang, every note falling
+like an ice-bolt on the heart of &rsquo;Lena, who, though hungry like her
+grandmother, still greatly dreaded the dinner, fearing her inability to acquit
+herself creditably. Corinda had finished her hair, and Anna, looking over her
+wardrobe and coming upon the black dress which her father had purchased for
+her, had insisted upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s wearing it. It was of rather more
+modern make than any of her other dresses, and when her toilet was completed,
+she looked uncommonly well. Still she trembled violently as Anna led her to the
+dining-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made their appearance, but
+the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped in a rose-colored shawl, which John
+Jr., said &ldquo;she wore to give a delicate tint to her yellow
+complexion.&rdquo; She was in the worst of humors, having just been opening her
+husband&rsquo;s trunk, where she found the numerous articles which had been
+stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke. Very angrily she had ordered them removed from
+her sight, and at this very moment the little negroes in the yard were playing
+with the cracked bellows, calling them a &ldquo;blubber,&rdquo; and filling
+them with water to see it run out!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen &rsquo;Lena, and
+now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna said,
+&ldquo;Mother, mother, this is &rsquo;Lena. Look at her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which she was
+prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for &rsquo;Lena was not a child
+to be looked upon and despised. Plain and humble as was her dress, there was
+something in her fine, open face, which at once interested and commanded
+respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father had felt it; and his mother felt it
+too, but it awoke in her a feeling of bitterness as she thought how the fair
+young girl before her might in time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw
+that &rsquo;Lena was beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of
+intellect as of feature and form.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; thought she, &ldquo;husband was right when he said that,
+with the same advantages, she&rsquo;d soon outstrip her cousins&mdash;but it
+shall never be&mdash;<i>never</i>,&rdquo; and the white teeth shut firmly
+together, as the cold, proud woman bowed a welcome.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared. Stimulated by the example of &rsquo;Lena,
+she, too, had changed her dress, and now in black bombazine, white muslin cap,
+and shining silk apron, she presented so respectable an appearance that her
+son&rsquo;s face instantly brightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, mother, we are waiting for you,&rdquo; said he, as she stopped on
+her way to ask Vine, the <i>fly girl</i>, &ldquo;how she did, and if it
+wasn&rsquo;t hard work to swing them feathers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, &ldquo;Dun know, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a plate of
+soup, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t often eat broth, besides that, I ain&rsquo;t much
+hungry, as I&rsquo;ve just been takin&rsquo; a bite with <i>Miss
+Atherton</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With whom?&rdquo; asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in
+the same breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the
+kitchen,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s face darkened visibly, while her husband,
+thinking it time to speak, said, &ldquo;It is my wish, mother, that you keep
+away from the kitchen. It does the negroes no good to be meddled with, and
+besides that, when you are hungry the servants will take you something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,&rdquo; muttered Carrie, with
+all the air of a young lady of twenty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold on to your nose, Cad,&rdquo; whispered John Jr., thereby attracting
+his sister&rsquo;s attention to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; asked Mrs.
+Nichols, touching the turkey with the knife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr., roared, and was ordered from the table by his father, while
+&rsquo;Lena, who stepped on her grandmother&rsquo;s toes to keep her from
+talking, was told by that lady &ldquo;to keep her feet still.&rdquo; Along with
+the desert came ice-cream, which Mrs. Nichols had never before tasted, and now
+fancying that she was dreadfully burned, she quickly deposited her first
+mouthful upon her plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, grandma? Can&rsquo;t you eat it?&rdquo; asked
+Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I kin eat it, but I don&rsquo;t hanker arter it,&rdquo; answered
+her grandmother, pushing the plate aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but soon growing weary,
+she started out to view the premises. Coming suddenly upon a group of young
+negroes, she discovered her bellows, the water dripping from the nose, while a
+little farther on she espied &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s bonnet, which the negroes had
+at last succeeded in catching, and which, wet as it was, now adorned the head
+of Thomas Jefferson! In a trice the old lady&rsquo;s principles were forgotten,
+and she cuffed the negroes with a right good will, hitting Jeff, the hardest,
+and, as a matter of course, making him yell the loudest. Out came Aunt Milly,
+scolding and muttering about &ldquo;white folks tendin&rsquo; to thar own
+business,&rdquo; and reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;
+position in the next world. Cuff, the watch-dog, whose kennell was close by,
+set up a tremendous howling, while John Jr., always on hand, danced a jig to
+the sound of the direful music.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake, husband, go out and see what&rsquo;s the
+matter,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual noise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch a glimpse of John
+Jr.&rsquo;s heels as he gave the finishing touch to his exploit, while Mrs.
+Nichols, highly incensed, marched from the field of battle with the bonnet and
+bellows, thinking &ldquo;if them niggers was only her&rsquo;n they&rsquo;d
+catch it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/>
+MALCOLM EVERETT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to enumerate
+the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone were compelled to
+endure from their mother, who gradually came to understand her true position in
+the family. One by one her ideas of teaching them economy were given up, as was
+also all hopes of ever being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her
+son&rsquo;s request, she had ceased to call &ldquo;&rsquo;Tilda.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I
+shan&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;ll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she
+chooses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every time she
+heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow a disclosure of his
+engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had requested his mother to keep it
+from his wife, and she, appreciating his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting
+the while the ill-fortune which had prevented Nancy from being her
+daughter-in-law, and dwelling frequently upon the comfort she should take were
+Nancy there in Matilda&rsquo;s place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably
+contented; the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last, like most
+northern people, she fell in with the habits of those around her. Still her
+Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and many a letter, wonderful for its
+composition and orthography, found its way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote in
+return that &ldquo;some time or other she should surely visit Kentucky,&rdquo;
+asking further if the &ldquo;big bugs&rdquo; didn&rsquo;t prefer eastern
+teachers for their children, and hinting at her desire to engage in that
+capacity when she came south!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, that&rsquo;s the very thing,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding
+the letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting.
+&ldquo;Nancy&rsquo;s larnin&rsquo; is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and
+Anny, and I mean to speak to John about it right away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t do any such thing,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, seeing at a
+glance how such a proposal would be received.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols, and &rsquo;Lena replied, &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t think Nancy would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and besides that,
+they&rsquo;ve engaged a teacher, a Mr. Everett, and expect him next
+week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say so?&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;I never
+hearn a word on&rsquo;t. Where &rsquo;bouts is he from, and how much do they
+give him a week?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The latter &rsquo;Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that &ldquo;she
+believed he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, New York.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s sister lives there. I wouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder if he knew her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely,&rdquo; returned Lena, catching her bonnet and hurrying off
+to ride with Captain Atherton and Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we have once before observed, Anna was a great favorite with the captain,
+who had petted her until John Jr. teased her unmercifully, calling him her
+gray-haired lover, and the like. This made Anna exceedingly sensitive, and now
+when the captain called for her to ride, as he frequently did, she refused to
+go unless the invitation was also extended to &rsquo;Lena, who in this way got
+many a pleasant ride around the country. She was fast learning to like
+Kentucky, and would have been very happy had her aunt and Carrie been a little
+more gracious. But the former seldom spoke to her, and the latter only to
+ridicule something which she said or did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many and amusing were the disputes between the two girls concerning their
+peculiarities of speech, Carrie bidding &rsquo;Lena &ldquo;quit her Yankee
+habit of eternally <i>guessing</i>,&rdquo; and &rsquo;Lena retorting that
+&ldquo;she would when Carrie stopped her everlasting <i>reckoning</i>.&rdquo;
+To avoid the remarks of the neighbors, who she knew were watching her narrowly,
+Mrs. Livingstone had purchased &rsquo;Lena two or three dresses, which, though
+greatly inferior to those worn by Carrie and Anna, were still fashionably made,
+and so much improved &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s looks, that her manners improved,
+also, for what child does not appear to better advantage when conscious of
+looking well? More than once had her uncle&rsquo;s hand rested for a moment on
+her brown curls, while his thoughts were traversing the past, and in fancy his
+fingers were again straying among the silken locks now resting in the grave. It
+would seem as if the mother from her coffin was pleading for her child, for all
+the better nature of Mr. Livingstone was aroused; and when he secured the
+services of Mr. Everett, who was highly recommended both as a scholar and
+gentleman, he determined that &rsquo;Lena should share the same advantages with
+his daughters. To this Mrs. Livingstone made no serious objection, for as Mr.
+Everett would teach in the house, it would not do to debar &rsquo;Lena from the
+privilege of attending his school; and as the highest position to which she
+could aspire was to be governess in some private family, she felt willing, she
+said, that she should have a chance of acquiring the common branches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now Mr. Everett was daily expected. Anna, who had no fondness for books,
+greatly dreaded his arrival, thinking within herself how many pranks
+she&rsquo;d play off upon him, provided &rsquo;Lena would lend a helping hand,
+which she much doubted. John Jr., too, who for a time, at least, was to be
+placed under Mr. Everett&rsquo;s instruction, felt in no wise eager for his
+arrival, fearing, as he told &rsquo;Lena that &ldquo;between the &lsquo;old
+man&rsquo; and the tutor, he would be kept a little too straight for a
+gentleman of his habits;&rdquo; and it was with no particular emotions of
+pleasure that he and Anna saw the stage stop before the gate one pleasant
+morning toward the middle of November. Running to one of the front windows,
+Carrie, &rsquo;Lena, and Anna watched their new teacher, each after her own
+fashion commenting upon his appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ugh,&rdquo; exclaimed Anna, &ldquo;what a green, boyish looking thing! I
+reckon nobody&rsquo;s going to be afraid of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say he&rsquo;s real handsome,&rdquo; said Carrie, who being thirteen
+years of age, had already, in her own mind, practiced many a little coquetry
+upon the stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like him,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s brief remark.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Everett was a pale, intellectual looking man, scarcely twenty years of age,
+and appearing still younger so that Anna was not wholly wrong when she called
+him boyish. Still there was in his large black eye a firmness and decision
+which bespoke the man strong within him, and which put to flight all of
+Anna&rsquo;s preconceived notions of rebellion. With the utmost composure he
+returned Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s greeting, and the proud lady half bit her lip
+with vexation as she saw how little he seemed awed by her presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Malcolm Everett was not one to acknowledge superiority where there was none,
+and though ever polite toward Mrs. Livingstone, there was something in his
+manner which forbade her treating him as aught save an equal. He was not to be
+trampled down, and for once in her life Mrs. Livingstone had found a person who
+would neither cringe to her nor flatter. The children were not presented to him
+until dinner time, when, with the air of a young desperado, John Jr. marched
+into the dining-room, eying, his teacher askance, calculating his strength, and
+returning his greeting with a simple nod. Mr. Everett scanned him from head to
+foot, and then turned to Carrie half smiling at the great dignity which she
+assumed. With &rsquo;Lena and Anna he seemed better pleased, holding their
+hands and smiling down upon them through rows of teeth which Anna pronounced
+the whitest she had ever seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone was not at home, and when his mother appeared, Mrs. Livingstone
+did not think proper to introduce her. But if by this omission she thought to
+keep the old lady silent, she was mistaken, for the moment Mrs. Nichols was
+seated, she commenced with, &ldquo;Your name is Everett, I
+b&rsquo;lieve?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; said he, bowing very gracefully toward her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any kin to the governor that was?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, ma&rsquo;am, none whatever,&rdquo; and the white teeth became
+slightly visible for a moment, but soon disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are from Rockford, &rsquo;Lena tells me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am. Have you friends there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;or that is, Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s sister, Betsy Scovandyke
+that used to be, lives there. May be you know her. Her name is
+Bacon&mdash;Betsy Bacon. She&rsquo;s a widder and keeps boarders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said he, the teeth this time becoming wholly visible,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard of Mrs. Bacon, but have not the honor of her
+acquaintance. You are from the east, I perceive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Law, now! how did you know that!&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols, while Mr.
+Everett answered, &ldquo;I <i>guessed</i> at it,&rdquo; with a peculiar
+emphasis on the word guessed, which led &rsquo;Lena to think he had used it
+purposely and not from habit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Everett possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of making those around
+him both respect and like him, and ere six weeks had passed, he had won the
+love of all his pupils. Even John Jr. was greatly improved, and Carrie seemed
+suddenly reawakened into a thirst for knowledge, deeming no task too long, and
+no amount of study too hard, if it won the commendation of her teacher.
+&rsquo;Lena, who committed to memory with great ease, and who consequently did
+not deserve so much credit for her always perfect lessons, seldom received a
+word of praise, while poor Anna, notoriously lazy when books were concerned,
+cried almost every day, because as she said, &ldquo;Mr. Everett didn&rsquo;t
+like her as he did the rest, else why did he look at her so much, watching her
+all the while, and keeping her after school to get her lessons over, when he
+knew how she hated them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once Mrs. Livingstone ventured to remonstrate, telling him that Anna was very
+sensitive, and required altogether different treatment from Carrie. &ldquo;She
+thinks you dislike her,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and while she retains this
+impression, she will do nothing as far as learning is concerned; so if you do
+not like her, try and make her think you do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Everett&rsquo;s dark eyes as he answered,
+&ldquo;You may think it strange, Mrs. Livingstone, but of all my pupils I love
+Anna the best! I know I find more fault with her, and am perhaps more severe
+with her than with the rest, but it&rsquo;s because I would make her what I
+wish her to be. Pardon me, madam, but Anna does not possess the same amount of
+intellect with her cousin or sister, but by proper culture she will make a
+fine, intelligent woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone hardly relished being told that one child was inferior to the
+other, but she could not well help herself&mdash;Mr. Everett would say what he
+pleased&mdash;and thus the conference ended. From that time Mr. Everett was
+exceedingly kind to Anna, wiping away the tears which invariably came when told
+that she must stay with him in the school-room after the rest were gone; then,
+instead of seating himself in rigid silence at a distance until her task was
+learned, he would sit by her side, occasionally smoothing her long curls and
+speaking encouragingly to her as she pored over some hard rule of grammar, or
+puzzled her brains with some difficult problem in Colburn. Erelong the result
+of all this became manifest. Anna grew fonder of her books, more ready to
+learn, and&mdash;more willing to be kept after school!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah, little did Mrs. Livingstone think what she was doing when she bade young
+Malcolm Everett make her warm-hearted, impulsive daughter <i>think</i> he liked
+her!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/>
+SCHEMING.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother, where&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress? Hasn&rsquo;t she got
+any?&rdquo; asked Anna, one morning, about two weeks before Christmas, as she
+bent over a promiscuous pile of merinoes, delaines, and plaid silks, her own
+and Carrie&rsquo;s dresses for the coming holidays. &ldquo;Say, mother,
+didn&rsquo;t you buy &rsquo;Lena any?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus interrogated, Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;I wonder if you think
+I&rsquo;m made of money! &rsquo;Lena is indebted to me now for more than she
+can ever pay. As long as I give her a home and am at so much expense in
+educating her, she of course can&rsquo;t expect me to dress her as I do you.
+There&rsquo;s Carrie&rsquo;s brown delaine and your blue one, which I intend to
+have made over for her, and she ought to be satisfied with that, for they are
+much better than anything she had when she came here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the lady glanced toward the spot where &rsquo;Lena sat, admiring the new
+things, in which she had no share, and longing to ask the question which Anna
+had asked for her, and which had now been answered. John Jr., who was present,
+and who knew that Mr. Everett had been engaged to teach in the family long
+before it was known that &rsquo;Lena was coming, now said to his cousin, who
+arose to leave, &ldquo;Yes, &rsquo;Lena, mother&rsquo;s a model of generosity,
+and you&rsquo;ll never be able to repay her for her kindness in allowing you to
+wear the girls&rsquo; old duds, which would otherwise be given to the blacks,
+and in permitting you to recite to Mr. Everett, who, of course, was hired on
+your account.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The slamming together of the door as &rsquo;Lena left the room brought the
+young gentleman&rsquo;s remarks to a close, and wishing to escape the lecture
+which he saw was preparing for him, he, too, made his exit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Christmas was coming, and with it Durward Bellmont, and about his coming Mrs.
+Livingstone felt some little anxiety. Always scheming, and always looking
+ahead, she was expecting great results from this visit. Durward was not only
+immensely wealthy, but was also descended on his father&rsquo;s side from one
+of England&rsquo;s noblemen. Altogether he was, she thought, a &ldquo;decided
+catch,&rdquo; and though he was now only sixteen, while Carrie was but
+thirteen, lifelong impressions had been made at even an earlier period, and
+Mrs. Livingstone resolved that her pretty daughter should at least have all the
+advantages of dress with which to set off her charms. Concerning Anna&rsquo;s
+appearance she cared less, for she had but little hope of her, unless,
+indeed&mdash;but &rsquo;twas too soon to think of that&mdash;she would wait,
+and perhaps in good time &rsquo;twould all come round naturally and as a
+matter of course. So she encouraged her daughter&rsquo;s intimacy with Captain
+Atherton, who, until Malcolm Everett appeared, was in Anna&rsquo;s estimation
+the best man living. Now, however, she made an exception in favor of her
+teacher, &ldquo;who,&rdquo; as she told the captain, &ldquo;neither wore false
+teeth, nor kept in his pocket a pair of specks, to be slyly used when he
+fancied no one saw him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Captain Atherton coughed, colored, laughed, and saying that &ldquo;Mr. Everett
+was a mash kind of a boy,&rdquo; swore eternal enmity toward him, and under the
+mask of friendship&mdash;watched! Eleven years before, when Anna was a baby,
+Mrs. Livingstone had playfully told the captain, who was one day deploring his
+want of a wife, that if he would wait he should have her daughter. To this he
+agreed, and the circumstance, trivial as it was, made a more than ordinary
+impression upon his mind; and though he as yet had no definite idea that the
+promise would ever be fulfilled, the little girl was to him an object of
+uncommon interest. Mrs. Livingstone knew this, and whenever Anna&rsquo;s future
+prospects were the subject of her meditations, she generally fell back upon
+that fact as an item not to be despised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, however, her thoughts were turned into another and widely different
+channel. Christmas week was to be spent by Durward Bellmont partly at Captain
+Atherton&rsquo;s and partly at her own house, and as Mrs. Livingstone was not
+ignorant of the effect a becoming dress has upon a pretty face, she determined
+that Carrie should, at least, have that advantage. Anna, too, was to fare like
+her sister, while no thought was bestowed upon poor &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+wardrobe, until her husband, who accompanied her to Frankfort, suggested that a
+certain pattern, which he fancied would be becoming to &rsquo;Lena should be
+purchased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With an angry scowl, Mrs. Livingstone muttered something about &ldquo;spending
+so much money for other folks&rsquo; young ones.&rdquo; Then remembering the
+old delaines, and knowing by the tone of her husband&rsquo;s voice that he was
+in earnest, she quickly rejoined, &ldquo;Why, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s got two new
+dresses at home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never doubting his wife&rsquo;s word, Mr. Livingstone was satisfied, and
+nothing more was said upon the subject. Business of importance made it
+necessary for him to go for a few weeks to New Orleans, and he was now on his
+way thither, his wife having accompanied him as far as Frankfort, where he took
+the boat, while she returned home. When &rsquo;Lena left the room after
+learning that she had no part in the mass of Christmas finery, she repaired to
+the arbor bridge, where she had wept so bitterly on the first day of her
+arrival, and which was now her favorite resort. For a time she sat watching the
+leaping waters, swollen by the winter rains, and wondering if it were not
+possible that they started at first from the pebbly spring which gushed so cool
+and clear from the mountain-side near her old New England home. This reminded
+her of where and what she was now&mdash;a dependent on the bounty of those who
+wished her away, and who almost every day of her life made her feel it so
+keenly, too. Not one among them loved her except Anna, and would not her
+affection change as they grew older? Then her thoughts took another direction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward Bellmont was coming&mdash;but did she wish to see him? Could she bear
+the sneering remarks which she knew Carrie would make concerning herself? And
+how would he be affected by them? Would he ask her of her father? and if so,
+what had she to say?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many a time had she tried to penetrate the dark mystery of her birth, but her
+grandmother was wholly non-committal. Once, too, when her uncle seemed kinder
+than usual, she had ventured to ask him of her father, and with a frown he had
+replied, that &ldquo;the least she knew of him the better!&rdquo; Still
+&rsquo;Lena felt sure that he was a good man, and that some time or other she
+would find him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All day long the clouds had been threatening rain, which began to fall soon
+after &rsquo;Lena entered the arbor, but so absorbed was she in her own
+thoughts, that she did not observe it until her clothes were perfectly
+dampened; then starting up, she repaired to the house. For several days she had
+not been well, and this exposure brought on a severe cold, which confined her
+to her room for nearly two weeks. Meantime the dress-making process went on,
+Anna keeping &rsquo;Lena constantly apprised of its progress, and occasionally
+wearing in some article for her inspection. This reminded &rsquo;Lena of her
+own wardrobe, and knowing that it would not be attended to while she was sick,
+she made such haste to be well, that on Thursday at tea-time she took her
+accustomed seat at the table. After supper she lingered awhile in the parlor,
+hoping something would be said, but she waited in vain, and was about leaving,
+when a few words spoken by Carrie in an adjoining room caught her ear and
+arrested her attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were&mdash;&ldquo;And so &rsquo;Lena came down to-night. I dare say she
+thinks you&rsquo;ll set Miss Simpson at work upon my old delaine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps so,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t
+see how Miss Simpson can do it, unless you put off having that silk apron
+embroidered.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t do any such thing,&rdquo; said Carrie, glad of an excuse
+to keep &rsquo;Lena out of the way. &ldquo;What matter is it if she don&rsquo;t
+come down when the company are here? I&rsquo;d rather she wouldn&rsquo;t, for
+she&rsquo;s so green and awkward, and Durward is so fastidious in such matters,
+that I&rsquo;d rather he wouldn&rsquo;t know she&rsquo;s a relative of ours! I
+know he&rsquo;d tell his mother, and they say she is very particular about his
+associates.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first impulse was to defy her cousin to her face&mdash;to
+tell her she had seen Durward Bellmont, and that he didn&rsquo;t laugh at her
+either. But her next thought was calmer and more rational. Possibly under
+Carrie&rsquo;s influence he might make fun of her, and resolving on no
+condition whatever to make herself visible while he was in the house, she
+returned to her room, and throwing herself upon the bed, wept until she fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When is Miss Simpson going to fix &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress?&rdquo;
+asked Anna, as day after day passed, and nothing was said of the brown delaine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an instant Miss Simpson&rsquo;s nimble fingers were still, as she awaited
+the answer to a question which had occurred to her several times. She was a
+kind-hearted, intelligent girl, find at a glance had seen how matters stood.
+She, too, was an orphan, and her sympathies were all enlisted in behalf of the
+neglected &rsquo;Lena. She had heard from Anna of the brown delaine, and in her
+own mind she had determined that it should be fitted with the utmost taste of
+which she was capable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her speculations, however, were brought to a close by Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s
+saying in reply to Anna, that &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena seemed so wholly uninterested,
+and cared so little about seeing the company, she had decided not to have the
+dress fixed until after Christmas week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fiery expression of two large, glittering eyes, which at that moment peered
+in at the door, convinced Miss Simpson that her employer had hardly told the
+truth, and she secretly determined that &rsquo;Lena should have the dress
+whether she would or not. Accordingly, the next time she and Anna were alone,
+she asked for the delaine, entrusting her secret to Anna, who, thinking no
+harm, promised to keep it from her mother. But to get &rsquo;Lena fitted was a
+more difficult matter. Her spirit was roused, and for a time she resisted their
+combined efforts. At last, however, she yielded, and by working late at night
+in her own room, Miss Simpson managed to finished the dress, in which
+&rsquo;Lena really looked better than did either of her cousins in their
+garments of far richer materials. Still she was resolved not to go down, and
+Anna, fearing what her mother might say, dared not urge her very strongly
+hoping, though, that &ldquo;something would turn up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Durward Bellmont, Nellie Douglass, and Mabel Ross had arrived at Captain
+Atherton&rsquo;s. Mrs. Livingstone and her daughters had called upon them,
+inviting them to spend a few days at Maple Grove, where they were to meet some
+other young people &ldquo;selected from the wealthiest families in the
+neighborhood,&rdquo; Mrs. Livingstone said, at the same time patting the sallow
+cheek of Mabel, whose reputed hundred thousand she intended should one day
+increase the importance of her own family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The invitation was accepted&mdash;the day had arrived, the guests were
+momentarily expected, and Carrie, before the long mirror, was admiring herself,
+alternately frowning upon John Jr., who was mimicking her &ldquo;airs,&rdquo;
+and scolding Anna for fretting because &rsquo;Lena could not be induced to join
+them. Finding that her niece was resolved not to appear, Mrs. Livingstone, for
+looks&rsquo; sake, had changed her tactics, saying, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena could
+come down if she chose&mdash;she was sure there was nothing to prevent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing this, Anna had exhausted all her powers of eloquence upon her cousin.
+But she still remained inexorable, greatly to the astonishment of her
+grandmother who for several days had been suffering from a rheumatic affection,
+notwithstanding which she &ldquo;meant to hobble down if possible, for&rdquo;
+said she, &ldquo;I want to see this Durward Bellmont. Matilda says he&rsquo;s
+got <i>Noble</i> blood in him. I used to know a family of Nobles in
+Massachusetts, and I think like as not he&rsquo;s some kin!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie, to whom this remark was made, communicated it to her mother, who
+forthwith repaired to Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; room, telling her &ldquo;that
+&rsquo;twas a child&rsquo;s party,&rdquo; and hinting pretty strongly that she
+was neither wanted nor expected in the parlor, and would confer a great favor
+by keeping aloof.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, wall,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, who had learned to dread her
+daughter&rsquo;s displeasure, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d as lief stay up here as not, but
+I do want &rsquo;Lena to jine &rsquo;em. She&rsquo;s young and would enjoy
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without a word of answer Mrs. Livingstone walked away, leaving &rsquo;Lena more
+determined than ever not to go down. When the evening at last arrived, Anna
+insisted so strongly upon her wearing the delaine, for fear of what might
+happen, that &rsquo;Lena consented, curling her hair with great care, and
+feeling a momentary thrill of pride as she saw how well she looked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When we get nicely to enjoying ourselves,&rdquo; said Anna, &ldquo;you
+come down and look through the glass door, for I do want you to see Durward,
+he&rsquo;s so handsome&mdash;but there&rsquo;s the carriage&mdash;I must
+go;&rdquo; and away ran Anna down the stairs, while &rsquo;Lena flew to one of
+the front windows to see the company as they rode up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+First came Captain Atherton&rsquo;s carriage, and in it the captain and his
+maiden sister, together with a pale, sickly-looking girl, whom &rsquo;Lena knew
+to be Mabel Ross. Behind them rode Durward Bellmont, and at his side, on a
+spirited little pony was another girl, thirteen or fourteen years of age, but
+in her long riding-dress looking older, because taller. &rsquo;Lena readily
+guessed that this was Nellie Douglass, and at a glance she recognized the
+Durward of the cars&mdash;grown handsomer and taller since then, she thought.
+With a nimble bound he leaped from his saddle, kissing his hand to Carrie, who
+with her sunniest smile ran past him to welcome Nellie. A pang, not of
+jealousy, but of an undefined something, shot through &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+heart, and dropping the heavy curtain, she turned away, while the tears
+gathered thickly in her large brown eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo; asked Captain Atherton, of Anna,
+warming his red fingers before the blazing grate, and looking round upon the
+group of girls gathered near. Glancing at her mother, Anna replied, &ldquo;She
+says she don&rsquo;t want to come down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bashful,&rdquo; returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass asked,
+&ldquo;who &rsquo;Lena was,&rdquo; at the same time returning the <i>pinch</i>
+which John Jr. had slyly given her as a mode of showing his preference, for
+Nellie <i>was</i> his favorite.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fearful of Anna&rsquo;s reply, Mrs. Livingstone answered, carelessly,
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s the child of one of Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s poor relations,
+and we&rsquo;ve taken her awhile out of charity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any other time John Jr. would doubtless have questioned his mother&rsquo;s
+word, but now so engrossed was he with the merry, hoydenish Nellie, that he
+scarcely heard her remark, or noticed the absence of &rsquo;Lena. With the
+exception of his cousin, Nellie was the only girl whom John Jr. could
+endure&mdash;&ldquo;the rest,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;were so stuck up and
+affected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For Mabel Ross, he seemed to have a particular aversion. Not because she was so
+very disagreeable, but because his mother continually reminded him of what she
+hoped would one day be, &ldquo;and this,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;was enough to
+make a &lsquo;feller&rsquo; hate a girl.&rdquo; So without considering that
+Mabel was not to blame, he ridiculed her unmercifully, calling her &ldquo;a
+bundle of medicine,&rdquo; and making fun of her thin, sallow face, which
+really appeared to great disadvantage when contrasted with Nellie&rsquo;s
+bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the guests were all assembled, Carrie, not knowing whether Durward
+Bellmont would relish plays, seated herself demurely upon the sofa, prepared to
+act the dignified young lady, or any other character she might think necessary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up, Cad,&rdquo; said John Jr. &ldquo;Nobody&rsquo;s going to act
+like they were at a funeral; get up, and let&rsquo;s play something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and erelong the
+joyous shouts reached &rsquo;Lena, making her half wish that she, too, was
+there. Remembering Anna&rsquo;s suggestion of looking through the glass door
+she stole softly down the stairs, and stationing herself behind the door,
+looked in on the scene. Mr. Everett, usually so dignified, had joined in the
+game, claiming &ldquo;forfeits&rdquo; from Anna more frequently than was
+considered at all necessary by the captain, who for a time looked jealously on,
+and then declaring himself as young as any of them, joined them with a right
+good will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Blind man&rsquo;s buff,&rdquo; was next proposed, and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s heart leaped up, for that was her favorite game. John Jr.
+was first blinded, but he caught them so easily that all declared he could see,
+and loud were the calls for Durward to take his place. This he willingly did,
+and whether he could see or not, he suffered them to pass directly under his
+hands, thus giving entire satisfaction. On account of the heat of the rooms,
+Anna, on passing the glass door, threw it open, and the next time Durward came
+round he marched directly into the hall, seizing &rsquo;Lena, who was trying to
+hide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Anna, you are caught.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I ain&rsquo;t Anna; let me go,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, struggling
+to escape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This brought all the girls to the spot, while Durward, snatching the muffler
+from his eyes, looked down with astonishment upon the trembling &rsquo;Lena,
+who would have escaped had she not been so securely hemmed in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t you ashamed, &rsquo;Lena, to be peeking?&rdquo; asked
+Carrie, while Durward repeated&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>!
+&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>! I&rsquo;ve seen her before in the cars between Springfield
+and Albany; but how came she here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She lives here&mdash;she&rsquo;s our cousin,&rdquo; said Anna,
+notwithstanding the twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not care to
+have the relationship exposed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your cousin,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;and where&rsquo;s the old lady
+who was with her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The one she called <i>granny</i>?&rdquo; asked John Jr., on purpose to
+rouse up his fiery little cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t call her <i>granny</i>, neither&mdash;I&rsquo;ve quit
+it,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk,
+&ldquo;she&rsquo;s up <i>stars</i>, sick with the rheumatism.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;but why are you not down here with
+us?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t want to come,&rdquo; was her reply; and Durward, leading
+her into the parlor, continued, &ldquo;but now that you are here, you must
+stay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty, isn&rsquo;t she,&rdquo; said Nellie, as the full blaze of the
+chandelier fell upon &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rath-er,&rdquo; was Carrie&rsquo;s hesitating reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt annoyed that &rsquo;Lena should be in the parlor, and provoked that
+Durward should notice her in any way, and at the first opportunity she told him
+&ldquo;how much she both troubled and mortified them, by her vulgarity and
+obstinacy,&rdquo; adding that &ldquo;she had a most violent temper.&rdquo; From
+Nellie she had learned that Durward particularly disliked passionate girls, and
+for this reason she strove to give him the impression that &rsquo;Lena was such
+an one. Once or twice she fancied him half inclined to disbelieve her, as he
+saw how readily &rsquo;Lena joined in their amusements, and how good-humoredly
+she bore John Jr.&rsquo;s teasing, and then she hoped something would occur to
+prove her words true. Her wish was gratified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young people to the house.
+About ten o&rsquo;clock the negro who had been to the post-office returned,
+bringing letters for the family, among which was one for &rsquo;Lena, so
+curious in its shape and superscription, that even the negro grinned as he
+handed it out. &rsquo;Lena was not then present, and Carrie, taking the letter,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Now if this isn&rsquo;t the last specimen from Yankeedom.
+Just listen,&mdash;&rdquo; and she spelled out the direction&mdash;&ldquo;<i>To
+Mis HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey post offis,
+care of Mis nichals</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unobserved by any one, &rsquo;Lena had entered the parlor in time to hear every
+word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy her, held out the letter, saying,
+&ldquo;Here, <i>Helleny</i>, I <i>guess</i> this came from down east,&rdquo;
+she darted forward, and striking the letter from Carrie&rsquo;s hands stamped
+upon it with her foot, declaring &ldquo;she&rsquo;d never open it in the
+world,&rdquo; and saying &ldquo;they might do what they pleased with it for all
+of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Read it&mdash;may we read it?&rdquo; eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to
+see &rsquo;Lena doing such justice to her reputation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, read it!&rdquo; almost screamed &rsquo;Lena, and before any one
+could interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and commenced reading,
+announcing, first, that it came from &ldquo;Joel Slocum!&rdquo; It was as
+follows:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear Helleny, mebby you&rsquo;ll wonder when you see a letter from me,
+but I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I can help &rsquo;ritin&rsquo;, I am so confounded
+lonesome now you are gone, that I dun know nothing what to do with myself. So I
+set on the great rock where the saxefax grows; and think, and think till it
+seems &rsquo;s ef my head would bust open. Wall, how do you git along down
+amongst them heathenish Kentucks &amp; niggers? I s&rsquo;pose there
+ain&rsquo;t no great difference between &rsquo;em, is there? When I git a
+little more larnin&rsquo;, I b&rsquo;lieve I&rsquo;ll come down there to keep
+school. O, I forgot to tell you that our old line back cow has got a
+calf&mdash;the prettiest little critter&mdash;Dad has gin her to me, and I call
+her Helleny, I do, I swow! And when she capers round she makes me think of the
+way you danced &lsquo;High putty Martin&rsquo; the time you stuck a sliver in
+your heel&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up to this point &rsquo;Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud shouts of her
+companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes burned within and flashed from
+her eyes. And now springing forward, she caught the letter from Carrie&rsquo;s
+hand, and inflicting a long scratch upon her forehead, fled from the room. Had
+not Durward Bellmont been present, Carrie would have flown after her cousin, to
+avenge the insult, and even now she was for a moment thrown off her guard, and
+starting forward, exclaimed, &ldquo;the tigress!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, Durward gently wiped the
+blood from her white brow, saying &ldquo;Never mind. It is not a deep
+scratch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish &rsquo;twas deeper,&rdquo; muttered John Jr. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d
+no business to serve her so mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An angry retort rose to Carrie&rsquo;s lips, but, just in time to prevent its
+utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, &ldquo;It was too bad to tease her so,
+but we were all more or less to blame, and I&rsquo;m not sure but we ought to
+apologize.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she&rsquo;d apologize to such as
+&rsquo;Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough to give Durward the
+impression that she was doing, her best to make amends for her fault.
+Accordingly, the next time her cousin appeared in the parlor she was all smiles
+and affability, talking a great deal to &rsquo;Lena, who returned very short
+but civil answers, while her face wore a look which Durward construed into
+defiance and hatred of everybody and everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Too passionate,&rdquo; thought he, turning from her to Carrie, whose
+voice, modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and musical, as she
+sported and laughed with her moody cousin, appearing the very essence of
+sweetness and amiability!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pity he could not have known how bitterly &rsquo;Lena had wept over her hasty
+action&mdash;not because <i>he</i> witnessed it, but because she knew it was
+wrong! Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which she laid on
+Carrie&rsquo;s work-box, and in which was written, &ldquo;I am sorry, Carrie,
+that I hurt you so. I didn&rsquo;t know what I was about, but I will try and
+not get so angry again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt with which Carrie perused
+this note; and when the two girls accidentally met in the upper hall, and
+&rsquo;Lena laid her hand gently on Carrie&rsquo;s arm, it is a thousand pities
+he was not present to see how fiercely she was repulsed, Carrie exclaiming,
+&ldquo;Get out of my sight! <i>I hate you</i>, and so do all of them
+downstairs, Durward in particular.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had he known all this he would have thought differently of &rsquo;Lena, who,
+feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept herself entirely aloof,
+never again appearing during the remainder of his stay. Once Durward asked for
+her, and half laughingly Carrie replied, that &ldquo;she had not yet recovered
+from her pouting fit.&rdquo; Could he have known her real occupation, he might
+have changed his mind again. The stormy weather had so increased Mrs.
+Nichols&rsquo; rheumatic complaint, that now, perfectly crippled, she lay as
+helpless as a child, carefully nursed by &rsquo;Lena and old Aunt Polly, who,
+spite of her own infirmities, had hobbled in to wait upon her friend. Never but
+once did Mrs. Livingstone go near her mother&rsquo;s sick-room&mdash;&ldquo;the
+smell of herbs made her faint,&rdquo; she said! But to do her justice, we must
+say that she gave Polly unqualified permission to order anything she pleased
+for the invalid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toward the close of the third day, the company left. Nellie Douglass, who
+really liked &rsquo;Lena, and wished to bid her good-bye, whispered to John
+Jr., asking him to show her the way to his cousin&rsquo;s room. No one except
+members of the family had ever been in Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; apartment, and for a
+moment John Jr. hesitated, knowing well that Nellie could not fail to observe
+the contrast it presented to the other richly-furnished chambers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They ought to be mortified&mdash;it&rsquo;ll serve &rsquo;em
+right,&rdquo; he thought, at last, and motioning Nellie to fallow him, he
+silently led the way to his grandmother&rsquo;s room, where their knock was
+answered by Aunt Polly&rsquo;s gruff voice, which bade them &ldquo;come
+in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how greatly inferior was this
+room to the others around it. In an instant her eye took in everything, and she
+readily comprehended the whole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t my doings, by a jug-full!&rdquo; whispered John Jr.,
+himself reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture which had
+never before seemed so meager and poor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. Nichols, white as the
+snowy cap-border which shaded her face. Behind her sat &rsquo;Lena, supporting
+her head, and when Nellie entered, she was carefully pushing back the few gray
+locks which had fallen over the invalid&rsquo;s forehead, her own bright curls
+mingling with them, and resting, some on her neck, and some on her
+grandmother&rsquo;s shoulder. A deep flush dyed her cheeks when she saw Nellie,
+who thought she had never looked upon a sight more beautiful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not know your grandmother was ill,&rdquo; said she, coming forward
+and gently touching the swollen hand which lay outside the counterpane.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she commenced a history of
+her malady, beginning at the time she first had it when &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+mother was a year and a day old, frequently quoting Nancy Scovandyke, and
+highly entertaining Nellie, who listened until warned by the sound of the
+carriage, as it came round to the door, that she must go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are going back to Uncle Atherton&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but
+I wanted to bid you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frankfort with your
+cousins. Will you do so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was wholly unexpected to &rsquo;Lena, who, without replying, burst into
+tears. Nellie hardly knew what to do. She seldom cried herself&mdash;she did
+not like to see others cry&mdash;and still she did not blame &rsquo;Lena, for
+she felt that she could not help it. At last, taking her hand, she bade her
+farewell, asking if she should not carry a good-bye to the others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, to Mabel,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And not Durward?&rdquo; asked Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With something of her old spirit &rsquo;Lena answered, &ldquo;No, he hates
+me&mdash;Carrie says so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cad&rsquo;s a fool,&rdquo; muttered John Jr., while Nellie rejoined,
+&ldquo;Durward never hated anybody, and even if he did, he would not say
+so&mdash;I mean to tell him;&rdquo; and with another good-bye she was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and asked where she had
+been.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To bid &rsquo;Lena good-bye; don&rsquo;t you want to go too?&rdquo; said
+Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes, if you are sure she won&rsquo;t scratch my eyes out,&rdquo; he
+returned, gayly, following his cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon I&rsquo;d better tell &rsquo;Lena to come out into the
+hall&mdash;she may not want you in there,&rdquo; said John Jr., and hastening
+forward he told his cousin what was wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how &rsquo;Lena longed to go, but pride, and the remembrance of
+Carrie&rsquo;s words, prevented her, and coldly answering, &ldquo;No, I
+don&rsquo;t wish to see him,&rdquo; she turned away to hide the tears and pain
+which those words had cost her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This visit to Grandma Nichols&rsquo; room was productive of some good, for John
+Jr., did not fail of repeating to his mother the impression which he saw was
+made on Nellie&rsquo;s mind, adding, that &ldquo;though Durward did not venture
+in, Nellie would of course tell him all about it. And then,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t give much for his opinion of your treatment of your
+mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs. Livingstone
+demanded &ldquo;what he&rsquo;d have her do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do?&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;give grandmother a decent room, or else
+fix that one up, so it won&rsquo;t look like the old scratch had been having a
+cotillon there. Paper and paint it, and make it look decent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon this last piece of advice Mrs. Livingstone resolved to act, for recently
+several vague rumors had reached her ear, touching her neglect of her
+mother-in-law, and she began herself to think it just possible that a little of
+her money would be well expended in adding to the comfort of her
+husband&rsquo;s mother. Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Nichols was able to sit
+up, her room underwent a thorough renovation, and though no great amount of
+money was expended upon it, it was fitted up with so much taste that the poor
+old lady, whom John Jr., &rsquo;Lena and Anna, had adroitly kept out of the way
+until her room was finished, actually burst into tears when first ushered into
+her light, airy apartment, in which everything looked so cheerful and pleasant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tilda has now and then a good streak,&rdquo; said she, while Aunt
+Milly, who had taken a great deal of interest in the repairing of the room,
+felt inclined to change her favorite theory with regard to her mistress&rsquo;
+future condition.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/>
+FIVE YEARS LATER.</h2>
+
+<p>
+And in the fair city of elms we again open the scene. It was commencement at
+Yale, and the crowd which filled the old Center church were listening
+breathlessly to the tide of eloquence poured forth by the young valedictorian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and first in the
+esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously chosen to that post of
+honor, and as the gathered multitude hung upon his words and gazed upon his
+manly beauty, they felt mat a better choice could not well have been made. At
+the right of the platform sat a group of ladies, friends, it would seem, of the
+speaker, for ever and anon his eyes turned in that direction, and as if each
+glance incited him to fresh efforts, his eloquence increased, until at last no
+sound save that of his deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the
+words of the young orator. But when his speech was ended, there arose deafening
+shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in perfect showers at his feet. Among
+them was one smaller and more elegant than the rest, and as if it were more
+precious, too, it was the first which Durward took from the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;See, Carrie, he gives you the preference,&rdquo; whispered one of the
+young ladies on the right, and Carrie Livingstone for she it was, felt a thrill
+of gratified pride, when she saw how carefully he guarded the bouquet, which
+during all the exercises she had made her especial care, calling attention to
+it in so many different ways that hardly any one who saw it in Durward&rsquo;s
+possession, could fail of knowing from what source it same.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But then everybody said they were engaged&mdash;so what did it matter?
+Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and who while openly denying
+the engagement, teasingly hinted &ldquo;that &rsquo;twas no fault of
+Cad&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had been inmates of
+the seminary in New Haven, and as they were now considered sufficiently
+accomplished to enter at once upon all the gayeties of fashionable life, John
+Jr. had come on &ldquo;to see the elephant,&rdquo; as he said, and to accompany
+them home. Carrie had fulfilled the promise of her girlhood, and even her
+brother acknowledged that she was handsome in spite of her <i>nose</i>, which
+like everybody&rsquo;s else, still continued to be the most prominent feature
+of her face. She was proud, too, as well as beautiful, and throughout the city
+she was known as the &ldquo;haughty southern belle,&rdquo; admired by some and
+disliked by many. Among the students she was not half so popular as her
+unpretending sister, whose laughing blue eyes and sunny brown hair were often
+toasted, together with the classical brow and dignified bearing of Nellie
+Douglass, who had lost some of the hoydenish propensities of her girlhood, and
+who was now a graceful, elegant creature just merging into nineteen&mdash;the
+pride of her widowed father, and the idol still of John Jr., whose boyish
+preference had ripened into a kind of love such as only he could feel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face and dumpy little figure
+never receiving the least attention except from Durward Bellmont, who pitying
+her lonely condition, frequently left more congenial society for the sake of
+entertaining her. Of any one else Carrie would have been jealous, but feeling
+sure that Mabel had no attraction save her wealth, and knowing that Durward did
+not care for that, she occasionally suffered him to leave her side, always
+feeling amply repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society
+for that of Mabel&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his preference for Carrie,
+Durward would sometimes laughingly refer them to the old worn-out story of the
+fox and the grapes, for to scarcely any one save himself did Carrie think it
+worth her while to be even gracious. This conduct was entirely at variance with
+her natural disposition, for she was fond of admiration, come from what source
+it might, and she would never have been so cold and distant to all save
+Durward, had she not once heard him say that &ldquo;he heartily despised a
+<i>flirt</i>; and that no young lady could at all interest him if he suspected
+her of being a coquette.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This, then, was the secret of her reserve. She was resolved upon winning
+Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too great if in the end it secured the
+prize. It is true there was one sophomore, a perfumed, brainless fop, from
+Rockford, N. Y., who, next to Durward, was apparently most in favor, but the
+idea of her entertaining even a shadow of a liking for Tom Lakin, was too
+ludicrous to be harbored for a moment, so his attentions went for naught,
+public opinion uniting in giving her to Mr. Bellmont.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the lapse of years, Anna, too, had greatly improved. The extreme delicacy
+of her figure was gone, and though her complexion was as white and pure as
+marble, it denoted perfect health. With John Jr. she was still the favorite
+sister, the one whom he loved the best. &ldquo;Carrie was too stiff and
+proud,&rdquo; he said, and though when he met her in New Haven, after a
+year&rsquo;s absence, his greeting was kind and brotherly, he soon turned from
+her to Anna and Nellie, utterly neglecting Mabel, who turned away to her
+chamber to cry, because no one cared for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance of securing a wealthy
+bride, always finishing her discourse by speaking of Mr. Douglass&rsquo; small
+income, and enlarging upon the immense wealth of Mabel Ross, whose very name
+had become disagreeable to John Jr. At one time his father had hoped he, too,
+would enter college, but the young man derided the idea of his ever making a
+scholar, saying, however, more in sport than in earnest, that &ldquo;he was
+willing to enter a store, or learn a <i>trade</i>, so that in case he was ever
+obliged to earn his own living, he would have some means of doing it;&rdquo;
+but to this his mother would not listen. He was her &ldquo;darling boy,&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;his hands, soft and white as those of a girl, should never become
+hardened and embrowned by labor!&rdquo; So, while his sisters were away at
+school, he was at home, hunting, fishing, riding, teasing his grandmother,
+tormenting the servants, and shocking his mother by threatening to make love to
+his cousin &rsquo;Lena, to whom he was at once a pest and a comfort, and who
+now claims a share of our attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New Haven, Mr. Livingstone
+proposed that &rsquo;Lena should also accompany them, but this plan Mrs.
+Livingstone opposed with all her force, declaring that <i>her</i> money should
+never be spent in educating the &ldquo;beggarly relatives&rdquo; of her
+husband, who in this, as in numerous other matters, was forced to yield the
+point. As Mr. Everett&rsquo;s services were now no longer needed, he accepted
+the offer of a situation in the family of General Fontaine, a high-bred,
+southern gentleman, whose plantation was distant but half a mile from
+&ldquo;Maple Grove;&rdquo; and as he there taught a regular school, having
+under his charge several of the daughters of the neighboring planters, it was
+decided that &rsquo;Lena also should continue under his instruction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily routine of a
+fashionable boarding-school, &rsquo;Lena was storing her mind with useful
+knowledge, and though her accomplishments were not quite so showy as those of
+her cousins, they had in them the ring of the pure metal. Although her charms
+were as yet but partially developed, she was a creature of rare loveliness, and
+many who saw her for the first time, marveled that aught so beautiful could be
+real. She had never seen Durward Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week,
+but many a time had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not
+define, as she read Anna&rsquo;s accounts of the flattering attentions which he
+paid to Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her with haughty contempt or
+cool indifference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But for this she did not care. She knew she was loved by Anna, and liked by
+John Jr., and she hoped&mdash;nay, half believed&mdash;that she was not wholly
+indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any show of his affection,
+still in his heart admired and felt proud of her. With his wife it was
+different. She hated &rsquo;Lena&mdash;hated her because she was beautiful and
+talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna were ever in the shade.
+Still her niece was too general a favorite in the neighborhood to allow of open
+hostility at home, and so the proud woman ground together her glittering
+teeth&mdash;<i>and waited</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among the many who admired &rsquo;Lena, there was no one who gave her such full
+and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple Grove had been
+one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine. Gradually had she learned the
+estimation in which she was held by her son&rsquo;s wife, and she felt how
+bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence. As far as she was able,
+&rsquo;Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, who thinking she had done
+all that was required of her when she fixed their room, would for days and even
+weeks appear utterly oblivious of their presence, or frown darkly whenever
+chance threw them in her way. She had raised no objection to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett, who, she hoped, would
+not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying that in this way she would sooner
+be rid of one whom she feared as a rival of her daughters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire &rsquo;Lena,
+another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most carefully guarded
+was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport from the head it once adorned,
+and, now treasured as a sacred memento of the past. Believing that it would be
+so because she wished it to be so, Mrs. Livingstone had more than once
+whispered to her female friends her surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry
+&rsquo;Lena, and at the time of which we are speaking, it was pretty generally
+understood that a strong liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed
+between them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat hands
+complacently, and while applying Twigg&rsquo;s Preparation to his hair,
+congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared was now out of his
+way. Thinking, too, that &rsquo;Lena had conferred a great favor upon himself
+by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became exceedingly polite to her,
+making her little presents and frequently asking her to ride. Whenever these
+invitations were accepted, they were sure to be followed by a ludicrous
+description to Anna, who laughed merrily over her cousin&rsquo;s letters,
+declaring herself half jealous of her &ldquo;gray-haired lover,&rdquo; as she
+termed the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and fully discussed in
+the presence of Durward, who gradually received the impression that &rsquo;Lena
+was a flirt, a species of womankind which he held in great abhorrence. Just
+before he left New Haven, he received a letter from his stepfather, requesting
+him to stop for a day or two at Captain Atherton&rsquo;s, where he would join
+him, as he wished to look at a country-seat near Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s, which
+was now for sale. This plan gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her
+brother proposed that Durward should stop at their father&rsquo;s instead of
+the captain&rsquo;s, she seconded the invitation so warmly, that Durward
+finally consented, and word was immediately sent to Mrs. Livingstone to hold
+herself in readiness to receive Mr. Bellmont.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn,&rdquo; said Carrie, as
+in the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they were discussing the
+projected purchase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John Jr., who was present,
+and who felt just like teasing his sister, replied, &ldquo;What do you care?
+Mrs. Graham has no daughters, and she won&rsquo;t fancy such a chit as you, so
+it must be Durward&rsquo;s society that you so much desire, but I can assure
+you that your <i>nose</i> will be broken when once he sees our
+&rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech, while Durward
+asked if &ldquo;Miss Rivers were so very handsome?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Handsome</i>!&rdquo; repeated John. &ldquo;That don&rsquo;t begin to
+express it. <i>Cad</i> is what I call <i>handsome</i>, but &rsquo;Lena is
+beautiful, more beautiful, most beautiful&mdash;now you have it superlatively.
+Such complexion&mdash;such eyes&mdash;such hair&mdash;I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I
+haven&rsquo;t been more than half in love with her myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really begin to tremble,&rdquo; said Durward, laughingly while Carrie
+rejoined, &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve only to make the slightest advance, and your love
+will be returned ten-fold, for &rsquo;Lena is very susceptible, and already
+encourages several admirers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken,&rdquo; interrupted
+John Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, when Durward asked if
+&ldquo;she ever left any <i>marks</i> of her affection,&rdquo; referring to the
+scratch she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to speak,
+replied that &ldquo;the <i>will</i> and the <i>claws</i> remained the same,
+though common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s downright slander,&rdquo; said John Jr., determined now
+upon defending his cousin, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena has a high temper, I acknowledge,
+but she tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two years I&rsquo;ve not seen
+her angry once, though she&rsquo;s had every provocation under heaven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She knows <i>when</i> and <i>where</i> to be amiable,&rdquo; retorted
+Carrie. &ldquo;Any one of her admirers would tell the same story with
+yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the room, and Carrie,
+fearing she had said too much, immediately apologized to Durward, saying,
+&ldquo;it was not often that she allowed herself to speak against her cousin,
+and that she should not have done so now, were not John so much blinded, that
+her mother, knowing Lena&rsquo;s ambitious nature, sometimes seriously feared
+the consequence. I know,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that John fancies Nellie, but
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s influence over him is very great.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m always sorry when
+I speak against &rsquo;Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn&rsquo;t prejudice
+any one against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would never
+have been uttered in the presence of a stranger. She <i>is</i> handsome and
+agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,&rdquo; was
+Durward&rsquo;s gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the
+room, the conversation ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile &rsquo;Lena was very differently employed. Nearly a year had elapsed
+since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with joy at the thought
+of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved. Carrie was to her an object of
+indifference, rather than dislike, and ofttimes had she thought, &ldquo;If she
+would only let me love her.&rdquo; But it could not be, for there was no
+affinity between them. Carrie was proud and overbearing&mdash;jealous of her
+high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. had said, strove hard to subdue her
+temper, and who now seldom resented Carrie&rsquo;s insults, except when they
+were leveled at her aged grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we have before stated, news&rsquo; had been received at Maple Grove that
+Durward would accompany her cousins home. Mr. Graham would, of course, join him
+there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were immediately commenced. An
+unusual degree of sickness was prevailing among the female portion of Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s servants, and the very day before the company was expected,
+Aunt Milly, the head cook was taken suddenly ill. Coaxing, scolding, and
+threatening were alike ineffectual. The old negress would not say she was well
+when she wasn&rsquo;t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick
+(<i>lazy</i>, as her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged
+to superintend the cookery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Crosser than a bar,&rdquo; as the little darkies said, she flew back and
+forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the corners of her
+mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike at anything that came in
+her way. As if there were a fatality attending her movements, she was
+unfortunate in whatever she undertook. The cake was burned black, the custard
+curdled, the preserves were found to be working, the big preserve dish got
+broken, a thunder shower soured the cream, and taking it all in all, she really
+had trouble enough to disconcert the most experienced housekeeper. Still, the
+few negroes able to assist, thought &ldquo;she needn&rsquo;t be so fetch-ed
+cross.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft to the
+charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed, listened in dismay to
+the disastrous accounts brought her from time to time from the kitchen,
+mentally congratulating herself the while upon not being within hearing of her
+mistress&rsquo; tongue. Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to help, but she was
+repulsed so angrily that &rsquo;Lena did not presume to offer her services
+until the day of their arrival, when, without a word, she repaired to the
+chambers, which she swept and dusted, arranging the furniture, and making
+everything ready for the comfort of the travelers. Then descending to the
+parlors, she went through the same process there, filled the vases with fresh
+flowers, looped back the curtains, opened the piano, wheeled the sofa a little
+to the right, the large chair a little to the left, and then going to the
+dining-room, she set the table in the most perfect order, doing all so quietly
+that her aunt knew nothing of it until it was done. Jake the coachman, had gone
+down to Frankfort after them, and as he was not expected to return until
+between three and four, dinner was deferred until that hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From sunrise Mrs. Livingstone had worked industriously, until her face and
+temper were at a boiling heat. The clock was on the point of striking three,
+and she was bending over a roasting turkey, when &rsquo;Lena ventured to
+approach her, saying, &ldquo;I have seen Aunt Milly baste a turkey many a time,
+and I am sure I can do it as well as she.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo; was the uncivil answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied:
+&ldquo;Why, it is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would want to cool
+and dress yourself before they came. I can see to the dinner, I know I can.
+Please let me try.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somewhat mollified by her niece&rsquo;s kind manner, Mrs. Livingstone resigned
+her post and repaired to her own room, while &rsquo;Lena, confining her long
+curls to the top of her head and donning the wide check-apron which her aunt
+had thrown aside, set herself at work with a right good will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What dat ar you say?&rdquo; exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her woolly
+head from her pillow, and looking at the little colored girl, who had brought
+to her the news that &ldquo;young miss was in de kitchen.&rdquo; &ldquo;What
+dat ar you tellin&rsquo;? Miss &rsquo;Leny pokin&rsquo; &rsquo;mong de pots and
+kittles, and dis ole nigger lazin&rsquo; in bed jes like white folks. Long as
+&rsquo;twas ole miss, I didn&rsquo;t seer. Good &rsquo;nough for her to roast,
+blister, and bile; done get used to it, case she&rsquo;s got to in kingdom
+come, no mistake&mdash;he!&mdash;he! But little Miss &rsquo;Leny, it&rsquo;s
+too bad to bake her lamb&rsquo;s-wool hands and face, and all de quality
+comin&rsquo;: I&rsquo;ll hobble up thar, if I can stand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawling up to the
+kitchen, insisted upon taking &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s place, saying, &ldquo;she
+could sit in her chair and tell the rest what to do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a time &rsquo;Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and weak, but
+the sound of wheels decided her. Springing to the sideboard in the dining-room,
+she brought Aunt Milly a glass of wine, which revived her so much that she now
+felt willing to leave her. By this time the carriage was at the door, and to
+escape unobserved was now her great object. But this she could not do, for as
+she was crossing the hall, Anna espied her, and darting forward, seized her
+around the neck, at the same time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with
+Durward&rsquo;s eye upon her, <i>kissed</i> her twice; then turning to him, she
+said, &ldquo;I suppose you do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the strangeness of
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s appearance, for as nearly as she could, she looked like a
+fright. Bending over hot stoves and boiling gravies is not very beneficial to
+one&rsquo;s complexion, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s cheeks, neck, forehead, and
+nose were of a purplish red&mdash;her hair was tucked back in a manner
+exceedingly unbecoming, while the broad check-apron, which came nearly to her
+feet, tended in nowise to improve her appearance. She felt it keenly, and after
+returning Durward&rsquo;s salutation, she broke away before Anna or John, Jr.,
+who were both surprised at her looks, had time to ask a question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but knowing that would
+disfigure her still more, she bathed her burning face and neck, brushed out her
+curls, threw on a simple muslin dress, and started for the parlor, of which
+Durward and Carrie were at that moment the only occupants. As she was passing
+the outer door, she observed upon one of the piazza pillars a half-blown rose,
+and for a moment stopped to admire it. Durward, who sat in a corner, did not
+see her, but Carrie did, and a malicious feeling prompted her to draw out her
+companion, who she felt sure was disappointed in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face. They
+were speaking of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and whom Carrie pronounced
+&ldquo;perfectly beautiful,&rdquo; while Durward would hardly admit that she
+was even good-looking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am surprised at your taste,&rdquo; said Carrie, adding, as she noticed
+the proximity of her cousin, &ldquo;I think she resembles &rsquo;Lena, and of
+course you&rsquo;ll acknowledge <i>she</i> is beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She <i>was</i> beautiful five years ago, but she&rsquo;s greatly changed
+since then,&rdquo; answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite
+satisfaction his words afforded Carrie, who replied, &ldquo;You had better keep
+that opinion to yourself, and not express it before Captain Atherton or brother
+John.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who takes my name in vain?&rdquo; asked John Jr., himself appearing at a
+side door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, John,&rdquo; said Carrie, &ldquo;we were just disputing about
+&rsquo;Lena. Durward does not think her handsome.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Durward be hanged!&rdquo; answered John, making a feint of drawing from
+his pocket a pistol which was not there. &ldquo;What fault has he to find with
+&rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little too rosy, that&rsquo;s all,&rdquo; said Durward, laughingly,
+while John continued, &ldquo;She <i>did</i> look confounded red and dowdyish,
+for her. I don&rsquo;t understand it myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie&rsquo;s eye had all the while
+been resting, disappeared, and as there was no longer an incentive for
+ill-natured remarks, the amiable young lady adroitly changed the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and started in
+pursuit, in the course of his search passing the kitchen, where he was
+instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, while bemoaning her own aches and pains,
+did not fail to tell him how &ldquo;Miss &rsquo;Lena, like aborned angel
+dropped right out of &rsquo;tarnity, had been in thar, burning her skin to a
+fiery red, a-tryin&rsquo; to get up a tip-top dinner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So ho!&rdquo; thought the young man, &ldquo;that explains it;&rdquo; and
+turning on his heel, he walked back to the house just as the last bell was
+ringing for dinner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assembled, except
+&rsquo;Lena. She had excused herself on the plea of a severe headache, and now
+in her own room was chiding herself for being so much affected by a remark
+accidentally overheard. What did she care if Durward did think her plain? He
+was nothing to her, and never would be&mdash;and again she bathed her head,
+which really was aching sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s got the headache,&rdquo; said John Jr.
+&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t wonder, cooking all the dinner as she did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s
+angry frown bade her son keep silence,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.&rsquo;s cardinal virtues,
+and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had told him, adding aside to
+Durward, &ldquo;<i>This</i> explains the extreme rosiness which so much
+offended your lordship. When next you see her, you&rsquo;ll change your
+mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he now
+presented her to Durward. The <i>Noble&rsquo;s</i> blood had long been
+forgotten, but grandma was never at a loss for a subject, and she commenced
+talking notwithstanding Carrie&rsquo;s efforts to keep her still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I think on&rsquo;t, Car&rsquo;line,&rdquo; said she at last, turning
+to her granddaughter, &ldquo;now I think on&rsquo;t, what made you propose to
+have my dinner sent up to my room. I hain&rsquo;t et there but once this great
+while, and that was the day General Fontaine&rsquo;s folks were here, and
+Matilda thought I warn&rsquo;t able to come down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward&rsquo;s half-concealed smile showed that he understood it all, while
+John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was talking, managed, to lead her
+on, until she reached her favorite theme&mdash;Nancy Scovandyke. Here a look
+from her son silenced her, and as dinner was just then over, Durward missed of
+hearing that remarkable lady&rsquo;s history.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the piazza, &rsquo;Lena
+joined them. Her headache had passed away, leaving her face a shade whiter than
+usual. The flush was gone from her forehead and nose, but mindful of
+Durward&rsquo;s remark, the roses deepened on her cheek, which only increased
+her loveliness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I acknowledge that I was wrong&mdash;your cousin <i>is</i>
+beautiful,&rdquo; whispered Durward to Carrie, who, mentally hating the beauty
+which had never before struck her so forcibly, replied in her softest tones,
+&ldquo;I knew you would, and I hope you&rsquo;ll be equally ready to forgive
+her for winning hearts only to break them, for with that face how can she help
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry,&rdquo; answered Durward;
+&ldquo;neither can I think Miss Rivers guilty of it. At all events, I mean to
+venture a little nearer,&rdquo; and before Carrie could frame a reasonable
+excuse for keeping him at her side, he had crossed ever and taken a seat by
+&rsquo;Lena, with whom he was soon in the midst of an animated conversation,
+his surprise each moment increasing at the depth of intellect she displayed,
+for the beauty of her mind was equal to that of her person. Had it not been for
+the remembrance of Carrie&rsquo;s insinuations, his admiration would have been
+complete. But anything like coquetry he heartily despised, and one great secret
+of his liking for Carrie, was her evident freedom from that fault. As yet he
+had seen nothing to condemn in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s conduct. Wholly unaffected,
+she talked with him as she would have talked with any stranger, and still there
+was in her manner a certain coldness for which he could not account.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning,&rdquo; thought he, and in
+spite of his principles, he erelong found himself exerting all his powers to
+please and interest her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and simultaneously with
+his arrival, Mr. Everett came also. Immediately remembering what he had heard,
+Durward, in his eagerness to watch &rsquo;Lena, failed to note the crimson
+flush on Anna&rsquo;s usually pale cheek, as Malcolm bent over her with his
+low-spoken, tender words of welcome, and when the phthisicky captain, claiming
+the privilege of an old friend, kissed the blushing Anna, Durward in his
+blindness attributed the scornful expression of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face to a
+feeling of unwillingness that any save herself should share the attentions even
+of the captain! And in this impression he was erelong confirmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed to keep Malcolm at a
+distance, while he himself wholly monopolized the young girl, who cast
+imploring glances toward her cousin, as if asking for relief. Many a time, on
+similar occasions, had &rsquo;Lena claimed the attention of the captain, for
+the sake of leaving Anna free to converse with Malcolm, and now understanding
+what was wanted of her, she nodded in token that she would come to the rescue.
+Just then, Mrs. Livingstone, who had kept an eye upon her niece, drew near, and
+as she seemed to want a seat; &rsquo;Lena instantly arose and offered hers,
+going herself to the place where the captain was sitting. Erelong, her lively
+sallies and the captain&rsquo;s loud laugh began to attract Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s attention, and observing that Durward&rsquo;s eyes were
+frequently drawn that way, she thought proper to make some remarks concerning
+the impropriety of her niece&rsquo;s conduct.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do wish,&rdquo; said she, apparently speaking more to herself than to
+Durward, &ldquo;I do wish &rsquo;Lena would learn discretion, and let Captain
+Atherton alone, when she knows how much her behavior annoys Mr. Everett.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Everett anything to her!&rdquo; asked Durward, half hoping that
+she would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he isn&rsquo;t he ought to be,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, with
+an ominous shake of the head. &ldquo;Rumor says they are engaged, and though
+when questioned she denies it, she gives people abundant reason to think so,
+and yet every chance she gets, she flirts with Captain Atherton, as you see her
+doing now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old
+man?&rdquo; asked Durward, laughing at the very idea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is <i>rich</i>. &rsquo;Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious&mdash;there
+lies the secret,&rdquo; was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s reply, and thinking she
+had said enough for the present, she excused herself, while she went to give
+orders concerning supper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left to himself, Durward
+had nothing to do but to watch &rsquo;Lena, who, as she saw symptoms of
+desertion in the anxious glances which the captain cast toward Anna, redoubled
+her exertions to keep him at her side, thus confirming Durward in the belief
+that she really was what her aunt and Carrie had represented her to be.
+&ldquo;Poor, proud, and ambitious,&rdquo; rang in his ears, and as he mistook
+the mischievous look which &rsquo;Lena frequently sent toward Anna and Malcolm,
+for a desire to see how the latter was affected by her conduct, he thought
+&ldquo;Fickle as fair,&rdquo; at the same time congratulating himself that he
+had obtained an insight into her real character, ere her exceeding beauty and
+agreeable manners had made any particular impression upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling piqued at his
+indifference, &rsquo;Lena in turn treated him so coldly, that even Carrie was
+satisfied with the phase which affairs had assumed, and that night, in the
+privacy of her mother&rsquo;s dressing-room, expressed her pleasure that
+matters were progressing so finely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve no idea, mother,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;how much he
+detests anything like coquetry. Nellie Douglass thinks it&rsquo;s a kind of
+monomania with him, and I am inclined to believe it is so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In that case,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;it behooves you,
+in his presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other
+gentlemen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t lived nineteen years for nothing,&rdquo; said Carrie,
+folding her soft white hands complacently one over the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Speaking of Nellie Douglass,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Livingstone, who had
+long desired this interview with her daughter, &ldquo;speaking of Nellie,
+reminds me of your brother, who seems perfectly crazy about her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what if he does ?&rdquo; asked Carrie, her thoughts far more intent
+upon Durward Bellmont than her brother. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t Nellie good enough
+for him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, good enough, I admit,&rdquo; returned her mother, &ldquo;but I
+think I can find a far more suitable match&mdash;Mabel Ross, for instance. Her
+fortune is said to be immense, while Mr. Douglass is worth little or
+nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When you bring about a union between John Livingstone Jr. and Mabel
+Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers to do anything, even to the
+marrying of Anna and Grandfather Atherton,&rdquo; answered Carrie, to whom her
+mother&rsquo;s schemes were no secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And that, too, I&rsquo;ll effect, rather than see her thrown away upon a
+low bred northerner, who shall never wed her&mdash;never;&rdquo; and the
+haughty woman paced up and down her room, devising numerous ways by which her
+long cherished three-fold plan should be effected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his usual custom, and
+going out into the garden he came suddenly upon &rsquo;Lena.
+&ldquo;This,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is a pleasure which I did not expect when I
+rather unwillingly tore myself from my pillow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the coldness of the night before was gone, but &rsquo;Lena could not so
+soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, that &ldquo;she learned to
+rise early among the New England hills.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An excellent practice, and one which more of our young ladies would do
+well to imitate,&rdquo; returned Durward, at the same time speaking of the
+beautifying effect which the morning air had upon her complexion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday concerning her
+plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that &ldquo;any information
+regarding her personal appearance was wholly unnecessary, as she knew very well
+how she looked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment her again, walked on in
+silence at her side, while &rsquo;Lena, repenting of her hasty words, and
+desirous of making amends, exerted herself to be agreeable; and by the time the
+breakfast-bell rang, Durward mentally pronounced her &ldquo;a perfect
+mystery,&rdquo; which he would take delight in unraveling!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/>
+MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of carriage wheels and a loud
+ring at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Graham, who, true to his
+appointment with Durward, had come up to meet him, accompanied by Mrs. Graham.
+This lady, who could boast of having once been the bride of an English lord, to
+say nothing of belonging to the &ldquo;very first family of Virginia,&rdquo;
+was a sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone, who, haughty and overbearing to her
+equals, was nevertheless cringing and cowardly in the presence of those whom
+she considered her superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her ideas
+concerning her were quite elevated, and now when she came unexpectedly, it
+quite overcame her. Unfortunately, too, she was this morning suffering from a
+nervous headache, the result of the excitement and late hours of the night
+before, and on learning that Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell back in
+her rocking-chair, and between a groan and a sigh, declared her utter inability
+to see her at present, saying that Carrie must play the part of hostess until
+such time as she felt composed enough to undertake it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I can&rsquo;t&mdash;I <i>shan&rsquo;t</i>&mdash;that ends it!&rdquo;
+said Carrie, who, though a good deal dressed on Durward&rsquo;s account, still
+felt anxious to give a few more finishing touches to her toilet, and to see if
+her hair and complexion were all right, ere she ventured into the august
+presence ef her &ldquo;mother-in-law elect,&rdquo; as she confidently
+considered Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anna must go, then,&rdquo; persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full
+well how useless it would be to press Carrie farther. &ldquo;Anna must
+go&mdash;where is she? Call her, &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk which had
+been planned the night previous, and when &rsquo;Lena returned with the
+intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great distress
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think&mdash;and Mr.
+Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to entertain her.
+What shall I do! I can&rsquo;t go in looking so yellow and jaded as I now
+do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first thought was to bring her aunt&rsquo;s powderball, as
+the surest way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act would
+be deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go
+herself to the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>You</i>! What could <i>you</i> say to her?&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, to whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can at least answer her questions,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena and
+after a moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how &rsquo;Lena, in her
+plain gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the
+fashionable Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But then,&rdquo; thought she, &ldquo;she has so little sensibility, I
+don&rsquo;t s&rsquo;pose she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham will of
+course look upon her as only a little above a servant&rdquo;&mdash;and with
+this complimentary reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her
+dressing-room, while &rsquo;Lena, with a beating heart and slightly heightened
+color, repaired to the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eye
+fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a smile at
+the idea of being afraid of <i>her</i>. She was a short, dumpy, florid looking
+woman, showily, and as &rsquo;Lena thought, <i>overdressed</i> for morning, as
+her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed and sparkled with every
+movement. Her forehead was very low, and marked by a scowl of discontent which
+was habitual, for with everything to make her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from
+being so. Exceedingly nervous and fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker
+side, and when her husband and son, who were of exactly opposite temperaments,
+strove to laugh her into good spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as
+she usually reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into quite a
+fever at Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s apparent lack of courtesy in not hastening to
+receive her, and when &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s light step was heard in the hall, she
+turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why she had not come
+sooner. Durward, who was present immediately introduced his mother, at the same
+time admiring the extreme dignity of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s manner as she received
+the lady&rsquo;s greeting, apologizing for her aunt&rsquo;s non-appearance,
+saying &ldquo;she was suffering from a severe headache, and begged to be
+excused for an hour or so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite excusable,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, at the same time saying
+something in a low tone about it&rsquo;s not being her wish to stop there so
+early, as she knew <i>she</i> was not expected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,&rdquo; &rsquo;Lena hastened to say,
+thinking that for the time being the reputation of her uncle&rsquo;s house was
+resting upon her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dare say,&rdquo; was Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s ungracious answer, and then
+her little gray, deep-set eyes rested upon &rsquo;Lena, wondering if she were
+&ldquo;a governess or what?&rdquo; and thinking it strange that she should seem
+so perfectly self-possessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Insensibly, too, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s manner won upon her, for spite of her
+fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed woman. Ill health and
+long years of dissipation had helped to make her what she was. Besides this,
+she was not quite happy in her domestic relations, for though Mr. Graham
+possessed all the requisites of a kind and affectionate husband, he could not
+remove from her mind the belief that he liked others better then he did
+herself! &rsquo;Twas in vain that he alternately laughed at and reasoned with
+her on the subject. She was not to be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who
+was really exceedingly polite and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly
+provoking the green-eyed monster by his attentions to some one of the fair sex.
+In spite of his nightly &ldquo;Caudle&rdquo; lectures, he <i>would</i>
+transgress again and again, until his wife&rsquo;s patience was exhausted, and
+now she affected to have given him up, turning for comfort and affection toward
+Durward, who was her special delight, &ldquo;the very apple of her eye&mdash;he
+was so much like his father, Sir Arthur, who during the whole year that she
+lived with him had never once given her cause for jealousy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just before &rsquo;Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham, had for a moment stepped
+out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, he, too, was introduced to the
+young lady. It was strange, considering &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s uncommon beauty,
+that Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband&rsquo;s manner, but for once in her
+life she felt no fears, and looking from the window, she failed to note the
+sudden pallor which overspread his face when Mr. Livingstone presented to him
+&ldquo;Miss Rivers&mdash;my niece.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored face,
+whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers, while his pleasant,
+affable deportment universally won the friendship of all who knew him. And
+&rsquo;Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for the moment his warm
+hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested upon her, her heart went
+toward him as a friend, while she wondered why he looked at her so long and
+earnestly, twice repeating her name&mdash;&ldquo;Miss
+Rivers&mdash;<i>Rivers</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the first, &rsquo;Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom
+Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to apologize
+for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met before, she referred
+him to that time, saying &ldquo;she thought it strange that he should remember
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old acquaintances&mdash;ah&mdash;indeed !&rdquo; and little Mrs. Graham
+nodded and fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen
+cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl which was
+of too long standing to be smoothed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, my dear,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, &ldquo;I
+had entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars
+when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago. You were quite a little
+girl then&rdquo;&mdash;turning to &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only ten,&rdquo; was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and
+anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward &rsquo;Lena, asking
+&ldquo;how long she had lived in Kentucky&mdash;where she used to
+live&mdash;and where her mother was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone, suddenly
+stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mother is dead,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And your father?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to Canada!&rdquo; interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors
+of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother&rsquo;s
+being so inquisitive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr. Graham
+replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before. Here John Jr.
+appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated himself by his cousin,
+addressing to her some trivial remark, and calling her &rsquo;<i>Lena</i>. It
+was well for Mr. Graham&rsquo;s after peace that his wife was just then too
+much engrossed with Durward to observe the effect which that name produced upon
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, &ldquo;You were
+telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your
+yard&mdash;suppose we go and see it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr. Graham
+casually remarked, &ldquo;Your niece is a fine-looking girl&mdash;&rsquo;Lena,
+I think your son called her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, or <i>Helena</i>, which was her mother&rsquo;s name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my
+wife,&rdquo; returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at
+once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and keeping his
+face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose thoughts, as was usually
+the case when his sister was mentioned, were far back in the past. When at last
+Mr. Graham lifted his head there were no traces of the stormy emotions which
+had shaken his very heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked
+back to the parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
+their respects to his lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie&rsquo;s and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even Durward noticed it, and
+while he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of the latter,
+who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met his mother on
+perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his life felt a kind of
+contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an elegantly embroidered
+double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels, which almost swept the floor,
+treated his mother with a fawning servility as disgusting to him as it was
+pleasing to the lady in question. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account
+of her wealth and her husband&rsquo;s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if
+something were withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her
+daughters rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for
+nothing could be more flattering than their attentions. Both mother and
+daughter having the son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs. Graham
+asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a servant,
+offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham laid her hand
+caressingly upon her shoulders, calling her a &ldquo;dear little pet,&rdquo;
+and asking &ldquo;where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft sound which he was in
+the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his sister of her
+<i>nose</i>, made the &ldquo;bright, naughty eyes&rdquo; flash so angrily, that
+even Durward noticed it, and wondered if &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s temper had not
+been transferred to her cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That young girl&mdash;&rsquo;Lena, I think you call her&mdash;is a
+relative of yours,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending
+the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,&rdquo; answered Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers&mdash;does she belong
+to a Virginia family?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie looked mysterious and answered, &ldquo;I never knew anything of her
+father, and indeed, I reckon no one does&rdquo;&mdash;then after a moment she
+added, &ldquo;Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with which
+they could willingly dispense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very true,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, &ldquo;What a pity we
+couldn&rsquo;t all have been born in England. There, dear, you can leave me
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her mother, who
+was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. &ldquo;Old Milly,&rdquo; she
+said, &ldquo;had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had got a
+<i>collapse</i>, as she called it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t Hagar do,&rdquo; asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs.
+Graham&rsquo;s first dinner with them should be in style.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but she can&rsquo;t do everything&mdash;somebody must superintend
+her, and as for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the
+table, I won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not make &rsquo;Lena go into the kitchen&mdash;it won&rsquo;t hurt
+her to-day more than it did yesterday,&rdquo; suggested Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A good idea,&rdquo; returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door
+she called &rsquo;Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham,
+who, the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now seemed
+oblivious to all else save her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the expression
+of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well knew his
+mother&rsquo;s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present, while at the
+same time he wondered that his father should appear so deeply interested in an
+entire stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, I wish to speak with you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone,
+appearing at the door, and &rsquo;Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the
+room, while Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner,
+ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, &rsquo;Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a
+word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with
+difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising within
+her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former <i>asked</i>
+instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it willingly. But now in
+quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over pastry and pudding, scarcely
+knowing which was which, until a pleasant voice at her side made her start, and
+looking up she saw Anna, who had just returned from her walk, and who on
+learning how matters stood, declared her intention of helping too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If there&rsquo;s anything I like, it&rsquo;s being in a muss,&rdquo;
+said she, and throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and
+fastening back her curls in imitation of &rsquo;Lena, she was soon up to her
+elbows in cooking&mdash;her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and
+cream, and her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the
+china closet. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham
+either,&rdquo; said she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the
+pie line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But alas! Malcolm Everett&rsquo;s words of love spoken beneath the
+wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna&rsquo;s ears, so it was no
+wonder she <i>salted</i> the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one
+noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both &rsquo;Lena and Hagar
+praised its white, uncurdled appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,&rdquo; said Anna,
+when everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but &rsquo;Lena,
+knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward&rsquo;s
+distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing at the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and
+you must look after her a little, for I shall not come down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a great state
+of fermentation to know &ldquo;who was below, and what the doin&rsquo;s was, I
+should of gone down,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I know&rsquo;d &rsquo;Tilda
+would be madder&rsquo;n a hornet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then
+informing her that Mr. Bellmont&rsquo;s father and mother were there, she
+proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. The handsome black silk and
+neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were donned, and then,
+staff in hand, the old lady started for the dining-room, &rsquo;Lena giving her
+numerous charges not to talk much, and on no account to mention her favorite
+topic&mdash;Nancy Scovandyke!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nancy&rsquo;s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live
+lord,&rdquo; was grandma&rsquo;s mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady,
+rustling in a heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her husband, through
+fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. But not so with John Jr. To be sure, he
+cared not a fig, on his grandmother&rsquo;s account, whether she were
+introduced or not, for he well knew she would not hesitate to make their
+acquaintance; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and Carrie, he called
+out, in a loud tone, &ldquo;My grandmother, Mrs. Nichols&mdash;Mr. and Mrs.
+Graham.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked &ldquo;if anything stung
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;no,&rdquo; said he, at the same time indicating that it was
+not worth while to mind it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got stung, have you?&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;Mebby &rsquo;twas
+a bumble-bee&mdash;seems &rsquo;sef I smelt one; but like enough it&rsquo;s the
+scent on Car&rsquo;line&rsquo;s handkercher.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on grandma, who,
+after a time, forgetful of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s caution, said, &ldquo;I
+b&rsquo;lieve they say you&rsquo;re from Virginny!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham,
+clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anywheres near Richmond?&rdquo; continued Mrs. Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was born in Richmond, madam.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Law, now I who knows but you&rsquo;re well acquainted with Nancy
+Scovandyke&rsquo;s kin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as she
+replied, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or
+any of her relatives.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, she&rsquo;s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s&rsquo;pose
+you&rsquo;d call her, bein&rsquo; she&rsquo;s just the age of my son.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s charge, stopped,
+but John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by asking what
+relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve
+asked a civil question, &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t more&rsquo;n fair for me to answer
+it. Better&rsquo;n forty year ago Nancy&rsquo;s mother&rsquo;s
+aunt&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which would be Miss Nancy&rsquo;s great-aunt,&rdquo; interrupted John
+Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless the boy,&rdquo; returned the old lady, &ldquo;he&rsquo;s got the
+Nichols&rsquo; head for figgerin&rsquo;. Yes, Nancy&rsquo;s great-aunt though
+she was six years and two months younger&rsquo;n Nancy&rsquo;s mother. Wall, as
+I was sayin&rsquo;, she went off to Virginny to teach music. She was
+prouder&rsquo;n Lucifer, and after a spell she married a southerner, rich as a
+Jew, and then she never took no more notice of her folks to hum, than&rsquo;s
+ef they hadn&rsquo;t been. But the poor critter didn&rsquo;t live long to enjoy
+it, for when her first baby was born, she died. &rsquo;Twas a little girl, but
+her folks in Massachusetts have never heard a word whether she&rsquo;s dead or
+alive. Joel Slocum, that&rsquo;s Nancy&rsquo;s nephew, says he means to go down
+there some day, and look her up, but I wouldn&rsquo;t bother with &rsquo;em,
+for that side of the house always did feel big, and above Nancy&rsquo;s folks,
+thinkin&rsquo; Nancy&rsquo;s mother married beneath her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during grandma&rsquo;s
+recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never once looking up,
+while her face and neck were literally spotted, either with heat, excitement or
+anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; attention, causing her
+to ask the lady &ldquo;if she warn&rsquo;t pestered with erysipelas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not aware of it, madam,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma
+replied, &ldquo;It looks mighty like it to me, and I&rsquo;ve seen a good deal
+on&rsquo;t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less. Now I think
+on&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion,
+&ldquo;now I think on&rsquo;t, you look quite a considerable like
+Nancy&mdash;the same forehead and complexion&mdash;only she&rsquo;s a head
+taller. Hain&rsquo;t you noticed it, John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I have not,&rdquo; answered John, at the same time proposing a
+change in the conversation, as he presumed &ldquo;they had all heard enough of
+Nancy Scovandyke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna&rsquo;s pie. John Jr. was
+the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Horror, mother, who made this pie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that something was
+wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was busy at a side-table, she
+wondered &ldquo;if there ever was any one who had so much trouble with servants
+as herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would burst on poor
+Hagar&rsquo;s head, spoke out, &ldquo;Hagar is not in the fault,
+mother&mdash;no one but myself is to blame. <i>I</i> made the pie, and must
+have put in salt instead of sugar.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You made the pie!&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, &ldquo;What
+business had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn&rsquo;t a few more servants, for
+then we should all be obliged to turn drudges.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, &ldquo;if it
+hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did &rsquo;Lena,
+who,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning
+herself until she is ashamed to appear at the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone hastened to
+explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that in her dilemma,
+&rsquo;Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of compliment,
+undoubtedly, that &ldquo;her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to such
+work&mdash;indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face, and in a
+sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;if she thought it detracted
+from a young lady&rsquo;s worth, to be skilled in whatever pertained to the
+domestic affairs of a family.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;Not
+at all&mdash;not at all. I mean that my daughters shall learn everything, so
+that their husbands will find in them every necessary qualification.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or
+other,&rdquo; said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very
+interesting, while Anna retorted, &ldquo;Of course we shall. I wouldn&rsquo;t
+be an old maid for the world&mdash;I&rsquo;d run away first!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company retired from
+the table. For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked with a cane, limping even
+then. Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual gallantry, offered her his
+arm, which she willingly accepted, casting a look of triumph upon her
+daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so well pleased. So thorough had been
+grandma&rsquo;s training, that she did not often venture into the parlor
+without a special invitation from its mistress, but on this occasion, Mr.
+Graham led her in there as a matter of course, and placing her upon the sofa,
+seated himself by her side, and commenced questioning her concerning her former
+home and history. Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative,
+and never before had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon
+every word, when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty, her
+untimely death, and rascally husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rivers&mdash;Rivers,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what kind of a looking man
+was he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord only knows&mdash;I never see him,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols.
+&ldquo;But this much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old
+woman&rsquo;s curses can do him any harm, he&rsquo;s had mine a plenty of
+times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do wrong to talk so,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, &ldquo;for who knows
+how bitterly he may have repented of the great wrong done to your
+daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why in the name of common sense don&rsquo;t he hunt up her child,
+and own her&mdash;he needn&rsquo;t be ashamed of &rsquo;Leny.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very true,&rdquo; answered Mr. Graham. &ldquo;No one need be ashamed of
+her. I should be proud to call her my daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps
+this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first marriage a secret from
+his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now, after the lapse of years,
+he dares not tell her for fear of what might follow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then she&rsquo;s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he&rsquo;s a
+cowardly puppy! That&rsquo;s my opinion on &rsquo;em, and I&rsquo;ll tell
+&rsquo;em so, if ever I see &rsquo;em!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath
+waxing warmer and warmer toward the destroyer of her daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite Maccaboy, and
+then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment, took some, slyly
+casting it aside when she did not see him. This emboldened the old lady to
+offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat
+talking to Carrie, who, on a low stool at her feet, was looking up into her
+face as if in perfect admiration. Without deigning other reply than a haughty
+shake of the head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who
+muttered, &ldquo;How disgusting! But for pa&rsquo;s sake we tolerate it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here &rsquo;Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh and
+blooming as a rose. There was no vacant seat near except one between Durward
+and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter, she accepted. A peculiar
+smile flitted over Carrie&rsquo;s face, which was noticed by Mrs. Graham, and
+attributed to the right cause. Ere long Durward, John Jr., &rsquo;Lena and
+Anna, who had joined them, left the house, and from the window Carrie saw that
+they were amusing themselves by playing &ldquo;Graces.&rdquo; Gradually the
+sound of their voices increased, and as &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s clear, musical
+laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs. Graham and Carrie looked out just in time
+to see Durward holding the struggling girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward
+of his having thrown the &ldquo;grace hoop&rdquo; upon her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, &ldquo;What kind of a girl
+is your cousin?&rdquo; to which Carrie replied, &ldquo;You have a fair sample
+of her,&rdquo; at the same time nodding toward &rsquo;Lena, who was
+unmercifully pulling John Jr.&rsquo;s ears as a reward for his presumption.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather hoydenish, I should think,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, secretly
+hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat down in one
+of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm Everett, who naturally,
+and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna to himself, Durward observed this,
+and when he saw them walk away together, while &rsquo;Lena appeared wholly
+unconcerned, he began to think that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when
+she hinted of an engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John
+Jr.&rsquo;s straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he
+said, &ldquo;Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other&rsquo;s
+society to ours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; answered John. &ldquo;I saw that years ago, when Anna
+wasn&rsquo;t knee-high; and I&rsquo;m glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine
+fellow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt certain
+that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger than that of
+friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton, the idea
+was too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment. Once exonerated from
+these charges, it was strange how fast &rsquo;Lena rose in his estimation, and
+when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did not wish he would leave them
+alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward replied, &ldquo;Yes, yes, do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon I will,&rdquo; said John, shaking down his tight pants, and
+pulling at his long coat sleeves. &ldquo;I never want anybody round when
+I&rsquo;m with Nellie Douglass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and &rsquo;Lena alone. That neither
+of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time which they remained
+together, for when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham proposed to Carrie
+to take a turn in the garden, she found the young couple still in the arbor, so
+wholly engrossed that they neither saw nor heard her until she stood before
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a ride
+early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath, laid her hand
+on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from &rsquo;Lena instead of
+her son, she said, &ldquo;No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can&rsquo;t go&mdash;he
+has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna, whom I
+have asked to accompany me; so you see &rsquo;twill be impossible for him to
+ride with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unless she goes with us,&rdquo; interrupted Durward. &ldquo;You would
+like to visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, very much,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s reply, while Mrs. Graham
+continued, &ldquo;I am sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but
+our carriage will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It has carried six many a time,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;and if she
+will go, I will take you on my lap, or anywhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course &rsquo;Lena declined&mdash;he knew she would&mdash;and determined not
+to be outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, &ldquo;I
+shan&rsquo;t release you from your engagement to ride with me. We will start
+early and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no way
+interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but resolving not to
+leave them to finish their <i>tete-a-tete</i>, she threw herself upon one of
+the seats, and commenced talking to her son, while Carrie, burning with
+jealousy and vexation, started for the house, where she laid her grievances
+before her mother, who, equally enraged, declared her intention of
+&ldquo;hereafter watching the vixen pretty closely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And she&rsquo;s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well,
+I fancy I can prevent that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How?&rdquo; asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, &ldquo;You
+know she always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the
+Grattan woods, two miles away. Of course she&rsquo;ll order Cæsar to bring him
+up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding him say nothing
+to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the morning she asks for
+the pony, he can tell her just how it is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital! capital!&rdquo; exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there
+had been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the back
+parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whew!&rdquo; thought the young man. &ldquo;Plotting, are they? Well,
+I&rsquo;ll see how good I am at counterplotting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his servant, Bill,
+telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put in the lower stable
+instead of the one where she was usually kept; &ldquo;and then in the morning,
+long before the sun is up,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;do you have her at the door
+for one of the young ladies to ride.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, marster,&rdquo; answered Bill, looking around for his old straw
+hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, see how quick you can go,&rdquo; John Jr. continued, adding as an
+incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before old Cæsar,
+who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give him ten cents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and without stopping
+to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon the run, returning in the
+course of an hour and claiming his reward, as Cæsar had not yet got home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said John Jr., tossing him the silver. &ldquo;And now
+remember to keep your tongue between your teeth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of tattling about
+something which to him seemed of no consequence whatever, and he walked off,
+eying his dime, and wishing he could earn one so easily every day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime John Jr. sought out &rsquo;Lena, to whom he said, &ldquo;And so you
+are going to ride to-morrow morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you know ?&rdquo; she asked, and John, looking very wise,
+replied, that &ldquo;little girls should not ask too many questions,&rdquo;
+adding, that as he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered
+Bill to have her at the door early in the morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Much obliged,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;I was about giving it
+up when I heard the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Cæsar is so cross I
+hated to ask him to go for her; but now I&rsquo;ll say nothing to him about
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night when Cæsar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his mistress
+suddenly appeared, asking, &ldquo;if he had received any orders to go for
+Fleetfoot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, &ldquo;No, miss, and
+Lord knows I don&rsquo;t want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods
+to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t, either, and if any one tells you to go don&rsquo;t
+you do it,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Somebody&rsquo;s playin&rsquo; possum, that&rsquo;s sartin,&rdquo;
+thought Bill, who was present, and began putting things together.
+&ldquo;Somebody&rsquo;s playin&rsquo; possum, but they don&rsquo;t catch this
+child leakin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you told him?&rdquo; whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the
+hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that &ldquo;she presumed the
+ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Cæsar about the pony.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she commenced
+talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to Woodlawn, dwelling upon it
+as if it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently exulting that &rsquo;Lena was
+to be left behind.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/>
+WOODLAWN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the eastern horizon,
+Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door saddled and waiting for its
+young rider, while near by it was Firelock, which Durward had borrowed of John
+Jr. At last &rsquo;Lena appeared, and if Durward had admired her beauty before,
+his admiration was now greatly increased when he saw how well she looked in her
+neatly fitting riding dress and tasteful straw hat. After bidding her good
+morning, he advanced to assist her in mounting, but declining his offer, she
+with one bound sprang into the saddle,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jumps like a toad,&rdquo; said Bill. &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t stiff and clumsy
+like Miss Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the clatter of their
+horses&rsquo; hoofs arousing and bringing to the window Mrs. Graham, who had a
+suspicion of what was going on. Pushing aside the silken curtain, she looked
+uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her son cared aught for the
+graceful creature at his side, and thinking if he did, how hard she would labor
+to overcome his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the only one who watched them, for
+fearing lest Bill should not awake, John Jr. had foregone his morning nap,
+himself calling up the negro, and now from his window he, too, looked after
+them until they entered upon the turnpike and were lost to view. Then, with
+some very complimentary reflections upon Lena&rsquo;s riding, he returned to
+his pillow, thinking to himself, &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a girl worth having. By
+Jove, if I&rsquo;d never seen Nellie Douglass, and &rsquo;Lena wasn&rsquo;t my
+cousin, wouldn&rsquo;t I keep mother in the hysterics most of the time!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked &rsquo;Lena
+&ldquo;where she wished to go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anywhere you please,&rdquo; said she, when, for reasons of his own, he
+proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of
+satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family to visit
+Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it seemed like a perfect
+Eldorado. It was a grand old building, standing on a cross road about three
+miles from the turnpike, and commanding quite an extensive view of the country
+around. It was formerly owned by a wealthy Englishman, who spent his winters in
+New Orleans and his summers in the country. The year before he had died
+insolvent, Woodlawn falling into the hands of his creditors, who now offered it
+for sale, together with the gorgeous furniture which still remained just as the
+family had left it. To the left of the building was a large, handsome park, in
+which the former owner had kept a number of deer, and now as Durward and
+&rsquo;Lena rode up and down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures would
+occasionally spring up and bound away with the fleetness of the wind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the former
+combining both the useful and the agreeable. A luxurious grape-vine wreathed
+itself over the arched entrance, while the wide, graveled walks were bordered,
+some with box, and others with choice flowers, now choked and overgrown with
+weeds, but showing marks of great beauty, when properly tended and cared for.
+At the extremity of the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the
+garden, was a summer house, fitted up with everything which could make it
+attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through the
+little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of the park, with many
+well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating finally at the side of a
+tiny sheet of water, which within a few years had forced itself through the
+limestone soil natural to Kentucky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting terms with
+the Livingstones; consequently, &rsquo;Lena had never before been at Woodlawn,
+and her admiration increased with every step, and when at last they entered the
+house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms, it knew no bounds. She
+remembered the time when she had thought her uncle&rsquo;s furniture splendid
+beyond anything in the world, but it could not compare with the magnificence
+around her, and for a few moments she stood as if transfixed with astonishment.
+Durward had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning the
+grounds, and now noticing her silence, he asked &ldquo;what was the
+matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove an
+illusion and fade away,&rdquo; said she.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw
+before?&rdquo; he asked; and she replied, &ldquo;Oh, yes, far more so,&rdquo;
+at the same time giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she
+first saw the inside of her uncle&rsquo;s house, and ending by saying,
+&ldquo;But you can imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge
+pretty well what were my ideas of the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wishing to see if &rsquo;Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode
+of living Durward said, &ldquo;I have never heard anything concerning your
+eastern home and how you lived there&mdash;will you please to tell me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to tell which will interest you,&rdquo; answered
+&rsquo;Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade
+her commence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now at his
+bidding &rsquo;Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof, bare
+walls, and oaken floors&mdash;of herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she
+picked <i>huckleberries</i> with <i>Joel Slocum</i>! And then, in lower and
+more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother&rsquo;s grave in the valley, near
+which her beloved grandfather&mdash;the only father she had ever
+known&mdash;was now sleeping. &rsquo;Lena never spoke of her grandfather
+without weeping. She could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did
+when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of
+the sofa, she sobbed like a child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward&rsquo;s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to consider
+the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently toward him, trying
+to soothe her grief, calling her &rsquo;<i>Lena</i>, and smoothing back the
+curls which had fallen over her face. As soon as possible &rsquo;Lena released
+herself from him, and drying her tears, proposed that they should go over the
+house, as it was nearly time for them to return home. Accordingly, they passed
+on through room after room, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s quick eye taking in and
+appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward was no less lost in
+admiration of her, for speaking of herself so frankly as she had done. Many
+young ladies, he well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their home was
+once in a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar
+things connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her
+which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But little was said by either of them as they went over the house, until
+Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly asked his
+companion &ldquo;how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have blushed and
+simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer, but &rsquo;Lena
+quickly replied, &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; laughingly giving as an insuperable
+objection, &ldquo;the size of the house and the number of windows she would
+have to wash!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home, and again
+mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which they reached just
+after the family had finished breakfast. With the first ring of the bell, John
+Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what might occur, was at the table, and when
+his mother and Carrie, anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and
+&rsquo;Lena, cast wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently
+asked Mrs. Graham &ldquo;if her son had returned from his ride.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not seen him,&rdquo; answered the lady, her scowl deepening
+and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at
+ease.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s gone to ride?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied
+that Durward and &rsquo;Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that
+&ldquo;they must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so
+long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept company
+with Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s scowl. Chopping her steak into mince-meat, and almost
+biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at last found voice
+to ask, &ldquo;what horse &rsquo;Lena rode!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fleetfoot, of course,&rdquo; said John Jr., at the same time telling his
+father he thought &ldquo;he ought to give &rsquo;Lena a pony of her own, for
+she was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting old
+and clumsy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of Cæsar, whom
+she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him with the calaboose, and
+anything else which came to her mind. Old Cæsar was taken by surprise, and
+being rather slow of speech, was trying to think of something to say, when John
+Jr., who had followed his mother, came to his aid, saying that &ldquo;he
+himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,&rdquo; and adding aside to his mother,
+that &ldquo;the next time she and Cad were plotting mischief he&rsquo;d advise
+them to see who was in the back parlor!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Always ready to suspect &rsquo;Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately
+supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a reply, John
+Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide Cæsar, &rsquo;Lena,
+or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the pause followed the
+example of his young master and stole away. The tramp of horses&rsquo; feet was
+now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally resolving that Fleetfoot should be
+sold, repaired to the door in time to see Durward carefully lift &rsquo;Lena
+from her pony and place her upon the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie
+were all standing upon the piazza, and as &rsquo;Lena came up the walk, her
+eyes sparkling and her bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she beautiful?&rdquo; at the same time asking her
+&ldquo;where she had been.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Woodlawn,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Woodlawn!&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Woodlawn!&rdquo; echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the
+rear by exclaiming, &ldquo;To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The pony,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, as she passed into the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. Livingstone said to her,
+in a low tone, &ldquo;I would advise you to keep an eye upon your son, if he is
+at all susceptible, for there is no bound to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+ambition.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her little gray eye was a
+sufficient answer, and satisfied with the result of her caution, Mrs.
+Livingstone reentered the house. Two hours afterward, the carriage stood at the
+door waiting to convey the party to Woodlawn. It had been arranged that Mrs.
+Graham, Carrie, Anna, and Durward should ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham
+went on horseback. Purposely, Carrie loitered behind her companions, who being
+first, of course took the back seat, leaving her the privilege of riding by the
+side of Durward. This was exactly what she wanted, and leaning back on her
+elbow, she complacently awaited his coming. But how was she chagrined, when, in
+his stead, appeared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage and took a seat
+beside her; saying to his wife&rsquo;s look of inquiry, that as John Jr. had
+concluded to go, Durward preferred riding on horseback with him, adding, in his
+usually polite way, &ldquo;And I, you know, would always rather go with the
+ladies. But where is Miss Rivers?&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Why isn&rsquo;t
+she here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Simply because she wasn&rsquo;t invited, I suppose,&rdquo; returned his
+wife, detecting the disappointment in his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not invited!&rdquo; he repeated; &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know as this trip
+was of sufficient consequence to need a special invitation. I thought, of
+course, she was here&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Or you would have gone on horseback,&rdquo; said his wife, ever ready to
+catch at straws.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the truthful:
+answer&mdash;&ldquo;Yes&rdquo;&mdash;while he compromised the matter by saying
+that &ldquo;the presence of three fair ladies ought to satisfy him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and during all the ride she was
+extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to Mr. Graham&rsquo;s lively
+sallies, and winning golden laurels in the opinion of Mrs. Graham, who secretly
+thought her husband altogether too agreeable. As they turned into the long
+avenue which led to Woodlawn, and Carrie thought of the ride which &rsquo;Lena
+had enjoyed alone with its owner&mdash;for such was Durward reported to
+be&mdash;her heart swelled with bitterness toward her cousin, in whom she saw a
+dreaded rival. But when they reached the house, and Durward assisted her to
+alight, keeping at her side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy
+vanished, and with her sweetest smile she looked up into his face, affecting a
+world of childish simplicity, and making, as she believed, a very favorable
+impression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as your cousin,&rdquo;
+said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to be more intent on foreign
+subjects than the scenery around her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, I dare say not,&rdquo; returned Carrie. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena was
+never accustomed to anything until she came to Kentucky, and now I suppose she
+thinks she must go into ecstacies over everything, though I sometimes wish she
+wouldn&rsquo;t betray her ignorance quite so often.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;According to her description, her home in Massachusetts was widely
+different from her present one,&rdquo; said Durward, and Carrie quickly
+replied, &ldquo;I wonder now if she bored you with an account of her former
+home! You must have been edified, and had a delightful ride, I declare.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss Rivers is, I
+think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,&rdquo; returned Durward, beginning
+to see the drift of her remarks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself from Carrie, he did not
+again return to her until it was time to go home. Meantime, at Maple Grove,
+Mrs. Livingstone, in the worst possible humor, was finding fault with poor
+&rsquo;Lena, accusing her of eavesdropping, and asking her if she did not begin
+to believe the old adage, that listeners never heard any good of themselves. In
+perfect astonishment &rsquo;Lena demanded what she meant, saying she had never,
+to her knowledge, been guilty of listening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone declared herself
+&ldquo;satisfied now, for a person who would listen and then deny it, was
+capable of almost anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean, madam ?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, her temper getting
+the ascendency. &ldquo;Explain yourself, for no one shall accuse me of lying
+without an attempt to prove it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;I wonder what you can do! Will
+you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Admirers! What admirers?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena, and her aunt replied,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you credit for feigning the best of any one I ever saw,
+but you can&rsquo;t deceive me. I know very well of your intrigues to entrap
+Mr. Bellmont. But it is not strange that you should inherit something of your
+mother&rsquo;s nature; and you know what she was!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the glittering tears,
+which shone like diamonds, &rsquo;Lena sprang to her feet, exclaiming,
+&ldquo;Yes, I do know what she was. She was a far more worthy woman than you,
+and if in my presence you dare again breathe aught against her name, you shall
+rue it&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That she shall, so help me heaven,&rdquo; murmured a voice near, which
+neither Mrs. Livingstone nor &rsquo;Lena heard, nor were they aware of any
+one&rsquo;s presence until Mr. Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At his wife&rsquo;s request he had exchanged places with his son, and riding on
+before the rest, had reached home first, being just in time to overhear the
+last part of the conversation between Mrs. Livingstone and &rsquo;Lena.
+Instantly changing her manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her niece from the
+room, heaving a deep sigh as the door closed after her, and saying that
+&ldquo;none but those who had tried it knew what a thankless job it was to rear
+the offspring of others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham&rsquo;s eyes, as he answered, &ldquo;In
+your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is willing. I have taken a
+great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would like to adopt her as my daughter. I will
+speak to Mrs. Graham to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Much as she disliked &rsquo;Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for the world have
+her become an inmate of Mr. Graham&rsquo;s family, where she would be
+constantly thrown in Durward&rsquo;s way; and immediately changing her tactics,
+she replied, &ldquo;I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my husband
+would not think of such a thing; neither should I be quite willing for her to
+leave us, much as she troubles me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. That night, after he had retired
+to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, pacing up and down the apartment,
+occasionally pausing to gaze out into the moonlit sky, and then resuming his
+measured tread. At last nerving himself to brave the difficulty, he stopped
+before his wife, to whom he made known his plan of adopting &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems hasty, I know,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but she is just the kind
+of person I would like to have round&mdash;just such a one as I would wish my
+daughter to be if I had one. In short, I like her, and with your consent I will
+adopt her as my own, and take her from this place where I know she&rsquo;s not
+wanted. What say you, Lucy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you adopt the old woman too?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, whose face
+was turned away so as to hide its expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is an after consideration,&rdquo; returned her husband, &ldquo;but
+if you are willing, I will either take her to our home, or provide for her
+elsewhere&mdash;but come, what do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little dumpling hands
+folded one within the other, the long transparent nails making deep indentures
+in the soft flesh, and her gray eyes emitting <i>green</i> gleams of scorn. The
+answer her husband sought came at length, and was characteristic of the woman.
+Hissing out the words from between her teeth, she replied, &ldquo;When I take
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers into my family for my husband and son to make love to,
+alternately, I shall be ready for the lunatic asylum at Lexington.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what objection have you to her?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham; to which
+his wife replied, &ldquo;The very fact, sir, that you wish it, is a sufficient
+reason why I will not have her; besides that, you must misjudge me strangely if
+you think I&rsquo;d be willing for my son to come daily in contact with a girl
+of her doubtful parentage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What know you of her parentage?&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, his lips turning
+slightly pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, what do I know?&rdquo; answered his wife. &ldquo;Her father, if she
+has any, is a rascal, a villain&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, all of that,&rdquo; muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife
+continued, &ldquo;And her mother a poor, low, mean,
+ignorant&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold!&rdquo; thundered Mr. Graham. &ldquo;You shall not speak so of any
+woman of whom you know nothing, much less of &rsquo;Lena Rivers&rsquo;
+mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And pray what do you know of her&mdash;is she an old
+acquaintance?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner as much of
+insolence as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; returned Mr. Graham, &ldquo;that &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+mother could be nothing else than respectable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Undoubtedly; but of this be assured&mdash;the daughter shall never, by
+my permission, darken my doors,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham, growing more and more
+excited, and continuing&mdash;&ldquo;I know you of old, Harry Graham; and I
+know now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was so as to be near her,
+but it shan&rsquo;t be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself who had first
+suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that until within a day or two her
+husband and &rsquo;Lena were entire strangers. But this made no difference. She
+was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an hour she fretted and cried,
+declaring herself the most abused of her sex, and wishing she had never seen
+her husband, who, in his heart, warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving not
+to mention the offending &rsquo;Lena again in the presence of his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed; after which, Mr. and Mrs.
+Graham, together with Durward, returned to Louisville, intending to take
+possession of their new home about the first of October.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/>
+MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.</h2>
+
+<p>
+As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were commenced for repairing
+Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in a style suited to the luxurious taste of
+its rightful owner, which, as report said, was in reality Durward. He had
+conceived a fancy for the place five years before, when visiting in the
+neighborhood, and on learning that it was for sale, he had purchased it, at the
+suggestion of his mother, proposing to his father that for a time, at least, he
+should be its nominal possessor. What reason he had for this he hardly knew
+himself, unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of great
+wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved than was he. Courteous,
+kind-hearted, and generous almost to a fault, he gained friends wherever he
+went, and it was with some reason that Mrs. Graham thought herself blessed
+above mothers, in the possession of such a son. &ldquo;He is so like me,&rdquo;
+she would say, in speaking of his many virtues, when, in fact, there was
+scarcely anything in common between them, for nearly all of Durward&rsquo;s
+sterling qualities were either inherited from his own father, or the result of
+many years&rsquo; companionship with his stepfather. Possessed of the most
+exquisite taste, he exercised it in the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under
+his skillful management, began in a few weeks to assume a more beautiful
+appearance than it had ever before worn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out to see how matters were
+progressing, the latter usually accepting Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s pressing
+invitation to make her house his home. This he was the more willing to do, as
+it threw him into the society of &rsquo;Lena, who was fast becoming an object
+of absorbing interest to him. The more he saw of her, the more was his
+admiration increased, and oftentimes, when joked concerning his preference for
+Carrie, he smiled to think how people were deceived, determining, however, to
+keep his own secret until such time as he should be convinced that &rsquo;Lena
+was all he could desire in a wife. For her poverty and humble birth he cared
+nothing. If she were poor, he was rich, and he possessed too much good sense to
+deem himself better than she, because the blood of a nobleman flowed in his
+veins. He knew that she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could he be
+assured that she was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s insinuation that she was a heartless coquette,
+troubled him, and though he could not believe it without more proof than he had
+yet received, he determined to wait and watch, studying her character, the
+while, to see if there was in her aught of evil. In this state of affairs, it
+was hardly more than natural that his manner toward her should be rather more
+reserved than that which he assumed toward Carrie, for whom he cared nothing,
+and with whom he talked laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was
+out of his sight, and never suspecting how much importance she attached to his
+every word and look, construing into tokens of admiration the most casual
+remark, such as he would utter to any one. This was of advantage to
+&rsquo;Lena, for, secure of their prize, both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie, for
+a time, at least, ceased to persecute her, seldom speaking of her in
+Durward&rsquo;s presence, and, as a general thing, acting as though she were
+not in existence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of watching his mother and
+sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now withdrew his espionage, amusing
+himself, instead, by galloping three times a week over to Frankfort, the home
+of Nellie Douglass, and by keeping an eye upon Captain Atherton, who, as a
+spider would watch a fly, was lying in wait for the unsuspecting Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of Mrs. Graham, who
+came up early in October, bringing with her a larger train of house servants
+than was often seen in Woodford county. About three weeks after her arrival,
+invitations were issued for a party or &ldquo;house warming,&rdquo; as the
+negroes termed it. Nero, Durward&rsquo;s valet, brought the tiny notes to Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s, giving them into the care of Carrie, who took them
+immediately to her mother&rsquo;s room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Durward&rsquo;s handwriting,&rdquo; said she, glancing at the
+superscriptions, and reading as she did so&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. and Mrs.
+Livingstone&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. John Livingstone,
+Jr.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Miss Carrie Livingstone&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Miss Anna
+Livingstone&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;<i>Miss &rsquo;Lena Rivers</i>;&rdquo; and here
+she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked up
+inquiringly&mdash;&ldquo;And as I live, one for
+<i>grandma</i>&mdash;&lsquo;MRS. MARTHA NICHOLS!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for
+the billet. &ldquo;Yes, &rsquo;tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!&mdash;what can it
+mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant. For once in his
+life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of being master in his own house,
+declaring that if Mrs. Nichols were not invited with the family, there should
+be no party at all. Mrs. Graham saw that he was in earnest, and yielded the
+point, knowing that in all probability the old lady would not be permitted to
+attend. Her husband had expected a like opposition with regard to &rsquo;Lena,
+but he was disappointed, for his wife, forgetting her declaration that
+&rsquo;Lena should never darken her doors and thinking it would not do to
+slight her, consented that, on her uncle&rsquo;s account, she should be
+invited. Accordingly, the notes were despatched, producing the effect we have
+seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!&rdquo; said Carrie.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad enough to have &rsquo;Lena stuck in with us, for of
+course <i>she&rsquo;ll</i> go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why of course?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;The invitations are
+at my disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two of them, no one will be
+blamed but Nero, who was careless and dropped them! &rsquo;Lena has nothing
+decent to wear, and I don&rsquo;t feel like expending much more for a person so
+ungrateful as she is. You ought to have heard how impudent she was that time
+you all went to Woodlawn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then followed a one-sided description of that morning&rsquo;s occurrence, Mrs.
+Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch of excitement, that before her
+recital was finished, she had determined at all events to keep back
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s invitation, as a method of punishing her for her
+&ldquo;insolence,&rdquo; as she termed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for
+she cannot endure her; and besides that, I don&rsquo;t think &rsquo;Lena
+expects to be invited, so there&rsquo;s no harm done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for a moment her better
+nature shrank from so mean a transaction, which might, after all, be found out,
+involving them in a still worse difficulty; but as the thought flashed upon her
+that possibly &rsquo;Lena might again attract Durward toward her, she assented,
+and they were about putting the notes aside, when John Jr. came in, catching up
+his grandmother&rsquo;s note the first thing, and exclaiming, &ldquo;Oh,
+<i>rich</i>!&mdash;<i>capital</i>! I hope she&rsquo;ll go!&rdquo; Then, before
+his mother could interpose a word, he darted away in quest of Mrs. Nichols,
+whose surprise was fully equal to that of Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, you don&rsquo;t say I&rsquo;ve got an invite,&rdquo; said she,
+leaving the darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mending, and
+wiping her steel-bowed spectacles. &ldquo;Come, &rsquo;Leny, you read it,
+that&rsquo;s a good girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin&rsquo;s hand, read
+that Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where&rsquo;s the invite? That don&rsquo;t say anything about
+<i>me</i>!&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug
+after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as they could, &rsquo;Lena and John Jr. explained it to her, and then,
+fully convinced that she was really invited, Mrs. Nichols began to wonder what
+she should wear, and how she should go, asking John &ldquo;if he couldn&rsquo;t
+tackle up and carry her in the shay,&rdquo; as she called the single buggy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered John Jr. willing to do anything for the sake
+of the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother&rsquo;s attendance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify her
+grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to the ridicule which her
+appearance at a fashionable party would call forth. Glancing reprovingly at her
+cousin, she said, &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t think of going, grandma, for you are
+lame and old, and there&rsquo;ll be so many people there, all strangers, too,
+that you won&rsquo;t enjoy it at all. Besides that, we&rsquo;ll have a nice
+time at home together&mdash;-I&rsquo;ll read to you all the evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>We</i>,&rdquo; repeated John Jr. &ldquo;Pray, are you not
+going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not without an invitation,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena smilingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True, true,&rdquo; returned her cousin. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s downstairs, I
+dare say. I only stopped to look at this. I&rsquo;ll go and get yours
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother&rsquo;s room, asking
+for &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s card.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s card! What do you mean?&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone, looking up from the book she was reading, while Carrie for a
+moment suspended her needle-work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s invitation; you know well enough what I mean,&rdquo;
+returned John Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the table, and
+failing to find the one for which he was seeking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it&rsquo;s
+not here,&rdquo; was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s quiet answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thunder!&rdquo; roared John Jr., &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena not invited!
+That&rsquo;s a smart caper. But there&rsquo;s some mistake about it, I know.
+Who brought them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nero brought them,&rdquo; said Carrie, &ldquo;and I think it is strange
+that grandmother should be invited and &rsquo;Lena left out. But I suppose Mrs.
+Graham has her reasons. She don&rsquo;t seem to fancy &rsquo;Lena much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Graham go to grass,&rdquo; muttered John Jr., leaving the room and
+slamming the door after him with great violence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas a pity he did not look in one of the drawers of his mother&rsquo;s
+work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing note! But he did not think
+of that. He only knew that &rsquo;Lena was slighted, and for the next two hours
+he raved and fretted, sometimes declaring he would not go, and again wishing
+Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little suited to her round, fat proportions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, if they feel too big to invite &rsquo;Leny, they needn&rsquo;t
+expect to see me there, that&rsquo;s just all there is about it,&rdquo; said
+grandma, settling herself in her rocking-chair, and telling &rsquo;Lena
+&ldquo;she wouldn&rsquo;t care an atom if she&rsquo;s in her place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But &rsquo;Lena did care. No one likes to be slighted, and she was not an
+exception to the general rule. Owing to her aunt&rsquo;s skillful management
+she had never yet attended a large party, and it was but natural that she
+should now wish to go. But it could not be, and she was obliged to content
+herself with the hopes of a minute description from Anna; Carrie she would not
+trust, for she well knew that whatever she told would be greatly exaggerated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham undoubtedly wished to give her friends ample time to prepare, for
+her invitations were issued nearly a week in advance. This suited Carrie, who
+had a longer time to decide upon what would be becoming, and when at last a
+decision was made, she could do nothing but talk about her dress, which really
+was beautiful, consisting of a pink and white silk, with an over-skirt of soft,
+rich lace. This, after it was completed, was tried on at least half a dozen
+times, and the effect carefully studied before the long mirror. Anna, who cared
+much less for dress than her sister, decided upon a black flounced skirt and
+velvet basque. This was Mr. Everett&rsquo;s taste, and whatever suited him
+suited her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do think it&rsquo;s too bad that &rsquo;Lena is not invited,&rdquo;
+said she one day, when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party. &ldquo;She
+would enjoy it so much. I don&rsquo;t understand, either, why she is omitted,
+for Mr. Graham seemed to like her, and Durward too&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A great ways off, you mean,&rdquo; interrupted Carrie. &ldquo;For my
+part, I see nothing strange in the omission. It is no worse to leave her out
+than scores of others who will not be invited.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But to come into the house and ask all but her,&rdquo; said Anna.
+&ldquo;It does not seem right. She is as good as we are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s as people think,&rdquo; returned Carrie, while John Jr.,
+who was just going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at the door,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy yourself better than
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers. If you do, you are the only one that thinks so. Why, you
+can&rsquo;t begin to compare with her, and it&rsquo;s a confounded shame that
+she isn&rsquo;t invited, and so I shall tell them if I have a good
+chance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll look smart fishing for an invitation, won&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo; said Carrie, her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of
+her hearing almost before the words were uttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in with Durward, who
+was bound for the same place. After the usual greetings were exchanged, Durward
+said, &ldquo;I suppose you are all coming on Thursday night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; returned John Jr., &ldquo;I believe the old folks, Cad, and
+Anna intend doing so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where&rsquo;s Miss Rivers? Doesn&rsquo;t she honor us with her
+presence?&rdquo; asked Durward, in some concern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr.&rsquo;s first impulse, as he afterwards said, was &ldquo;to knock him
+off from his horse,&rdquo; but a second thought convinced him there might be
+some mistake; so he replied that &ldquo;it was hardly to be supposed Miss
+Rivers would attend without an invitation&mdash;she wasn&rsquo;t quite so
+verdant as that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Without an invitation!&rdquo; repeated Durward, stopping short in the
+road. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena not invited! It isn&rsquo;t so! I directed one to her
+myself, and gave it to Nero, together with the rest which were designed for
+your family. He must have lost it. I&rsquo;ll ask him the moment I get home,
+and see that it is all made right. She must come, any way, for I wouldn&rsquo;t
+give&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished the sentence
+for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t give a picayune for the whole affair without
+her&mdash;that&rsquo;s what you mean, and why not say so? I speak right out
+about Nellie, and she isn&rsquo;t one half as handsome as &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s beauty that I admire
+altogether,&rdquo; returned Durward. &ldquo;I like her for her frankness, and
+because I think her conduct is actuated by the best of principles; perhaps I am
+mistaken&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you are not,&rdquo; again interrupted John Jr., &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena
+is just what she seems to be. There&rsquo;s no deception in her. She
+isn&rsquo;t one thing to-day and another to-morrow. Spunky as the old Nick, you
+know, but still she governs her temper admirably, and between you and me, I
+know I&rsquo;m a better man than I should have been had she never come to live
+with us. How well I remember the first time I saw her,&rdquo; he continued,
+repeating to Durward the particulars of their interview in Lexington, and
+describing her introduction to his sisters. &ldquo;From the moment she refused
+to tell that lie for me, I liked her,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and when she dealt
+me that blow in my face, my admiration was complete.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he laughed heartily at
+John&rsquo;s description of his spirited cousin, thinking, too, how different
+was his opinion of her from that which his mother evidently entertained. Still,
+if Mrs. Livingstone was prejudiced, John Jr. might also be somewhat biased, so
+he would not yet make up his mind; but on one thing he was resolved&mdash;she
+should be invited, and for fear of contingencies, he would carry the card
+himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely questioned, and negro-like,
+called down all manner of evil upon himself &ldquo;if he done drapped the note
+any whar. &rsquo;Strue as I live and breathe, Mas&rsquo;r Bellmont,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;I done carried Miss &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s invite with the rest, and
+guv &rsquo;em all to the young lady with the big nose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might have believed
+him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that Nero had accidentally
+dropped it. So he wrote another, taking it himself, and asking for &ldquo;Miss
+Rivers.&rdquo; Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him coming up to the
+house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her collar, puffing out her hair
+a little more, pinching her cheek, which was not quite so red as usual, and
+wishing that she was alone. But unfortunately, both Anna and &rsquo;Lena were
+present, and as there was no means of being rid of them, she retained her seat
+at the piano, carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when the
+door opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, Miss &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said the girl, &ldquo;Marster
+Bellmont want to speak with you in the hall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With &rsquo;Lena! How funny!&rdquo; exclaimed Carrie. &ldquo;Are you
+sure it was &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sure&mdash;he done ask for Miss Rivers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask him in, why don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said Carrie, suspecting his
+errand, and thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing
+&ldquo;wonderfully pleased&rdquo; that &rsquo;Lena was not intentionally
+neglected. Before Corinda could reply, &rsquo;Lena had stepped into the hall,
+and was standing face to face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he
+asked if &ldquo;she really believed they, intended to slight her,&rdquo; at the
+same time explaining how it came to his knowledge, and saying &ldquo;he hoped
+she would not fail to attend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely
+think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented, and he
+took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if she were not
+there with the rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You feel better, now, don&rsquo;t you ?&rdquo; said Carrie with a sneer,
+as &rsquo;Lena re-entered the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a great deal,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s truthful answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m real glad!&rdquo; exclaimed Anna. &ldquo;I most knew
+&rsquo;twas a mistake all the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you
+wear? Let me see. Why, you haven&rsquo;t got anything suitable, have
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was true, for &rsquo;Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was
+beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and to him
+Anna forthwith stated the case, saying &rsquo;Lena must have a new dress, and
+suggesting embroidered muslin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How ridiculous!&rdquo; muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her
+earlier.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t Miss Simpson still here?&rdquo; asked her father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna replied that she was, and then turning to &rsquo;Lena, Mr. Livingstone
+asked if &ldquo;she wanted to go very much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when at supper
+that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was said that he had gone
+to Frankfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Frankfort!&rdquo; repeated his wife. &ldquo;What has he gone there
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned home, bringing with him
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress, which Anna pronounced &ldquo;the sweetest thing she
+ever saw,&rdquo; at the same time running with it to her cousin. There was
+company in the parlor, which for a time kept down the gathering storm in Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s face, but the moment they were gone, and she was alone with
+her husband in their room, it burst forth, and in angry tones she demanded
+&ldquo;what he meant by spending her money in that way, and without her
+consent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her work-box, and opening
+the little drawer, held to view the missing note. Then turning to his wife,
+whose face was very pale, he said, &ldquo;This morning I made a discovery which
+exonerates Nero from all blame. I understand it fully, and while I knew you
+were capable of almost anything, I must say I did not think you would be guilty
+of quite so mean an act. Stay,&rdquo; he continued, as he saw her about to
+speak, &ldquo;you are my wife, and as &rsquo;Lena is at last invited, your
+secret is safe, but remember, it must not be repeated. You understand me, do
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and astonishment&mdash;the
+first, that she was detected, and the last, that her husband dare assume such
+language toward her. But he had her in his power&mdash;she knew that&mdash;and
+for a time it rendered her very docile, causing her to consult with Miss
+Simpson concerning the fitting of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress, herself standing
+by when it was done, and suggesting one or two improvements, until &rsquo;Lena,
+perfectly bewildered, wondered what had come over her aunt, that she should be
+so unusually kind. Carrie, too, learning from her mother how matters stood,
+thought proper to change her manner, and while in her heart she hoped something
+would occur to keep &rsquo;Lena at home, she loudly expressed her pleasure that
+she was going, offering to lend her several little ornaments, and doing many
+things which puzzled &rsquo;Lena, who readily saw that she was feigning what
+she did not feel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, grandma, learning that &rsquo;Lena was invited, declared her
+intention of going. &ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t of gin up in the first
+on&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;only I wanted to show &rsquo;em proper
+resentment; but now it&rsquo;s different, and I&rsquo;ll go,
+anyway&mdash;&rsquo;Tilda may say what she&rsquo;s a mind to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was in vain that &rsquo;Lena reasoned the case. Grandma was decided, and it
+was not until both her son and daughter interfered, the one advising and the
+other commanding her to stay at home, that she yielded with a burst of tears,
+for grandma was now in her second childhood, and easily moved. It was terrible
+to &rsquo;Lena to see her grandmother weep, and twining her arms around her
+neck, she tried to soothe her, saying, &ldquo;she would willingly stay at home
+with her if she wished it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this. &ldquo;No,
+&rsquo;Leny,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I want you to go and enjoy yourself while
+you are young, for you&rsquo;ll sometime be old and in the way;&rdquo; and the
+old creature covered her face with her shriveled hands and wept.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, and drying her
+tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride and satisfaction which she felt
+when she saw how well the white muslin became &rsquo;Lena, who, John Jr., said,
+never looked so beautifully as she did when arrayed for the party. Mr.
+Livingstone had not been sparing of his money when he purchased the party
+dress, which was a richly embroidered muslin, and fell in soft folds around
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s graceful figure. Her long flowing curls were intertwined
+with a few natural flowers, her only attempt at ornament of any kind, and,
+indeed, ornaments would have been sadly out of place on &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple Grove reached Woodlawn,
+where they found a large company assembled, some in the drawing-rooms below,
+and others still lingering at the toilet in the dressing chamber. Among these
+last were Nellie Douglass and Mabel Ross, the latter of whom Mrs. Livingstone
+was perfectly delighted to see, overwhelming her with caresses, and urging her
+to stop for awhile at Maple Grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall be so glad to have you with us, and the country air will do you
+so much good, that you must not refuse,&rdquo; said she, pinching Mabel&rsquo;s
+sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy hair, which, in contrast with
+the bandeau of pearls that she wore, looked dark as midnight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and there was
+something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s <i>motherly</i> demeanor, that
+the heart of the young orphan warmed toward her, and tears glittered in her
+large, mournful eyes, the only beauty, save her hair, of which she could boast.
+Very few had ever cared for poor Mabel, who, though warm-hearted and
+affectionate, required to be known in order to be appreciated, and as she was
+naturally shy and retiring, there were not many who felt at all acquainted with
+her. Left alone in the world at a very early age, she had never known what it
+was to possess a real, disinterested friend, unless we except Nellie Douglass,
+who, while there was nothing congenial between them, had always tried to treat
+Mabel as she herself would wish to be treated, were she in like circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which they knew would
+accrue, for she was generous to a fault, bestowing with a lavish hand upon
+those whom she loved, and who had too often proved false, denouncing her as
+utterly spiritless and insipid. So often had she been deceived, that now, at
+the age of eighteen, she had learned to distrust her fellow creatures, and
+oftentimes in secret would she weep bitterly over her lonely condition,
+lamenting the plain face and unattractive manners, which she fancied rendered
+her an object of dislike. Still there was about her a depth of feeling of which
+none had ever dreamed, and it only required a skillful hand to mold her into an
+altogether different being. She was, perhaps, too easily influenced, for in
+spite of her distrust, a pleasant word or kind look would win her to almost
+anything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the better
+accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel should believe
+her to be the best friend she had in the world. Accordingly, she now flattered
+and petted her, calling her &ldquo;darling,&rdquo; and &ldquo;dearest,&rdquo;
+and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, &ldquo;provided
+Nellie Douglas were willing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing
+disposition poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it
+rather a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs.
+Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, &ldquo;Go down with
+me,&rdquo; at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her daughters,
+Nellie, and &rsquo;Lena. In the hall they met with John Jr. He had heard
+Nellie&rsquo;s voice, and stationing himself at the head of the stairs, was
+waiting her appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Ross,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time
+indicating her willingness to give her into his care.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he passed on
+toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie&rsquo;s train and drawing
+from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness. Mrs. Livingstone glanced
+backward just in time to see the look of affection with which her son regarded
+Nellie, as she placed her soft hand confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward
+smilingly into his face. She dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with
+a mental invective against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and
+smoothing down the heavy folds of her <i>moire antique</i>, entered the
+drawing-room, which was brilliantly lighted, and filled with the beauty and
+fashion of Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the door they met Durward, who, as he took &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s hand, said,
+&ldquo;It is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after
+you.&rdquo; This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides
+having her son and Nellie under her special cognizance, had also an eye upon
+her niece and Anna. Her espionage of the latter, however, was not needed
+immediately, owing to her being straightway appropriated by Captain Atherton,
+who, in dainty white kids, and vest to match (the color not the material),
+strutted back and forth with Anna tucked under his arm, until the poor girl was
+ready to cry with vexation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham and Durward started for
+&rsquo;Lena, the latter reaching her first, and paying her so many little
+attentions, that the curiosity of others was aroused, and frequently was the
+question asked, &ldquo;Who is she, the beautiful young lady in white muslin and
+curls?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in passing near her
+niece, she managed to whisper, &ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake don&rsquo;t show
+your ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. Bellmont&rsquo;s good nature any
+longer. It&rsquo;s very improper to claim any one&rsquo;s attention so long,
+and you are calling forth remarks.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to Durward,
+&ldquo;How <i>can</i> you resist such beseeching glances as those ladies send
+toward you?&rdquo; nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie was one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room in quest of
+some other shelter when Durward should relinquish her, as she felt he would
+surely do, but none presented itself. Her uncle was playing the agreeable to
+Miss Atherton, Mr. Graham to some other lady, while John Jr. kept closely at
+Nellie&rsquo;s side, forgetful of all else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What shall I do?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, unconsciously and half aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stay with me,&rdquo; answered Durward, drawing her hand further within
+his arm, and bending upon her a look of admiration which she could not mistake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who was highly incensed at
+her son&rsquo;s proceedings, and at last actually asked him &ldquo;if he did
+not intend noticing anyone except Miss Rivers,&rdquo; adding, as an apology for
+her rudeness (for Mrs. Graham prided herself upon being very polite in her own
+house), &ldquo;she has charms enough to win a dozen gallants, but there are
+others here who need attention from you. There&rsquo;s Miss Livingstone,
+you&rsquo;ve hardly spoken with her to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus importuned, Durward released &rsquo;Lena and walked away, attaching
+himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possible, than did the old
+captain to Anna. About this time Mr. Everett came. He had been necessarily
+detained, and now, after paying his respects to the host and hostess, he
+started in quest of Anna, who was still held &ldquo;in durance vile&rdquo; by
+the captain. But the moment she saw Malcolm, she uttered a low exclamation of
+joy, and without a single apology, broke abruptly away from her ancient
+cavalier, whose little watery eyes looked daggers after her for an instant;
+then consoling himself with the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her,
+do what she would, he walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her for a time
+of her charge, who was becoming rather tiresome. Frequently, by nods, winks,
+and frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone tried to bring her son to a sense of his
+improper conduct in devoting himself exclusively to one individual, and
+neglecting all others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her efforts were all in vain. John Jr. was incorrigible, slyly whispering
+to Nellie, that &ldquo;he had no idea of beauing a medicine chest.&rdquo; This
+he said, referring to Mabel&rsquo;s ill health, for among his other oddities,
+John Jr. had a particular aversion to sickly ladies. Of course Nellie reproved
+him for his unkind remarks, at the same time warmly defending Mabel,
+&ldquo;who,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;had been delicate from infancy, and
+suffered far more than was generally suspected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her stay at home, then,&rdquo; was John Jr.&rsquo;s answer, as he
+led Nellie toward the supper-room, which the company were just then entering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs. Livingstone being
+the first to propose going. As she was ascending the stairs, John Jr. observed
+that Mabel was with her, and turning to &rsquo;Lena, who now leaned on his arm,
+he said, &ldquo;There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.&mdash;so mother
+thinks!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena, looking around.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, there,&rdquo; continued John, pointing toward Mabel.
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches
+over her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw them together,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;and I thought
+it very kind in my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and I felt sorry
+for her. She is going home with us, I believe.&rdquo;,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Going home with <i>us</i>!&rdquo; repeated John Jr. &ldquo;In the name
+of the people, what is she going home with us for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;your mother thinks the country
+air will do her good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Un</i>-doubtedly,&rdquo; said John, with a sneer.
+&ldquo;Mother&rsquo;s motives are usually very disinterested. I wonder she
+don&rsquo;t propose to the old captain to take up <i>his</i> quarters with us,
+so she can nurse him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr. should be very
+polite toward Mabel, and when his mother asked him to help her into the
+carriage, he complied so ungraciously, that Mabel observed it, and looked
+wonderingly at her <i>patroness</i> for an explanation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only one of his freaks, love&mdash;he&rsquo;ll get over it,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Livingstone, while poor Mabel, sinking back amoung the cushions, wept
+silently, thinking that everybody hated her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When &rsquo;Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good-night, the former
+retained her hand, while he expressed his sorrow at her leaving so soon.
+&ldquo;I meant to have seen more of you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but you must
+visit us often&mdash;will you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s observation, and
+the lecture which she that night read her offending spouse, had the effect to
+keep him awake until the morning was growing gray in the east. Then, when he
+was asleep, he so far forgot himself and the wide-open ears beside him as
+actually to breathe the name of &rsquo;Lena in his dreams!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspicions, and at the
+breakfast-table next morning, she gave her son a lengthened account of her
+husband&rsquo;s great sin in dreaming of a young girl, and that girl
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers. Durward laughed heartily and then, either to tease his
+mother, or to make his father&rsquo;s guilt less heinous in her eyes, he
+replied, &ldquo;It is a little singular that our minds should run in the same
+channel, for, I, too, dreamed of &rsquo;Lena Rivers!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Mrs. Graham. A double task was now imposed upon her&mdash;that of watching
+both husband and son; but she was accustomed to it, for her life, since her
+second marriage, had been one continued series of watching for evil where there
+was none. And now, with a growing hatred toward &rsquo;Lena, she determined to
+increase her vigilance, feeling sure she should discover something if she only
+continued faithful to the end.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/>
+MABEL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s family were assembled
+in the parlor, discussing the various events of the previous night. John Jr.,
+&rsquo;Lena, and Anna declared themselves to have been highly pleased with
+everything, while Carrie in the worst of humors, pronounced it &ldquo;a perfect
+bore,&rdquo; saying she never had so disagreeable a time in all her life, and
+ending her ill-natured remarks by a malicious thrust at &rsquo;Lena, for having
+so long kept Mr. Bellmont at her side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, but I think he
+showed his good taste by preferring &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said John Jr.; then
+turning toward the large easy-chair, where Mabel sat, pale, weary, and
+spiritless, he asked &ldquo;how she had enjoyed herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the exception of his accustomed &ldquo;good-morning,&rdquo; this was the
+first time he had that day addressed her, and it was so unexpected, that it
+brought a bright glow to her cheek, making John Jr. think she was &ldquo;not so
+horribly ugly after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, &ldquo;that on account
+of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed anything of the kind.&rdquo; Then
+pressing her hand upon her forehead, she continued, &ldquo;My head is aching
+dreadfully, as a punishment for last night&rsquo;s dissipation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching head, and now, with an
+impatient gesture, he was turning away, when his mother said, &ldquo;Poor girl,
+she really looks miserable. I think a ride would do her good. Suppose you take
+her with you&mdash;I heard you say you were going to Versailles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horsemanship, she being a
+better rider, if possible; than &rsquo;Lena, and now, at Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s proposition, she looked up eagerly at John Jr., who
+replied,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, hang it all! mother, I can&rsquo;t always be bothered with a
+girl;&rdquo; then as he saw how Mabel&rsquo;s countenance fell, he continued,
+&ldquo;Let &rsquo;Lena ride with her&mdash;she wants to, I know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, whose heart warmed toward the orphan
+girl, partly because she was an orphan, and partly because she saw that she was
+neglected and unloved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected his mother&rsquo;s
+object in detaining her as a guest. So when &rsquo;Lena was proposed as a
+substitute she seemed equally well pleased, and the young man, as he walked off
+to order the ponies, mentally termed himself a bear for his rudeness;
+&ldquo;for after all,&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s mother who has
+designs upon me, not Mabel. She isn&rsquo;t to blame.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This opinion once satisfactorily settled, it was strange how soon John Jr.
+began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her much more agreeable than he had at
+first supposed, and even acknowledging to &rsquo;Lena that &ldquo;she was a
+good deal of a girl, after all, were it not for her everlasting headaches and
+the smell of medicine,&rdquo; which he declared she always carried about with
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush-sh,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena&mdash;&ldquo;you shan&rsquo;t talk so,
+for she is sick a great deal, and she does not feign it, either.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps not,&rdquo; returned John Jr., &ldquo;but she can at least keep
+her <i>miserable feelings</i> to herself. Nobody wants to know how many times
+she&rsquo;s been blistered and bled!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were somethings in Mabel which he liked,
+for no one could live long with her and not admire her gentleness and uncommon
+sweetness of disposition, which manifested itself in numerous little acts of
+kindness to those around her. Never before in her life had she been so
+constantly associated with a young gentleman, and as she was quite susceptible,
+it is hardly more than natural that erelong thoughts of John Jr. mingled in
+both her sleeping and waking dreams. She could not understand him, but the more
+his changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in him, and her
+eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word from him, or fill with tears at
+the abruptness of his speeches; while he seemed to take special delight in
+seeing how easily he could move her from one extreme to the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each change, and warily
+calculating its result. Not once since Mabel became an inmate of her family had
+she mentioned her to her son, for she deemed it best to wait, and let matters
+take their course. But at last, anxious to know his real opinion, she
+determined to sound him. Accordingly, one day when they were alone, she spoke
+of Mabel, asking him if he did not think she improved upon acquaintance, at the
+same time enumerating her many excellent qualities, and saying that whoever
+married her would get a prize, to say nothing of a fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. replied, &ldquo;I dare
+say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome to them for all
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought you liked Mabel,&rdquo; said his mother; and John answered,
+&ldquo;So I do like her, but for pity&rsquo;s sake, is a man obliged to marry
+every girl he likes? Mabel does very well to tease and amuse one, but when you
+come to the marrying part, why, that&rsquo;s another thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what objection have you to her,&rdquo; continued his mother, growing
+very fidgety and red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Several,&rdquo; returned John, &ldquo;She has altogether too many aches
+and pains to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever; and last, but not least,
+I like somebody else. So, mother mine, you may as well give up all hopes of
+that hundred thousand down in Alabama, for I shall never marry Mabel Ross,
+never.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very angry, and, in an
+elevated tone of voice, she said, &ldquo;I s&rsquo;pose it&rsquo;s Nellie
+Douglass you mean, but if you knew all of her that I do, I
+reckon&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something dreadful, if she
+would! But John Jr. took no notice of her hints, and when he got a chance, he
+replied, &ldquo;You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie will have me,
+I surely will have her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marry her, then,&rdquo; retorted his mother&mdash;&ldquo;marry her with
+all her poverty, but for heaven&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t give so much
+encouragement to a poor defenseless girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he&rsquo;d neither speak to nor look at
+her again, if common civilities were construed into encouragement, John Jr.
+strode out of the room, determining, as the surest method of ending the
+trouble, to go forthwith to Nellie, and in a plain, straight-forward way make
+her an offer of himself. With him, to will was to do, and in about an hour he
+was descending the long hill which leads into Frankfort. Unfortunately, Nellie
+had gone for a few weeks to Madison, and again mounting Firelock, the young man
+galloped back, reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper.
+Not feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, the sight of his
+mother and Mabel, whom he believed were leagued against him, he repaired to the
+parlor, whistling loudly, and making much more noise than was at all necessary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won&rsquo;t you be a little more quiet,
+for my head aches so hard to-night,&rdquo; said a languid voice, from the
+depths of the huge easy-chair which stood before the glowing grate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle of shawls, John
+Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up and her lips white as ashes, while
+the purple rings about her heavy eyes, told of the pain she was enduring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thunder!&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s exclamation, as he strode from the
+room, slamming together the door with unusual force.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of hot tea and a slice of
+toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find her sobbing like a child. It did not
+take long for her to learn the cause, and then, as well as she could, she
+soothed her, telling her not to mind John&rsquo;s freaks&mdash;it was his way,
+and he always had a particular aversion to sick people, never liking to hear
+them talk of their ailments. This hint was sufficient for Mabel, who ever after
+strove hard to appear well and cheerful in his presence. But in no way, if he
+could help it, would he notice her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next to Mrs. Livingstone, &rsquo;Lena was Mabel&rsquo;s best friend, and when
+she saw how much her cousin&rsquo;s rudeness and indifference pained her, she
+determined to talk with him about it, So the first time they were alone, she
+broached the subject, speaking very kindly of Mabel, and asking if he had any
+well-grounded reason for his uncivil treatment of her. There was no person in
+the world who possessed so much influence over John Jr. as did &rsquo;Lena, and
+now, hearing her patiently through, he replied, &ldquo;I know I&rsquo;m
+impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I can help it. She is so flat and silly, and
+takes every little attention from me as a declaration of love. Still, I
+don&rsquo;t blame her as much as I do mother, who is putting her up to it, and
+if she&rsquo;d only go home and mind her own business, I should like her well
+enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand you,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and her cousin
+continued; &ldquo;Why, when Mabel first came here, I do not think she knew what
+mother was fishing for, so she was not so much at fault, but she does
+now&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you sure?&rdquo; interrupted &rsquo;Lena, and John Jr. replied,
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a confounded fool if she don&rsquo;t. And what provokes me,
+is to think she&rsquo;ll still keep staying here, when modesty, if nothing
+else, should prompt her to leave. You wouldn&rsquo;t catch Nellie doing so.
+Why, she&rsquo;ll hardly come her at all, for fear folks will say she comes to
+see me, and that&rsquo;s why I like her so well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel,&rdquo; said Lena,
+&ldquo;for I&rsquo;ve no idea she&rsquo;s in love with you a bit more than I
+am. I dare say she likes you well enough, for there&rsquo;s nothing in you to
+dislike.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a
+kiss, a liberty he often took with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Behave, can&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, at the same time
+continuing&mdash;&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t suppose Mabel is dying for you at
+all. All of us girls like to receive attention from you gentlemen, and
+she&rsquo;s not an exception. Besides that, you ought to be polite to her,
+because she&rsquo;s your mother&rsquo;s guest, if for nothing else. I
+don&rsquo;t ask you to love her,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I do ask you to
+treat her well. Kind words cost nothing, and they go far toward making others
+happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So they do,&rdquo; answered John, upon whom &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s words
+were having a good effect. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve nothing under heaven against Mabel
+Ross, except that mother wants me to marry her; but if you&rsquo;ll warrant me
+that the young lady herself has no such intentions, why, I&rsquo;ll do my very
+best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll warrant you,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, who really had no
+idea that Mabel cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satisfied with
+the result of her interview she started to leave the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, &ldquo;You are sure she
+don&rsquo;t care for me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perfectly sure,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The plague, she don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; thought John, as the door closed
+upon &rsquo;Lena; and such is human nature, that the young man began to think
+that if Mabel didn&rsquo;t care for him, he&rsquo;d see if he couldn&rsquo;t
+make her, for after all, there was something pleasant in being liked, even by
+Mabel!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in the parlor, John Jr.
+joined them, and after wringing Carrie&rsquo;s nose, pulling
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s and Anna&rsquo;s curls, he suddenly upset Mabel&rsquo;s
+work-box, at the same time slyly whispering to his cousin, &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I
+coming round?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Abrupt as this proceeding, was, it pleased Mabel, who with the utmost good
+humor, commenced picking up her things, John Jr. assisting her, and managing
+once to bump his head against hers! After this, affairs at Maple Grove glided
+on as smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could wish. John and Mabel were
+apparently on the most amicable terms, he deeming &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+approbation a sufficient reward for the many little attentions which he paid to
+Mabel, and she, knowing nothing of all that had passed, drinking in his every
+word and look, learning to live upon his smile, and conforming herself, as far
+as possible, to what she thought would best please him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone unfolded to Mabel her
+own wishes, saying she should be perfectly happy could she only call her
+&ldquo;daughter,&rdquo; and hinting that such a thing &ldquo;by wise management
+could easily be brought about.&rdquo; With a gush of tears the orphan girl laid
+her head in Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s lap, mentally blessing her as her
+benefactress, and thanking the Giver of all good for the light and happiness
+which she saw dawning upon her pathway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John is peculiar,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;and if he fancied
+you liked him very much, it might not please him as well as indifference on
+your part.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, with this lesson, Mabel, for the first time in her life attempted to act as
+she did not feel, feigning carelessness or indifference when every pulse of her
+heart was throbbing with joy at some little attention paid her by John Jr., who
+could be very agreeable when he chose, and who, observing her apparent
+indifference, began to think that what &rsquo;Lena had said was true, and that
+Mabel really cared nothing for him. With this impression he exerted himself to
+be agreeable, wondering how her many good qualities had so long escaped his
+observation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is more to her than I supposed,&rdquo; said he one day to
+&rsquo;Lena, who was commending him for his improved manner. &ldquo;Yes, a heap
+more than I supposed. Why, I really like her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid aside, he, as is often the
+case, began to find virtues in her the existence of which he had never
+suspected. Frequently, now, he talked, laughed, and rode with her, praising her
+horsemanship, pointing out some points wherein it might be improved, and never
+dreaming the while of the deep affection his conduct had awakened in the
+susceptible girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I am so happy,&rdquo; said she one day to &rsquo;Lena, who was
+speaking of her improved health. &ldquo;I never thought it possible for
+<i>me</i> to be so happy. I dreaded to come here at first, but now I shall
+never regret it, never.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, adjusting the feathers
+to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her neatly fitting riding-dress, became
+her better than anything else. The excitement of her words sent a deep glow to
+her cheek, while her large black eyes sparkled with unusual brilliancy. She was
+going out with John Jr., who, just as she finished speaking, appeared in the
+doorway, and catching a glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, jocose
+way, &ldquo;Upon my word, Meb, if you keep on, you&rsquo;ll get to be quite
+decent looking in time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid her, and
+questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast forming belief that
+her affection for him was returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t expect him to do anything like other people, he&rsquo;s so
+odd,&rdquo; thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which charmed her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length Nellie, who had returned from Madison, and felt rather lonely, wrote
+to Mabel, asking her to come home. This plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed, but
+Mabel was decided, and the week before Christmas was fixed upon for her
+departure. John Jr., anxious to see Nellie, proposed accompanying her, but when
+the day came he was suffering from a severe cold, which rendered his stay in
+the house absolutely necessary. So his mother, who had reasons of her own for
+doing so, went in his stead. Carrie, who never had any fancy for Mabel, and
+only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite, merely offering her
+hand, and then resumed the novel she was reading, even before Mabel had left.
+Anna and &rsquo;Lena bade her a more affectionate adieu, and then advancing
+toward John Jr., who, in his dressing-gown and slippers, reclined upon the
+sofa, she offered him her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young man accompanied her
+to the door, playfully claiming the privilege of taking leave just as his
+sister and cousin had done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only me, you know,&rdquo; said he, imprinting upon her
+forehead a kiss which sent the rich blood to her neck and face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with Nellie, while Mabel,
+simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the world, saw in it a world of meaning,
+and for a long time after the carriage roiled away from Maple Grove the bright
+glow on her cheek told of happy thoughts within.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?&rdquo; asked
+Mrs. Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam,&rdquo; answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone continued,
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange. He confessed to me that
+he&mdash;ah&mdash;he&mdash;loved you, and I supposed he intended telling you
+so; but bashfulness prevented, I dare say!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this down-right falsehood cost Mrs.
+Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied the case required it, and after a
+few twinges, her conscience felt easy, particularly when she saw how much
+satisfaction her words gave to her companion, to whom the improbability of the
+affair never occurred. Could she have known how lightly John Jr. treated the
+matter, laughingly describing his leave-taking to his sisters and &rsquo;Lena,
+and saying, &ldquo;Meb wasn&rsquo;t the worst girl in the world, after
+all,&rdquo; she might not have been so easily duped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion perfect.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/>
+NELLIE AND MABEL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with articles of
+elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from being wealthy, still loved
+to surround his only daughter with everything which could increase her comfort.
+So the best, the fairest, and the most Costly was always for her, his
+&ldquo;darling Nellie,&rdquo; as he called her, when with bounding footsteps
+she flew to greet him on his return at night, ministering to his wants in a
+thousand ways, and shedding over his home such a halo of sunshine that ofttimes
+he forgot that he was a lonely widower, while in the features of his precious
+child he saw again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed from his
+side forever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But not on him were Nellie&rsquo;s thoughts resting, as she sat there alone
+that afternoon. She was thinking of the past&mdash;of John Livingstone, and the
+many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of words to tell her
+she was beloved. And freely did her heart respond. That John Jr. was not
+perfect, she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so easily influenced by
+those he loved, that she knew it would be an easy task to soften down some of
+the rougher shades of his character. Three times during her absence had he
+called, expressing so much disappointment, that with woman&rsquo;s ready
+instinct she more than half divined his intentions, and regretted that she was
+gone. But Mabel was coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for so had
+&rsquo;Lena written, and Nellie&rsquo;s cheeks glowed and her heart beat high,
+as she thought of what might occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she
+was not his equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father
+was poor&mdash;but one of John Jr.&rsquo;s nature would never take that into
+consideration. They had known each other from childhood, and he had always
+evinced for her the same preference which he now manifested. Several weeks had
+elapsed since she had seen him, and now, rather impatiently, she awaited his
+arrival,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, ma&rsquo;am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the
+parlor,&rdquo; said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her reverie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Livingstone!&rdquo; she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a
+mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, &ldquo;Mrs.
+Livingstone!&mdash;and so <i>he</i> has not come. I wonder what&rsquo;s the
+matter!&rdquo; and with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor,
+where, with rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs.
+Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of furniture,
+and her proud spirit whispering to herself, &ldquo;Poverty, poverty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming her back,
+congratulated her upon her improved health and looks, saying, &ldquo;the
+<i>air</i> of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;&rdquo; then turning toward
+Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning than the one she
+intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at the same time
+for the fire being so low.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father is absent most of the day,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;and as I am
+much in my chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as well,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs.
+&ldquo;One fire is <i>cheaper</i> than two, and in these times I suppose it is
+necessary for some people to economize.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her visitor. After
+a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking straight in Nellie&rsquo;s
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold
+prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left the room.
+When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible improvement in her health.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily
+in her chair, &ldquo;Yes, Mabel isn&rsquo;t the same creature she was when she
+came to us, but then it&rsquo;s no wonder, for love, you know, will work
+miracles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming next.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you&rsquo;ve no curiosity whatever. Why
+don&rsquo;t you ask with whom Mabel is in love?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo; laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the
+tassel of her blue silk apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;It may seem out of place for
+me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of excellent
+sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her
+tormentor continued: &ldquo;Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you, both
+myself and husband are well pleased that it should be so. From the moment I
+first saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for which I could not
+account, and if I were now to select my future daughter-in-law, I should prefer
+her to all others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and again Mrs.
+Livingstone spoke: &ldquo;It may be a weakness, but I have always felt anxious
+that John should make a match every way worthy of him, both as to wealth and
+station. Indeed, I would hardly be willing for him to marry one whose fortune
+is less than Mabel&rsquo;s. But I need have no fears, for John has his own
+views on that subject, and though he may sometimes be attentive to girls far
+beneath him, he is pretty sure in the end to do as I think best!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to
+madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she heard.
+Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if John Jr. really
+loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there not been a thousand
+opportunities for him to tell her so? At this moment Mabel reentered the
+parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to the dinner, left the room, going
+she scarce knew whither, until she found herself in a little arbor at the foot
+of the garden, where many and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where
+he would never sit again&mdash;so she thought, so she believed&mdash;and
+throwing herself upon one of the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to
+meet the worst&mdash;to conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising
+within her toward Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only
+one she had ever loved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer
+reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering Mabel
+to know how deeply she had wronged her. &ldquo;She is an orphan&mdash;a lonely
+orphan,&rdquo; thought she, &ldquo;and God forbid that through me one drop of
+bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders
+concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering when
+Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the little
+blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being over, Mrs.
+Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her leave, bidding a most
+affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as if she had indeed been her
+mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-bye, darling Meb,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I shall come for you to
+visit us erelong.&rdquo; Turning to Nellie, she said, &ldquo;Do take care of
+her health, which you know is now precious to more than one;&rdquo; then in a
+whisper she added, &ldquo;Remember that what I have told you is sacred.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the parlor,
+together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits contrasted painfully
+with the silence and sadness which lay around her heart. That night, Mr.
+Douglass had some business in the city, and the two girls were left alone. The
+lamps were unlighted, for the full golden moonlight, which streamed through the
+window-panes, suited better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the
+sofa, looked listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little
+stool at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie&rsquo;s lap, and her
+hand searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and
+farther away, as hers advanced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length she spoke: &ldquo;Nellie, dear Nellie&mdash;there is something I want
+so much to tell you&mdash;if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the sofa-cushion,
+came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon Mabel&rsquo;s brow, while
+Nellie&rsquo;s voice answered, softly and slow, &ldquo;What is it, Mabel? I
+will hear you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at the time
+when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother, chiding her for her
+tears, and threatening her with punishment if she did not desist. &ldquo;Since
+then,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I have been so lonely&mdash;how lonely, none but
+a friendless orphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a time they
+seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten times more wretched than
+before. I never once dreamed that&mdash;that Mr. Livingstone could care aught
+for one so ugly as I know I am. I thought him better suited for you, Nellie.
+(How cold your hand is, but don&rsquo;t take it away, for it cools my
+forehead.&rdquo;)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued: &ldquo;Yes, I think him
+better suited to you, and when his mother told me that he loved me, and that he
+would, undoubtedly, one day make me his wife, it was almost too much for me to
+believe, but it makes me so happy&mdash;oh, so happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And he&mdash;he, too, told you that he loved you?&rdquo; said Nellie,
+very low, holding her breath for the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;<i>he</i> never told me in <i>words</i>. &rsquo;Twas his
+mother that told me&mdash;he only <i>acted</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what did he do?&rdquo; asked Nellie, smiling in spite of herself, at
+the simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention of exaggerating, proceeded
+to tell what John Jr. had said and done, magnifying every attention, until
+Nellie, blinded as she was by what his mother had said, was convinced that, at
+all events, he was not true to herself. To be sure, he had never told her he
+loved her in words; but in actions he had said it many a time, and if he could
+do the same with Mabel, he must be false either to one or the other. Always
+frank and open-hearted herself, Nellie despised anything like deception in
+others, and the high opinion she had once entertained for John Jr., was now
+greatly changed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, and the hour of
+midnight found her restless and wakeful. At length, rising up and leaning upon
+her elbow, she looked down upon the face of Mabel, who lay sleeping sweetly at
+her side. Many and bitter were her thoughts, and as she looked upon her rival,
+marking her plain features and sallow skin, an expression of scorn flitted for
+an instant across her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And <i>she</i> is preferred to me!&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Well, let it
+be so, and God grant I may not hate her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms wound round
+Mabel&rsquo;s neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her unkind thoughts, she fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/>
+MRS. LIVINGSTONE&rsquo;S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+After leaving Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s, Mrs. Livingstone ordered her coachman to
+drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, where she was frequently in the
+habit of stopping, partly as a matter of convenience when visiting in town, and
+partly to learn the latest news of the day, for Mrs. Atkins was an intolerable
+gossip. Without belonging exactly to the higher circles, she still managed to
+keep up a show of intimacy with them, possessing herself with their secrets,
+and kindly intrusting them to the keeping of this and that &ldquo;dear
+friend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the amount of Mr.
+Douglass&rsquo; property, and how he was obliged to economize in various ways,
+in order to keep up the appearance of style. From her, too, had she learned how
+often her son was in the habit of calling there, and what rumor said concerning
+those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had learned, in return, that the ambitious lady
+had other views for John, and that anything which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to
+further the plans of her friend, would be gratefully received. On this occasion
+she was at home, and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is such an age since I&rsquo;ve seen you, that I began to fear you
+were offended at something,&rdquo; said she, as she led the way into a cozy
+little sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was blazing on the nicely
+painted hearth. &ldquo;Do sit down and make yourself as comfortable as you can,
+on such poor accommodations. I have just finished dinner but will order some
+for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;I dined at Mr.
+Douglass&rsquo;s&mdash;thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, indeed,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal relieved,
+for to tell the truth, her larder, as was often the case, was rather empty.
+&ldquo;Dined at Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s! Of course, then, nothing which I could
+offer you could be acceptable, after one of his sumptuous meals. I suppose
+Nellie brought out all her mother&rsquo;s old silver, and made quite a display.
+It&rsquo;s a wonder to me how they hold their heads so high, and folks notice
+them as they do, for between you and me, I shouldn&rsquo;t be surprised to hear
+of his failing any minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it possible?&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Atkins. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to
+prevent it, they say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of Nellie, who
+seems to be doing her best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has she any particular one in view?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, and
+Mrs. Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s aversion to the match, replied,
+&ldquo;Why, you know she tried to get your son&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But didn&rsquo;t succeed,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, didn&rsquo;t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems she&rsquo;s
+spreading sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose one word, she
+drew her chair nearer to her friend, who proceeded; &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a rich
+bachelor&mdash;brother to Mary Wilbur, Nellie&rsquo;s most intimate friend.
+You&rsquo;ve heard of her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t Nellie
+been visiting her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Her or her brother,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Atkins. &ldquo;Mary&rsquo;s
+health is poor, and you know it&rsquo;s mighty convenient for Nellie to go
+there, under pretense of staying with her,&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied smile, and
+another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, after a moment, continued:
+&ldquo;The brother came home with Nellie, stayed over Sunday, rode out with her
+Monday, indorsed ever so many notes for her father, so I reckon, and then went
+home. If that don&rsquo;t mean something, then I&rsquo;m
+mistaken&rdquo;&mdash;and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice of
+cake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After an hour&rsquo;s confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone told of
+Mabel&rsquo;s prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks who were at Mr.
+Graham&rsquo;s party praised &rsquo;Lena Rivers&rsquo; beauty, and predicted a
+match between her and Mr. Bellmont, the former rose to go; and calling upon one
+or two others, and by dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them to say
+&ldquo;they shouldn&rsquo;t be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie
+Douglas,&rdquo; she started for home, exulting to think how everything seemed
+working together for her good, and how, in the denouement, nothing particular
+could be laid to her charge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told Nellie no falsehood,&rdquo; thought she. &ldquo;I did not say
+John loved Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else for her to infer.
+And it has commenced operating, too. I could see it in the spots on her face
+and neck, when I was talking. Nellie&rsquo;s a fine girl, though, but too poor
+for the Livingstones;&rdquo; and with this conclusion, she told the coachman to
+drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, grandma and all, assembled
+in the parlor, and with them Durward Bellmont. His arm was thrown carelessly
+across the back of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s chair, while he occasionally bent
+forward to look at a book of prints which she was examining. The sight of him
+determined her to wait a little ere she retailed her precious bit of gossip to
+her son. He was Nellie&rsquo;s cousin, and as such, would in all probability
+repeat to her what he heard. However communicative John Jr. might be in other
+respects, she knew he would never discuss his heart-troubles with any one, so,
+upon second thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until they were alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward and &rsquo;Lena, however, needed watching, and by a little maneuvering,
+she managed to separate them, greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, who sat
+upon the sofa, one foot bent under her, and the other impatiently tapping the
+carpet. From the moment Durward took his seat by her cousin, she had appeared
+ill at ease, and as he began to understand her better, he readily guessed that
+her silent mood was owing chiefly to the attentions he paid to &rsquo;Lena, and
+not to a nervous headache, as she said, when her grandmother, inquiring the
+cause of her silence, remarked, that &ldquo;she&rsquo;d been chipper enough
+until Mr. Bellmont came in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he did not care. He admired &rsquo;Lena, and John Jr. like, it made but
+little difference with him who knew it. Carrie&rsquo;s freaks, which he plainly
+saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs. Livingstone he had no
+suspicion whatever. Consequently, when she sent &rsquo;Lena from the room on
+some trifling errand, herself appropriating the vacated seat, he saw in it no
+particular design, but in his usual pleasant way commenced talking with Carrie,
+who brightened up so much that grandma asked &ldquo;if her headache
+wasn&rsquo;t e&rsquo;en-a&rsquo;most well!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When &rsquo;Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise visit
+to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll invite Mr.
+Everett, and all go down. What do you say, girls?&rdquo; said he, turning
+toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning &rsquo;Lena quite as much as either of
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital,&rsquo; answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm
+instantly passing before her mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should like it very much,&rdquo; said Carrie, visions of a ride with
+Durward crossing her mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I too,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.&rsquo;s
+shoulder, as if he would of course be her escort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie&rsquo;s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly insolent
+tone, she said, &ldquo;How do you know you are included?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at
+Carrie&rsquo;s manner, prevented her by saying &ldquo;Of course I meant Miss
+Rivers, and I will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me,
+either on horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a very graceful manner &rsquo;Lena accepted the invitation saying that
+&ldquo;she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she
+usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in any other
+way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fleetfoot sold! what&rsquo;s that for?&rdquo; asked Anna; and her mother
+replied, &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve about forty horses on our hands now, and as
+Fleetfoot was seldom used by any one except &rsquo;Lena, your father thought we
+couldn&rsquo;t afford to keep him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever since the
+morning when &rsquo;Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward, Fleetfoot&rsquo;s fate
+had been decreed. Repeatedly had she urged the sale upon her husband, who,
+wearied with her importunity, at last consented, selling him to a neighboring
+planter, who had taken him away that very day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s smart,&rdquo; said John Jr. looking at his father, who had
+not spoken. &ldquo;What is &rsquo;Lena going to ride, I should like to
+know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her.
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered his father, compelled now to speak;
+&ldquo;plenty of feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled.
+Perhaps we&rsquo;ll get &rsquo;Lena a better and younger horse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat
+looking into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing
+around her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That reminds me of Christmas gifts,&rdquo; said Durward, anxious to
+change the conversation. &ldquo;I wonder how many of us will get one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the door, asking
+Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly, the superannuated
+negress, who will be remembered as having nursed Mrs. Nichols during her attack
+of rheumatism, and for whom grandma had conceived a strong affection. For many
+days she had been very ill, causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder &ldquo;what old
+niggers wanted to live for, bothering everybody to death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with her from
+Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but the root was there
+still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly&rsquo;s illness she had been
+revolving in her mind the momentous question, whether she would not be most
+guilty if Polly were suffered to die in bondage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I promised Nancy Scovandyke,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;d have
+some on &rsquo;em set free, but I&rsquo;ll be bound if &rsquo;taint harder work
+than I s&rsquo;posed &rsquo;twould be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Aunt Polly&rsquo;s freedom lay warm at grandma&rsquo;s heart and now when
+she was mentioned together with &ldquo;Christmas gifts,&rdquo; a bright idea
+entered her mind,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John,&rdquo; said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the
+medicine, &ldquo;John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since
+I&rsquo;ve been here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe not,&rdquo; was his answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall,&rdquo; continued grandma, &ldquo;bein&rsquo;s the fashion, I want
+you to give me somethin&rsquo; this Christmas, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then&mdash;she would wait
+until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here the conversation
+ended. Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling &rsquo;Lena he should call
+for her on Thursday.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a plaguy smart feller,&rdquo; said grandma, as the door
+closed upon him; &ldquo;and I kinder think he&rsquo;s got a notion after
+&rsquo;Leny.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ridiculous!&rdquo; muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added,
+&ldquo;Just reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shut up your head,&rdquo; growled John Jr. &ldquo;You are only angry
+because he asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself. I reckon he knows
+what he&rsquo;s about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon he does, too!&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar
+smile, which nettled &rsquo;Lena more than any open attack would have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the parlor,
+and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her opportunity for
+telling him what she had heard. Taking a light from the table, he was about
+retiring, when she said, &ldquo;I learned some news to-day which a little
+surprised me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,&rdquo; answered John, still
+advancing toward the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Partly from her, and partly from others,&rdquo; said his mother, adding,
+as she saw him touch the door-knob, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s about Nellie
+Douglass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he asked,
+&ldquo;What of her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone, &ldquo;only people in Frankfort think she&rsquo;s going to be
+married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I</i> think so, too,&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s mental reply, while his
+verbal one was, &ldquo;Married! To whom?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, she&rsquo;s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s
+party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, who they say is
+very attentive to Nellie. He came home with her from Madison, staying at her
+father&rsquo;s the rest of the week, and paying her numberless attentions,
+which&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I don&rsquo;t believe it</i>,&rdquo; interrupted John Jr., striking
+his fist upon the table, to which he had returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Neither did I, at first,&rdquo; said his mother, &ldquo;but I heard it
+in so many places that there must be something in it. And I&rsquo;m sure
+it&rsquo;s a good match. He is rich, and willing, they say, to help her father,
+who is in danger of failing any moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jealous, particularly
+of those whom he loved very much, and now suddenly remembering to have heard
+Nellie speak in high terms of Robert Wilbur, he began to feel uneasy, lest what
+his mother had said were true. She saw her advantage, and followed it up until,
+in a fit of anger, he rushed from the room and repaired to his own apartment,
+where for a time he walked backward and forward, chafing like a caged lion, and
+wishing all manner of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed false to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such a pitch, that he
+determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, to demand of Nellie if what he
+had heard were true! Upon cooler reflection, however, he concluded not to make
+a &ldquo;perfect fool of himself,&rdquo; and plunging into bed, he fell asleep,
+as what man will not be his trouble what it may.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/>
+CHRISTMAS GIFTS.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly dawned upon the earth,
+when from many a planter&rsquo;s home in the sunny south was heard the joyful
+cry of &ldquo;Christmas Gift,&rdquo; &ldquo;Christmas Gift,&rdquo; as the
+negroes ran over and against each other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came
+within hailing distance, when their loud &ldquo;Christmas Gift&rdquo; would
+make all echo again. On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was
+remembered, for Anna and &rsquo;Lena had worked both early and late in
+preparing some little present, and feeling amply compensated for their trouble,
+when they saw how much happiness it gave. Mabel, too, while she stayed, had
+lent a helping hand, and many a blessing was that morning invoked upon her head
+from the hearts made glad by her generous gifts. Carrie, when asked to join
+them, had turned scornfully away, saying &ldquo;she&rsquo;d plenty to do,
+without working for niggers; who could not appreciate it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine cambric
+handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, and which with a delicate
+note was, the evening previous, sent to Woodlawn, with instructions to have it
+placed next morning on Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s table. Of course Mrs. Graham felt in
+duty bound to return the compliment, and looking over her old jewelry, she
+selected a diamond ring which she had formerly worn, but which was now too
+small for her fat chubby fingers. This was immediately forwarded to Maple
+Grove, reaching there just as the family were rising from the breakfast-table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, isn&rsquo;t it beautiful&mdash;splendid&mdash;magnificent!&rdquo;
+were Carrie&rsquo;s exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s
+generosity, secretly wondering if &ldquo;Durward did not have something to do
+with it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On this point she was soon set right, for the young man himself erelong
+appeared, and after bidding them all a &ldquo;Merry Christmas,&rdquo; presented
+Anna with a package which, on being opened, proved to be a large and complete
+copy of Shakspeare, elegantly bound, and bearing upon its heavy golden clasp
+the words &ldquo;Anna Livingstone, from Durward,&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This you will please accept from me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Mother, I
+believe, has sent Carrie something, and if &rsquo;Lena will step to the door,
+she will see her gift from father, who hopes it will give her as much pleasure
+to accept it, as it does him to present it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can it be?&rdquo; thought Carrie, rising languidly from the sofa,
+and following &rsquo;Lena and her sister to the side door, where stood one of
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s servants, holding a beautiful gray pony, all nicely equipped
+for riding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never dreaming that this was intended for &rsquo;Lena, Carrie looked vacantly
+around, saying, &ldquo;Why, where is it? I don&rsquo;t see anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro&rsquo;s
+hand, and playfully throwing it across &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s neck, &ldquo;Here it
+is&mdash;this pony, which we call Vesta. Vesta, allow me to introduce you and
+your new mistress, Miss &rsquo;Lena, to each other,&rdquo; and catching her up,
+as if she had been a feather, he placed her in the saddle. Then, at a peculiar
+whistle, the well-trained animal started off upon an easy gallop, bearing its
+burden lightly around the yard, and back again to the piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you like her ?&rdquo; he asked of &rsquo;Lena, extending his arms to
+lift her down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment &rsquo;Lena could not speak, her heart was so full. But at last,
+forcing down her emotion, she replied, &ldquo;Oh, very, very much; but it
+isn&rsquo;t for me, I know&mdash;there must be some mistake. Mr. Graham never
+intended it for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, he did,&rdquo; answered Durward. &ldquo;He has intended it ever
+since the morning when you and I rode to Woodlawn. A remark which your cousin
+John made at the table, determined him upon him buying and training a pony for
+you. So here it is, and as I have done my share toward teaching her, you must
+grant me the favor of riding her to Frankfort day after to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, thank you&mdash;you and Mr. Graham too&mdash;a thousand
+times,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, winding her arms around the neck of the docile
+animal, who did her best to return the caress, rubbing her face against
+&rsquo;Lena, and evincing her gentleness in various ways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Mr. Livingstone had joined them, and while he was admiring the
+pony, Durward said to him, &ldquo;I am commissioned by my father to tell you
+that he will defray all the expense of keeping Vesta.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mention such a thing again,&rdquo; hastily interposed Mr.
+Livingstone. &ldquo;I can keep fifty horses, if I choose, and nothing will give
+me more pleasure than to take care of this one for &rsquo;Lena, who deserves it
+if any one does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my Christmas gift from you, uncle, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+asked &rsquo;Lena, the tears gushing from her shining, brown eyes. &ldquo;And
+now please may I return it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said he, and with a nimble spring she caught him
+around the neck, imprinting upon his lips the first and only kiss she had ever
+given him; then, amid blushes and tears, which came from a heart full of
+happiness, she ran away upstairs followed by the envious eyes of Carrie, who
+repaired to her mother&rsquo;s room, where she stated all that had
+transpired&mdash;&ldquo;How Mr. Graham had sent &rsquo;Lena a gray
+pony&mdash;how she had presumed to accept it&mdash;and how, just to show off
+before Mr. Bellmont, she had wound her arms around its neck, and then actually
+<i>kissed pa</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was equally indignant with her daughter, wondering if Mr.
+Graham had lost his reason, and reckoning his wife knew nothing about Vesta!
+But fret as she would, there was no help for it. Vesta belonged to
+&rsquo;Lena&mdash;Mr. Livingstone had given orders to have it well-cared
+for&mdash;and worse than all the rest, &rsquo;Lena was to accompany Durward to
+Frankfort. Something must be done to meet the emergency, but what, Mrs.
+Livingstone didn&rsquo;t exactly know, and finally concluded to wait until she
+saw Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised Christmas gift, which
+was nothing less than &ldquo;the freedom of old Aunt Polly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t refuse me, John, I know you won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said
+she, laying her bony hand on his. &ldquo;Polly&rsquo;s arnt her freedom forty
+times over, even s&rsquo;posin&rsquo; you&rsquo;d a right to her in the fust
+place which I and Nancy Scovandyke both doubt; so now set down like a man, make
+out her free papers, and let me carry &rsquo;em to her right away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without a word Mr. Livingstone complied with his mother&rsquo;s request,
+saying, as he handed her the paper, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not so much the fault of
+the south as of the north that every black under heaven is not free.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grandma looked aghast. Her son, born, brought up, and baptized in a purely
+orthodox atmosphere, to hold such treasonable opinions in opposition to
+everything he&rsquo;d ever been taught in good old Massachusetts! She was
+greatly shocked, but thinking she could not do the subject justice, she said,
+&ldquo;Wall, wall, it&rsquo;s of no use for you and I to arger the pint, for I
+don&rsquo;t know nothin&rsquo; what I want to say, but if Nancy Scovandyke was
+here, she&rsquo;d convince you quick, for she&rsquo;s good larnin&rsquo; as any
+of the gals nowadays.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, she walked away to Polly&rsquo;s cabin. The old negress was better
+to-day, and attired in the warm double-gown which Mabel had purchased and
+&rsquo;Lena had made, she sat up in a large, comfortable rocking-chair which
+John Jr. had given her at the commencement of her illness, saying it was
+&ldquo;his Christmas gift in advance.&rdquo; Going straight up to her, grandma
+laid the paper in her lap, bidding her &ldquo;read it and thank the
+Lord.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless missus&rsquo; dear old heart,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly, &ldquo;I
+can&rsquo;t read a word.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sure enough,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the paper she
+read it through, managing to make the old creature comprehend its meaning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Praise the Lord! praise Master John, and all the other apostles!&rdquo;
+exclaimed Aunt Polly, clasping together her black, wrinkled hands, while tears
+of joy coursed their way down her cheeks. &ldquo;The breath of liberty is
+sweet&mdash;sweet as sugar,&rdquo; she continued, drawing long inspirations as
+if to make up for lost time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having made her an humble
+instrument in contributing so much to another&rsquo;s happiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Set down,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly, motioning toward a wooden bottomed
+chair; &ldquo;set down, and let&rsquo;s us talk over this great meracle, which
+I&rsquo;ve prayed and rastled for mighty nigh a hundred times, without
+havin&rsquo; an atom of faith that &rsquo;twould ever be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Mrs. Nichols sat down, and for nearly an hour the old ladies talked, the one
+of her newly-found freedom, and the other of her happiness in knowing that
+&ldquo;&rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t for nothin&rsquo; she was turned out of her old
+home and brought away over land and sea to Kentucky.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/>
+FRANKFORT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Thursday morning came, bright, sunshiny and beautiful, and at about ten
+o&rsquo;clock &rsquo;Lena, dressed and ready for her ride, came down to the
+parlor, where she found John Jr. listlessly leaning upon the table with his
+elbows, and drumming with his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, cousin,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;why are you not ready?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ready for what?&rdquo; he answered, without raising his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, ready for our visit,&rdquo; replied Lena, at the same time
+advancing nearer, to see what ailed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the visit I make to-day won&rsquo;t hurt me, I reckon,&rdquo; said
+he; pushing his hat a little more to one side and looking up at &rsquo;Lena,
+who, in some surprise, asked what he meant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean what I say,&rdquo; was his ungracious answer; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+no intention whatever of going to Frankfort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not going?&rdquo; repeated &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;Why not? What will Carrie
+do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stick herself in with you and Durward, I suppose,&rdquo; said John Jr.,
+just as Carrie entered the room, together with Mr. Bellmont, Malcolm, and Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not going?&mdash;of course then I must stay at home, too,&rdquo; said
+Carrie, secretly pleased at her brother&rsquo;s decision.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why of course?&rdquo; asked Durward, who, in the emergency, felt
+constrained to offer his services to Carrie though he would greatly have
+preferred &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s company alone. &ldquo;The road is wide enough for
+three, and I am fully competent to take charge of two ladies. But why
+don&rsquo;t you go?&rdquo; turning to John Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because I don&rsquo;t wish to. If it was anywhere in creation but there,
+I&rsquo;d go,&rdquo; answered the young man; hastily leaving the room to avoid
+all further argument.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He does it just to be hateful and annoy me,&rdquo; said Carrie, trying
+to pout, but making a failure, for she had in reality much rather go under
+Durward&rsquo;s escort than her brother&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The horses were now announced as ready, and in a few moments the little party
+were on their way, Carrie affecting so much fear of her pony that Durward at
+last politely offered to lead him a while. This would of course bring him close
+to her side, and after a little well-feigned hesitation, she replied, &ldquo;I
+am sorry to trouble you, but if you would be so kind&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena saw through the ruse, and patting Vesta gently, rode on in advance,
+greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, and greatly to the chagrin of Durward,
+who replied to his loquacious companion only in monosyllables. Once, indeed,
+when she said something concerning &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s evident desire to show
+off her horsemanship, he answered rather coolly, that &ldquo;he&rsquo;d yet to
+discover in Miss Rivers the least propensity for display of any kind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve never lived with her,&rdquo; returned Carrie, and here the
+conversation concerning &rsquo;Lena ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Nellie Douglass was engaged in answering a letter that morning
+received from Mary Wilbur. A few years before, Mary had spent some months in
+Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s family, conceiving a strong affection for Nellie, whom she
+always called her sister, and with whom she kept up a regular correspondence.
+Mary was an orphan, living with her only brother Robert, who was a bachelor of
+thirty or thirty-five. Once she had ventured to hope that Nellie would indeed
+be to her a sister, but fate had decreed it otherwise, and her brother was
+engaged to a lady whom he found a school-girl in Montreal, and who was now at
+her own home in England. This was well-known to Nellie, but she did not deem it
+a matter of sufficient importance to discuss, so it was a secret in Frankfort,
+where Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s polite attentions to herself was a subject of
+considerable remark. For a long time Mary had been out of health, and the
+family physician at last said that nothing could save her except a sea voyage,
+and as her brother was about going to Europe to consummate his marriage, it was
+decided that she should accompany him. This she was willing to do, provided
+Nellie Douglass would go too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It would be much pleasanter,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;having some female
+companion besides her attendant, and then, too, Nellie had relatives in
+England;&rdquo; so she urged her to accompany them, offering to defray all
+expenses for the pleasure of her society.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since Nellie&rsquo;s earliest recollection, her fondest dreams had been of
+England, her mother&rsquo;s birthplace; and now when so favorable an
+opportunity for visiting it was presented, she felt strongly tempted to say
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Still, she would give Mary no encouragement until she had
+seen her father and John Jr., the latter of whom would influence her decision
+quite as much as the former. But John Jr. no longer loved her&mdash;she was
+sure of that&mdash;and with her father&rsquo;s consent she had half determined
+to go. Still she was undecided, until a letter came from Mary, urging her to
+make up her mind without delay, as they were to sail the 15th of January.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Brother is so sensitive concerning his love affairs,&rdquo; wrote Mary,
+&ldquo;that whether you conclude to join us or not, you will please say nothing
+about his intended marriage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie had seated herself to answer this letter, when a servant came up, saying
+that &ldquo;Marster Bellmont, all the Livingstones, and a heap more were
+downstars, and had sent for her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was just writing, &ldquo;I will go,&rdquo; when this announcement came, and
+quickly suspending her pen, she thought, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s come, at last. It
+may all be a mistake. I&rsquo;ll wait.&rdquo; With a beating heart she
+descended to the parlor, where she politely greeted Mr. Everett and Durward,
+and then anxiously glanced around for the missing one. Mabel, who felt a
+similar disappointment, ventured to inquire for him, in a low tone, whereupon
+Carrie replied, loudly enough for Nellie to hear, &ldquo;Oh, pray don&rsquo;t
+speak of that bear. Why, you don&rsquo;t know how cross he&rsquo;s been ever
+since&mdash;let me see&mdash;ever since you came away. He doesn&rsquo;t say a
+civil word to anybody, and I really wish you&rsquo;d come back before he kills
+us all.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you invite him to come ?&rdquo; said Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be sure we did,&rdquo; answered Carrie, &ldquo;and he said,
+&lsquo;anywhere in creation but there.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie needed no further confirmation, and after conversing awhile with her
+guests, she begged leave to be excused for a few moments, while she finished a
+letter of importance, which must go out in the next mail. Alone in her room,
+she wavered, but the remembrance of the words, &ldquo;anywhere in creation but
+there,&rdquo; decided her, and with a firm hand she wrote to Mary that she
+would go. When the letter was finished and sent to the office, Nellie returned
+to her visitors, who began to rally her concerning the important letter which
+must be answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, coz,&rdquo; said Durward, pulling her down upon the sofa by his
+side, &ldquo;now, coz, I claim a right to know something about this letter. Was
+it one of acceptance or rejection?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Acceptance, of course,&rdquo; answered Nellie, who, knowing no good
+reason why her intended tour should be kept a secret, proceeded to speak of it,
+telling how they were to visit Scotland, France, Switzerland, and Italy, and
+almost forgetting, in her enthusiasm, how wretched the thought of the journey
+made her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And Miss Wilbur&rsquo;s brother is to be your escort&mdash;he is
+unmarried, I believe?&rdquo; said Durward, looking steadily upon the carpet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment Nellie would have told of his engagement, and the object of his
+going, but she remembered Mary&rsquo;s request in time, and the blush which the
+almost committed mistake called to her cheek, was construed by all into a
+confession that there was something between her and Mr. Wilbur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That accounts for John&rsquo;s sudden churlishness,&rdquo; thought
+&rsquo;Lena, wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I see it all,&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel. &ldquo;I understand now what
+has made Nellie so absent-minded and restless these many days. She was making
+up her mind to become Mrs. Wilbur, while I fancied she was offended with
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean,&rdquo; answered Nellie, without
+smiling in the least. &ldquo;Mary Wilbur wishes me to accompany her to Europe,
+and I intend doing so. Her brother is nothing to me, nor ever will be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite a probable story,&rdquo; thought Mr. Everett, without forming his
+reflections into words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toward the middle of the afternoon, a violent ringing of the door-bell, and a
+heavy tramp in the hall, announced some new arrival, and Nellie was about
+opening the parlor door, when who should appear but John Jr.! From his room he
+had watched the departure of the party, one moment wishing he was with them,
+and the next declaring he&rsquo;d never go to Frankfort again so long as he
+lived! At length inclination getting the ascendency of his reason, he mounted
+Firelock, and rushing furiously down the &rsquo;pike, never once slackened his
+speed until the city was in sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dare say she&rsquo;ll think me a fool,&rdquo; thought he,
+&ldquo;tagging her round, but she needn&rsquo;t worry. I only want to show her
+how little her pranks affect me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With these thoughts he could not fail to meet Nellie otherwise than coldly,
+while she received him with equal indifference, calling him Mr. Livingstone,
+and asking if he were cold, with other questions, such as any polite hostess
+would ask of her guest. But her accustomed smile and usual frankness of manner
+were gone, and while John Jr. felt it keenly, he strove under a mask of
+indifference, to conceal his chagrin. Mabel seemed delighted to see him, and
+for want of something better to do, he devoted himself to her, calling her Meb,
+and teasing her about her &ldquo;Indian locks,&rdquo; as he called her
+straight, black hair. Could he have seen the bitter tears which Nellie
+constantly forced back, as she moved carelessly among her guests, far different
+would have been his conduct. But he only felt that she had been untrue to him,
+and in his anger he was hardly conscious of what he was doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So when Mabel said to him, &ldquo;Nellie is going to Europe with Mr. Wilbur and
+Mary,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;Glad of it&mdash;hope
+she&rsquo;ll&rdquo;&mdash;be drowned, he thought&mdash;&ldquo;have a good
+time,&rdquo; he said&mdash;and Nellie, who heard all, never guessed how heavily
+the blow had fallen, or that the hand so suddenly placed against his heart, was
+laid there to still the wild throbbing which he feared she might hear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked when she was going,
+and how long she intended to be gone. &ldquo;What! so soon?&rdquo; said he,
+when told that she sailed the 15th of January, and other than that, not a word
+did he say to Nellie concerning her intended visit, until just before they left
+for home. Then for a moment he stood alone with her in the recess of a window.
+There was a film upon his eyes as he looked upon her, and thought it might be
+for the last time. There was anguish, too, in his heart, but it did not mingle
+in the tones of his voice, which was natural, and, perhaps, indifferent, as he
+said, &ldquo;Why do you go to Europe, Nellie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced up into his face,
+but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest they should betray themselves,
+were resting upon Mabel, who, on a stool across the room, was petting and
+caressing a kitten. &rsquo;Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie answered,
+&ldquo;Because I want to; what do you suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked away to where Mabel
+sat, and commenced teasing her and her kitten, while Nellie, maddened with
+herself, with him, with everybody, precipitately left the room, and going to
+her chamber hastily, and without a thought as to what she was doing, gathered
+together every little token which John Jr. had given her, together with his
+notes and letters, written in his own peculiar and scarcely legible hand. Tying
+them in a bundle, she wrote with unflinching nerve, &ldquo;Do thou
+likewise,&rdquo; and then descending to the hall, laid it upon the hat-stand,
+managing, as he was leaving, to place it unobserved in his hand. Instinctively
+he knew what it was, glanced at the three words written thereon, and in a cold,
+sneering voice, replied, &ldquo;I will, with pleasure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus they parted.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/>
+THE DEPARTURE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John, how would you like to take a trip to New York&mdash;the city, I
+mean?&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks
+following the events narrated in the last chapter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well enough&mdash;why do you ask?&rdquo; answered John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; said his father, &ldquo;I have to-day received a letter
+which makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are
+fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You had better start
+immediately&mdash;say to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. started from his chair. To-morrow she left her home&mdash;the 15th she
+sailed. He might see her again, though at a distance, for she should never know
+he followed her! Since that night in Frankfort he had not looked upon her face,
+but he had kept his promise, returning to her everything&mdash;everything
+except a withered rose-bud, which years before, when but a boy, he had twined
+among the heavy braids of her hair, and which she had given back to him,
+playfully fastening it in the button-hole of his roundabout! How well he
+remembered that day. She was a little romping girl, teasing him unmercifully
+about his <i>flat feet</i> and <i>big hands</i>, chiding him for his <i>negro
+slang</i>, as she termed his favorite expressions, and with whatever else she
+did, weaving her image into his heart&rsquo;s best and noblest affections,
+until he seemed to live only for her, But now &rsquo;twas
+changed&mdash;terribly changed. She was no longer &ldquo;his Nellie,&rdquo; the
+Nellie of his boyhood&rsquo;s love; and with a muttered curse and a tear,
+large, round, and hot, such as only John Jr. could shed, he sent her back every
+memento of the past, all save that rose-bud, with which he could not part, it
+seemed so like his early hopes&mdash;withered and dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box containing the
+treasures was handed her. Again and again she examined to see if there were not
+one farewell word, but there was nothing save, &ldquo;Here endeth the first
+lesson!&rdquo; followed by two exclamation points, which John Jr. had dashed
+off at random. Every article seemed familiar to her as she looked them over,
+and everything was there but one&mdash;she missed the rose-bud&mdash;and she
+wondered at the omission for she knew he had it in his possession. He had told
+her so not three months before. Why, then, did he not return it? Was it a
+lingering affection for her which prompted the detention? Perhaps so, and down
+in Nellie&rsquo;s heart was one warm, bright spot, the memory of that bud,
+which grew green and fresh again, as on the day when first it was torn from its
+parent stem.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was first known at Maple Grove, that Nellie was going to Europe, Mrs.
+Livingstone, who saw in the future the full consummation of her plans, proposed
+that Mabel should spend the period of Nellie&rsquo;s absence with her. But to
+this Mr. Douglass would not consent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He could not part with both his daughters,&rdquo; he said, and Mabel
+decided to remain, stipulating that &rsquo;Lena, of whom she was very fond,
+should pass a portion of the time with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the time, if she chooses,&rdquo; said Mr. Douglass, who also liked
+&rsquo;Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately proposed that she
+should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont, who had recently come to the
+city, and who was said to be a superior teacher. &ldquo;She is fond of
+music,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and has always wanted to learn, but that aunt of
+hers never seemed willing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she can use
+my piano all the time if she chooses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital!&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she would pay
+the bills, and how much she would assist &rsquo;Lena, for Mabel was an
+excellent musician, singing and playing admirably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When this plan was proposed to &rsquo;Lena, she objected, for two reasons. The
+first, that she could not leave her grandmother, and second, that much as she
+desired the lessons, she would not suffer Mabel to pay for them, and she had no
+means of her own. On the first point she began to waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who
+was in unusually good health, insisted upon her going.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will do you a sight of good,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and
+there&rsquo;s no kind of use why you should stay hived up with me. I&rsquo;d as
+lief be left alone as not, and I shall take comfort thinkin&rsquo; you&rsquo;re
+larnin&rsquo; to play the pianner, for I&rsquo;ve allus wondered &rsquo;Tildy
+didn&rsquo;t set you at Car&rsquo;line&rsquo;s. So, go,&rdquo; the old lady
+continued, whispering in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s ear, &ldquo;Go, and mebby some day
+you&rsquo;ll be a music teacher, and take care of us both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, &rsquo;Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, after a
+moment&rsquo;s thought, exclaimed, &ldquo;Why, I can teach you myself! I should
+love to dearly. It will be something to occupy my mind; and my instructors have
+frequently said that I was capable of teaching advanced pupils, if I chose.
+You&rsquo;ll go now, I know&rdquo;&mdash;and Mabel plead her cause so well,
+that &rsquo;Lena finally consented, saying she should come home once a week to
+see her grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A grand arrangement, I must confess,&rdquo; said Carrie, when she heard
+of it. &ldquo;I should think she sponged enough from her connections, without
+living on other folks, and poor ones, too, like Mr. Douglass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How ridiculous you talk,&rdquo; said John Jr., who was present.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d be perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham&rsquo;s,
+or Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s either, if he had a son whom you considered an eligible
+match. Then as to his being so poor, that&rsquo;s one of Mother Atkins&rsquo;
+yarns, and she knows everybody&rsquo;s history, from Noah down to the present
+day. For &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s sake I am glad to have her go, though heaven knows
+what I shall do without her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone, too, was secretly pleased, for she would thus be more out of
+Durward&rsquo;s way, and the good lady was again becoming somewhat suspicious.
+So when her husband objected, saying &rsquo;Lena could take lessons at home if
+she liked, she quietly overruled him, giving many good reasons why &rsquo;Lena
+should go, and finally saying that if Mrs. Nichols was very lonely without her,
+she might spend her evenings in the parlor when there was no company present!
+So it was decided that &rsquo;Lena should go, and highly pleased with the
+result of their call, Mr. Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her journey. Mr. Wilbur
+had arrived the night before, together with his sister, whose marble cheek and
+lusterless eye even then foretold the lonely grave which awaited her far away
+&rsquo;neath a foreign sky. Durward and Mr. Douglass accompanied them as far as
+Cincinnati, where they took the cars for Buffalo. Just before it rolled from
+the depot, a young man closely muffled, who had been watching our party, sprang
+into a car just in the rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first
+vacant seat, abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have been very
+absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded the call of
+&ldquo;Your ticket, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellie&rsquo;s tears
+were dropping. They had gushed forth when she saw the quivering chin and
+trembling lips of her gray-haired father, as he bade his only child good-bye,
+and now that he was gone, she wept on, never heeding her young friend, who
+strove in vain to call her attention to the fast receding hills of Kentucky,
+which she&mdash;Mary&mdash;was leaving forever. Other thoughts than those of
+her father mingled with Nellie&rsquo;s tears, for she could not forget John
+Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last that he would come to say farewell. But
+he did not. They had parted in coldness, if not in anger, and she might never
+see him again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass; I cannot suffer you to be so sad,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and thoughtlessly throwing his arm
+across the back of the seat, while at the same time he bent playfully forward
+to peep under her bonnet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she did not observe the
+flashing eyes which watched her through the window at the rear of the car.
+Always restless and impatient of confinement, John Jr. had come out for a
+moment upon the platform, ostensibly to take the air, but really to see if it
+were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie. She was sitting not far from the
+door, and he looked in, just in time to witness Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s action,
+which he of course construed just as his jealousy dictated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confounded fool!&rdquo; thought he. &ldquo;<i>I</i> wouldn&rsquo;t hug
+Nellie in the cars in good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And returning to his seat; he wondered which was the silliest, &ldquo;for
+Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run after her. Six of one
+and half a dozen of the other, I reckon,&rdquo; said he; at the same time
+wrapping himself in his shawl, he feigned sleep at every station, for the sake
+of retaining his entire seat, and sometimes if the crowd was great, going so
+far as to snore loudly!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting the close espionage
+kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the night, at a crowded depot, passed so
+closely to her that he felt her warm breath on his cheek. And when, on the
+morning of the 15th, she sailed, she little thought who it was that followed
+her down to the water&rsquo;s edge, standing on the last spot where she had
+stood, and watching with a swelling heart the vessel which bore her away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m nothing better than a walking dead man, now,&rdquo; said he,
+as he, retraced his steps back to his hotel. &ldquo;Nellie&rsquo;s gone, and
+with her all for which I lived, for she&rsquo;s the only girl except
+&rsquo;Lena who isn&rsquo;t a libel on the sex&mdash;or,
+yes&mdash;there&rsquo;s Anna&mdash;does as well as she knows how&mdash;and
+there&rsquo;s Mabel, a little simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and
+good-natured, and on the whole, as smart as they&rsquo;ll average. &rsquo;Twas
+kind in her, anyway, to offer to pay &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s music bills.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men whom he had come to
+see, transacted his business, and then started for home, where he found his
+mother in unusually good spirits. Matters thus far had succeeded even beyond
+her most sanguine expectations. Nellie was gone to Europe, and the rest she
+fancied would be easy. &rsquo;Lena, too, was gone, but the result of this was
+not what she had hoped. Durward had been at Maple Grove but once since
+&rsquo;Lena left, while she had heard of his being in Frankfort several times.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something must be done&rdquo;&mdash;her favorite expression and in her
+difficulty she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, whom she had not seen since
+Christmas. &ldquo;It is quite time she knew about the gray pony, as well as
+other matters,&rdquo; thought she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one
+morning for Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its mistress
+amiably disposed, which was not always the case.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/>
+THE VISIT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham reclined upon a softly-cushioned sofa, her tasteful lace
+morning-cap half falling from her head, and her rich cashmere gown flowing
+open, so as to reveal the flounced cambric skirt which her sewing-girl had sat
+up till midnight to finish. A pair of delicate French slippers pinched rather
+than graced her fat feet, one of which angrily beat the carpet, as if keeping
+time to its mistress&rsquo; thoughts. Nervous and uncomfortable was the lady of
+Woodlawn this morning, for she had just passed through a little conjugal scene
+with her husband, whom she had called a <i>brute</i>, lamenting the
+dispensation of Providence which took from her &ldquo;her beloved Sir Arthur,
+who always thought whatever she said was right,&rdquo; and ending by throwing
+herself in the most theatrical manner upon the sofa in the parlor, where, with
+both her blood and temper at a boiling heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid,
+but recently purchased, announced the approach of a carriage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mercy,&rdquo; exclaimed the distressed lady, &ldquo;whose is it? I hope
+no one will ask for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Reckon how it&rsquo;s Marster Livingstone&rsquo;s carriage, &rsquo;case
+thar&rsquo;s Tom on the box,&rdquo; answered the girl, who had her own private
+reason for knowing Tom at any distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Livingstone, I&rsquo;ll venture to say,&rdquo; groaned Mrs. Graham,
+burying her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the silken cushions.
+&ldquo;Just because I stopped there a few days last summer, she thinks she must
+run here every week; and there&rsquo;s no way of escaping her. Do shut that
+blind; it lets in so much light. There, would you think I&rsquo;d been
+crying?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lor, no,&rdquo; returned the stupid servant, &ldquo;Lor, no; I should
+sooner think your eyes and face were swelled with <i>pisen</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord help me,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Graham, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t
+begin to know as much as poor Charlotte did. She was a jewel, and I don&rsquo;t
+see anything what she wanted to die for, just as I had got her well trained;
+but that&rsquo;s all the thanks I ever get for my goodness. Now go quick, and
+tell her I&rsquo;ve got an excruciating headache.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, miss,&rdquo; said the girl, trying in vain to master the
+big word, &ldquo;if you please, give me somethin&rsquo; shorter, &rsquo;case I
+done forgit that ar, sartin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fool! Idiot!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for want of
+something better, one of her satin slippers at the woolly head, which dodged
+out of the door in time to avoid it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is your mistress at home?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Martha,
+uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, &ldquo;Yes&mdash;no&mdash;I dun
+know, &rsquo;case she done driv me out afore I know&rsquo;d whether she was at
+home or not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Martha, show the lady this way,&rdquo; called out Mrs. Graham, who was
+listening. &ldquo;Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it you. I&rsquo;m glad to see
+you,&rdquo; said she, half rising and shading her swollen eyes with her hand,
+as if the least effort were painful. &ldquo;You must excuse my dishabille, for
+I am suffering from a bad headache, and when Martha said some one had come, I
+thought at first I could not see them, but you are always welcome. How have you
+been this long time, and why have you neglected me so, when you know how I must
+feel the change from Louisville, where I was constantly in society, to this
+dreary neighborhood?&rdquo; and the lady lay back upon the sofa, exhausted with
+and astonished at her own eloquence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was quite delighted with her friend&rsquo;s unusual
+cordiality, and seating herself in the large easy-chair, began to make herself
+very agreeable, offering to bathe Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s aching head, which kind
+offer the lady declined, bethinking herself of sundry gray hairs, which a close
+inspection would single out from among her flaxen tresses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are your family all well?&rdquo; she asked; to which Mrs. Livingstone
+replied that they were, at the same time speaking of her extreme loneliness
+since Mabel left them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you mean the little dark-eyed brunette, whom I saw with you at my
+party. She was a nice-looking girl&mdash;showed that she came of a good family.
+I think everything of that. I believe I&rsquo;d rather Durward would marry a
+poor aristocrat, than a wealthy plebeian&mdash;one whose family were low and
+obscure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone wondered what she thought of her family, the Livingstones. The
+Richards&rsquo; blood she knew was good, but the Nichols&rsquo; was rather
+doubtful. Still, she would for once make the best of it, so she hastened to say
+that few American ladies were so fortunate as Mrs. Graham had been in marrying
+a noble man. &ldquo;In this country we have no nobility, you know,&rdquo; said
+she, &ldquo;and any one who gets rich and into good society, is classed with
+the first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, &ldquo;but in my mind
+there&rsquo;s a great difference. Now, Mr. Graham&rsquo;s ancestors boast of
+the best blood of South Carolina, while my family, everybody knows, was one of
+the first in Virginia, so if Durward had been Mr. Graham&rsquo;s son instead of
+Sir Arthur&rsquo;s, I should be just as proud of him, just as particular whom
+he married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, a little piqued, for there
+was something in Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s manner which annoyed
+her&mdash;&ldquo;certainly&mdash;I understand you. I neither married a
+nobleman, nor one of the best bloods of South Carolina, and still I should not
+be willing for my son to marry&mdash;let me see&mdash;well, say &rsquo;Lena
+Rivers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers !&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Graham&mdash;&ldquo;why, I
+would not suffer Durward to look at her, if I could help it. She&rsquo;s of a
+horridly low family on both sides, as I am told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a home thrust which Mrs. Livingstone could not endure quietly, and as
+she had no wish to defend the royalty of a family which she herself despised,
+she determined to avenge the insult by making her companion as uncomfortable as
+possible. So she said, &ldquo;Perhaps you are not aware that your son&rsquo;s
+attentions to this same &rsquo;Lena Rivers, are becoming somewhat
+marked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I was not aware of it,&rdquo; and the greenish-gray eyes fastened
+inquiringly upon Mrs. Livingstone, who continued: &ldquo;It is nevertheless
+true, and as I can appreciate your feelings, I thought it might not be out of
+place for me to warn you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself upon her
+elbow, &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;-but do you know anything positive? What has
+Durward done?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena is in Frankfort now, at Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s,&rdquo;
+answered Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;and your son is in the constant habit of
+visiting there; besides that, he invited her to ride with him when they all
+went to Frankfort&mdash;&rsquo;Lena upon the gray pony which your husband gave
+her as a Christmas present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone had touched the right spot. &rsquo;Twas the first intimation
+of Vesta which Mrs. Graham had received, and now sitting bolt upright, she
+demanded what Mrs. Livingstone meant. &ldquo;My husband give &rsquo;Lena Rivers
+a pony! Harry Graham do such a thing! It can&rsquo;t be possible. There must be
+some mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think not,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;Your son came over
+with it, saying &lsquo;it was a present from his father, who sent it, together
+with his compliments.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, groaning, and pronouncing
+herself wholly heart-broken. &ldquo;I knew he was bad,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;but I never dreamed it had come to this. And I might have known it, too,
+for from the moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a crazy creature.
+Talks about her in his sleep&mdash;wants me to adopt her&mdash;keeps his eyes
+on her every minute when he&rsquo;s where she is; and to crown all, without
+consulting me, his lawful wife, he has made her a present, which must have cost
+more than a hundred dollars! And she accepted it&mdash;the vixen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the worst feature in the case,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone. &ldquo;I have always been suspicious of &rsquo;Lena, knowing what
+her mother was, but I must confess I did not think her quite so presumptuous as
+to accept so costly a present from a gentleman, and a married one, too. But she
+has a peculiar way of making them think what she does is right, and neither my
+husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keeping Vesta. Carrie
+wouldn&rsquo;t have done such a thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed she wouldn&rsquo;t. She is too well-bred for that,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Graham, who had been completely won by Carrie&rsquo;s soft speeches and
+fawning manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, who straightway
+proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by pulling &rsquo;Lena down.
+Accordingly, every little thing which she could remember, and many which she
+could not, were told in an aggravated manner, until quite a case was made out,
+and &rsquo;Lena would never have recognized herself in the artful, designing
+creature which her aunt kindly pictured her to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;if you ever repeat this, you will not
+use my name, for as she is my husband&rsquo;s niece it will not look well in me
+to be proclaiming her vices, except in cases where I think it my duty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own reflections to make a reply, and
+as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her company was hardly desired, she soon arose to
+go, asking Mrs. Graham &ldquo;why she did not oftener visit Maple Grove.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make others so, too, and to
+her friend&rsquo;s question she answered, &ldquo;I may as well be plain as not,
+and to tell you the truth, I should enjoy visiting you very much, were it not
+for one thing. That mother of yours&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of my husband&rsquo;s,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs.
+Graham continued just where she left off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a resemblance to some
+down-east creature or other&mdash;what is her
+name&mdash;Sco&mdash;Sco&mdash;Scovandyke; yes, that&rsquo;s
+it&mdash;Scovandyke. Of course it&rsquo;s not pleasant for me to be told every
+time I meet your mother&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s mother,&rdquo; again interrupted the lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that families
+of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly, certainly,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that
+&ldquo;she was herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;s vulgarity,
+but her husband insisted that she should come to the table, so what could she
+do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about her
+husband&rsquo;s mother, the two amiable ladies parted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham entered the room, finding
+his wife, who had heard his footsteps, in violent hysterics. He had seen her so
+too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the bellrope, when she found
+voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself who was killing her by inches,
+and that the sooner she was dead, the better she supposed he would like it.
+&ldquo;But, for my sake,&rdquo; she added, in a kind of howl, between crying
+and scolding, &ldquo;do try to behave yourself during the short time I have to
+live, and not go to giving away ponies, and mercy knows what.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except through
+the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked him, he was at a
+great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all became plain, and on the
+whole, he felt glad that the worst was over. He would not acknowledge, even to
+himself, that he was afraid of his wife, still he had a little rather she would
+not always know what he did. He supposed, as a matter of course, that she
+would, earlier or later, hear of his present to &rsquo;Lena, and he well knew
+that such an event would surely be followed by a storm, but after what had
+taken place between them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for
+he had thought her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable of great
+things&mdash;as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband with his
+preference for &rsquo;Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did
+herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say,&rdquo; she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a
+slipper), &ldquo;say&mdash;I will be answered. Don&rsquo;t you like &rsquo;Lena
+better than you do me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated question,
+he at length replied, &ldquo;God knows I&rsquo;ve far more reason to love her
+than I have you.&rdquo; At the same moment he left the room, in time to avoid a
+sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who did not expect
+such an answer, had fallen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?&rdquo; he thought, as he wiped the
+drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of his
+spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew calmer, and
+cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what he was) whispered,
+&ldquo;Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking how his
+conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him far than his own
+life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his wife lay upon her sofa,
+Durward entered the parlor and began good-humoredly to rally his mother upon
+her wobegone face, asking what was the matter now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you poor boy, you,&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll soon have
+no mother to go to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather,
+who alone will be to blame for making you an orphan!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too, and while
+he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of which he was
+becoming weary. He knew there had been a jar in the morning, but he had
+supposed that settled, and now, when he found his mother ten times worse than
+ever, he felt half vexed, and said, &ldquo;Do be a woman mother, and not give
+way to such fancies. I really wonder father shows as much patience with you as
+he does, for you make our home very unpleasant; and really,&rdquo; he
+continued, in a laughing tone, &ldquo;if this goes on much longer, I shall, in
+self-defense, get me a wife and home of my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if report is true, that wife will be &rsquo;Lena Rivers,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Graham, in order to try him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely&mdash;I can&rsquo;t tell what may be,&rdquo; was his answer;
+to which Mrs. Graham replied, &ldquo;that it would be extremely pleasant to
+marry a bride with whom one&rsquo;s father was in love.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How ridiculous!&rdquo; Durward exclaimed. &ldquo;As though my father
+cared aught for &rsquo;Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable
+manners.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, he&rsquo;s acknowledged it. He&rsquo;s just told me, &lsquo;God
+knew he loved her better than he did me.&rsquo; What do you think of
+that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did Mr. Graham say that?&rdquo; asked Durward, looking his mother
+directly in her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it&rsquo;s not a
+secret either. Others know it and talk about it. Think of his giving her that
+pony.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the circumstances, he felt
+deeply pained at his father&rsquo;s remark. He had always supposed he liked
+&rsquo;Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his own
+wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life Durward
+distrusted his father. Still, &rsquo;Lena was not to blame; there was comfort
+in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side, admiring her more
+and more, and learning each time he saw her to love her better. And
+she&mdash;she dared not confess to herself how dear he was to her&mdash;she
+dared not hope her affection was returned. She could not think of the
+disappointment the future might bring, so she lived on the present, waiting
+anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the things which she thought
+would please him best.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon the
+piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who should walk
+in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying &ldquo;he had been hired by von
+nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in musique.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her sharing
+in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was overruled by his
+wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas my uncle, was it not?&rdquo; she asked of Du Pont, who
+replied, &ldquo;I promised not to tell. He say, though, he connected with
+mademoiselle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And &rsquo;Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his
+wife&rsquo;s account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du Pont
+as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her willingness to assist
+her whenever it was necessary. Naturally fond of music, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified Durward appeared, she
+redoubled her exertions, practicing always five, and sometimes six hours a day.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/>
+A FATHER&rsquo;S LOVE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+When it was known at Maple Grove that &rsquo;Lena was taking lessons of Du
+Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first proposed, paid the
+bills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mighty kind in her, and no mistake,&rdquo; said John Jr., throwing aside
+the stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to himself that
+&ldquo;Mabel was a nice girl, after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he suddenly
+wondered why he had never thought to call upon &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;To be sure,
+I&rsquo;ll feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know she is not
+there, but it&rsquo;s lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I&rsquo;m bound to
+do something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no regrets from his
+mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had been intolerably cross and
+fault-finding. He found a servant in the door, so he was saved the trouble of
+ringing, and entering unannounced, walked noiselessly to the parlor-door, which
+was ajar. &rsquo;Lena, as usual, sat at the piano, wholly absorbed, while over
+her bent Mabel, who was assisting her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly,
+and patiently helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel&rsquo;s
+health was improved since first we saw her, and though she was still
+plain&mdash;ugly, many would say&mdash;there was something pleasing in her
+face, and in the expression of her black, eyes, which looked down so kindly
+upon &rsquo;Lena. John Jr. noticed it, and never before had Mabel appeared to
+so good advantage to him as she did at that moment, as he watched her through
+the open door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, &rsquo;Lena said, &ldquo;I know
+I should never learn if it were not for you,&rdquo; at the same time winding
+her arm about Mabel&rsquo;s neck and kissing her glowing cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me have a share of that,&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward
+and clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a gay laugh they shook him off, and &rsquo;Lena, leading him to the sofa,
+sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and her grandmother.
+John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed to ask if there had come any
+tidings of the absent one; but he would not&mdash;she had left him of her own
+accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for her. So he sat gazing dreamily
+upon her piano, the chair she used to occupy and the books she used to read,
+until &rsquo;Lena, either divining his thoughts, or fancying he would wish to
+know, said, &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve not heard from Nellie since she left us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t expect to, so soon, I suppose,&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s
+indifferent reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they&rsquo;d
+taken a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could have
+with Nellie, looking out upon the sea,&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s answer, while
+Mabel quickly rejoined, that &ldquo;he had chosen a sailing vessel solely on
+Mary&rsquo;s account.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment after,
+Durward was ushered into the parlor. &ldquo;He was in town on business,&rdquo;
+he said, &ldquo;and thought he would call.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time admitting
+Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also found it convenient
+to call. Involuntarily Durward glanced toward &rsquo;Lena, but her face was as
+calm and unruffled as if the visitor had been her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right there,&rdquo; thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her,
+he fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat disconcerted when
+he saw him there. Mentally blaming himself for the distrust which he felt
+rising within him, he still determined to watch, and judge for himself how far
+his mother&rsquo;s suspicions were correct. Taking up a book which lay near, he
+pretended to be reading, while all the time his thoughts were elsewhere. It was
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont came in, appearing both
+pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you don&rsquo;t expect me to expose my ignorance before all these
+people,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose we adjourn to another room,&rdquo; said Mabel, leading the way
+and followed by John Jr. only.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on observing
+that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed his seat and book,
+poring over the latter as intently as if it had not been wrong side up!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does monsieur incline to stay,&rdquo; asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took
+his station at the end of the piano.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered Mr. Graham, &ldquo;unless Miss Rivers insists
+upon my leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much interest
+I take in her progress.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed upon
+&rsquo;Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his book was
+watching him. Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all seemed mingled in
+the expression of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt that there was a
+something which he could not fathom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never knew he was so fond of music,&rdquo; thought he&mdash;&ldquo;I
+mean to put him to the test.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was an
+excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best
+pieces&mdash;&ldquo;something lively and new which will wake us up,&rdquo; said
+he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she was
+habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking her seat at the
+piano, she brought out sounds far different from those of a new performer. But
+Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes and ears being alone for
+&rsquo;Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced talking to her in an
+undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else around him, and it was not
+until Durward twice asked how he liked Mabel&rsquo;s playing, that he heard a
+note. Then, starting up and going toward the instrument, he said, &ldquo;Ah,
+yes, that was a fine march, (&rsquo;twas the &lsquo;Rainbow Schottish,&rsquo;
+then new,) please repeat it, or something just like it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off into a
+spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr. Graham, who seemed
+in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece of white paper which lay upon
+the piano, and of which Durward managed to get possession, finding thereon the
+name, &ldquo;Helena Nichols,&rdquo; to which was added that of
+&ldquo;Rivers,&rdquo; the Nichols being crossed out. It would seem as if both
+father and son were determined each to outstay the other, for hour after hour
+went by and neither spoke of leaving, although John Jr. had been gone some
+time. At last, as the sun was setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his
+father contemplated spending the night; &ldquo;and if so,&rdquo; said he, with
+a meaning in his manner, &ldquo;where shall I tell my mother I left you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to start,
+adding, that &ldquo;he could not find it in his heart to tear him away from two
+so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the weakness of his own
+youth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In your second youth, now, I fancy,&rdquo; thought Durward, watching him
+as he bade &rsquo;Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much
+longer he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does she see as I do, or not?&rdquo; thought he, as he took the hand his
+father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes, which returned
+his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a little child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right here,&rdquo; again thought Durward, slightly pressing the
+soft, warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw how
+quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+ * * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Durward,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city,
+&ldquo;I have a request to make of you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham again
+spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know your mother as well as I do&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; &ldquo;You know how groundlessly
+jealous she is of me&mdash;and it may be just as well for her not to know
+that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as well for her not to know that you&rsquo;ve spent the afternoon
+with &rsquo;Lena Rivers; is that it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it&mdash;yes&mdash;yes&rdquo;&mdash;answered Mr. Graham,
+adding, ere Durward had time to utter the angry words which he felt rising
+within him, &ldquo;I wish you&rsquo;d marry &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was so sudden&mdash;so different from anything which Durward had expected,
+that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little time ere he
+answered,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps I shall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you would,&rdquo; continued Mr. Graham, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d
+willingly give every dollar I&rsquo;m worth for the privilege of calling her my
+daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If his father had an undue
+regard for &rsquo;Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife of another, and
+that other his son? Was it his better and nobler nature struggling to save her
+from evil, which prompted the wish? Durward hoped so&mdash;he believed so; and
+the confidence which had so recently been shaken was fully restored, when, by
+the light of the hall lamp at home, he saw how white and almost ghostly was the
+face which, ere they entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him,
+asking him &ldquo;to be careful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s call, and now, though she had not seen her husband for
+several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head, meantime, and
+replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a much-injured-woman way, as
+provoking as it was uncalled for.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+ * * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father&rsquo;s suggestion was a good one,&rdquo; thought Durward, when
+he had retired to rest. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the
+world. I will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of
+danger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there to Woodlawn, where
+scarcely a day passed without some domestic storm? No, his home should be full
+of sunlight, of music and flowers, where no angry word or darkening frown could
+ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a blissful future, when &rsquo;Lena
+should be his bride, he fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/>
+JOEL SLOCUM.</h2>
+
+<p>
+In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an individual who,
+though not a very important personage, is still in some degree connected with
+our story. On the night when Durward and his father were riding home from
+Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the exception of grandma, were as
+usual assembled in the parlor. John Jr. had returned, and purposely telling his
+mother and Carrie whom he had left with &rsquo;Lena, had succeeded in putting
+them both into an uncomfortable humor, the latter secretly lamenting the
+mistake which she had committed in suffering &rsquo;Lena to stay with Mabel.
+But it could not be remedied now. There was no good reason for calling her
+home, and the lady broke at least three cambric-needles in her vigorous jerks
+at the handkerchief she was hemming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and Carrie straightened
+up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, who had called on his way home, but
+the voice was strange, and rather impatiently she waited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?&rdquo; asked the stranger of the
+negro who answered the summons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young man to
+walk in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, guess I will,&rdquo; said he, advancing a few steps toward the
+parlor door. Then suddenly halting, he added, more to himself than to the
+negro, &ldquo;Darned if I don&rsquo;t go the hull figger, and send in my card
+as they do to Boston.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and bending his knee for a
+table, he wrote with sundry nourishes, &ldquo;Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq.,
+Slocumville, Massachusetts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, hand that to your <i>boss</i>,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and tell
+him I&rsquo;m out in the entry.&rdquo; At the same time he stepped before the
+hat-stand, rubbing up his oily hair, and thinking &ldquo;Mr. Joel Slocum would
+make an impression anywhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it, Ben ?&rdquo; whispered Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dunno, miss,&rdquo; said the negro, passing the card to his master, and
+waiting in silence for his orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,&rdquo; slowly read
+Mr. Livingstone, wondering where he had heard that name before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their mother
+looked wonderingly up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly John Jr. remembered &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s love-letter, and anticipating
+fun, exclaimed, &ldquo;Show him in, Ben&mdash;show him in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him more fully to our readers,
+promising that the picture is not overdrawn, but such as we saw it in our
+native state. Joel belonged to that extreme class of Yankees with which we
+sometimes, though not often meet. Brought up among the New England mountains,
+he was almost wholly ignorant of what really belonged to good manners, fancying
+that he knew everything, and sneering at those of his acquaintance who, being
+of a more quiet turn of mind, were content to settle down in the home of their
+fathers, caring little or nothing for the world without. But as for him,
+&ldquo;he was bound,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to see the elephant, and if his
+brothers were green enough to stay tied to their mother&rsquo;s apron strings,
+they might do it, but he wouldn&rsquo;t. No, <i>sir</i>! he was going to make
+something of himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To effect this, about two years before the time of which we are speaking, he
+went to Boston to learn the art of daguerreotype-taking, in which he really did
+seem to excel, returning home with some money, a great deal of vanity, and a
+strong propensity to boast of what he had seen. Recollections of &rsquo;Lena,
+his early, and, as he sentimentally expressed it, &ldquo;his undying,
+all-enduring&rdquo; love, still haunted him, and at last he determined upon a
+tour to Kentucky, purchasing for the occasion a rather fantastic suit,
+consisting of greenish pants, blue coat, red vest, and yellow
+neck-handkerchief. These he laid carefully by in his trunk until he reached
+Lexington, where he intended stopping for a time, hanging out a naming sign,
+which announced his presence and capabilities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to impress its inhabitants
+with a sense of his consequence, and mentally styling them all &ldquo;Know
+Nothings,&rdquo; be-cause they did not seem to be more affected, he one
+afternoon donned his best suit, and started for Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s,
+thinking he should create a sensation there, for wasn&rsquo;t he as good as
+anybody? Didn&rsquo;t he learn his trade in Boston, the very center and source
+of all the <i>isms</i> of the day, and ought not Mr. Livingstone to feel proud
+of such a guest, and wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena stare when she saw him so much
+improved from what he was when they picked <i>checkerberries</i> together?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at all probable that he
+felt any misgivings when Ben ushered him at once into the presence of Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s family, who stared at him in unfeigned astonishment.
+Nothing daunted, he went through with the five changes of a bow, which he had
+learned at a dancing-school, bringing himself up finally in front of Mr.
+Livingstone, and exclaiming,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How-dy-do?&mdash;Mr. Livingstone, I s&rsquo;pose, it comes more natural
+to say cousin John, I&rsquo;ve heard Miss Nichols and Aunt Nancy talk of you
+since I was knee high, and seems as how you must be related. How is the old
+lady, and Helleny, too? I don&rsquo;t see &rsquo;em here, though I thought, at
+fust, this might be her,&rdquo; nodding to Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had strong intentions of
+ordering the intruder from the room, but John Jr. had no such idea. He liked
+the fun, and now coming forward, said, &ldquo;Mr. Slocum, as your card
+indicates, allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my mother&mdash;and
+sisters,&rdquo; at the same time ringing the bell, he ordered a servant to go
+for his grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, ladies, how-dy-do? Hope you are well till we are better
+acquainted,&rdquo; said Joel, bowing low, and shaking out the folds of his red
+silk handkerchief, strongly perfumed with peppermint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while Anna said,
+&ldquo;Good-evening, Mr. Slocum.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s silence, Joel turned to John Jr.,
+saying, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t believe she heard you&mdash;deaf, mebby?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared, in a great flurry to know
+who wanted to see her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, &ldquo;Now Aunt Martha, if this
+ain&rsquo;t good for sore eyes. How <i>do</i> you do ?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty well, pretty well,&rdquo; she returned, &ldquo;but you&rsquo;ve
+got the better of me, for I don&rsquo;t know more&rsquo;n the dead who you
+be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now how you talk,&rdquo; said Joel. &ldquo;If this don&rsquo;t beat all
+my fust wife&rsquo;s relations. Why, I should have known you if I&rsquo;d met
+you in a porridge-pot. But then, I s&rsquo;pose I&rsquo;ve altered for the
+better since I see you. Don&rsquo;t you remember Joel Slocum, that used to have
+kind of a snickerin&rsquo; notion after Helleny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why-ee, I guess I do,&rdquo; answered grandma, again seizing his hand.
+&ldquo;Where did you come from, and why didn&rsquo;t your Aunt Nancy come with
+you?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s sister&rsquo;s boy.
+Caroline and Anny, this is Joel; you&rsquo;ve heard tell of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been introduced, thank you,&rdquo; said Joel, taking a seat
+near Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample folds of her dress, lest it
+should be polluted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bashful critter, but she&rsquo;ll get over it by the time she&rsquo;s
+seen as much of the world as I have,&rdquo; soliloquized Joel; at the same time
+thinking to make some advances, he hitched a little nearer, and taking hold of
+a strip of embroidery on which she was engaged, he said, &ldquo;Now, du tell,
+if they&rsquo;ve got to workin&rsquo; with floss way down here. Waste of time,
+I tell &rsquo;em, this makin&rsquo; holes for the sake of sewin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;em up. But law!&rdquo; he added, as he saw the deepening scowl on
+Carrie&rsquo;s face, &ldquo;wimmin may jest as well by putterin&rsquo; about
+that as anything else, for their time ain&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; moren&rsquo; an
+old settin&rsquo; hen&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This speech called forth the first loud roar in which John Jr. had indulged
+since Nellie went away, and now settling back in his chair, he gave vent to his
+feelings in peals of laughter, in which Joel also joined, thinking he&rsquo;d
+said something smart. When at last he&rsquo;d finished laughing, he thought
+again of &rsquo;Lena, and turning to Mrs. Livingstone, asked where she was,
+raising his voice to a high key on account of her supposed deafness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you speak to me?&rdquo; asked the lady, with a look which she meant
+should annihilate him, and in a still louder tone Joel repeated his question,
+asking Anna, aside, if her mother had ever tried &ldquo;McAllister&rsquo;s
+All-Healing Ointment,&rdquo; for her deafness, saying it had &ldquo;nighly
+cured his grandmother when she was several years older than Mrs.
+Livingstone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Much obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately, I do not
+need,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while Joel thought, &ldquo;how
+strange it was that deaf people would always hear in the wrong time!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother don&rsquo;t seem inclined to answer your question concerning
+&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said John Jr., &ldquo;so I will do it for her. She is in
+Frankfort, taking music lessons. You used to know her, I believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lud, yes! I chased her once with a streaked snake, and if she
+didn&rsquo;t put &rsquo;er through, then I&rsquo;m no &lsquo;Judge.
+Takin&rsquo; music lessons, is she? I&rsquo;d give a fo&rsquo; pence to hear
+her play.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you fond of music?&rdquo; asked John Jr., in hopes of what followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, I wouldn&rsquo;t wonder much if I was,&rdquo; answered Joel,
+taking a tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it upon the table.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve kep&rsquo; singin&rsquo; school one term, besides
+leadin&rsquo; the Methodis&rsquo; choir in Slocumville: so I orto know a little
+somethin&rsquo; about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you play, and if so, we&rsquo;d like to hear you,&rdquo;
+continued John Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance cast upon him by Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not such a dreadful sight,&rdquo; answered Joel, sauntering toward the
+piano and drumming a part of &ldquo;Auld Lang Syne.&rdquo; &ldquo;Not such a
+dreadful sight, but I guess these girls do. Come, girls, play us a jig,
+won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go, Cad, it won&rsquo;t hurt you,&rdquo; whispered John, but Carrie was
+immovable, and at last, Anna, who entered more into her brother&rsquo;s spirit,
+took her seat at the instrument, asking what he would have.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, give us &lsquo;Money Musk,&rsquo; &lsquo;Hail Columby,&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Old Zip Coon,&rsquo; or anything to raise a feller&rsquo;s ideas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately, Anna&rsquo;s forte lay in playing old music, which she preferred
+to more modern pieces, and, Joel was soon beating time to the lively strains of
+&ldquo;Money Musk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, I declare,&rdquo; said he, when it was ended, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+see but what you Kentucky gals play most as well as they do to hum. I
+didn&rsquo;t s&rsquo;pose many on you ever seen a pianner. Come,&rdquo; turning
+to Carrie, &ldquo;less see what you can do. Mebby you&rsquo;ll beat her all
+holler,&rdquo; and he offered his hand to Carrie, who rather petulantly said
+she &ldquo;must be excused.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, get out,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t feel so
+bashful, for I shan&rsquo;t criticise you very hard. I know how to feel fer new
+beginners.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?&rdquo; asked Mr. Livingstone,
+pitying Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the performance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I hain&rsquo;t, and I&rsquo;m hungrier than a bear,&rdquo; answered
+Joel, whereupon Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was her guest, arose, saying she
+would see that he had some.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s wrath boiled
+over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what comes of harboring your relatives,&rdquo; said she,
+looking indignantly upon her husband, and adding that she hoped &ldquo;the
+insolent fellow did not intend staying all night, for if he did he
+couldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you propose turning him into the street?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Livingstone, looking up from his paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t propose anything, except that he won&rsquo;t stay in my
+house, and you needn&rsquo;t ask him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume he expects to
+stay,&rdquo; returned Mr. Livingstone; while John Jr. rejoined, &ldquo;Of
+course he does, and if mother doesn&rsquo;t find him a room, I shall take him
+in with me, besides going to Frankfort with him to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost anything rather than have
+her son seen in the city with that specimen. Accordingly, when the hour for
+retiring arrived, she ordered Corinda to show him into the &ldquo;east
+chamber,&rdquo; a room used for her common kind of visitors, but which Joel
+pronounced &ldquo;as neat as a fiddle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning he announced his intention of visiting Frankfort, proposing to
+grandma that she should accompany him, and she was about making up her mind to
+do so, when &rsquo;Lena and Mabel both appeared in the yard. They had come out
+for a ride, they said, and finding the morning so fine, had extended their
+excursion as far as Maple Grove, sending their servant back to tell where they
+were going. With his usual assurance, Joel advanced toward &rsquo;Lena,
+greeting her tenderly, and whispering in her ear that &ldquo;he found she was
+greatly improved as well as himself,&rdquo; while &rsquo;Lena wondered in what
+the improvement consisted. She had formerly known him as a great, overgrown,
+good-natured boy, and now she saw him a &ldquo;conceited gawky.&rdquo; Still,
+her manner was friendly toward him, for he had come from her old home, had
+breathed the air of her native hills, and she well remembered how, years ago,
+he had with her planted and watered the flowers which he told her were still
+growing at her mother&rsquo;s grave.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet there was something about her which puzzled Joel, who felt that the
+difference between them was great. He was disappointed, and the declaration
+which he had fully intended making was left until another time, when, as he
+thought, &ldquo;he shouldn&rsquo;t be so confounded shy of her.&rdquo; His
+quarters, too, at Maple Grove were not the most pleasant, for no one noticed
+him except grandma and John Jr., and with the conviction that &ldquo;the
+Kentuckians didn&rsquo;t know what politeness meant,&rdquo; he ordered his
+horse after dinner, and started back to Lexington, inviting all the family to
+call and &ldquo;set for their picters,&rdquo; saying that &ldquo;seein&rsquo;
+&rsquo;twas them, he&rsquo;d take &rsquo;em for half price.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and drawing a large, square case
+from his pocket, passed it to &rsquo;Lena, saying it was a daguerreotype of her
+mountain home, which he had taken on purpose for her, forgetting to give it to
+her until that minute. The look of joy which lighted up &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+face made Joel almost repent of not having said to her what he intended to, but
+thinking he would wait till next time, he started off, his heart considerably
+lightened by her warm thanks for his thoughtfulness.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/>
+THE DAGUERREOTYPE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look, grandmother!&mdash;a picture of our old home. Isn&rsquo;t it
+natural?&rdquo; exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, it was natural, and the old lady&rsquo;s tears gushed forth the moment she
+looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, the gate partially open, the
+barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the curtain of the west window rolled
+up as it was wont to be, while on the doorstep, basking in the warm sunshine,
+lay a cat, which Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; declared was hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John ought to see this,&rdquo; said she, wiping the tears from her eyes,
+and turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting her son,
+together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called. &ldquo;Look here,
+John,&rdquo; said she, calling him to her side&mdash;&ldquo;Do you remember
+this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The deep flush which mounted to John&rsquo;s brow, showed that he did, and his
+mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: &ldquo;It is our old home in
+Massachusetts. There&rsquo;s the room where John and Helleny both were born,
+and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but yesterday since she
+died, and they carried her out of this door, and down the road, there&mdash;do
+you see?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or not, made no
+answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon the prospect beyond,
+which for him had no attractions then. The sight of that daguerreotype had
+stirred up many bitter memories, and for some time he stood gazing vacantly
+through the window, and thinking&mdash;who shall say of what? It would seem
+that the daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination for him, for after it had
+been duly examined and laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it
+minutely, asking where it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure a
+similar one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a fancy for such scenes,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and would like to
+have just such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say. He can
+take one from this, I suppose. I mean to see him;&rdquo; and with his usual
+good-morning, he departed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort, determining, if
+a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer &rsquo;Lena his heart and
+fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day. For a time they
+conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which was entirely
+foreign from that which lay nearest Durward&rsquo;s heart. At last the
+conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had heard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really think, &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said he, laughingly, &ldquo;that you
+ought to patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the sake
+of seeing you. Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for me, will
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls,
+&rsquo;Lena answered lightly, &ldquo;Oh, no, no. I have never had my picture
+taken in my life, and I shan&rsquo;t begin with Joel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never had it taken!&rdquo; repeated Durward, in some surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, never,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and Durward continued drawing her
+nearer to him, &ldquo;It is time you had, then. So have it taken for me. I mean
+what I say,&rdquo; he continued, as he met the glance of her merry eyes.
+&ldquo;There is nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except, indeed
+the original, which you will not refuse me, when I ask it, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s mirth was all gone&mdash;she knew he was in earnest now.
+She felt it in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her waist; she saw it
+in his eye, and heard it in the tones of his voice. But what should she say?
+Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon her cheek; and an
+inaudible answer trembled on her lips, when noiselessly through the door came
+<i>Mr. Graham</i>, starting when he saw their position, and offering to
+withdraw if he was intruding. &rsquo;Lena was surprised and excited, and
+springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm as he was about to leave the room,
+bidding him stay and saying he was always welcome there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which &rsquo;Lena had ever
+seen, Durward left&mdash;left without receiving an answer to his question, or
+even referring to it again, though &rsquo;Lena accompanied him to the door,
+half dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it. But he did not, and wishing her
+much pleasure in his father&rsquo;s company, he walked away, writing in his
+heart bitter things against <i>him</i>, not her. On his way home he fell in
+with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a little too much wine, and was
+very talkative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;She be
+von fine girl. What relation be she to Monsieur Graham?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None whatever. Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because he pay her musique lessons and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he kept back Mr.
+Graham&rsquo;s assertion that he was a near relative, adding in its place, that
+&ldquo;he thought probable he related; but you no tell,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;for Monsieur bid me keep secret and I forgot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here, having reached a cross-road, they parted, and again Durward wrote down
+bitter things against his father, for what could be his object in wishing it
+kept a secret that he was paying for &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s lessons, or why did he
+pay for them at all&mdash;and did &rsquo;Lena know it? He thought not, and for
+a time longer was she blameless in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On reaching home he found both the parlor and drawing-room deserted, and upon
+inquiry learned that his mother was in her own room. Something, he could hardly
+tell what, prompted him to knock for admission, which being granted, he
+entered, finding her unusually pale, with the trace of tears still upon her
+cheek. This of itself was so common an occurrence, that he would hardly have
+observed it had not there been about her a look of unfeigned distress which he
+had seldom seen before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, mother?&rdquo; said he, advancing toward her;
+&ldquo;What has happened to trouble you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without any reply, Mrs. Graham placed in his hand a richly-cased daguerreotype,
+and laying her head upon the table, sobbed aloud. A moment Durward stood
+transfixed to the spot, for on opening the case, the fair, beautiful face of
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon him!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did you get this, mother?&mdash;how came you by it?&rdquo; he
+asked, and she answered, that in looking through her husband&rsquo;s private
+drawer, the key of which she had accidentally found in his vest pocket, she had
+come upon it, together with a curl of soft chestnut-brown hair which she threw
+across Durward&rsquo;s finger, and from which he recoiled as from a
+viper&rsquo;s touch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For several minutes not a word was spoken by either, and then Mrs. Graham,
+looking him in the face, said, &ldquo;You recognize that countenance, of
+course?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Durward was
+terribly moved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Twice had &rsquo;Lena asserted that never in her life had her daguerreotype
+been taken, and yet he held it in his hands; there was no mistaking
+it&mdash;the same broad, open brow&mdash;the same full, red lips&mdash;the same
+smile&mdash;and more than all, the same clustering ringlets, though arranged a
+little differently from what she usually wore them, the hair on the picture
+being combed smoothly over the forehead, while &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s was
+generally brushed up after the style of the prevailing fashion. Had Durward
+examined minutely, he might have found other points of difference, but he did
+not think of that. A look had convinced him that &rsquo;twas
+&rsquo;Lena&mdash;his &rsquo;Lena, he had fondly hoped to call her. But that
+was over now&mdash;she had deceived him&mdash;told him a deliberate
+falsehood&mdash;refused him her daguerreotype and given it to his father, whose
+secrecy concerning it indicated something wrong. His faith was shaken, and yet
+for the sake of what she had been to him, he would spare her good name. He
+could not bear to hear the world breathe aught against her, for possibly she
+might be innocent; but no, there was no mistaking the falsehood, and Durward
+groaned in bitterness as he handed the picture to his mother, bidding her
+return it where she found it. Mrs. Graham had never seen her son thus moved,
+and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm, asking, &ldquo;why he was so
+affected&mdash;what she was to him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything, everything,&rdquo; said he, laying his face upon the table.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers was all the world to me. I loved her as I shall never
+love again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his mother all&mdash;how he
+had that very morning gone to Frankfort with the intention of offering
+&rsquo;Lena his hand&mdash;how he had partially done so, when they were
+interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, he did not say whom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank heaven for your escape. I can bear your father&rsquo;s conduct, if
+it is the means of saving you from her,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while her
+son continued: &ldquo;And now, mother, I have a request to make of you&mdash;a
+request which you must grant. I have loved &rsquo;Lena too well to cease from
+loving her so soon. And though I can never again think to make her my wife, I
+will not hear her name lightly spoken by the world, who must never know what we
+do. Promise me, mother, to keep secret whatever you may know against
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think me bereft of my senses,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham
+petulantly, &ldquo;that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every
+one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, mother,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but you are easily excited,
+and say things you had better not. Mrs. Livingstone bears &rsquo;Lena no good
+will, you know, and sometimes when she is speaking disparagingly of her, you
+may be thrown off your guard, and tell what you know. But this must not be.
+Promise me, mother, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly about his mouth as
+he asked this of his mother who, mentally congratulating herself upon her
+son&rsquo;s escape, promised what he asked, at the same time repeating to him
+all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone concerning &rsquo;Lena, until Durward
+interrupted her with, &ldquo;Stop, stop, I&rsquo;ve heard enough. Nothing which
+Mrs. Livingstone could say would have weighed a straw, but the conviction of my
+own eyes and ears have undeceived me, and henceforth &rsquo;Lena and I are as
+strangers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of her son&rsquo;s
+marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and though she felt indignant
+toward her husband so peculiar was her nature that she would not have had
+matters otherwise if she could and when Durward, who disliked <i>scenes</i>,
+suggested the propriety of her not speaking to his father on the subject at
+present he assented, saying that it would be more easy for her to refrain, as
+she was intending to start for Louisville on the morrow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been contemplating a visit there for some time and before Mr.
+Graham left home this morning, I had decided to go,&rdquo; said she, at the
+same time proposing that Durward should accompany her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To this consented willingly, for in the first shock of his disappointment, a
+change of place and scene was what he most desired. The hot blood of the south,
+which burned in his veins, seemed all on fire, and he felt that he could not,
+for the present, at least be daily associated with his stepfather. An absence
+of several days, he thought, might have the effect of calming him down. It was
+accordingly decided that he should on the morrow, start with her for
+Louisville, to be gone two weeks; and with this understanding they parted,
+Durward going to his own chamber, there to review the past and strive, if
+possible, to efface from his heart every memory of &rsquo;Lena, whom he had
+loved so well. But &rsquo;twas all in vain; he could not so soon forget her and
+far into the hours of night he sat alone striving to frame some excuse for her
+conduct. The fact that his father possessed her daguerreotype might possibly be
+explained, without throwing censure upon her; but the falsehood&mdash;never;
+and with the firm conviction that she was lost to him forever, he at last
+retired to rest, just as the clock in the ball below proclaimed the hour of
+midnight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind the probable result of a
+letter which, in the heat of passion, she had that day dispatched to
+&rsquo;Lena, accusing her of &ldquo;marring the domestic peace of a hitherto
+happy family,&rdquo; and while she cast some reflections upon her birth,
+commanding her never, under any circumstances, &ldquo;to venture into her
+presence!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward&rsquo;s return,
+and as she well knew how much he would disapprove of it, she resolved not to
+tell him, secretly hoping &rsquo;Lena would keep her own counsel. &ldquo;Base
+creature!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;to give my husband her likeness&mdash;but he
+shall never see it again;&rdquo; and with stealthy step she advanced toward the
+secret drawer, which she again opened, and taking from it both daguerreotype
+and ringlet, locked it, replacing the key in the pocket where she found it.
+Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled it into the glowing grate,
+shuddering as she did so, and trembling, as if she really knew a wrong had been
+done to the dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated features, which now
+seemed to regard her mournfully, as if reproaching her for what she had done.
+No part of the dress was visible&mdash;nothing except the head and neck, which
+was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut curls, whose companion so
+recently lay seething and scorching on the burning coals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a footstep without&mdash;her husband had returned&mdash;and quick as
+thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while Mrs. Graham, forcing down her
+emotion, took up a book, which she seemed to be intently reading when her
+husband entered. After addressing to her a few commonplace remarks, all of
+which she answered civilly, he went to the wardrobe, and on pretense of looking
+for his knife, which, he said he believed he left in his vest pocket, he took
+out the key, and then carelessly proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his
+wife watching him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation when
+he saw that his treasure was gone. Again and again was his drawer searched, but
+all to no purpose, and casting an anxious glance toward his wife, whose face,
+for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he commenced walking the floor in a very
+perturbed state of mind, his wife exulting in his discomfiture, and thinking
+herself amply avenged for all that she had endured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day received from
+South Carolina, containing the news of the death of a distant relative, who had
+left him some property. &ldquo;It is not necessary for me to be there in
+person,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but still I should like to visit my old home
+once more. What do you think of it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go, by all means,&rdquo; said she, glad of anything which would place
+distance between him and &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;No one can attend to your business
+one-half as well as yourself. When will you start if you go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Immediately&mdash;before your return from Louisville&mdash;unless you
+wish to accompany me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather
+not,&rdquo; said she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him to wonder what
+had come over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can do as you choose,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but I should be glad of
+your company.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I thank you,&rdquo; was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, wondered
+what had come over him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning the carriage came up to the door to convey Mrs. Graham and
+Durward to Frankfort. The latter was purposely late, and he did not see his
+father until he came down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the carriage. Then
+Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise, &ldquo;where he was going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With my mother to Louisville, sir,&rdquo; answered Durward, stiffly.
+&ldquo;I am not willing she should travel alone, if you are;&rdquo; and he
+sprang into the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive off ere another word
+could be spoken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!&mdash;my usual
+luck!&rdquo; mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the house, and sure of no
+prying eyes, recommenced his search for the daguerreotype, which was nowhere to
+be found. Could she have found it? Impossible! for it was not in her jealous
+nature to have held her peace; and again he sought for it, but all to no
+purpose, and finally thinking he must have taken it with him and lost it, he
+gave it up, mourning more for the loss of the curl, which could never, never be
+replaced, while the picture might be found.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do I live so?&rdquo; thought he, as he nervously paced the room.
+&ldquo;My life is one of continual fear and anxiety, but it shall be so no
+longer. I&rsquo;ll tell her all when she returns. I&rsquo;ll brave the world,
+dare her displeasure, take &rsquo;Lena home, and be a man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that he should keep it, he
+started for Versailles, where he had an engagement with a gentleman who
+transacted business for him in Lexington.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/>
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mabel had gone out, and &rsquo;Lena sat alone in the little room adjoining the
+parlor which Mr. Douglass termed his library, but which Nellie had fitted up
+for a private sewing-room. It was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s favorite resort when she
+wished to be alone, and as Mabel was this morning absent, she had retired
+thither, not to work, but to think&mdash;to recall every word and look of
+Durward&rsquo;s, to wonder when and how he would repeat the question, the
+answer to which had been prevented by Mr. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many and blissful were her emotions as she sat there, wondering if it were not
+a bright dream, from which she would too soon awaken, for could it be that one
+so noble, so good, and so much sought for as Durward Bellmont had chosen her,
+of all others, to be his bride? Yes, it must be so, for he was not one to say
+or act what he did not mean; he would come that day and repeat what he had said
+before; and she blushed as she thought what her answer would be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered, bringing her a letter,
+which she eagerly seized, thinking it was from him. But &rsquo;twas not his
+writing, though bearing the post-mark of Versailles. Hastily she broke the
+seal, and glancing at the signature, turned pale, for it was &ldquo;Lucy
+Graham,&rdquo; his mother, who had written, but for what, she could not guess.
+A moment more and she fell back on the sofa, white and rigid as a piece of
+marble. &rsquo;Twas a cruel and insulting letter, containing many dark
+insinuations, which she, being wholly innocent; could not understand. She knew
+indeed, that Mr. Graham had presented her with Vesta, but was there anything
+wrong in that? She did not think so, else she had never taken her. Her uncle,
+her cousin, and Durward, all three approved of her accepting it, the latter
+coming with it himself&mdash;so it could not be that; and for a long time Lena
+wept passionately, resolving one moment to answer the letter as it deserved
+determining, the next, to go herself and see Mrs. Graham face to face; and then
+concluding to treat it with silent contempt, trusting that Durward would
+erelong appear and make it all plain between them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, about five o&rsquo;clock, Mabel returned, bringing the intelligence
+that Mrs. Graham was in the city, at the Weisiger House, where she was going to
+remain until the morrow. She had met with an accident, which prevented her
+arrival in Frankfort until the train which she was desirous of taking had left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is her husband with her?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena, to which Mabel
+replied, that she understood she was alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll see her and know what she means,&rdquo; thought
+&rsquo;Lena, trembling, even then, at the idea of venturing into the presence
+of the cold, haughty woman.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Supper was over at the Weisiger House, and in a handsome private parlor Mrs.
+Graham lay, half asleep, upon the sofa, while in the dressing-room adjoining
+Durward sat, trying to frame a letter which should tell poor &rsquo;Lena that
+their intimacy was forever at an end. For hours, and until the last gleam of
+daylight had faded away, he had sat by the window, watching each youthful form
+which passed up and, down the busy street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her who
+once had made his world. But his watch was in vain, and now he had sat down to
+write, throwing aside sheet after sheet, as he thought its beginning too cold,
+too harsh, or too affectionate. He was about making up his mind not to write at
+all, but to let matters take their course, when a knock at his mother&rsquo;s
+door, and the announcement that a lady wished to see her arrested his
+attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Somebody want to see me? Just show her up,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham,
+smoothing down her flaxen hair, and wiping from between her eyes a spot of
+powder which the opposite mirror revealed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment the visitor entered&mdash;a slight, girlish form, whose features
+were partially hidden from view by a heavy lace veil, which was thrown over her
+satin hood. A single glance convinced Mrs. Graham that it was a lady, a
+well-bred lady, who stood before her, and very politely she bade her be seated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rather haughtily the proffered chair was declined, while the veil was thrown
+aside, disclosing to the astonished gaze of Mrs. Graham the face of &rsquo;Lena
+Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, while her dark eyes grew darker with the
+intensity of her feelings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers! why came you here?&rdquo; she asked, while at the
+mention of that name Durward started to his feet, but quickly resumed his seat,
+listening with indescribable emotions to the sound of a voice which made every
+nerve quiver with pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ask me why I am here, madam,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;I came
+to seek an explanation from you&mdash;to know of what I am accused&mdash;to ask
+why you wrote me that insulting letter&mdash;me, an orphan girl, alone and
+unprotected in the world, and who never knowingly harmed you or yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never harmed me or mine!&rdquo; scornfully repeated Mrs. Graham.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t add falsehood to your other sins&mdash;though, if
+you&rsquo;ll lie to my son, you of course will to me, his mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Explain yourself, madam, if you please,&rdquo; exclaimed &rsquo;Lena,
+her olden temper beginning to get the advantage of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what if I do not please?&rdquo; sneeringly asked Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I will compel you to do so, for my good name is all I have, and it
+shall not be wrested from me without an effort on my part to preserve
+it,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help you. I am sure it
+would be very ungentlemanly in him to desert you, now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham,
+her manner conveying far more meaning than her words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly distinct as
+she replied, &ldquo;Will you explain yourself, or will you not? What have I
+done, that you should treat me thus?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Done? Done enough, I should think! Haven&rsquo;t you whiled him away
+from me with your artful manners? Has he ever been the same man since he saw
+you? Hasn&rsquo;t he talked of you in his sleep? made you most valuable
+presents which a true woman would have refused? and in return, haven&rsquo;t
+you bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together with a lock of your hair, on
+which you no doubt pride yourself, but which to me and my son seem like so many
+coiling serpents?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena had sat down. She could stand no longer, and burying her face in
+her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had finished. Then, lifting up her
+head, she replied in a voice far more husky than the one in which she before
+had spoken&mdash;&ldquo;You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs. Graham, for as I hope
+for heaven, I never entertained a feeling for your husband which I would not
+have done for my own father, and indeed, he has seemed to me more like a parent
+than a friend&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,&rdquo;
+interrupted Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but continued: &ldquo;I
+know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it was wrong, and if it was, I will
+make amends by immediately returning her, for much as I love her, I shall never
+use her again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the daguerreotype?&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Graham, anxious to reach
+that point. &ldquo;What have you to say about the daguerreotype? Perhaps you
+will presume to deny that, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched &rsquo;Lena, whose dark
+brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, &ldquo;It is false, madam. You know it
+is false. I never yet have had my picture taken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Again I repeat, that is false!&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, while Mrs.
+Graham, strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, &ldquo;I can prove
+it, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I defy you to do so,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, strong in her own
+innocence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I show it to her, Durward,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, and
+&rsquo;Lena, turning suddenly round, became for the first time conscious of his
+presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly toward him, asking
+him, in piteous tones, to save her from his mother. Durward would almost have
+laid down his life to prove her innocent, but he felt that could not be. So he
+made her no reply, and in his eye she read that he, too, was deceived. With a
+low, wailing moan she again covered her face with her hands, while Mrs. Graham
+repeated her question, &ldquo;Shall I show it to her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and he answered,
+&ldquo;Why do you ask, when you know you cannot do so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how joyfully &rsquo;Lena started up; he did not believe it, after all, and
+if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that was which she gave to Durward,
+who returned her no answering glance, save one of pity; and again that wailing
+cry smote painfully on his ear. Taking the case from her pocket, Mrs. Graham
+advanced toward &rsquo;Lena, saying, &ldquo;Here, see for yourself, and then
+deny it if you can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But &rsquo;Lena had no power to take it. Her faculties seemed benumbed and
+Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded brow stood leaning against the
+mantel, construed her hesitation into guilt, which dreaded to be convicted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you take it?&rdquo; persisted Mrs. Graham. &ldquo;You
+defied me to prove it, and here it is. I found it in my husband&rsquo;s private
+drawer, together with one of those long curls, which last I burned out of my
+sight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward shuddered, while &rsquo;Lena involuntarily thought of the mass of wavy
+tresses which they had told her clustered around her mother&rsquo;s face, as
+she lay in her narrow coffin. Why thought she of her mother then? Was it
+because they were so strangely alike, that any allusion to her own personal
+appearance always reminded her of her lost parent? Perhaps so. But to return to
+our story &rsquo;Lena would have sworn that the likeness was not hers, and
+still an undefined dread crept over her, preventing her from moving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist you,&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case and holding to view the
+picture, on which with wondering eyes, &rsquo;Lena gazed in astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is I&mdash;it is; but oh, heaven, how came he by it?&rdquo; she
+gasped, and the next moment she fell fainting at Durward&rsquo;s feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, &ldquo;Pray,
+don&rsquo;t touch her&mdash;she does it for effect.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he knew better. He knew there was no feigning the corpse-like pallor of
+that face, and pushing his mother aside, he took the unconscious girl in his
+arms, and bearing her to the sofa, laid her gently upon it, removing her hand
+and smoothing back from her cold brow the thick, clustering curls which his
+mother had designated as &ldquo;coiling serpents.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants,&rdquo; said he,
+to his mother, who had seized the bell-rope. &ldquo;Bring some water from your
+bedroom, and we will take charge of her ourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something commanding in the tones of his voice, and Mrs. Graham, now
+really alarmed at the deathly appearance of &rsquo;Lena, hastened to obey. When
+he was alone, Durward bent down, imprinting upon the white lips a burning
+kiss&mdash;the first he had ever given her. In his heart he believed her
+unworthy of his love, and yet she had never seemed one-half so dear to him as
+at that moment, when she lay there before him helpless as an infant, and all
+unmindful of the caresses which he lavished upon her. &ldquo;If it were indeed
+death;&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;and it had come upon her while yet she was
+innocent, I could have borne it, but now I would I had never seen her;&rdquo;
+and the tears which fell like rain upon her cheek, were not unworthy of the
+strong man who shed them. The cold water with which they profusely bathed her
+face and neck, restored her, and then Durward, who could bear the scene no
+longer, glided silently into the next room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting &rsquo;Lena,
+asked &ldquo;what she thought about it now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t speak to me again, for I am very, very
+wretched,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena softly, while Mrs. Graham continued:
+&ldquo;Have you nothing to offer in explanation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing, nothing&mdash;it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was
+dead,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, sobbing passionately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better wish to live and repent,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham, beginning to
+read her a long sermon on her duty, to which &rsquo;Lena paid no attention, and
+the moment she felt that she could walk, she arose to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass lived not far away, Mrs.
+Graham did not deem an escort necessary. But Durward thought differently. He
+could not walk with her side by side, as he had often done before, but he would
+follow at a distance, to see that no harm came near her. There was no danger of
+his being discovered, for &rsquo;Lena was too much absorbed in her own
+wretchedness to heed aught about her, and in silence he walked behind her until
+he saw the door of Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s house close upon her. Then feeling that
+there was an inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, where
+he found his mother exulting over the downfall of one whom, for some reason,
+she had always disliked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t she look confounded, though, when I showed her the
+picture?&rdquo; said she; to which Durward replied, by asking &ldquo;when and
+why she sent the letter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it,
+either,&rdquo; was Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s crusty answer, whereupon the
+conversation was dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the subject was not
+again resumed during their stay in Louisville.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+It would be impossible to describe &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s emotion as she returned
+to the house. Twice in the hall was she obliged to grasp at the banister to
+keep from falling, and knowing that such excessive agitation would be remarked,
+she seated herself upon the stairs until she felt composed enough to enter the
+parlor. Fortunately, Mabel was alone, and so absorbed in the fortunes of
+&ldquo;Uncle True and little Gerty,&rdquo; as scarcely to notice &rsquo;Lena at
+all. Once, indeed, as she sat before the grate so motionless and still, Mabel
+looked up, and observing how white she was, asked what was the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A bad headache,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, at the same time announcing
+her intention of retiring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save those who like
+her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, as prostrate upon the floor she
+lay, her long silken curls falling about her white face, which looked ghastly
+and haggard by the moonlight that fell softly about her, as if to soothe her
+woe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it,&rdquo; she cried aloud&mdash;&ldquo;this dark mystery, which
+I cannot explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham. He could explain it&mdash;he must
+explain it. She would go to him the next day, asking him what it meant. She
+felt sure that he could make it plain, for suspicious as matters looked, she
+exculpated him from any wrong intention toward her. Still she could not sleep,
+and when the gray morning light crept in, it found her too much exhausted to
+rise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by Mabel and her
+grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her illness, hastened down to
+nurse her. Every day did &rsquo;Lena ask of Mr. Douglass if Mr. Graham had been
+in the city, saying that the first time he came she wished to see him. Days,
+however, went by, and nothing was seen or heard from him, until at last John
+Jr.; who visited her daily, casually informed her that Mr. Graham had been
+unexpectedly called away to South Carolina. A distant relative of his had died,
+bequeathing him a large property, which made it necessary for him to go there
+immediately; so without waiting for the return of his wife, he had started off,
+leaving Woodlawn alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to South Carolina!&rdquo; exclaimed &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;When will
+he return?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody knows. He&rsquo;s away from home more than half the time, just as
+I should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife,&rdquo; answered John Jr., at the same
+time playfully remarking that &rsquo;Lena need not look so blank, as it was not
+Durward who had gone so far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an instant &rsquo;Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask him what to
+do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at all excited, she finally decided
+to keep her own secret, determining, however, to write to Mr. Graham, as soon
+as she was able. Just before John Jr. left her, she called him to her side,
+asking him if he would do her the favor of seeing that Vesta was sent back to
+Woodlawn, as she did not wish for her any longer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the plague is that for&mdash;has mother been raising a row?&rdquo;
+asked John Jr., and &rsquo;Lena replied, &ldquo;No, no, your mother has nothing
+to do with it. I only want Vesta taken home. I cannot at present tell you why,
+but I have a good reason, and some time, perhaps, I&rsquo;ll explain.
+You&rsquo;ll do it, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the determination of questioning Durward as to what had happened, John Jr.
+promised, and when Mrs. Graham and her son returned from Louisville, they found
+Vesta safely stabled with their other horses, while the saddle with its tiny
+slipper hung upon a beam, and seemingly looked down with reproach upon Durward,
+who turned away with a bitter pang as he thought of the morning when he first
+took it to Maple Grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day was dark and rainy, precluding all outdoor exercise, and weary,
+sad, and spiritless, Durward repaired to the library, where, for an hour or
+more, he sat musing dreamily of the past&mdash;of the morning, years ago, when
+first he met the little girl who had since grown so strongly into his love, and
+over whom so dark a shadow had fallen. A heavy knock at the door, and in a
+moment John Jr. appeared, with dripping garments and a slightly scowling face.
+There was a faint resemblance between him and &rsquo;Lena, manifest in the
+soft, curling hair and dark, lustrous eyes. Durward had observed it
+before&mdash;he thought of it now&mdash;and glad to see any one who bore the
+least resemblance to her, he started up, exclaiming, &ldquo;Why, Livingstone,
+the very one of all the world I am glad to see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John made no reply, but shaking the rain-drops from his overcoat, which he
+carelessly threw upon the floor, he took a chair opposite the grate, and
+looking Durward fully in the face, said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve come over, Bellmont,
+to ask you a few plain, unvarnished questions, which I believe you will answer
+truthfully. Am I right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly, sir&mdash;go on,&rdquo; was Durward&rsquo;s reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, to begin, are you and &rsquo;Lena engaged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you been engaged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you ever expect to be engaged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you quarreled?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose I do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you tell me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said Durward, determined, for &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s sake,
+that no one should wring from him the secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. arose, jammed both hands into his pockets&mdash;walked to the
+window&mdash;made faces at the weather&mdash;walked back to the
+grate&mdash;made faces at that&mdash;kicked it&mdash;and then turning to
+Durward, said, &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the old Nick to pay, somewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you, there&rsquo;s the old Nick to pay, somewhere,&rdquo;
+continued John, raising his voice. &ldquo;I knew it all the while &rsquo;Lena
+was sick. I read it in her face when I told her Mr. Graham had gone
+south&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A faint sickness gathered around Durward&rsquo;s heart, and John Jr. proceeded:
+&ldquo;She wouldn&rsquo;t tell me, and I&rsquo;ve come to you for information.
+Will you give it to me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said Durward. &ldquo;The nature of our trouble is known
+only to ourselves and one other individual, and I shall never divulge the
+secret.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that other individual my mother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it Cad?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Had they any agency in the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None, whatever, that I know of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;m on the wrong track, and may as well go home,&rdquo; said
+John Jr., starting for the door, where he stopped, while he added, &ldquo;If,
+Bellmont, I ever do hear of your having misled me in this
+matter&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He did not finish the sentence in words, but
+playfully producing a revolver, he departed. The next moment he was dashing
+across the lawn, the mud flying in every direction, and himself thinking how
+useless it was to try to unravel a love quarrel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime, &rsquo;Lena waited impatiently for an answer to the letter
+which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day glided by, and still no
+tidings came. At last, as if everything had conspired against her, she heard
+that he was lying dangerously ill of a fever at Havana, whither he had gone in
+quest of an individual whose presence was necessary in the settlement of the
+estate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, also contained a
+request that she would come to him immediately, and within a few days after its
+receipt, she started for Cuba, together with Durward, who went without again
+seeing &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They found him better than they expected. The danger was past, but he was still
+too weak to move himself, and the physician said it would be many weeks ere he
+was able to travel. This rather pleased Mrs. Graham than otherwise. She was
+fond of change, and had often desired to visit Havana, so now that she was
+there, she made the best of it, and for once in her life enacted the part of a
+faithful, affectionate wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham spoke of
+&ldquo;Helena,&rdquo; imploring her forgiveness for his leaving her so long,
+and promising to return. Sometimes he spoke of her as being dead, and in
+piteous accents he would ask of Durward to bring him back his &ldquo;beautiful
+&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; who was sleeping far away among the New England mountains.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, he brought one
+directed to Mr. Graham, which had been forwarded from Charleston, and which
+bore the post-marks of several places, it having been sent hither and thither,
+ere it reached its place of destination. It was mailed at Frankfort, Kentucky,
+and in the superscription Durward readily recognized the handwriting of
+&rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Worse and worse,&rdquo; thought he, now fully assured of her
+worthlessness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this act he
+instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might contain, it was not for
+him to read it. But what should he do with it? Must he give it to his mother
+who already had as much as she could bear? No, &rsquo;twas not best for her to
+know aught about it, and as the surest means of preventing its doing further
+trouble, he destroyed it&mdash;burned it to ashes&mdash;repenting the next
+moment of the deed, wishing he had read it, and feeling not that he had wronged
+the dead, as his mother did when she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had
+done a wrong to &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, leaving his father and
+mother to travel leisurely from place to place, as the still feeble state of
+the former would admit. &rsquo;Lena, who had returned from Frankfort, trembled
+lest he should come to Maple Grove, but he seemed equally desirous of avoiding
+a meeting, and after lingering about Woodlawn for several days, he suddenly
+departed for Louisville, where, for a time, we leave him, while we follow the
+fortunes of others connected with our story.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/>
+JOHN JR. AND MABEL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Time and absence had gradually softened John Jr.&rsquo;s feelings toward
+Nellie. She was not married to Mr. Wilbur&mdash;possibly she never would
+be&mdash;and if on her return to America he found her the same, he would lose
+no time in seeing her, and, if possible, secure her to himself. Such was the
+tenor of his thoughts, as on one bright morning in June he took his way to
+Lexington, whither he was going on business for his father. Before leaving the
+city, he rode down to the depot, as was his usual custom, reaching there just
+as the cars bound for Frankfort were rolling away. Upon the platform of the
+rear car stood an acquaintance of his, who called out, &ldquo;Halloo,
+Livingstone, have you heard the news?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;News, no. What news?&rdquo; asked John Jr., following after the fast
+moving train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bob Wilbur and Nellie Douglass are married,&rdquo; screamed the young
+man, who, having really heard of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage, supposed it must
+of course be with Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. had no doubt of it, and for a moment his heart fainted beneath the
+sudden blow. But he was not one to yield long to despair, and soon recovering
+from the first shock, he raved in uncontrollable fury, denouncing Nellie as
+worthless, fickle, and good for nothing, mentally wishing her much joy with her
+husband, who in the same breath he hoped &ldquo;would break his confounded
+neck,&rdquo; and ending his tirade by solemnly vowing to offer himself to the
+first girl he met, whether black or white!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Full of this resolution he put spurs to Firelock and sped away over the
+turnpike, looking neither to the right nor the left, lest a chance should offer
+for the fulfillment of his vow. It was the dusk of evening when he reached
+home, and giving his horse into the care of a servant, he walked with rapid
+strides into the parlor, starting back as he saw <i>Mabel Ross</i>, who, for a
+few days past, had been visiting at Maple Grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no backing out,&rdquo; thought he. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s my
+destiny, and I&rsquo;ll meet it like a man. Nellie spited me, and I&rsquo;ll
+let her know how good it feels.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mabel,&rdquo; said he, advancing toward her, &ldquo;will you marry me?
+Say yes or no quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was not quite the kind of wooing which Mabel had expected. &rsquo;Twas not
+what she read of in novels, but then it was in keeping with the rest of John
+Jr.&rsquo;s conduct, and very frankly and naturally she answered
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said he, beginning to feel better already, and turning
+to leave the room&mdash;&ldquo;Very well, you fix the day, and arrange it all
+yourself, only let it be very soon, for now I&rsquo;ve made up my mind,
+I&rsquo;m in a mighty hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in earnest or not, asked
+&ldquo;if she should speak to the minister, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, no,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Just tell mother, and she&rsquo;ll fix
+it all right. Will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he walked away, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, except that he was
+engaged. Engaged! The very idea seemed to add new dignity to <i>him</i>, while
+it invested Mabel with a charm she had not hitherto possessed. John Jr. liked
+everything that belonged to him exclusively, and Mabel now was his&mdash;his
+wife she would be&mdash;and when next he met her in the drawing-room, his
+manner toward her was unusually kind, attracting the attention of his mother,
+who wondered at the change. One after another the family retired, until there
+was no one left in the parlor except Mabel and Mrs. Livingstone, who, as her
+husband chanced to be absent, had invited her young visitor to share her room.
+When they were alone, Mabel, with many blushes and a few tears, told of all
+that had occurred, except, indeed, of John&rsquo;s manner of proposing, which
+she thought best not to confide to a third person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Eagerly Mrs. Livingstone listened, mentally congratulating herself upon the
+completion of her plan without her further interference, wondering the while
+how it had been so suddenly brought about, and half trembling lest it should
+prove a failure after all. So when Mabel spoke of John Jr.&rsquo;s wish that
+the marriage should be consummated immediately, she replied,
+&ldquo;Certainly&mdash;by all means. There is no necessity for delay. You can
+marry at once, and get ready afterwards. It is now the last of June. I had
+thought of going to Saratoga in July, and a bride is just the thing to give
+eclat to our party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; answered Mabel, who hardly fancied a wedding without all the
+usual preparations, which she felt she should enjoy so much, &ldquo;I cannot
+think of being married until October, when Nellie perhaps will be here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie&rsquo;s return was what Mrs. Livingstone dreaded, and very ingeniously
+she set herself at work to put aside Mabel&rsquo;s objections, succeeding so
+far that the young girl promised compliance with whatever she should think
+proper. The next morning, as John Jr. was passing through the hall, she called
+him into her room, delicately broaching the subject of his engagement, saying
+she knew he could not help loving a girl possessed of so many excellent
+qualities as Mabel Ross. Very patiently John Jr. heard her until she came to
+speak of love. Then, in much louder tones than newly engaged men are apt to
+speak of their betrothed, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Love! Fudge! If you think
+I&rsquo;m marrying Mabel for love, you are greatly mistaken, I like her, but
+love is out of the question.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray what are you marrying her for? Her property?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Property!&rdquo; repeated John, with a sneer, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen the
+effect of marrying for property, and I trust I&rsquo;m not despicable enough to
+try it for myself. No, madam, I&rsquo;m not marrying her for money&mdash;but to
+spite Nellie Douglass, if you must know the reason. I&rsquo;ve loved her as I
+shall never again love womankind, but she cheated me. She&rsquo;s married to
+Robert Wilbur, and now I&rsquo;ve too much spirit to have her think <i>I</i>
+care. If she can marry, so can I&mdash;she isn&rsquo;t the only girl in the
+world&mdash;and when I heard what she had done, I vowed I&rsquo;d offer myself
+to the first female I saw. As good or bad luck would have it, &rsquo;twas
+Mabel, who you know said yes, of course, for I verily believe she likes me far
+better than I deserve. What kind of a husband I shall make, the Lord only
+knows, but I&rsquo;m in for it. My word is passed, and the sooner you get us
+tied together the better, but for heaven&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t go to making
+a great parade. Mabel has no particular home. She&rsquo;s here now, and why not
+let the ceremony take place here. But fix it to suit yourselves, only
+don&rsquo;t let me hear you talking about it, for fear I&rsquo;ll get sick of
+the whole thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was exactly what Mrs. Livingstone desired. She had the day before been to
+Frankfort herself, learning from Mrs. Atkins of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage
+with the English girl. She knew her son was deceived, and it was highly
+necessary that he should continue so. She felt sure that neither her daughters,
+Mabel, nor &rsquo;Lena knew of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage, and she resolved
+they should not. It was summer, and as many of their city friends had left
+Frankfort for places of fashionable resort, they received but few calls; and by
+keeping them at home until the wedding was over, she trusted that all would be
+safe in that quarter. Durward, too, was fortunately absent, so she only had to
+deal with Mabel and John Jr. The first of these she approached very carefully,
+casually telling her of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage, and then hastily adding,
+&ldquo;But pray don&rsquo;t speak of it to any one, as there are special
+reasons why it should not at present be discussed. Sometime I may tell you the
+reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel wondered why so small a matter should be a secret, but Mrs. Livingstone
+had requested her to keep silence and that was a sufficient reason why she
+should do so. The next step was to win her consent for the ceremony to take
+place there, and in the course of three weeks, saying that it was her
+son&rsquo;s wish. But on this point she found more difficulty than she had
+anticipated, for Mabel shrank from being married at the house of his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It didn&rsquo;t look right,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and she knew Mr.
+Douglass would not object to having it there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone knew so, too, but there was too much danger in such an
+arrangement, and she replied, &ldquo;Of course not, if you request it, but will
+it be quite proper for you to ask him to be at all that trouble when Nellie is
+gone, and there is no one at home to superintend?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So after a time Mabel was convinced, thinking, though, how differently
+everything was turning out from what she expected. Three weeks from that night
+was fixed upon for the bridal, to which but few were to be invited, for Mrs.
+Livingstone did not wish to call forth remark.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything should be done quietly and in order,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;and then, when autumn came, she would give a splendid party in honor of
+the bride.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Douglass, when told of the coming event by Mrs. Livingstone, who would
+trust no one else, expressed much surprise, saying he greatly preferred that
+the ceremony should take place at his own house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; returned the oily-tongued woman, &ldquo;of course you
+had, but even a small wedding party is a vast amount of trouble, and in
+Nellie&rsquo;s absence you would be disturbed. Were she here I would not say a
+word, but now I insist upon having it my own way, and indeed, I think my claim
+upon Mabel is the strongest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silenced, but not quite convinced, Mr. Douglass said no more, thinking,
+meanwhile, that if he only <i>could</i> afford it, Mabel should have a wedding
+worthy of her. But he could not; he was poor, and hence Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s arguments prevailed the more easily. Fortunately for her,
+John Jr. manifested no inclination to go out at all. A kind of torpor seemed to
+have settled upon him, and day after day he remained at home, sometimes in a
+deep study in his own room, and sometimes sitting in the parlor, where his very
+unlover-like deportment frequently brought tears to Mabel&rsquo;s eyes, while
+Carrie loudly denounced him as the most clownish fellow she ever saw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll train him, Mabel,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for he
+needs it. He ought to have had Nellie Douglass. She&rsquo;s a match for him.
+Why didn&rsquo;t you have her, John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a face dark as night, he angrily requested Carrie &ldquo;to mind her own
+business,&rdquo; saying &ldquo;he was fully competent to take charge of
+himself, without the interference of either wife or sister.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, what if he should look and talk so to me!&rdquo; thought Mabel,
+shuddering as a dim foreboding of her sad future came over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena who understood John Jr. better than any one else, saw that all was
+not right. She knew how much he had loved Nellie; she believed he loved her
+still; and why should he marry another? She could not tell, and as he withheld
+his confidence from her, appearing unusually moody and cross, she dared not
+approach him. At last, having an idea of what she wanted, and willing to give
+her a chance, he one day, when they were alone, abruptly asked her what she
+thought of his choice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you ask me what I think of Mabel,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I answer
+that I esteem her very highly, and the more I know her the better I love her.
+Still, I never thought she would be your wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah&mdash;indeed!&mdash;never thought she would, hey?&rdquo; answered
+John, beginning to grow crusty, and elevating his feet to the top of the
+mantel. &ldquo;You see now what <i>thought</i> did; but what is your objection
+to her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing, nothing,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;Mabel is amiable,
+gentle, and confiding, and will try to be a good wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the deuce are you grumbling for, then?&rdquo; interrupted John Jr.
+&ldquo;Do you want me yourself? If you do, just say the word, and it shall be
+done! I&rsquo;m bound to be married, and I&rsquo;d sooner have you than anybody
+else. Come, what do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena smiled, while she disclaimed any intention toward her cousin, who,
+resuming the position which in his excitement he had slightly changed,
+continued: &ldquo;I have always dealt fairly with you, &rsquo;Lena, and now I
+tell you truly, I have no particular love for Mabel, although I intend making
+her my wife, and heartily wish she was so now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena started, and clasping John&rsquo;s arm, exclaimed, &ldquo;Marry
+Mabel and not love her! You cannot be in earnest. You will not do her so great
+a wrong&mdash;you shall not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know how you&rsquo;ll help it, unless you meddle with what
+does not concern you,&rdquo; said John. &ldquo;I am doing her no wrong, I never
+told her I loved her&mdash;never acted as though I did, and if she is content
+to have me on such terms, it&rsquo;s nobody&rsquo;s business. She loves me half
+to death, and if the old adage be true that love begets love, I shall learn to
+love her, and when I do I&rsquo;ll let you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, the young man shook down his pants, which had become disarranged,
+and walked away, leaving &rsquo;Lena to wonder what course she had better
+pursue. Once she resolved on telling Mabel all that had passed between them,
+but the next moment convinced her that, as he had said, she would be meddling,
+so she decided to say nothing, silently hoping that affairs would turn out
+better than she feared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mabel&rsquo;s wish that &rsquo;Lena and Anna should be her bridesmaids,
+Durward and Malcolm officiating as groomsmen, and as Mr. Bellmont was away, she
+wrote to him requesting his attendance, but saying she had not yet mentioned
+the subject to &rsquo;Lena. Painful as was the task of being thus associated
+with &rsquo;Lena, Durward felt that to refuse might occasion much remark, so he
+wrote to Mabel that &ldquo;he would comply with her request, provided Miss
+Rivers were willing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course she&rsquo;s willing,&rdquo; said Mabel to herself, at the same
+time running with the letter to &rsquo;Lena, who, to her utter astonishment,
+not only refused outright, but also declined giving any particular reason for
+her doing so. &ldquo;Carrie will suit him much better than I,&rdquo; said she,
+but unfortunately, Carrie, who chanced to be present, half hidden in the recess
+of a window, indignantly declined &ldquo;going Jack-at-a-pinch&rdquo; with any
+one, so Mabel was obliged to content herself with Anna and Mr. Everett.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But here a new difficulty arose, for Mrs. Livingstone declared that the latter
+should not be invited, and Anna, in a fit of anger, insisted that if <i>he</i>
+were not good enough to be present, neither was she, and she should accordingly
+remain in her own room. Poor Mabel burst into tears, and when, a few moments
+afterward, John Jr. appeared, asking what ailed her, she hid her face in his
+bosom and sobbed like a child. Then, frightened at her own temerity, for he
+gave her no answering caress, she lifted up her head, while with a quizzical
+expression John Jr. said, &ldquo;So-ho, Meb, seems to me you&rsquo;ve taken to
+crying on my jacket a little in advance. But what&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a few words Mabel told him how everything went wrong, how neither
+&rsquo;Lena, Carrie, nor Anna would be her bridesmaids, and how Anna
+wouldn&rsquo;t see her married because Malcolm was not invited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can manage that,&rdquo; said John Jr. &ldquo;Mr. Everett <i>shall</i>
+be invited, so just shut up crying, for if there&rsquo;s anything I detest,
+it&rsquo;s a woman&rsquo;s sniveling;&rdquo; and he walked off thinking he had
+begun just as he meant to hold out.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/>
+THE BRIDAL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas Mabel&rsquo;s wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms of Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s house she stood awaiting the summons to the parlor. They
+had arrayed her for the bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, &rsquo;Lena, Anna,
+and the seamstress, all had had something to do with her toilet, and now they
+had left her for a time with him who was so soon to be her husband. She
+knew&mdash;for they had told her&mdash;she was looking uncommonly well. Her
+dress, of pure white satin, was singularly becoming; pearls were interwoven in
+the heavy braids of her raven hair; the fleecy folds of the rich veil, which
+fell like a cloud around her, swept the floor. In her eye there was an unusual
+sparkle and on her cheek an unwonted bloom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain at her heart&mdash;a
+foreboding of coming evil&mdash;and many an anxious glance she cast toward the
+stern, silent man, who, with careless tread, walked up and down the room,
+utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed in bitter
+reflections. Once only had she ventured to speak, and then, in childlike
+simplicity, she had asked him &ldquo;how she looked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well enough,&rdquo; was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he
+continued his walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tears gathered in Mabel&rsquo;s eyes&mdash;she could not help it; drop
+after drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until John Jr., who saw
+more than he pretended, came to her side, asking &ldquo;why she wept.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a moment she
+hesitated, but at length, summoning all her courage, she wound her arms about
+his neck, and in low, earnest tones said, &ldquo;Tell me truly, do you wish to
+marry me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And suppose I do not?&rdquo; he asked, with the same stony composure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, and answered,
+&ldquo;Then would I die rather than wed you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something in her appearance and attitude peculiarly attractive to
+John Jr. Never in his life had he felt so much interested in her, and drawing
+her toward him and placing his arm around her, he said, gently, &ldquo;Be calm,
+little Meb, you are nervous to-night. Of course I wish you to be my wife, else
+I had not asked you. Are you satisfied?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly to his, was a
+sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the injustice he was about to do her,
+John Jr. bent for an instant over her slight figure, mentally resolving, that
+so far as in him lay he would be true to his trust. There was a knock at the
+door, and Mrs. Livingstone herself looked in, pale, anxious, and expectant. Mr.
+Douglass, who was among the invited guests, had arrived, and <i>must</i> have
+an interview with John Jr. ere the ceremony. &rsquo;Twas in vain she attempted
+politely to waive his request. He <i>would</i> see him, and distracted with
+fear, she had at last conducted him into the upper hall, and out upon an open
+veranda, where in the moonlight he awaited the coming of the bridegroom, who,
+with some curiosity, approached him, asking what he wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It may seem strange to you,&rdquo; said Mr. Douglass, &ldquo;that I
+insist upon seeing you now, when another time might do as well, but I believe
+in having a fair understanding all round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meddling old rascal!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, of course,
+was within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., Mr. Douglass
+said, so low as to prevent her catching anything further, save the sound of his
+voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such things have
+been, and there has something come to my knowledge to-day, which I deem it my
+duty to tell you, so that hereafter you can neither blame me nor Mabel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, &ldquo;To
+be brief, then, Mabel&rsquo;s large fortune is, with the exception of a few
+thousands, of which I have charge, all swept away by the recent failure of the
+Planters&rsquo; Bank, in which it was invested. I heard of it this morning, and
+determined on telling you, knowing that if you loved her for herself, it would
+make no difference, while if you loved her for her money, it were far better to
+stop here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could have been further from John&rsquo;s thoughts than a desire for
+Mabel&rsquo;s wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his mother&rsquo;s eyes,
+was valueless to him, and after a moment&rsquo;s silence, in which he was
+thinking what a rich disappointment it would be to his mother, who, he knew,
+prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Good, I&rsquo;m glad of
+it. I never sought Mabel&rsquo;s hand for what there was in it, and I&rsquo;m
+more ready to marry her now than ever. But,&rdquo; he added, as a sudden
+impulse of good came over him, &ldquo;She need not know it; it would trouble
+her uselessly, and for the present we&rsquo;ll keep it from her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by turns censured and
+admired him, but now there was but one feeling in his bosom toward him, and
+that was one of unbounded respect. With a warm pressure of the hand he turned
+away, thinking, perchance, of his fair young daughter, who, far away o&rsquo;er
+the Atlantic waves, little dreamed of the scene on which that summer moon was
+shining. As the conference ended; Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing,
+glided, from her hiding-place, eagerly scanning her son&rsquo;s face to see if
+there was aught to justify her fears. But there was nothing, and with her heart
+beating at its accustomed pace, she descended the stairs in time to meet
+Durward, who, having reached Woodlawn that day, had not heard of
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s decision.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This way, Marster Bellmont&mdash;upstars is the gentleman&rsquo;s
+room,&rdquo; said the servant in attendance, and ascending the stairs, Durward
+met with Anna, asking her for her cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In there&mdash;go in,&rdquo; said Anna, pointing to a half-open door,
+and then hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose coming she had seen from the
+window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated, and as his knock met
+with no response, he ventured at last to enter unannounced into the presence of
+&rsquo;Lena, whom he had not met since that well-remembered night. Tastefully
+attired for the wedding in a simple white muslin, she sat upon a little stool
+with her face buried in the cushions of the sofa. She had heard his voice in
+the lower hall, and knowing she must soon meet him, she had for a moment
+abandoned herself to the tumult of bitter thoughts, which came sweeping over
+her in that trying hour. She was weeping&mdash;he knew that by the trembling of
+her body&mdash;and for an instant everything was forgotten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his hand upon those clustering
+curls which fell unheeded around her, when the thought that from among them had
+been cut the hated tress which his mother had cast into the flames, arrested
+his hand, and he was himself again. Forcing down his emotion, he said, calmly,
+&ldquo;Miss Rivers,&rdquo; and starting quickly to her feet, &rsquo;Lena
+demanded proudly what he would have, and why he was there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; said he, as he marked her haughty bearing and glanced
+at her dress, which was hardly in accordance with that of a bridesmaid;
+&ldquo;I supposed I was to be groomsman&mdash;am I mistaken?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So far as I am concerned you are, sir. I knew nothing of Mabel&rsquo;s
+writing to you, or I should have prevented it, for after what has occurred, you
+cannot deem me weak enough to lend myself to such an arrangement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And &rsquo;Lena walked out of the room, while Durward looked after her in
+amazement, one moment admiring her spirit, and the next blaming Mabel for not
+informing him how matters stood. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s no help for it
+now,&rdquo; thought he, as he descended the stairs and made his way into the
+parlor, whither &rsquo;Lena had preceded him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus ended an interview of which &rsquo;Lena had thought so much, hoping
+and praying that it might result in a reconciliation. But it was all over
+now&mdash;the breach was wider than ever&mdash;with half-benumbed faculties she
+leaned on the window, unconscious of the earnest desire he felt to approach
+her, for there was about her a strange fascination which it required all his
+power to resist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched to John Jr., who,
+without a word, offered his arm to Mabel, and descending the broad staircase,
+they stood within the parlor in the spot which had been assigned them. Once
+during the ceremony he raised his eyes, encountering those of &rsquo;Lena,
+fixed upon him so reproachfully that with a scowl he turned away. Mechanically
+he went through with his part of the service, betraying no emotion whatever,
+until the solemn words which made them one were uttered. Then, when it was
+over&mdash;when he was bound to her forever&mdash;he seemed suddenly to awake
+from his apathy and think of what he had done. Crowding around him, they came
+with words of congratulation&mdash;all but &rsquo;Lena, who tarried behind, for
+she had none to give. Wretched as she was herself, she pitied the frail young
+bride, whose half-joyous, half-timid glances toward the frigid bridegroom,
+showed that already was she sipping from the bitter cup whose very dregs she
+was destined to drain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr. Douglass and Durward stood,
+speaking together of Nellie, and though John shrank from the sound of her name,
+his hearing faculties seemed unusually sharpened, and he lost not a word of
+what they were saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told,&rdquo; said Durward,
+&ldquo;and I am glad of it, for I miss her much. But what is it about Mr.
+Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage. Wasn&rsquo;t it rather unexpected?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not very. Nellie knew before she went that he was engaged to Miss
+Allen, but at his sister&rsquo;s request she kept it still. He found her at a
+boarding-school in Montreal, several years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will they remain in Europe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For a time, at least, until Mary is better&mdash;but Nellie comes home
+with some friends from New Haven, whom she met in Paris;&rdquo; then in a low
+tone Mr. Douglass added, &ldquo;I almost dread the effect of this marriage upon
+her, for I am positive she liked him better than anyone else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little white, blue-veined hand which rested on that of John Jr., was
+suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that Mabel looked up inquiringly in the face
+which had no thought for her, for Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s words had fallen upon
+him like a thunderbolt, crushing him to the earth, and for a moment rendering
+him powerless. Instantly he comprehended it all. He had deceived himself, and
+by his impetuous haste lost all that he held most dear on earth. There was a
+cry of faintness, a grasping at empty space to keep from falling, and then
+forth into the open air they led the half-fainting man, followed by his
+frightened bride, who tenderly bathed his damp, cold brow, unmindful how he
+shrank from her, shuddering as he felt the touch of her soft hand, and
+motioning her aside when she stooped to part from his forehead the heavy locks
+of his hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere kept watch over a gentle
+girl, who &rsquo;neath the blue skies of sunny France, dreamed of her distant
+home across the ocean wave; of the gray-haired man, who, with every morning
+light and evening shade, blessed her as his child; of another, whose image was
+ever present with her, whom from her childhood she had loved, and whom neither
+time nor distance could efface from her memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down upon the white, haggard face
+and heavy bloodshot eye of him who counted each long, dreary hour as it passed
+by, cursing the fate which had made him what he was, and unjustly hardening his
+heart against his innocent unsuspecting wife.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br/>
+MARRIED LIFE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabel with at least a
+show of attention, but he was not one to act long as he did not feel. Had
+Nellie been, indeed, the wife of another, he might in time have learned to love
+Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence only served to remind him of what
+he had lost, and at last he began to shun her society, never seeming willing to
+be left with her alone, and either repulsing or treating with indifference the
+many little acts of kindness which her affectionate nature prompted. To all
+this Mabel was not blind, and when once she began to suspect her true position,
+it was easy for her to fancy slights where none were intended.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one of constant
+unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, which had been much
+improved, began to fail. Her old racking headaches returned with renewed force,
+confining her for whole days to her room, where she lay listening in vain for
+the footsteps which never came, and tended only by &rsquo;Lena, who in
+proportion as the others neglected her, clung to her more and more. The trip to
+Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the bitterness of his disappointment
+bitterly refusing to go, and saying there was nothing sillier than for a
+newly-married couple to go riding around the country, disgusting sensible
+people with their fooleries. So with a burst of tears Mabel yielded and her
+bridal tour extended no further than Frankfort, whither her husband <i>did</i>
+once accompany her, dining out even then with an old schoolmate whom he chanced
+to meet, and almost forgetting to call at Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s for Mabel when
+it was time to return home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which shipwrecked entirely the
+poor bride&rsquo;s happiness. By some means or other it at last came to Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s knowledge that Mabel&rsquo;s fortune was not only all gone,
+but that her son had known it in time to prevent his marrying her. Owing to
+various losses her own property had for a few years past been gradually
+diminishing, and when she found that Mabel&rsquo;s fortune, which she leaned
+upon as an all-powerful prop, was swept away, it was more than she could bear
+peaceably; and in a fit of disappointed rage she assailed her son, reproaching
+him with bringing disgrace upon the family by marrying a poor, homely, sickly
+girl, who would be forever incurring expense without any means of paying it!
+For once, however, she found her match, for in good round terms John Jr. bade
+her &ldquo;go to thunder,&rdquo; his favorite point of destination for his
+particular friends, at the same time saying, &ldquo;he didn&rsquo;t care a dime
+for Mabel&rsquo;s money. It was you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;who kept your eye
+on that, aiding and abetting the match, and now that you are disappointed,
+I&rsquo;m heartily glad of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who is going to pay for her board,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve no means of earning it, and I hope you don&rsquo;t intend
+to sponge out of me, for I think I&rsquo;ve enough paupers on my hands
+already!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Board</i>!&rdquo; roared John Jr. in a towering passion. &ldquo;While
+you thought her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything else; and since she
+has become poor, I do not think her appetite greatly increased. You taunt me,
+too, with having no means of earning my own living. Whose fault is
+it?&mdash;tell me that. Haven&rsquo;t you always opposed my having a
+profession? Didn&rsquo;t you <i>pet</i> and <i>baby</i> &lsquo;Johnny&rsquo;
+when a boy, keeping him always at your apron strings, and now that he&rsquo;s a
+man, he&rsquo;s not to be turned adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel,
+too, just as long as I please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned her battery upon poor
+Mabel, treating her with shameful neglect, intimating that she was in the way;
+that the house was full, and that she never supposed John was going to settle
+down at home for her to support; he was big enough to look after himself, and
+if he chose to marry a wife who had nothing, why let them go to work, as other
+folks did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what was meant, for John
+Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowledge of her loss, requesting his mother
+to do the same in such decided terms, that, hint as strongly as she pleased,
+she dared not tell the whole, for fear of the storm which was sure to follow.
+All this was not, of course, calculated to add to Mabel&rsquo;s comfort, and
+day by day she grew more and more unhappy, generously keeping to herself,
+however, the treatment which she received from Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of his
+mother,&rdquo; thought she, so the secret was kept, though she could not always
+repress the tears which would start when she thought how wretched she was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was anything particularly
+annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying woman, and now, when he so often
+found Mabel indisposed or weeping, he grew more morose and fault-finding,
+sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying to provoke him, when, in fact, she
+had used every means in her power to conciliate him. Again, conscience-smitten,
+he would lay her aching head upon his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing
+temples, would soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always awoke
+refreshed, and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her suffer. At
+such times, John would resolve never again to treat her unkindly, but alas! his
+resolutions were too easily broken. Had he married Nellie, a more faithful,
+affectionate husband there could not have been. But now it was different. A
+withering blight had fallen upon his earthly prospects, and forgetting that he
+alone was to blame, he unjustly laid the fault upon his innocent wife, who, as
+far as she was able, loved him as deeply as Nellie herself could have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received a note, informing
+him that several of his young associates were going on a three days&rsquo;
+hunting excursion, in which they wished him to join. In the large easy-chair,
+just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported by pillows and saturated with
+camphor, while around her eyes were the dark rings which usually accompanied
+her headaches. Involuntarily John Jr. glanced toward her. Had it been Nellie,
+all the pleasures of the world could not have induced him to leave her, but
+Mabel was altogether another person, and more for the sake of seeing what she
+would say, than from any real intention of going, he read the note aloud; then
+carelessly throwing it aside, he said, &ldquo;Ah, yes, I&rsquo;ll go.
+It&rsquo;ll be rare fun camping out these moonlight nights.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him out of her sight, and
+now, at the first intimation of his leaving her, her lip began to tremble,
+while tears filled her eyes and dropped upon her cheeks. This was enough, and
+mentally styling her &ldquo;a perfect cry baby,&rdquo; he resolved to go at all
+hazards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly,&rdquo;
+said Anna, who was present.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to know if little Anna&rsquo;s got so she can dictate me,
+too,&rdquo; answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that &ldquo;he
+reckoned Mabel would get over her bad feelings quite as well without him as
+with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More for the sake of opposition than because she really cared, Carrie, too,
+chimed in, saying that &ldquo;he was a pretty specimen of a three months&rsquo;
+husband,&rdquo; and asking &ldquo;how he ever expected to answer for all of
+Mabel&rsquo;s tears and headaches.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hang her tears and headaches,&rdquo; said he, beginning to grow angry.
+&ldquo;She can get one up to order any time, and for my part, I am getting
+heartily tired of the sound of aches and pains.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please <i>don&rsquo;t</i> talk so,&rdquo; said Mabel, pressing her hands
+upon her aching head, while &rsquo;Lena sternly exclaimed, &ldquo;Shame on you,
+John Livingstone. I am surprised at you, for I did suppose you had some little
+feeling left.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but I am happy to say
+it is entirely lost on me,&rdquo; said John, leaving the room and shutting the
+door with a bang, which made every one of Mabel&rsquo;s nerves quiver anew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a perfect brute,&rdquo; said Carrie, while &rsquo;Lena and Anna
+drew nearer to Mabel, the one telling her &ldquo;she would not care,&rdquo; and
+the other silently pressing the little hand which instinctively sought hers, as
+if sure of finding sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately Carrie gave a detailed
+account of her brother&rsquo;s conduct, at the same time referring her mother
+for proof to Mabel&rsquo;s red eyes and swollen face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never interfere between husband and wife,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone
+coolly, &ldquo;but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of advice. Without
+being at all personal, I would say that few women have beauty enough to afford
+to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have patience enough to bear
+with a woman who is forever whining and complaining, first of this and then of
+that. I don&rsquo;t suppose that John is so much worse than other people, and I
+think he bears up wonderfully, considering his disappointment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to stare at each
+other in silence, wondering what she meant. Since her marriage, Mabel had
+occupied the parlor chamber, which connected with a cozy little bedroom and
+dressing-room adjoining. These had at the time been fitted up and furnished in
+a style which Mrs. Livingstone thought worthy of Mabel&rsquo;s wealth, but now
+that she was poor, the case was altered, and she had long contemplated removing
+her to more inferior quarters. &ldquo;She wasn&rsquo;t going to give her the
+very best room in the house. No, indeed, she wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;wearing out the
+carpets, soiling the furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would not do to approach
+him on the subject, so she waited, determining to carry out her plans the very
+first time he should be absent, thinking when it was once done, he would submit
+quietly. On hearing that he had gone off on a hunting excursion, she thought,
+&ldquo;Now is my time,&rdquo; and summoning to her assistance three or four
+servants, she removed everything belonging to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small
+and not remarkably convenient room which the former had occupied previous to
+his marriage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you about?&rdquo; asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked
+in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About my business,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone. I&rsquo;m not going
+to have my best things all worn out, and if this was once good enough for John
+to sleep in, it is now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But will Mabel like it?&rdquo; asked Anna, a little suspicious that her
+sister-in-laww&rsquo;s rights were being infringed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone. &ldquo;If she don&rsquo;t like it, all she has to do is to go
+away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lasted jest about as long as I thought &rsquo;twood,&rdquo; said Aunt
+Milly, when she heard what was going on. &ldquo;Ile and crab-apple vinegar
+won&rsquo;t mix, nohow, and if before the year&rsquo;s up old miss don&rsquo;t
+worry the life out of that poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a
+picked chicken, my name ain&rsquo;t Milly Livingstone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated with the family, they
+saw things as they were, and while Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s conduct was
+universally condemned, Mabel was a general favorite. After Mrs. Livingstone had
+left the room, Milly, with one or two others, stole up to reconnoiter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I &rsquo;clar&rsquo; for&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Milly, &ldquo;if here
+ain&rsquo;t Marster John&rsquo;s bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right
+out in far sight, and Miss Mabel comin&rsquo; in here to sleep. &rsquo;Pears
+like some white folks hain&rsquo;t no idee of what &rsquo;longs to good
+manners. Here, Corind, put the jack in thar, the fish-line thar, the backy
+thar, and heave that ar other thrash out o&rsquo;door,&rdquo; pointing to some
+geological specimens which from time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which
+his mother had not thought proper to molest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed good taste, began to
+make some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, and under her
+supervision the room began to present a more cheerful and inviting aspect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,&rdquo; said she, turning up
+her broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand.
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if
+&rsquo;tain&rsquo;t to use. Go, Corind, and fetch &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the precaution to
+bring them in the tongs, so that in the <i>denouement</i> she could stoutly
+deny having even &ldquo;tached &rsquo;em, or even had &rsquo;em in her
+hands!&rdquo; (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied. Had she been
+consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for wishing her to
+take another room, she would have consented willingly, but to be thus summarily
+removed without a shadow of warning, hardly came up to her ideas of justice.
+Still, there was no help for it, and that night the bride of three months
+watered her lone pillow with tears, never once closing her heavy eyelids in
+sleep until the dim morning light came in through the open window, and the
+tread of the negroes&rsquo; feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for many
+hours, the weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the ill-natured remarks
+which her non-appearance was eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said
+&ldquo;it was strange what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress
+Mabel fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her
+until such time as she chose to appear, but she&rsquo;d find herself mistaken,
+for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon her, and if she
+couldn&rsquo;t come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until dinner
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly had the latter
+stolen up to her cousin&rsquo;s room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn
+face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had come all too
+soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her sleep; it will do her good,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, adjusting
+the bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not
+disturb her, she left the chamber.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly preparing a rich
+cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black tea, were to be slyly conveyed
+to Mabel, who was now awake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Reckon thar don&rsquo;t nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the
+roost,&rdquo; said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner of
+her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who, not having
+seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking the world was not,
+after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet a few left who cared for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her headache of the day before still remained, and &rsquo;Lena suggested that
+she should stay in her room, saying that she would herself see that every
+necessary attention was paid her. This she could the more readily do, as Mrs.
+Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her husband. That afternoon, as Mabel
+lay watching the drifting clouds as they passed and repassed before the window,
+her ear suddenly caught the sound of horses&rsquo; feet. Nearer and nearer they
+came, until with a cry of delight she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for
+very joy&mdash;for John Jr. had come home! She could not be mistaken, and if
+there was any lingering doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for she heard his
+voice in the hall below, his footsteps on the stairs. He was coming, an unusual
+thing, to see her first.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But how did he know she was there, in his old room? He did not know it; he was
+only coming to put his rifle in its accustomed place, and on seeing the chamber
+filled with the various paraphernalia of a woman&rsquo;s toilet, he started,
+with the exclamation, &ldquo;What the deuce! I reckon I&rsquo;ve got into the
+wrong pew,&rdquo; and was going away, when Mabel called him back. &ldquo;Meb,
+you here?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;<i>You</i> in this little tucked-up hole, that
+I always thought too small for me and my traps! What does it mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband&rsquo;s voice, and knowing
+from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with her, the sense of
+injustice done her by his mother burst out, and throwing her arms around his
+neck, she told him everything connected with her removal, asking what his
+mother meant by saying, &ldquo;she should never get anything for their
+board,&rdquo; and begging him &ldquo;to take her away where they could live
+alone and be happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since he had left her, John Jr. had <i>thought</i> a great deal, the result of
+which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner than he at first
+intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently, and if possible win back
+the respect of &rsquo;Lena, which he knew he had lost. To his companions, who
+urged him to remain, he replied that &ldquo;he had left his wife sick, and he
+could not stay longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It cost him a great effort to say &ldquo;my wife,&rdquo; for never before had
+he so called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and bidding his
+young friends adieu, he started for home with the same impetuous speed which
+usually characterized his riding. He had fully expected to meet Mabel in the
+parlor, and was even revolving in his own mind the prospect of kissing her,
+provided &rsquo;Lena were present. &ldquo;That&rsquo;ll prove to her,&rdquo;
+thought he, &ldquo;that I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I am; so
+I&rsquo;ll do it, if Meb doesn&rsquo;t happen to be all bound up in camphor and
+aromatic vinegar, which I can&rsquo;t endure, anyway.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old room,
+where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment he scarcely knew
+what to say. By the time, however, that she had finished her story, his mind
+was pretty well made up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so it&rsquo;s mother&rsquo;s doings, hey?&rdquo; said he, violently
+pulling the bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda
+appeared in answer to his summons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How many blacks are there in the kitchen?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,&rdquo; answered Corinda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and adding that
+&ldquo;Marster John looked mighty black in the face&rdquo;, and she reckoned
+some on &rsquo;em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of what might
+happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in her
+mistress&rsquo; absence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly&rsquo;s first thought was
+of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Corinda a sense of
+what she might expect if in any way she implicated her, she gave her a cuff in
+advance, bidding her &ldquo;be keerful how she blabbed&rdquo;, then heading the
+sable group, she repaired to the chamber, where John Jr. was awaiting them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said, &ldquo;Take
+hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where they came
+from.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, oh don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; entreated Mabel, but laying his hand
+over her mouth, John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the
+negroes &ldquo;to be quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt Milly,
+comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her mistress had her
+match in her son, set to work with a right good will, and when about dusk Mrs.
+Livingstone came home, she was astonished at seeing a light in the parlor
+chamber, while occasionally she could discern the outline of a form moving
+before the window. What could it mean? Perhaps they had company, and springing
+from the carriage she hastened into the house, meeting &rsquo;Lena in the hall,
+and eagerly asking who was in the front chamber.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;that my cousin is not pleased
+with the change, and has gone back to the front room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The impudent thing!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her
+son&rsquo;s return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to Mabel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing open the
+door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands crammed in his pockets
+and legs crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting and ready for
+whatever might occur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John Livingstone!&rdquo; she gasped in her surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my name,&rdquo; he returned, quietly enjoying her look of
+amazement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she continued.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mean what I say,&rdquo; was his provoking answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What have you been about?&rdquo; was her next question, to which he
+replied, &ldquo;Your eyesight is not deficient&mdash;you can see for
+yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon Mabel,
+abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist, bidding her
+&ldquo;confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as she was not
+in the least to blame.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your wife!&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Livingstone&mdash;&ldquo;very
+affectionate you&rsquo;ve grown, all at once. Perhaps you&rsquo;ve forgotten
+that you married her to spite Nellie, who you then believed was the bride of
+Mr. Wilbur, but you surely remember how you fainted when you accidentally
+learned your mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pillows, prevented Mrs.
+Livingstone from any further remarks, and satisfied with the result of her
+visit, she walked away, while John Jr., springing to the bedside, bore his
+young wife to the open window, hoping the cool night air would revive her. But
+she lay so pale and motionless in his arms, her head resting so heavily upon
+his shoulder, that with a terrible foreboding he laid her back upon the bed,
+and rushing to the door, shouted loudly, &ldquo;Help&mdash;somebody&mdash;come
+quick&mdash;Mabel is dead, I know she is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when she
+saw the marble whiteness of Mabel&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t kill her, &rsquo;Lena. God knows I didn&rsquo;t. Poor
+little Meb,&rdquo; said John Jr., quailing beneath &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s rebuking
+glance, and bending anxiously over the slight form which looked so much like
+death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mabel was not dead. &rsquo;Lena knew it by the faint fluttering of her
+heart, and an application of the usual remedies sufficed, at last, to restore
+her to consciousness. With a long-drawn sigh her eyes unclosed, and looking
+earnestly in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face, she said, &ldquo;Was it a dream,
+&rsquo;Lena? Tell me, was it all a dream?&rdquo;&mdash;then, as she observed
+her husband, she added, shudderingly, &ldquo;No, no, not a dream. I remember it
+all now. And I wish I was dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, advancing
+nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her white brow, saying, softly,
+&ldquo;Poor, poor Meb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while the hot tears
+gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, &ldquo;Forgive me, John, I couldn&rsquo;t
+help it. I didn&rsquo;t know it, and now, if you say so, I&rsquo;ll go away,
+alone&mdash;where you&rsquo;ll never see me again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely torn away the veil, and
+she saw why she was there&mdash;knew why he had sought her for his
+wife&mdash;understood all his coldness and neglect; but she had no word of
+reproach for him, her husband, and from the depths of her crushed heart she
+forgave him, commiserating him as the greater sufferer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May be I shall die,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;and
+then&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John Jr.
+understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as it did, he
+felt half inclined to declare, with his usual impulsiveness, that it should
+never be; but the rash promise was not made, and it was far better that it
+should not be.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/>
+THE SHADOW.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mabel&rsquo;s nerves had received too great a shock to rally immediately, and
+as day after day went by, she still kept her room, notwithstanding the very
+pointed hints of her mother-in-law that &ldquo;she was making believe for the
+sake of sympathy.&rdquo; Why didn&rsquo;t she get up and go out
+doors&mdash;anybody would be sick to be flat on their back day in and day out;
+or did she think she was spiting her by showing what muss she could keep the
+&ldquo;best chamber&rdquo; in if she chose?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s
+dissatisfaction. Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, she would not yield
+without an attempt at making Mabel, at least, as uncomfortable in mind as
+possible. Accordingly, almost every day when her son was not present, she
+conveyed from the room some nice article of furniture, substituting in its
+place one of inferior quality, which was quite good enough, she thought, for a
+penniless bride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Pears like ole miss goin&rsquo; to make a clean finish of her dis
+time,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress&rsquo; daily
+depredations. &ldquo;Ole Sam done got title deed of her, sure enough. Ki!
+won&rsquo;t she ketch it in t&rsquo;other world, when he done show her his
+cloven foot, and won&rsquo;t she holler for old Milly to fotch her a drink of
+water? not particular then&mdash;drink out of the bucket, gourd-shell, or
+anything; but dis nigger&rsquo;ll sign her post in de parlor afore she&rsquo;ll
+go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Milly,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, who overheard this colloquy,
+&ldquo;don&rsquo;t you know it&rsquo;s wrong to indulge in such wicked
+thoughts?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless you, child,&rdquo; returned the old negress, &ldquo;she
+&rsquo;sarves &rsquo;em all for treatin&rsquo; that poor, dear lamb so.
+I&rsquo;d &rsquo;nihilate her if I&rsquo;s Miss Mabel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, Milly,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly, who was present. &ldquo;You must
+heap coals of fire on her head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, that&rsquo;s it&mdash;she orto have &rsquo;em,&rdquo; quickly
+responded Milly, thinking Polly&rsquo;s method of revenge the very best in the
+world, provided the coals were &ldquo;bilin&rsquo; hot,&rdquo; and with this
+reflection she started upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel she had been
+preparing for the invalid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Several times each day Grandma Nichols visited Mabel&rsquo;s room, always
+prescribing some new tea of herbs, whose healing qualities were wonderful,
+having effected cures in every member of Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s family, that
+lady herself, as a matter of course, being first included. And Aunt Milly, with
+the faithfulness characteristic of her race, would seek out each new herb,
+uniting with it her own simple prayer that it might have the desired effect.
+But all in vain, for every day Mabel became weaker, while her dark eyes grew
+larger and brighter, anon lighting up with joy as she heard her husband&rsquo;s
+footsteps in the hall, and again filling with tears as she glanced timidly into
+his face, and thought of the dread reality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maybe I shall die,&rdquo; was more than once murmured in her sleep, and
+John Jr., as often as he heard those words, would press her burning hands, and
+mentally reply, &ldquo;Poor little Meb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And all this time no one thought to call a physician, until Mr. Livingstone
+himself at last suggested it. At first he had felt no interest whatever in his
+daughter-in-law, but with him force of habit was everything, and when she no
+longer came among them, he missed her&mdash;missed her languid steps upon the
+stairs and her childish voice in the parlor. At last it one day occurred to him
+to visit her. She was sleeping when he entered the room, but he could see there
+had been a fearful change since last he looked upon her, and without a word
+concerning his intentions, he walked to the kitchen, ordering one of his
+servants to start forthwith for the physician, whose residence was a few miles
+distant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was in the front parlor when he returned, in company with
+Doctor Gordon, and immediately her avaricious spirit asked who would pay the
+bill, and why was he sent for. Mabel did not need him&mdash;she was only
+babyish and spleeny&mdash;and so she told the physician, who, however, did not
+agree with her. He did not say that Mabel would die, but he thought so, for his
+experienced eye saw in her infallible signs of the disease which had stricken
+down both her parents, and to which, from her birth, she had been a prey. Mabel
+guessed as much from his manner, and when again he visited her, she asked him
+plainly what he thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was young&mdash;a bride&mdash;surrounded apparently by everything which
+could make her happy, and the physician hesitated, answering her evasively,
+until she said, &ldquo;Do not fear to tell me truly, for I want to die. Oh, I
+long to die,&rdquo; she continued, passionately clasping her thin white hands
+together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is an unusual wish in one so young,&rdquo; answered the physician,
+&ldquo;but to be plain with you, Mrs. Livingstone, I think consumption too
+deeply seated to admit of your recovery. You may be better, but never well.
+Your disease is hereditary, and has been coming on too long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is well,&rdquo; was Mabel&rsquo;s only answer, as she turned wearily
+upon her side and hid her face in the pillows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long time she lay there, thinking, weeping, and thinking again, of the
+noisome grave through which she must pass, and from which she instinctively
+shrank, it was so dark, so cold, and dreary. But Mabel had trusted in One who
+she knew would go with her down into the lone valley&mdash;whose arm she felt
+would uphold her as she crossed the dark, rolling stream of death; and as if
+her frail bark were already safely moored upon the shores of the eternal river,
+she looked back dreamily upon the world she had left, and as she saw what she
+felt would surely be, she again murmured through her tears, &ldquo;It is
+well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, when John Jr. came up to his room, he appeared somewhat moody and
+cross, barely speaking to Mabel, and then walking up and down the room with the
+heavy tread which always indicated a storm within. He had that day been to
+Frankfort, hearing that Nellie was really coming home very soon&mdash;very
+possibly she was now on her way. Of course she would visit Mabel, when she
+heard she was sick, and of course he must meet her face to face, must stand
+with her at the bedside of <i>his wife</i> and that wife Mabel. In his heart he
+did not accuse the latter of feigning her illness, but he wished she would get
+well faster, so that Nellie need not feel obliged to visit her. She could at
+least make an effort&mdash;a great deal depended upon that&mdash;and she had
+now been confined to her room three or four weeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus he reflected as he walked, and at last his thoughts formed themselves into
+words. Stopping short at the foot of the bed, he said abruptly and without
+looking her in the face, &ldquo;How do you feel tonight?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stifled cough which Mabel tried to suppress because it was offensive to
+him, brought a scowl to his forehead, and in imagination he anticipated her
+answer, &ldquo;I do not think I am any better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I don&rsquo;t believe you try to be,&rdquo; sprang to his lips, but
+its utterance was prevented by a glance at her face, which by the flickering
+lamplight looked whiter than ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nellie is coming home in a few weeks,&rdquo; he said at length, with his
+usual precipitancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the night when her
+mother-in-law had rang it in her ears, and now she started so quickly, that the
+offending cough could not be forced back, and the coughing fit which followed
+was so violent that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her quivering lips, saw
+that what she had raised was streaked with blood. But he was unused to
+sickness, and he gave it no farther thought, resuming the conversation as soon
+as she became quiet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be plain, Meb,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I want you to hurry and get
+well before Nellie comes&mdash;for if you are sick she&rsquo;ll feel in duty
+bound to visit you, and I&rsquo;d rather face a loaded cannon than her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and she lay so long with
+her eyes closed that John Jr., growing impatient, said, &ldquo;Are you asleep,
+Meb?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said she, at the same time requesting him to take the
+vacant chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt that she had
+much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and as she proceeded, his heart
+melted toward her in a manner which he had never thought possible. Very gently
+she spoke of her approaching end as sure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ask me to make haste and be well,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but it
+cannot be. I shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, never join you
+in the parlor below, and before the cold winds of winter are blowing, I shall
+be dead. I hope I shall live until Nellie comes, for I must see her, I must
+make it right between her and you. I must tell her to forgive you for marrying
+me when you loved only her; and she will listen&mdash;she won&rsquo;t refuse
+me, and when I am gone you&rsquo;ll be happy together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously moved toward him
+was met more than half-way, and thus strengthened, Mabel continued: &ldquo;You
+must sometimes think and speak of Mabel when she is dead. I do not ask you to
+call me wife. I do not wish it, but you must forget how wretched I have made
+you, for oh, I did not mean it, and had I sooner known what I do now, I would
+have died ere I had caused you one pang of sorrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given worlds to recall
+that moment, that he might tell the broken-hearted girl how bitterly he, too,
+repented of all the wrong he had done her; but he did not say so then&mdash;he
+could only listen, while he mentally resolved that if Mabel were indeed about
+to die, he would make the remainder of her short life happy, and thus atone, as
+far as possible, for the past. But alas for John Jr., his resolutions were
+easily broken, and as days and weeks went by, and there was no perceptible
+change in her, he grew weary of well-doing, absenting himself whole days from
+the sick-room, and at night rather unwillingly resuming his post as watcher,
+for Mabel would have no one else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since Mabel&rsquo;s illness he had occupied the little room adjoining hers, and
+often when in the still night he lay awake, watching the shadow which the lamp
+cast upon the wall, and thinking of her for whom the light was constantly kept
+burning, his conscience would smite him terribly, and rising up, he would steal
+softly to her bedside to see if she were sleeping quietly. But anon he grew
+weary of this, too; the shadow on the wall troubled him, it kept him awake; it
+was a continual reproach, and he must be rid of it, somehow. He tried the
+experiment of closing his door, but Mabel knew the moment he attempted it, and
+he could not refuse her when she asked him to leave it open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. grew restless, fidgety, and nervous. Why need the lamp be kept
+burning? He could light it when necessary; or why need he sleep there, when
+some one else would do as well? He thought of &rsquo;Lena&mdash;she was just
+the one, and the next day he would speak to her. To his great joy she consented
+to relieve him awhile, provided Mabel were willing; but she was not, and John
+Jr. was forced to submit. He was not accustomed to restraint, and every night
+matters grew worse and worse. The shadow annoyed him exceedingly. If he slept,
+he dreamed that it kept a glimmering watch over him, and when he awoke, he, in
+turn, watched over that, until the misty day-light came to dissipate the
+phantom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About this time several families from Frankfort started for New Orleans, where
+they were wont to spend the winter, and irresistibly, John Jr. became possessed
+of a desire to visit that city, too. Mabel would undoubtedly live until spring,
+now that the trying part of autumn was past and there could be no harm in his
+leaving her for awhile, when he so much needed rest. Accordingly, &rsquo;Lena
+was one day surprised by his announcing his intended trip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you cannot be in earnest,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you surely will
+not leave Mabel now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why not?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t grow any worse,
+and won&rsquo;t until spring, and this close confinement is absolutely killing
+me! Why, I&rsquo;ve lost six pounds in six months, and you&rsquo;ll see to her,
+I know you will. You&rsquo;re a good girl, and I like you, if I did get angry
+with you, weeks ago when I went a hunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to convince him of the
+fact, telling him how much pleasure she had felt in observing his improved
+manner toward Mabel, and that he must not spoil it now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use talking,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m bent on
+going somewhere. I&rsquo;ve tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I
+can&rsquo;t stay <i>put</i>. It isn&rsquo;t my nature. I shan&rsquo;t tell Meb
+till just before I start, for I hate scenes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And suppose she dies while you are gone?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was wrong, and rather
+tartly he answered, as he left the room, &ldquo;Give her a decent burial, and
+present the bill to mother!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The next morning, as &rsquo;Lena sat alone with Mabel, John Jr. entered,
+dressed and ready for his journey. But he found it harder telling his wife than
+he had anticipated. She looked unusually pale this morning. The sallowness of
+her complexion was all gone, and on either cheek there burned a round, bright
+spot. &rsquo;Lena had just been arranging her thick, glossy hair, and now,
+wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her pillows, while her large black eyes,
+unnaturally bright, sparkled with joy at the sight of her husband. But they
+quickly filled with tears when told that he was going away, and had come to say
+good-bye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only to New Orleans and back,&rdquo; he said, as he saw her
+changing face. &ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t be gone long, and &rsquo;Lena will take
+care of you a heap better than I can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t that,&rdquo; answered Mabel, wiping her tears away.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go, John. Wait a little while. I&rsquo;m sure it won&rsquo;t
+be long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are nervous,&rdquo; said he, playfully lapping her white cheek.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re not going to die. You&rsquo;ll live to be grandmother yet,
+who knows? But I must be off or lose the train. Good bye, little Meb,&rdquo;
+grasping her hand, &ldquo;Good-bye, &rsquo;Lena. I&rsquo;ll bring you both
+something nice&mdash;good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked him to come back to her bedside
+just for one moment. He could not refuse, and winding her long, emaciated arms
+around his neck, she whispered, &ldquo;Kiss me once before you go. I shall
+never ask it again, and &rsquo;twill make me happier when you are gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A dozen times, if you like,&rdquo; said he, giving her the only
+husband&rsquo;s kiss she had ever received.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed silently for
+heaven&rsquo;s blessing on his wayward head, and then releasing him, she bade
+him go. Had he known of all that was to follow, he would not have left her, but
+he believed as he said, that she would survive the winter, and with one more
+kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing thickly, he departed.
+The window of Mabel&rsquo;s room commanded a view of the turnpike, and when the
+sound of horses&rsquo; feet was heard on the lawn, she requested &rsquo;Lena to
+lead her to the window, where she stood watching him until a turn in the road
+hid him from her sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the last time,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and he will never know
+how much this parting cost me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, Mabel said, &ldquo;If
+I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell her how it all happened, and that
+she must forgive him, for he was not to blame.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not understand you,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and then, in broken
+sentences, Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and how terribly John
+was deceived. &ldquo;Of course he couldn&rsquo;t love me after that,&rdquo;
+said she, &ldquo;and it&rsquo;s right that I should die. He and Nellie were
+made for each other, and if the inhabitants of heaven are allowed to watch over
+those they loved on earth, I will ask to be always near them. You will tell
+her, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see Nellie herself as
+she was to sail from Liverpool the 20th, and a few days proved her conjecture
+correct. Entering Mabel&rsquo;s room one morning about a week after
+John&rsquo;s departure, she brought the glad news that Nellie had returned, and
+would be with them to-morrow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed. The roundness of her form
+and face was gone; the rose had faded from her cheek, and her footsteps were no
+longer light and bounding as of old. She knew of John Jr.&rsquo;s absence or
+she would not have come, for she could not meet him face to face. She had
+heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and while she felt indignant toward him,
+she freely forgave his innocent wife, who she felt had been more sinned against
+than sinning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying her face on
+Nellie&rsquo;s neck, wept like a child. &ldquo;You do not hate me,&rdquo; she
+said at last, &ldquo;or you would not have come so soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hate you?&mdash;no,&rdquo; answered Nellie. &ldquo;I have no cause for
+hating <i>you</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you will stay with me until I die&mdash;until he comes
+home&mdash;and forgive him, too,&rdquo; Mabel continued.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can promise the first, but the latter is harder,&rdquo; said Nellie,
+her cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the wreck before her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you must, you will,&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling all she
+knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll forgive
+him Nellie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging closer to Nellie as
+she felt the dark shadow of death creeping gradually over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he&rsquo;d only come,&rdquo; she would say, &ldquo;and I could place
+your hand in his before I died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it was not to be. Day after day John Jr. lingered, dreading to return, for
+he knew Nellie was there, and he could not meet her, he thought, at the bedside
+of Mabel. So he tarried until a letter from &rsquo;Lena, which said that Mabel
+would die, decided him, and rather reluctantly he started homeward. Meantime
+Mabel, who knew nothing of her loss, conceived the generous idea of willing all
+her possessions to her recreant husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he&rsquo;ll think more kindly of me,&rdquo; said she to his
+father, to whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Livingstone felt that
+he could not undeceive her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and the will duly drawn up,
+signed, sealed, and delivered into the hands of Mr. Livingstone, whose wife,
+with a mocking laugh, bade him &ldquo;guard it carefully, it was so
+valuable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It shows her goodness of heart, at least,&rdquo; said he, and possibly
+Mrs. Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her manner softened
+greatly toward her daughter-in-law.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+It was midnight at Maple Grove. On the table, in its accustomed place, the lamp
+was burning dimly, casting the shadow upon the wall, whilst over the whole room
+a darker shadow was brooding. The window was open, and the cool night air came
+softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair from off the pale brow of the
+dying. Tenderly above her Nellie and &rsquo;Lena were bending. They had watched
+by her many a night, and now she asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a
+single one&mdash;she would rather die alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of horses&rsquo; hoofs rang out on the still air, but she did not
+heed it. Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up the graveled walk,
+through the yard, and Nellie&rsquo;s face blanched to an unnatural whiteness as
+she thought who that midnight-rider was. Arrived in Frankfort only an hour
+before, he had hastened forward, impelled by a something he could not resist.
+From afar he had caught the glimmering light, and he felt he was not too late.
+He knew how to enter the house, and on through the wide hall and up the broad
+staircase he came, until he stood in the chamber, where before him another
+guest had entered, whose name was Death!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay <i>his</i>
+wife&mdash;<i>her</i> rival&mdash;the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom,
+and the pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mabel! She is dead!&rdquo; was all he uttered, and falling upon his
+knees, he buried his face in the pillow, while half scornfully, half pityingly,
+Nellie gazed upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not for the wrong he had
+done her, but for the sake of the young girl, now passed forever away.
+&rsquo;Lena felt differently. His silent grief conquered all resentment, and
+going to his side, she told him how peacefully Mabel had died&mdash;how to the
+last she had loved and remembered him, praying that he might be happy when she
+was gone,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor little Meb, she deserved a better fate,&rdquo; was all he said, as
+he continued his kneeling posture, until the family and servants, whom Nellie
+had summoned, came crowding round, the cries of the latter grating on the ear,
+and seeming sadly out of place for her whose short life had been so dreary, and
+who had welcomed death as a release from all her pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s wish that Mabel should be arrayed in her bridal
+robes, but with a shudder at the idle mockery, John Jr. answered,
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; and in a plain white muslin, her shining hair arrayed as she
+was wont to wear it, they placed her in her coffin, and on a sunny slope where
+the golden sunlight and the pale moonbeams latest fell, and where in spring the
+bright green grass and the sweet wild flowers are earliest seen, laid her down
+to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, when all around was still, John Jr. lay musing sadly of the past.
+His affection for Mabel had been slight and variable, but now that she was
+gone, he missed her. The large easy-chair, with its cushions and pillows, was
+empty, and as he thought of the pale, dark face and aching head he had so often
+seen reclining there, and which he would never see again, he groaned in
+bitterness of spirit, for well he knew that he had helped to break the heart
+now lying cold and still beneath the coffin-lid. There was no shadow on the
+wall, for the lamp had gone out with the young life for whom it had been kept
+burning, but many a shadow lay dark and heavy across his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the sun-setting a driving rain had come on, and as the November wind went
+howling past the window, and the large drops beat against the casement, he
+thought of the lonesome little grave on which that rain was falling; and
+shuddering, he hid his face in the pillows, asking to be forgiven, for he knew
+that all too soon that grave was made, and he had helped to make it. At last,
+long after the clock had told the hour of midnight, he arose, and lighting the
+lamp which many a weary night had burned for <i>her</i>, he placed it where the
+shadow would fall upon the wall as it had done of old. It was no longer a
+phantom to annoy him, and soothed by its presence, he fell asleep, dreaming
+that Mabel had come back to bring him her forgiveness, but when he essayed to
+touch her, she vanished from his sight, and there was nothing left save that
+shadow on the wall.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/>
+MRS. GRAHAM&rsquo;S RETURN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn, the former remaining but a day
+and night, and then, without once seeing &rsquo;Lena, departing for Europe,
+where business, either fancied or real, called him. Often, when lying weary and
+sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing to his wife the secret which he
+felt was wearing his life away, but the cowardice of his nature seemed
+increased by physical weakness, and from time to time was the disclosure
+postponed, while the chain of evidence was fearfully lengthening around poor
+&rsquo;Lena, to whom Mrs. Graham had transferred the entire weight of her
+displeasure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she was ever ready to
+forgive when she saw any indications of reform on his part, and as during all
+their journey he had never once given her cause for offense, she began to
+attribute his former delinquencies wholly to &rsquo;Lena; and when he proposed
+a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned it, hoping that time and absence would
+remove from his mind all thoughts of the beautiful girl, who she thought was
+her rival. Still, though she would not confess it, in her heart she did not
+believe &rsquo;Lena guilty except so far as a desire to attract Mr.
+Graham&rsquo;s attention would make her so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The daguerreotype which had
+caused so much trouble was still in her possession, guarded carefully from her
+husband, who never suspecting the truth, supposed he had lost it. Frequently
+had Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each time discovering some point of
+difference between it and its supposed original. Still she never for a moment
+doubted that it was &rsquo;Lena, until an event occurred which convinced her of
+the contrary, leaving her, meantime, more mystified than ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day in
+Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first individual whom
+they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel Slocum. Not finding his
+business as profitable in Lexington as he could wish, he had recently removed
+to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had prompted him to board at the Burnet
+House, until he&rsquo;d seen the &ldquo;Ohio elephant,&rdquo; when he intended
+retiring to one of the cheaper boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a
+grin of recognition became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very
+long and very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either
+water or brush.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is that loafer who seems to know you?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham,
+directing her husband&rsquo;s attention toward Joel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham replied that &ldquo;he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he
+took daguerreotypes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one of his
+wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang, &ldquo;Now you
+don&rsquo;t say this is you. And this is your old woman, I s&rsquo;pose. Miss
+Graham, how-dy-du? Darned if you don&rsquo;t look like Aunt Nancy, only
+she&rsquo;s lean and you are squatty. S&rsquo;posin&rsquo; you give me a call
+and get your picters taken. I didn&rsquo;t get an all-killin&rsquo; sight of
+practice in Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn&rsquo;t know enough to
+patternize me, and &rsquo;taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,&rdquo;
+turning to Mr. Graham, &ldquo;employed me once, and pretended to be
+suited.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to Joel, gave
+his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made an excuse for
+leaving her awhile. Looking from the window a moment after, Mrs. Graham saw him
+walking down the street in close conversation with Joel, who, by the way of
+showing his importance, lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met.
+Instantly her curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion
+of his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction that
+there was something in his possession which he did not wish her to see. Once,
+when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust something into his
+pocket, appearing so much confused that she resolved to ferret out the secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he was
+asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his pockets, found a
+daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw was a <i>fac-simile</i> of
+the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of the
+hair&mdash;everything&mdash;was the same, and utterly confounded, she stood
+gazing first at one and then at the other, wondering what it meant. Could
+&rsquo;Lena be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the last
+daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the first. At all
+events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done its companion, and
+stealthily returning it to its place, she crept back to bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel was buried
+that day. Of course &rsquo;Lena could not have been absent from home. Mrs.
+Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came upon her that
+another than &rsquo;Lena was the original of the daguerreotypes. And yet she
+was not generous enough to tell Durward so. She knew he was deceived&mdash;she
+wished him to remain so&mdash;and to effect it, she refrained from seeking an
+explanation from her husband, fearing lest &rsquo;Lena should be proved
+innocent. Her husband knew there was a misunderstanding between Durward and
+&rsquo;Lena, and if she were to ask him about the pictures, he would, she
+thought, at once suspect the cause of that misunderstanding, and as a matter of
+course, exonerate &rsquo;Lena from all blame. The consequence of this she
+foresaw, and therefore she resolved upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if
+in the end she prevented Durward from making &rsquo;Lena his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter almost
+constantly before Durward&rsquo;s mind, frequently referring to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had
+started for Europe. She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day
+of her husband&rsquo;s departure. &rsquo;Lena had not met the lady before,
+since that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned
+her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near the
+window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated with Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not know before of Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s return, and when her aunt
+casually asked, &ldquo;Did your husband come back with you?&rdquo; she
+involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came, sent the
+blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled with joy. She
+should see him&mdash;he would explain everything&mdash;and she should be
+guiltless in Durward&rsquo;s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which was
+quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s adding,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three
+months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, which did not escape
+the observation or either mother or son, the latter of whom had watched her
+from the first, noting each change, and interpreting it according to his fears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, &rsquo;Lena, how have I been deceived!&rdquo; was his
+mental cry as she precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who asked
+what was the matter, that she was faint and dizzy. Death had been but yesterday
+within their walls, and as if softened by its presence, Mrs. Livingstone
+actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that &ldquo;constant watching with
+poor, dear Mabel had impaired her health.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,&rdquo; returned
+Mrs. Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost on Mrs. Livingstone, was
+noticed by Durward, who soon proposed leaving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On their way home, his mother asked if he observed &rsquo;Lena when Mr. Graham
+was mentioned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without saying that he did, Durward replied, &ldquo;I noticed your remark to
+Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to say a word
+which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon &rsquo;Lena. Her reputation
+as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught against it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t, I won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to
+conciliate her son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had
+first supposed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of
+Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to expressions
+which would have operated unfavorably against the young girl, and when at last
+circumstances occurred which gave her, as she thought, liberty to free her
+mind, she was only too willing to do so. Of those circumstances, in which
+others besides &rsquo;Lena were concerned, we will speak in another chapter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/>
+ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Malcolm Everett&rsquo;s engagement with General Fontaine had expired, and as
+was his original intention, he started for New York, first seeking an interview
+with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, of whom he asked their daughter Anna in
+marriage, at the same time announcing the startling fact that they had been
+engaged for more than a year. &ldquo;I do not ask you for her now,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;for I am not in a situation to support her as I would wish to, but
+that time will come ere long, I trust, and I can assure you that her happiness
+shall be the first object of my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett. He was unused to that,
+and as an equal meets an equal, he met them, made known his request, and then
+in silence awaited their answer. Had Mrs. Livingstone been less indignant,
+there would undoubtedly have ensued a clamorous call for hartshorn and
+vinaigrette, but as it was, she started up, and confronting the young man, she
+exclaimed, &ldquo;How dare you ask such a thing? <i>My</i> daughter marry
+<i>you</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why not, madam?&rdquo; he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone
+continued: &ldquo;<i>You</i>, a low-born Yankee, who have been, as it were, an
+hireling. <i>You</i> presume to ask for <i>my</i> daughter!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; he answered calmly, with a quiet smile, ten-fold more
+tantalizing than harsh words would have been, &ldquo;I do. Can I have her with
+your consent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never, so long as I live. I&rsquo;d sooner see her dead than wedded to
+vulgar poverty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is your answer. Very well,&rdquo; said Malcolm, bowing stiffly.
+&ldquo;And now I will hear yours,&rdquo; turning to Mr. Livingstone, who
+replied, that &ldquo;he would leave the matter entirely with his wife&mdash;it
+was nothing to him&mdash;he had nothing personal against Mr. Everett&mdash;he
+rather liked him than otherwise, but he hardly thought Anna suited to him, she
+had been brought up so differently;&rdquo; and thus evasively answering, he
+walked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cowardly fool!&rdquo; muttered Mrs. Livingstone, as the door closed upon
+him. &ldquo;If I pretended to be a man, I&rsquo;d be one;&rdquo; then turning
+to Malcolm, she said, &ldquo;Is there anything further you wish to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I have honorably asked you for your
+daughter. You have refused her, and must abide the consequence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And pray what may that be?&rdquo; she asked, and he answered: &ldquo;She
+will soon be of an age to act for herself, and though I would far rather take
+her with your consent, I shall not then hesitate to take her without, if you
+still persist in opposing her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is the door,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone rising.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see it, madam,&rdquo; answered Malcolm, without deigning to move.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oblige me by passing out,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Livingstone.
+&ldquo;Insolent creature, to stand here threatening to elope with my daughter,
+who has been destined for another since her infancy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she shall never become the bride of that old man,&rdquo; answered
+Malcolm. &ldquo;I know your schemes. I&rsquo;ve seen them all along, and I will
+frustrate them, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You cannot,&rdquo; fiercely answered Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;It shall
+be ere another year comes round, and when you hear that it is so, know that you
+hastened it forward;&rdquo; and the indignant lady, finding that her opponent
+was not inclined to move, left the room herself, going in quest of Anna, whom
+she determined to watch for fear of what might happen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna was nowhere to be found, and in a paroxysm of rage she alarmed the
+household, instituting a strict search, which resulted in the discovery of Anna
+beneath the same sycamore where Malcolm had first breathed his vows, and
+whither she had repaired to await the decision of her parents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expected as much,&rdquo; said she, when told of the result, &ldquo;but
+it matters not. I am yours, and I&rsquo;ll never marry another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The approach of the servants prevented any further conversation, and with a
+hurried adieu they parted. A few days afterward, as Mrs. Livingstone, sat in
+her large easy-chair before the glowing grate, Captain Atherton was announced,
+and shown at once into her room. To do Mrs. Livingstone justice, we must say
+that she had long debated the propriety of giving Anna, in all the freshness of
+her girlhood, to a man old as her father, but any hesitancy she had heretofore
+felt, had now vanished. The crisis had come, and when the captain, as he had
+two or three times before done, broached the subject, urging her to a decision,
+she replied that she was willing, provided Anna&rsquo;s consent could be
+gained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pho! that&rsquo;s easy enough,&rdquo; said the captain, complacently
+rubbing together his fat hands and smoothing his colored
+whiskers&mdash;&ldquo;Bring her in here, and I&rsquo;ll coax her in five
+minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna was sitting with her grandmother and &rsquo;Lena, when word came that her
+mother wished to see her, the servant adding, with a titter, that
+&ldquo;Mas&rsquo;r Atherton thar too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively she knew why she was sent for, and turning white as marble, she
+begged her cousin to go with her. But &rsquo;Lena refused, soothing the
+agitated girl, and begging her to be calm. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve only to be
+decided,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and it will soon be over. Captain Atherton, I
+am sure, will not insist when he sees how repugnant to your feelings it
+is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna knew her own weakness&mdash;she could never say, in her mother&rsquo;s
+presence, what she felt&mdash;and trembling like an aspen, she descended the
+stairs, meeting in the lower hall her brother, who asked what was the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, John, John,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;Captain Atherton is in there
+with mother, and they have sent for me. What shall I do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be a woman,&rdquo; answered John Jr. &ldquo;Tell him <i>no</i> in good
+broad English, and if the old fellow insists, I&rsquo;ll blow his brains
+out!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the Captain did not insist. He was too cunning for that, and when, with a
+burst of tears, Anna told him she could not be his wife because she loved
+another, he said, good-humoredly, &ldquo;Well, well, never mind spoiling those
+pretty blue eyes. I&rsquo;m not such an old savage as you think me. So
+we&rsquo;ll compromise the matter this way. If you really love Malcolm, why,
+marry him, and on your bridal day I&rsquo;ll make you a present of a nice
+little place I have in Frankfort; but if, on the other hand, Malcolm proves
+untrue, you must promise to have me. Come, that&rsquo;s a fair bargain. What do
+you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Malcolm will never prove untrue,&rdquo; answered Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; returned the captain. &ldquo;So you are safe in
+promising.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what good will it do you?&rdquo; queried Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No good, in particular,&rdquo; said the captain. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s only
+a whim of mine, to which I thought you might perhaps agree, in consideration of
+my offer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do&mdash;I will,&rdquo; said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad
+after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch,&rdquo; said
+John Jr., when he learned from Anna the result of the interview.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But week after week glided by. Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s persecutions ceased,
+and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Malcolm&rsquo;s letters, which came
+regularly, and when about the first of March Captain Atherton himself went off
+to Washington, Anna gave her fears to the wind, and all the day long went
+singing about the house, unmindful of the snare laid for her unsuspecting
+footsteps. At length Malcolm&rsquo;s letters suddenly ceased, and though Anna
+wrote again and again, there came no answer. Old Cæsar, who always carried and
+brought the mail for Maple Grove, was questioned, but he declared he
+&ldquo;done got none from Mas&rsquo;r Everett,&rdquo; and suspicion in that
+quarter was lulled. Unfortunately for Anna, both her father and John Jr. were
+now away, and she had no counselor save &rsquo;Lena, who once, on her own
+responsibility, wrote to Malcolm, but with a like success, and Anna&rsquo;s
+heart grew weary with hope deferred. Smilingly Mrs. Livingstone looked on, one
+moment laughing at Anna for what she termed love-sickness, and the next
+advising her to be a woman, and marry Captain Atherton. &ldquo;He was not very
+old&mdash;only forty-three&mdash;and it was better to be an old man&rsquo;s
+darling than a young man&rsquo;s slave!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus the days wore on, until one evening just as the family were sitting down
+to tea they were surprised by a call from the captain, who had returned that
+afternoon, and who, with the freedom of an old friend, unceremoniously entered
+the supper-room, appropriating to himself the extra plate which Mrs.
+Livingstone always had upon the table. Simultaneously with him came Cæsar, who
+having been to the post-office, had just returned, bringing, besides other
+things, a paper for Carrie, from her old admirer, Tom Lakin, who lived in
+Rockford, at which place the paper was printed. Several times had Tom
+remembered Carrie in this way, and now carelessly glancing at the first page,
+she threw it upon the floor, whence it was taken by Anna, who examined it more
+minutely glancing, as a matter of course, to the marriage notices.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime the captain, who was sitting by &rsquo;Lena, casually remarked,
+&ldquo;Oh, I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in Washington.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Everett&mdash;Malcolm Everett?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Malcolm Everett,&rdquo; answered the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is there spending the honeymoon with his bride!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s exclamation of astonishment was prevented by a shriek from
+Anna, who had that moment read the announcement of Mr. Everett&rsquo;s
+marriage, which was the first in the list. It was Malcolm H.
+Everett&mdash;there could be no mistake&mdash;and when &rsquo;Lena reached her
+cousin&rsquo;s side, she found that she had fainted. All was now in confusion,
+in the midst of which the Captain took his leave, having first managed to speak
+a few words in private with Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fortune favors us,&rdquo; was her reply, as she went back to her
+daughter, whose long, death-like swoon almost wrung from her the secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna revived, and with the first indication of returning consciousness, the
+cold, hard woman stifled all her better feelings, and then tried to think she
+was acting only for the good of her child. For a long time Anna appeared to be
+in a kind of benumbed torpor, requesting to be left alone, and shuddering if
+Mr. Everett&rsquo;s name were mentioned in her presence. It was in vain that
+&rsquo;Lena strove to comfort her, telling her there might be some mistake.
+Anna refused to listen, angrily bidding &rsquo;Lena desist, and saying
+frequently that she cared but little what became of herself now. A species of
+recklessness seemed to have taken possession of her, and when her mother one
+day carelessly remarked that possibly Captain Atherton would claim the
+fulfillment of her promise, she answered, in the cold, indifferent tone which
+now marked her manner of speaking, &ldquo;Let him. I am ready and willing for
+the sacrifice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you in earnest?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In earnest? Yes&mdash;try me and see,&rdquo; was Anna&rsquo;s brief
+answer, which somewhat puzzled her mother, who would in reality have preferred
+opposition to this unnatural passiveness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But anything to gain her purpose, she thought, and drawing Anna closely to her
+side, she very gently and affectionately told her how happy it would make her
+could she see her the wife of Captain Atherton, who had loved and waited for
+her so long, and who would leave no wish, however slight, ungratified. And
+Anna, with no shadow of emotion on her calm, white face, consented to all that
+her mother asked, and when next the captain came, she laid her feverish hand in
+his, and with a strange, wild light beaming from her dark blue eyes, promised
+to share his fortunes as his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be winter and spring,&rdquo; said she, with a bitter,
+mocking laugh, &ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be winter and spring, but it matters
+not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many years before, when a boy of eighteen, Captain Atherton had loved, or
+fancied he loved, a young girl, whose very name afterward became hateful to
+him, and now, as he thought of Anna&rsquo;s affection for Malcolm, he likened
+it to his own boyish fancy, believing she would soon get over it, and thank him
+for what he had done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night Anna saw the moon and stars go down, bending far out from her
+window, that the damp air might cool her burning brow, and when the morning sun
+came up the eastern horizon, its first beams fell on the golden curls which
+streamed across the window-sill, her only pillow the livelong night. On
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s mind a terrible conviction was fastening itself&mdash;Anna
+was crazed. She saw it in the wildness of her eye, in the tones of her voice,
+and more than all, in the readiness with which she yielded herself to her
+mother&rsquo;s schemes, &ldquo;But it shall not be,&rdquo; she thought,
+&ldquo;I will save her,&rdquo; and then she knelt before her aunt, imploring
+her to spare her daughter&mdash;not to sacrifice her on the altar of mammon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to mind her own affairs.
+Then &rsquo;Lena sought her cousin, and winding her arms around her neck,
+besought of her to resist&mdash;to burst the chain which bound her, and be
+free. But with a shake other head, Anna bade her go away. &ldquo;Leave me,
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;leave me to work out my destiny. It
+is decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not struggle against it. Each
+night I read it in the stars, and the wind, as it sighs through the maple
+trees, whispers it to my ear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, if my aunt could see her now,&rdquo; thought &rsquo;Lena but as if
+her mother&rsquo;s presence had a paralyzing power, Anna, when with her, was
+quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Livingstone sometimes missed her merry
+laugh and playful ways, she thought the air of dignity which seemed to have
+taken their place quite an improvement, and far more in keeping with the
+bride-elect of Captain Atherton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly surprised at the
+phase which affairs had assumed in his absence, but when &rsquo;Lena whispered
+to him her fears, he smilingly answered, &ldquo;I reckon you&rsquo;re mistaken.
+Her mother would have found it out&mdash;where is she?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her chamber at the old place by the open window they found her, and though
+she did not as usual spring eagerly forward to meet her father, her greeting
+was wholly natural; but when Mr. Livingstone, taking her upon his knee, said
+gently, &ldquo;They tell me you are to be married soon,&rdquo; the wildness
+came back to her eye, and &rsquo;Lena wondered he could not see it. But he did
+not, and smoothing her disordered tresses, he said, &ldquo;Tell me, my
+daughter, does this marriage please you? Do you enter into it willingly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment there was a wavering, and &rsquo;Lena held her breath to catch the
+answer, which came at last, while the eyes shone brighter than
+ever&mdash;&ldquo;Willing? yes, or I should not do it; no one compels me, else
+I would resist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Woman&rsquo;s nature,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while
+&rsquo;Lena turned away to hide her tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone would have the
+ceremony a grand and imposing one. In the neighborhood, the fast approaching
+event was discussed, some pronouncing it a most fortunate thing for Anna, who
+could not, of course, expect to make so eligible a match as her more brilliant
+sister, while others&mdash;the sensible portion&mdash;wondered, pitied, and
+blamed, attributing the whole to the ambitious mother, whose agency in her
+son&rsquo;s marriage was now generally known. At Maple Grove closets, chairs,
+tables, and sofas were loaded down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna
+stood up while they fitted to her the rich white satin, scarcely whiter than
+her own face, and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw her daughter&rsquo;s
+indifference, would pinch her bloodless cheeks, wondering how she could care so
+little for her good fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unnatural mother!&mdash;from the little grave on the sunny slope, now
+grass-grown and green, came there no warning voice to stay her in her purpose?
+No; she scarcely thought of Mabel now, and with unflinching determination she
+kept on her way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was one who, night and day, pondered in her mind the best way of
+saving Anna from the living death to which she would surely awake, when it was
+too late. At last she resolved on going herself to Captain Atherton, telling
+him just how it was, and if there was a spark of generosity in his nature, she
+thought he would release her cousin. But this plan required much caution, for
+she would not have her uncle&rsquo;s family know of it, and if she failed, she
+preferred that it should be kept a secret from the world. There was then no
+alternative but to go in the night, and alone. She did not now often sit with
+the family, and she knew they would not miss her. So, one evening when they
+were as usual assembled in the parlor, she stole softly from the house, and
+managing to pass the negro quarters unobserved, she went down to the lower
+stable, where she saddled the pony she was now accustomed to ride, and leading
+him by a circuitous path out upon the turnpike, mounted and rode away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The night was moonless, and the starlight obscured by heavy clouds, but the
+pale face and golden curls of Anna, for whose sake she was there alone, gleamed
+on her in the darkness, and &rsquo;Lena was not afraid.
+Once&mdash;twice&mdash;she thought she caught the sound of another
+horse&rsquo;s hoofs, but when she stopped to listen, all was still, and again
+she pressed forward, while her pursuer (for &rsquo;Lena was followed) kept at a
+greater distance. Durward had been to Frankfort, and on his way home had
+stopped at Maple Grove to deliver a package. Stopping only a moment, he reached
+the turnpike just after &rsquo;Lena struck into it. Thinking it was a servant,
+he was about to pass her, when her horse sheered at something on the road-side,
+and involuntarily she exclaimed, &ldquo;Courage, Dido, there&rsquo;s nothing to
+fear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly he recognized her voice, and was about to overtake and speak to her,
+but thinking that her mission was a secret one, or she would not be there
+alone, he desisted. Still he could not leave her thus. Her safety might be
+endangered, and reining in his steed, and accommodating his pace to hers, he
+followed without her knowledge. On she went until she reached the avenue
+leading to &ldquo;Sunnyside,&rdquo; as Captain Atherton termed his residence,
+and there she stopped, going on foot to the house, while, hidden by the deep
+darkness Durward waited and watched.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half timidly &rsquo;Lena rang the door-bell, dropping her veil over her face
+that she might not be recognized. &ldquo;I want to see your master,&rdquo; she
+said to the woman who answered her ring, and who in some astonishment replied,
+&ldquo;Bless you, miss, Mas&rsquo;r Atherton done gone to Lexington and
+won&rsquo;t be home till to-morry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; repeated &rsquo;Lena in a disappointed tone. &ldquo;Oh,
+I&rsquo;m so sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is you the new miss what&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; here to live?&rdquo; asked
+the negro, who was Captain Atherton&rsquo;s house keeper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly the awkwardness of her position flashed upon &rsquo;Lena, but
+resolving to put a bold face on the matter, she removed her veil, saying,
+playfully, &ldquo;You know me now, Aunt Martha.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In course I do,&rdquo; answered the negro, holding up both hands in
+amazement, &ldquo;but what sent you here this dark, unairthly night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Business with your master,&rdquo; and then suddenly remembering that
+among her own race Aunt Martha was accounted an intolerable gossip, she began
+to wish she had not come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it could not now be helped, and turning away, she walked slowly down the
+avenue, wondering what the result would be. Again they were in motion, she and
+Durward, who followed until he saw her safe home, and then, glad that no one
+had seen her but himself, he retraced his steps, pondering on the mystery which
+he could not fathom. After &rsquo;Lena left Sunnyside, a misty rain came on,
+and by the time she reached her home, her long riding-dress was wet and
+drizzled, the feathers on her cap were drooping, and to crown all, as she was
+crossing the hall with stealthy step, she came suddenly upon her aunt, who,
+surprised at her appearance, demanded of her where she had been. But
+&rsquo;Lena refused to tell, and in quite a passion Mrs. Livingstone laid the
+case before her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding somewhere with
+somebody, she wouldn&rsquo;t tell who, but she (Mrs. Livingstone) most knew if
+was Durward, and something must be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, next day; when they chanced to be alone, Mr. Livingstone took the
+opportunity of questioning &rsquo;Lena, who dared not disobey him, and with
+many tears she confessed the whole, saying that &ldquo;if it were wrong she was
+very sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You acted foolishly, to say the least of it,&rdquo; answered her uncle,
+adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself altogether too much about
+Anna, who seemed happy and contented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still he was ill at ease. &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s fears disturbed him, and for many
+days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to himself that there was
+something strange about her. But possibly all engaged girls acted so; his wife
+said they did; and hating anything like a scene, he concluded to let matters
+take their course, half hoping, and half believing, too, that something would
+occur to prevent the marriage. What it would be, or by what agency it would be
+brought about, he didn&rsquo;t know, but he resolved to let &rsquo;Lena alone,
+and when his wife insisted upon his &ldquo;lecturing her soundly for
+meddling,&rdquo; he refused, venturing even to say, that, &ldquo;she
+hadn&rsquo;t meddled.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime a new idea had entered &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s mind. She would write to
+Mr. Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such things in
+stories, and it could do no harm. Gradually as she wrote, hope grew strong
+within her, and it became impressed upon her that there had been some
+deep-laid, fiendish plot. If so, she dared not trust her letter with old
+Cæsar, who might be bribed by his mistress. And how to convey it to the office
+was now the grand difficulty. As if fortune favored her plan, Durward, that
+very afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as he said, on his way to
+Frankfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but to
+save Anna she could do almost any thing. Hastily securing the letter, and
+throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn and out upon the
+turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&mdash;excuse me&mdash;Miss Rivers, is it you?&rdquo; asked
+Durward, touching his hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if
+she could trust him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Trust me? Yes, with anything,&rdquo; answered Durward, quickly
+dismounting, and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful face which
+looked up to him so eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;take this letter and see it
+deposited safely, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while he
+instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said concerning
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s attachment to Mr. Everett.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, observing
+the expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness,
+&ldquo;I assure you there is no harm in it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and
+riding away more puzzled than ever, while &rsquo;Lena returned to the house,
+which everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a box from
+the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs. Livingstone placed in her
+daughter&rsquo;s waving hair, bidding her mark their effect. But not a muscle
+of Anna&rsquo;s face changed; nothing moved her; and with the utmost
+indifference she gazed on the preparations around her. A stranger would have
+said &rsquo;Lena was the bride, for, with flushed cheeks and nervously anxious
+manner, she watched each sun as it rose and set, wondering what the result
+would be. Once, when asked whom she would have for her bridesmaid and
+groomsman, Anna had answered, &ldquo;Nellie and John!&rdquo; but that could not
+be, for the latter had imposed upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year
+ere he spoke to Nellie of that which lay nearest his heart, and in order the
+better to keep his vow, he had gone from home, first winning from her the
+promise that she would not become engaged until his return. And now, when he
+learned of his sister&rsquo;s request, he refused to come, saying, &ldquo;if
+she would make such a consummate fool of herself, he did not wish to see
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrangement brought the
+latter occasionally to the house, &rsquo;Lena had opportunities of asking him
+if there had yet come any answer to her letter; and much oftener than he would
+otherwise have done, Durward went down to Frankfort, for he felt that it was no
+unimportant matter which thus deeply interested &rsquo;Lena. At last, the day
+before the bridal came, Durward had gone to the city, and in a state of great
+excitement &rsquo;Lena awaited his return, watching with a trembling heart as
+the sun went down behind the western hills. Slowly the hours dragged on, and
+many a time she stole out in the deep darkness to listen, but there was nothing
+to be heard save the distant cry of the night-owl, and she was about retracing
+her steps for the fifth time, when from behind a clump of rose-bushes started a
+little dusky form, which whispered softly, &ldquo;Is you Miss
+&rsquo;Leny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, &rsquo;Lena answered,
+&ldquo;Yes; what do you want?&rdquo; while at the same moment she recognized a
+little hunch back belonging to General Fontaine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the
+answer,&rdquo; said the boy, passing her a tiny note.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Master Everett! Is he here?&rdquo; she exclaimed, catching the note and
+re-entering the house, where by the light of the hall lamp she read what he had
+written.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was very short, but it told all&mdash;how he had written again and again,
+receiving no answer, and was about coming himself when a severe illness
+prevented. The marriage, he said, was that of his uncle, for whom he was named,
+and who had in truth gone on to Washington, the home of his second wife. It
+closed by asking her to meet him, with Anna, on one of the arbor bridges at
+midnight. Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a book which chanced to be lying in
+the hall, &rsquo;Lena wrote, &ldquo;We will be there,&rdquo; and giving it to
+the negro, bade him hasten back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he got no letter, was not
+to call, and trembling in every nerve, &rsquo;Lena sought her chamber, there to
+consider what she was next to do. For some time past Carrie had occupied a
+separate room from Anna, who, she said disturbed her with her late hours and
+restless turnings, so &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s part seemed comparatively easy.
+Waiting until the house was still, she entered Anna&rsquo;s room, finding her,
+as she had expected, at her old place by the open window, her head resting upon
+the sill, and when she approached nearer, she saw that she was asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her sleep yet awhile,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;it will do her
+good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the room adjoining lay the bridal dress, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first
+impulse was to trample it under her feet, but passing it with a shudder, she
+hastily collected whatever she thought Anna would most need. These she placed
+in a small-sized trunk, and then knowing it was done, she approached her
+cousin, who seemed to be dreaming, for she murmured the name of
+&ldquo;Malcolm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is here, love&mdash;he has come to save you,&rdquo; she whispered,
+while Anna, only partially aroused, gazed at her so vacantly, that
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s heart stood still with fear lest the poor girl&rsquo;s
+reason were wholly gone. &ldquo;Anna, Anna,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;awake;
+Malcolm is here&mdash;in the garden, where you must meet him&mdash;come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Malcolm is married,&rdquo; said Anna, in a
+whisper&mdash;married&mdash;and my bridal dress is in there, all looped with
+flowers; would you like to see it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our Father in heaven help me,&rdquo; cried &rsquo;Lena, clasping her
+hands in anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna&rsquo;s upturned face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This seemed to arouse her, for in a natural tone she asked why &rsquo;Lena
+wept. Again and again &rsquo;Lena repeated to her that Malcolm had
+come&mdash;that he was not married&mdash;that he had come for her; and as Anna
+listened, the torpor slowly passed away&mdash;the wild light in her eyes grew
+less bright, for it was quenched by the first tears she had shed since the
+shadow fell upon her; and when &rsquo;Lena produced the note, and she saw it
+was indeed true, the ice about her heart was melted, and in choking, long-drawn
+sobs, her pent-up feelings gave way, as she saw the gulf whose verge she had
+been treading. Crouching at &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s feet, she kissed the very hem
+of her garments, blessing her as her preserver, and praying heaven to bless
+her, also. It was the work of a few moments to array her in her traveling
+dress, and then very cautiously &rsquo;Lena led her down the stairs, and out
+into the open air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I could see father once,&rdquo; said Anna; but such an act involved
+too much danger, and with one lingering, tearful look at her old home, she
+moved away, supported by &rsquo;Lena, who rather dragged than led her over the
+graveled walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they approached the arbor bridge, they saw the glimmering light of a
+lantern, for the night was intensely dark, and in a moment Anna was clasped in
+the arms which henceforth were to shelter her from the storms of life. Helpless
+as an infant she lay, while &rsquo;Lena, motioning the negro who was in
+attendance to follow her, returned to the house for the trunk, which was soon
+safely deposited in the carriage at the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Words cannot express what I owe you,&rdquo; said Malcolm, when he gave
+her his hand at parting, &ldquo;but of this be assured, so long as I live you
+have in me a friend and brother.&rdquo; Turning back for a moment, he added,
+&ldquo;This flight is, I know, unnecessary, for I could prevent
+to-morrow&rsquo;s expected event in other ways than this, but revenge is sweet,
+and I trust I am excusable for taking it in my own way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna could not speak, but the look of deep gratitude which beamed from her eyes
+was far more eloquent than words. Upon the broad piazza &rsquo;Lena stood until
+the last faint sound of the carriage wheels died away; then, weary and worn,
+she sought her room, locking Anna&rsquo;s door as she passed it, and placing
+the key in her pocket. Softly she crept to bed by the side of her slumbering
+grandmother, and with a fervent prayer for the safety of the fugitives, fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/>
+THE RESULT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused &rsquo;Lena from her heavy
+slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the night
+previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing it were not
+morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and after a hasty toilet,
+descended to the breakfast-room, where another chair was vacant, another face
+was missing. Without any suspicion of the truth, Mrs. Livingstone spoke of
+Anna&rsquo;s absence, saying she presumed the poor girl was tired and sleepy,
+and this was admitted as an excuse for her tardiness. But when breakfast was
+over and she still did not appear, Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon
+with the information that &ldquo;she&rsquo;d knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna
+would not answer, and when she tried the door she found it locked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at &rsquo;Lena; whose face wore a scarlet
+hue as she hastily quitted the table. With a presentiment of something, he
+himself started for Anna&rsquo;s room; followed by his wife and Carrie, while
+&rsquo;Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened breathlessly for the result. It
+was useless knocking for admittance, for there was no one within to bid them
+enter, and with a powerful effort Mr. Livingstone burst the lock. The window
+was open, the lamp was still burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed
+was undisturbed, the room in confusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s eye took in all this at a glance, but her husband saw only
+the latter, and ere he was aware of what he did, a fervent &ldquo;Thank
+heaven,&rdquo; escaped him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s gone&mdash;run away&mdash;dead, maybe,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs.
+Livingstone, wringing her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively
+drawing nearer to her husband for comfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time &rsquo;Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward her,
+Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, where is our
+child?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at Midway
+for Cincinnati,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, thinking she might as well tell the
+whole at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In Ohio!&rdquo; shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;What has she gone to Ohio for? Speak, ingrate,
+for you have done the deed&mdash;I am sure of that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was Mr. Everett&rsquo;s wish to return home that way I
+believe,&rdquo; coolly answered &rsquo;Lena, without quailing in the least from
+the eyes bent so angrily upon her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s fingers loosened their grasp, while her face
+grew livid with mingled passion and fear. Her fraud was discovered&mdash;her
+stratagem had failed&mdash;and she was foiled in this, her second darling
+scheme. But she was yet to learn what agency &rsquo;Lena had in the matter, and
+this information her husband obtained for her. There was no anger in the tones
+of his voice when he asked his niece to explain the mystery, else she might not
+have answered, for &rsquo;Lena could not be driven. Now, however, she felt that
+he had a right to know, and she told him all she knew; what she had done
+herself and why she had done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Malcolm had
+gone in his trouble, had kindly assisted him by lending both servants and
+carriage; but upon the intercepted letters she could throw no light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is unworthy the
+name of either man or woman,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, while his eye rested
+sternly upon his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and resolving to make the
+best of the matter, she, too, united with him in denouncing the deed, wondering
+who could have done it, and meanly suggesting Maria Fontaine, a pupil of Mr.
+Everett&rsquo;s, who had, at one time, felt a slight preference for him. But
+this did not deceive her husband&mdash;neither did it help her at all in the
+present emergency. The bride was gone, and already she felt the tide of scandal
+and gossip which she knew would be the theme of the entire neighborhood. Still,
+if her own shameful act was kept a secret she could bear it, and it must be. No
+one knew of it except Captain Atherton and Cæsar, the former of whom would
+keep his own counsel, while fear of a passport down the river, the
+negroes&rsquo; dread, would prevent the latter from telling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to treat the whole matter
+as a capital joke, worthy of being immortalized in romance, she returned to her
+room, and hastily writing a few lines, rang the bell for Cæsar who soon
+appeared, declaring that &ldquo;as true as he lived and breathed and drew the
+breath of life, he&rsquo;d done gin miss every single letter afore
+handin&rsquo; &rsquo;em to anybody else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you&rsquo;ll find yourself
+in New Orleans,&rdquo; was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s very lady-like response, as
+she handed him the note, bidding him take it to Captain Atherton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason or other the captain this morning was exceedingly restless,
+walking from room to room, watching the clock, then the sun, and finally, in
+order to pass the time away, trying on his wedding suit, to see how he was
+going to look! Perfectly satisfied with his appearance, he was in imagination
+going through the ceremony, and had just inclined his head in token that he
+would take Anna for his wife, when Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s note was handed
+him. At first he could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna gone!&mdash;run away with Mr. Everett! It could not be, and sinking into a
+chair, he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, &ldquo;mighty queer and
+shaky.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on it, and this, upon
+second thought, he determined to do. Hastily changing his dress, now useless,
+he mounted his steed, and was soon on his way toward Maple Grove, a new idea
+dawning upon his mind, and ere his arrival, settling itself into a fixed
+purpose. From Aunt Martha he had heard of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s strange visit,
+and he now remembered the many times she had tried to withdraw him from Anna,
+appropriating him to herself for hours. The captain&rsquo;s vanity was
+wonderful. Sunnyside needed a mistress&mdash;he needed a wife, &rsquo;Lena was
+poor&mdash;perhaps she liked him&mdash;and if so there might be a wedding,
+after all. She was beautiful, and would sustain the honors of his house with a
+better grace, he verily believed, than Anna! Full of these thoughts, he reached
+Maple Grove, where he found Durward, to whom Mrs. Livingstone had detailed the
+whole circumstance, dwelling long upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s meddling
+propensities, and charging the whole affair upon her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she knew what she was about&mdash;she had an object in view,
+undoubtedly,&rdquo; she added, glad of an opportunity to give vent to her
+feelings against &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray, what was her object?&rdquo; asked Durward, and Mrs. Livingstone
+replied, &ldquo;I told you once that &rsquo;Lena was ambitious, and I have
+every reason to believe she would willingly marry Captain Atherton,
+notwithstanding he is so much older.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She forgot that there was the same disparity between the captain and Anna as
+between him and &rsquo;Lena, but Durward did not, and with a derisive smile he
+listened, while she proceeded to give her reasons for thinking that a desire to
+supplant Anna was the sole object which &rsquo;Lena had in view, for what else
+could have prompted that midnight ride to Sunnyside. Again Durward smiled, but
+before he could answer, the bride-groom elect stood before them, looking rather
+crestfallen, but evidently making a great effort to appear as usual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so the bird has flown?&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;Well, it takes a
+Yankee, after all, to manage a case, but how did he find it out?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him Lena&rsquo;s agency in the matter,
+omitting, this time, to impute to her the same motive which she had done when
+stating the case to Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So &rsquo;Lena is at the bottom of it?&rdquo; said he, rubbing his
+little fat, red hands. &ldquo;Well, well, where is she? I&rsquo;d like to see
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Corinda, tell &rsquo;Lena she is wanted in the parlor,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the interview, arose to go,
+but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to stay, that he at last resumed his
+seat on the sofa by the side of Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the part you have
+taken in this elopement,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, sternly, as &rsquo;Lena
+appeared in the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said the captain, gallantly offering
+&rsquo;Lena a chair. &ldquo;My business with Miss Rivers concerns
+herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am here, sir, to answer any proper question,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena,
+proudly, at the same time declining the proffered seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s an air worthy of a queen,&rdquo; thought the captain, and
+determining to make his business known at once, he arose, and turning toward
+Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, whom he considered his audience, he
+commenced: &ldquo;What I am about to say may seem strange, but the fact is, I
+want a wife. I&rsquo;ve lived alone long enough. I waited for Anna eighteen
+years, and now&rsquo;s she gone. Everything is in readiness for the bridal; the
+guests are invited; nothing wanting but the bride. Now if I <i>could</i> find a
+substitute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not in me,&rdquo; muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, while with
+a sarcastic leer the captain continued: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t refuse before you
+are asked, Miss Livingstone. I do not aspire to the honor of your hand, but I
+do ask Miss Rivers to be my wife&mdash;here before you all. She shall live like
+a princess&mdash;she and her grandmother both. Come, what do you say? Many a
+poor girl would jump at the chance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rich blood which usually dyed &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s cheek was gone, and pale
+as the marble mantel against which she leaned, she answered, proudly, &ldquo;I
+would sooner die than link my destiny with one who could so basely deceive my
+cousin, making her believe it was her betrothed husband whom he saw in
+Washington instead of his uncle! Marry you? Never, if I beg my bread from door
+to door!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Noble girl!&rdquo; came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, who had
+held his breath for her answer, and who now glanced triumphantly at Mrs.
+Livingstone, whose surmises were thus proved incorrect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The captain&rsquo;s self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble girl should
+refuse him with his half million. A sense of the ridiculous position in which
+he was placed maddened him, and in a violent rage he replied, &ldquo;You
+won&rsquo;t, hey? What under heavens have you hung around me so for, sticking
+yourself in between me and Anna when you knew you were not wanted?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did it, sir, at Anna&rsquo;s request, to relieve her&mdash;and for
+nothing else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that dark,
+rainy night?&rdquo; chimed in Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, turning toward her aunt. &ldquo;I
+had in vain implored of you to save her from a marriage every way irksome to
+her, when in her right mind, but you would not listen, and I resolved to appeal
+to the captain&rsquo;s better nature. In this I failed, and then I wrote to Mr.
+Everett, with the result which you see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask who was the
+bearer of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s letter, but remembering it now, she put the
+question. &rsquo;Lena would not implicate Durward without his permission, but
+while she hesitated, he answered for her, &ldquo;<i>I</i> carried that letter,
+Mrs. Livingstone, though I did not then know its nature. Still if I had, I
+should have done the same, and the event has proved that I was right in so
+doing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, indeed!&rdquo; said the captain growing more and more nettled and
+disagreeable. &ldquo;Ah, indeed! Mr. Bellmont leagued with Miss Rivers against
+me. Perhaps she would not so bluntly refuse an offer coming from you, but I can
+tell you it won&rsquo;t sound very well that the Hon. Mrs. Bellmont once rode
+four miles alone in the night to visit a bachelor. Ha! ha! Miss &rsquo;Lena;
+better have submitted to my terms at once, for don&rsquo;t you see I have you
+in my power?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you answer for it to
+me; do you understand?&rdquo; exclaimed Durward, starting up and confronting
+Captain Atherton, who, the veriest coward in the world, shrank from the
+flashing of Durward&rsquo;s eye, and meekly answered, &ldquo;Yes,
+yes&mdash;yes, yes, I won&rsquo;t, I won&rsquo;t. I don&rsquo;t want to fight.
+I like &rsquo;Lena. I don&rsquo;t blame Anna for running away if she
+didn&rsquo;t want me&mdash;but it&rsquo;s left me in a deuced mean scrape,
+which I wish you&rsquo;d help me out of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his proffered hand,
+promised to render him any assistance in his power, and advising him to be
+present himself in the evening, as the first meeting with his acquaintances
+would thus be over. Upon reflection, the captain concluded to follow this
+advice, and when evening arrived and with it those who had not heard the news,
+he was in attendance, together with Durward, who managed the whole affair so
+skillfully that the party passed off quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests
+playfully condoling with the deserted bridegroom, who received their jokes with
+a good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, when the company were gone and all around was silent, Mrs.
+Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears she had shed for her
+youngest born, whom she well knew <i>she</i> had driven from home, and when her
+husband asked what they should do, she answered with a fresh burst of tears,
+&ldquo;Send for Anna to come back.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And Malcolm, too?&rdquo; queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless
+to send for one without the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Malcolm too. There&rsquo;s room for both,&rdquo; said the weeping
+mother, feeling how every hour she should miss the little girl, whose presence
+had in it so much of sunlight and joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna would not return. Away to the northward, in a fairy cottage overhung
+with the wreathing honeysuckle and the twining grape-vine, where the first
+summer flowers were blooming and the song-birds were caroling all the day long,
+her home was henceforth to be, and though the letter which contained her answer
+to her father&rsquo;s earnest appeal was stained and blotted, it told of
+perfect happiness with Malcolm, who kissed away her tears as she wrote,
+&ldquo;Tell mother I cannot come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/>
+MORE CLOUDS.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Since the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed himself &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+champion, her health and spirits began to improve. That she was not wholly
+indifferent to him she had every reason to believe, and notwithstanding the
+strong barrier between them, hope sometimes whispered to her of a future, when
+all that was now so dark and mysterious should be made plain. But while she was
+thus securely dreaming, a cloud, darker and deeper than any which had yet
+overshadowed her, was gathering around her pathway. Gradually had the story of
+her ride to Captain Atherton&rsquo;s gained circulation, magnifying itself as
+it went, until at last it was currently reported that at several different
+times had she been seen riding away from Sunnyside at unseasonable hours of the
+night, the time varying from nine in the evening to three in the morning
+according to the exaggerating powers of the informer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that each and every one
+repeated it to his or her neighbor, until at last it reached Mrs. Graham, who,
+forgetting the caution of her son, said, with a very wise look, that &ldquo;she
+was not at all surprised&mdash;she had from the first suspected &rsquo;Lena,
+and she had the best of reasons for so doing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s friend was exceedingly anxious to know what she
+meant, and by dint of quizzing, questioning and promising never to tell, she at
+last drew out just enough of the story to know that Mr. Graham had a
+daguerreotype which looked just like &rsquo;Lena, and that Mrs. Graham had no
+doubt whatever that she was in the habit of writing to him. This of course was
+repeated, notwithstanding the promise of secrecy, and many of the neighbors
+suddenly remembered some little circumstance trivial in itself, but all going
+to swell the amount of evidence against poor &rsquo;Lena, who, unconscious of
+the gathering storm, did not for a time observe the sidelong glances cast
+toward her whenever she appeared in public.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of her acquaintances began
+to attract her attention, causing her to wonder what it all meant. But there
+was no one of whom she would ask an explanation. John Jr. was gone&mdash;Anna
+was gone&mdash;and to crown all, Durward, too, left the neighborhood just as
+the first breath of scandal was beginning to set the waves of gossip in motion.
+In his absence, Mrs. Graham felt no restraint, whatever, and all that she knew,
+together with many things she didn&rsquo;t know, she told, until it became a
+matter of serious debate whether &rsquo;Lena ought not to be <i>cut</i>
+entirely. Mrs. Graham and her clique decided in the affirmative, and when Mrs.
+Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed by public opinion, gave a small
+party for her daughter Maria, &rsquo;Lena was purposely omitted. Hitherto she
+had been greatly petted and admired by both Maria and her mother, and she felt
+the slight sensibly, the more so, as Carrie darkly hinted that girls who could
+not behave themselves must not associate with respectable people.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Leny not invited!&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, espousing the cause
+of her granddaughter. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s to pay, I wonder? Miss Fontaine and
+the gineral, too, allus appeared to think a sight on her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I presume the <i>general</i> does now,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone,
+&ldquo;but it&rsquo;s natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particular about
+the reputation of her daughter&rsquo;s associates.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And ain&rsquo;t &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s reputation as good as the best on
+&rsquo;em,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with
+insulted pride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the general opinion that it might be improved,&rdquo; was
+Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s haughty answer, as she left her mother-in-law to her
+own reflections.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll kill her stone dead,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving
+in her own mind the propriety of telling &rsquo;Lena what her aunt had said.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll kill her stone dead, and I can&rsquo;t tell her. Mebby
+it&rsquo;ll blow over pretty soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of calling upon
+&rsquo;Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one asked for her, and with her eyes
+and ears now sharpened, she fancied that once, as she was passing the parlor
+door, she heard her own name coupled with that of Mr. Graham. A startling light
+burst upon her, and staggering to her room, she threw herself, half fainting,
+upon the bed, where an hour afterwards she was found by Aunt Milly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old negress had also heard the story in its most aggravated form, and
+readily divining the cause of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s grief, attempted to console
+her, telling her &ldquo;not to mind what the good-for-nothin&rsquo; critters
+said; they war only mad &rsquo;cause she&rsquo;s so much handsomer and trimmer
+built.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know, then,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, lifting her head from the
+pillow. &ldquo;You know what it is; so tell me, for I shall die if I remain
+longer in suspense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lor&rsquo; bless the child,&rdquo; exclaimed old Milly, &ldquo;to think
+she&rsquo;s the very last one to know, when it&rsquo;s been common talk more
+than a month!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s been common talk? What is it?&rdquo; demanded &rsquo;Lena;
+and old Milly, seating herself upon a trunk, commenced: &ldquo;Why, honey,
+hain&rsquo;t you hearn how you done got Mr. Graham&rsquo;s pictur and gin him
+yourn &rsquo;long of one of them curls&mdash;how he&rsquo;s writ and
+you&rsquo;ve writ, and how he&rsquo;s gone off to the eends of the airth to get
+rid on you&mdash;and how you try to cotch young Mas&rsquo;r Durward, who hate
+the sight on you&mdash;how you waylay him one day, settin&rsquo; on a rock out
+by the big gate&mdash;and how you been seen mighty nigh fifty times
+comin&rsquo; home afoot from Captain Atherton&rsquo;s in the night,
+rainin&rsquo; thunder and lightnin&rsquo; hard as it could pour&mdash;how after
+you done got Miss Anna to &rsquo;lope, you ax Captain Atherton to have you, and
+git mad as fury &rsquo;cause he &rsquo;fuses&mdash;and how your mother
+warn&rsquo;t none too likely, and a heap more that I can&rsquo;t
+remember&mdash;hain&rsquo;t you heard of none on&rsquo;t?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None, none,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, while Milly continued,
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sin and shame for quality folks that belong to the
+meetin&rsquo; to pitch into a poor &rsquo;fenseless girl and pick her all to
+pieces. Reckon they done forgot what our Heabenly Marster told &rsquo;em when
+he lived here in old Kentuck, how they must dig the truck out of thar own eyes
+afore they go to meddlin&rsquo; with others; but they never think of him these
+days, &rsquo;cept Sundays, and then as soon as meetin&rsquo; is out they done
+git together and talk about you and Mas&rsquo;r Graham orfully. I hearn
+&rsquo;em last Sunday, I and Miss Fontaine&rsquo;s cook, Cilly, and if they
+don&rsquo;t quit it, thar&rsquo;s a heap on us goin&rsquo; to leave the
+church!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who arose to leave the
+room, again told her not to care, as all the blacks were for her, she felt that
+she was not utterly alone in her wretchedness. Still, the sympathy of the
+colored people alone could not help her, and dally matters grew worse, until at
+last even Nellie Douglass&rsquo;s faith was shaken, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+heart died within her as she saw in her signs of neglect. Never had Mr.
+Livingstone exchanged a word with her upon the subject, but the reserve with
+which he treated her plainly indicated that he, too, was prejudiced, while her
+aunt and Carrie let no opportunity pass of slighting her, the latter invariably
+leaving the room if she entered it. On one such occasion, in a state bordering
+almost on distraction &rsquo;Lena flew back to her own chamber, where to her
+great surprise, she found her uncle in close conversation with her grandmother,
+whose face told the pain his words were inflicting. &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first
+impulse was to fall at his feet and implore his protection, but he prevented
+her by immediately leaving the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, grandmother, grandmother,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;help me, or I
+shall die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her heart Mrs. Nichols believed her guilty, for John had said so&mdash;he
+would not lie; and to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s touching appeal for sympathy, she
+replied, as she rocked to and fro, &ldquo;I wish you <i>had</i> died,
+&rsquo;Leny, years and years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with the wailing cry,
+&ldquo;God help me now&mdash;no one else can,&rdquo; the heart-broken girl fell
+fainting to the floor, while in silent agony Mrs. Nichols hung over her,
+shouting for help.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but at the first call Aunt
+Milly hastened to the room. &ldquo;Poor sheared lamb,&rdquo; said she,
+gathering back the thick, clustering curls which shaded &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+marble face, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s innocent as the new-born baby.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, if I could think so,&rdquo; said grandma; but she could not, and
+when the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and eagerly sought hers, they read
+distrust and doubt, and motioning her grandmother away, &rsquo;Lena said she
+would rather be alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded upon her as she lay there
+watching the daylight fade from the distant hills, and musing of the stern
+realities around her. Gradually her thoughts assumed a definite purpose; she
+would go away from a place where she was never wanted, and where she now no
+longer wished to stay. Mr. Everett had promised to be her friend, and to him
+she would go. At different intervals her uncle and cousin had given her money
+to the amount of twenty dollars, which was still in her possession, and which
+she knew would take her far on her road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With &rsquo;Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when sure her
+grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly made the needful preparations
+for her flight. Unlike most aged people, Mrs. Nichols slept soundly, and
+&rsquo;Lena had no fears of waking her. Very stealthily she moved around the
+room, placing in a satchel, which she could carry upon her arm, the few things
+she would need. Then, sitting down by the table, she wrote:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;DEAR GRANDMA: When you read this I shall be gone, for I cannot longer
+stay where all look upon me as a wretched, guilty thing. I am innocent,
+grandma, as innocent as my angel mother when they dared to slander her, but you
+do not believe it, and that is the hardest of all. I could have borne the rest,
+but when you, too, doubted me, it broke my heart, and now I am going away.
+Nobody will care&mdash;nobody will miss me but you.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to write than it will
+you to read
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;&rsquo;LENA&rsquo;S LAST GOOD-BYE&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All was at length ready, and then bending gently over the wrinkled face so
+calmly sleeping, &rsquo;Lena gazed through blinding tears upon each lineament,
+striving to imprint it upon her heart&rsquo;s memory, and wondering if they
+would ever meet again. The hand which had so often rested caressingly upon her
+young head, was lying outside the counterpane, and with one burning kiss upon
+it she turned away, first placing the lamp by the window, where its light,
+shining upon her from afar, would be the last thing she could see of the home
+she was leaving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was well known to her, and
+without once pausing, lest her courage should fail her, she pressed forward.
+The distance which she had to travel was about three and a half miles, and as
+she did not dare trust herself in the highway, she struck into the fields,
+looking back as long as the glimmering light from the window could be seen, and
+then when that home star had disappeared from view, silently imploring aid from
+Him who alone could help her now. She was in time for the cars, and, though the
+depot agent looked curiously at her slight, shrinking figure, he asked no
+questions, and when the train moved rapidly away, &rsquo;Lena looked out upon
+the dark, still night, and felt that she was a wanderer in the world.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br/>
+REACTION.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the window of Grandma
+Nichols&rsquo;s room, and roused her from her slumber. On the pillow beside her
+rested no youthful head&mdash;there was no kind voice bidding her
+&ldquo;good-morrow&rdquo;&mdash;no gentle hand ministering to her
+comfort&mdash;for &rsquo;Lena was gone, and on the table lay the note, which at
+first escaped Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;s attention. Thinking her granddaughter had
+arisen early and gone before her, she attempted to make her own toilet, which
+was nearly completed, when her eye caught the note. It was directed to her, and
+with a dim foreboding she: took it up, reading that her child was
+gone&mdash;gone from those who should have sustained her in her hour of trial,
+but who, instead, turned against her, crushing her down, until in a state of
+desperation she had fled. It was in vain that the breakfast-bell rang out its
+loud summons. Grandma did not heed it; and when Corinda came up to seek her,
+she started back in affright at the scene before her. Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;s cap
+was not yet on, and her thin gray locks fell around her livid face as she
+swayed from side to side, moaning at intervals, &ldquo;God forgive me that I
+broke her heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up she said, pointing
+toward the vacant bed, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s gone; I&rsquo;ve killed
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and down the stairs,
+she rushed into the dining-room, announcing the startling news that &ldquo;old
+miss had done murdered Miss &rsquo;Lena, and hid her under the bed!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>will</i> come next!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following
+her husband to his mother&rsquo;s room where a moment sufficed to explain the
+whole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled the poor old
+lady&rsquo;s reason. The sight of his mother&rsquo;s distress aroused all the
+better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly soothing her, he told her that
+&rsquo;Lena should be found&mdash;he would go for her himself. Carrie, too, was
+touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up the scattered locks, and
+tying on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an instant on the wrinkled brow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep it there; it feels soft, like &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Nichols, the tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with his wife, hurried
+off to the neighbors, none of whom knew aught of the fugitive, and all of whom
+offered their assistance in searching. Never once did it occur to Mr.
+Livingstone that she might have taken the cars, for that he knew would need
+money, and he supposed she had none in her possession. By a strange
+coincidence, too, the depot agent who sold her the ticket, left the very next
+morning for Indiana, where he had been intending to go for some time, and where
+he remained for more than a week, thus preventing the information which he
+could otherwise have given concerning her flight. Consequently, Mr. Livingstone
+returned each night, weary and disheartened, to his home, where all the day
+long his mother moaned and wept, asking for her &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of the wanderer, she
+ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger came to the house, she would
+whisper softly to them, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s dead. I killed her; did you
+know it?&rdquo; at the same time passing to them the crumpled note, which she
+ever held in her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had so recently
+denounced her, and when it became known that she was gone, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been the most bitter against her now changed their
+opinion, wondering how they could ever have thought her guilty. The stories
+concerning her visits to Captain Atherton&rsquo;s were traced back to their
+source, resulting in exonerating her from all blame, while many things,
+hitherto kept secret, concerning Anna&rsquo;s engagement, were brought to
+light, and &rsquo;Lena was universally commended for her efforts to save her
+cousin from a marriage so wholly unnatural. Severely was the captain censured
+for the part he had taken in deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly confessed,
+while he openly espoused the cause of the fugitive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough to make a like
+confession. Public suspicion pointed to her as the interceptor of Anna&rsquo;s
+letters, and though she did not deny it, she wondered what that had to do with
+&rsquo;Lena, at the same time asking &ldquo;how they expected to clear up the
+Graham affair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of feeling the
+neighborhood were willing to overlook many things which had before seemed dark
+and mysterious, while Mrs. Graham, for some most unaccountable reason, suddenly
+retracted almost everything she had said, acknowledging that she was too hasty
+in her conclusions, and evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest
+perfectly surprising to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in utter astonishment,
+wondering what the end would be. About this time Durward returned, greatly
+pained at the existing state of things. In Frankfort, where &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+flight was a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot agent, who was on
+his way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose rather singular manner had
+attracted his attention. This was undoubtedly &rsquo;Lena, and after a few
+moments&rsquo; conversation with his mother, Durward announced his intention of
+going after her, at least as far as Rockford, where he fancied she might have
+gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her manner seemed so strange
+that he at last asked what was the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing&mdash;nothing in particular,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;only
+I&rsquo;ve been thinking it all over lately, and I&rsquo;ve come to the
+conclusion that perhaps &rsquo;Lena is innocent after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost before she
+had finished speaking, with, &ldquo;<i>Do</i> you know anything? Have you heard
+anything?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She <i>had</i> heard&mdash;she <i>did</i> know; but ere she could reply, the
+violent ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, prevented her
+answer. In a perfect fever of excitement Durward glanced at his watch. If he
+waited long, he would be too late for the cars, and with a hasty adieu he left
+the parlor, turning back ere he reached the outer door, and telling his mother
+he must speak with her alone. If Mrs. Graham had at first intended to divulge
+what she knew, the impulse was now gone, and to her son&rsquo;s urgent request
+that she should disclose what she knew, she replied, &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t
+much&mdash;only your father has another daguerreotype, the counterpart of the
+first one. He procured it in Cincinnati, and &rsquo;Lena I know was not
+there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures closely, and I do not
+think they resemble &rsquo;Lena as much as we at first supposed. Possibly it
+might have been some one else, her mother, may be,&rdquo; and Mrs. Graham
+looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently answered, &ldquo;Her mother
+died years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he had heard, and hoping,
+half believing, that &rsquo;Lena would yet be exonerated from all blame. For a
+moment Mrs. Graham gazed after him, regretting that she had not told him all,
+but thinking there was time enough yet, and remembering that her husband had
+said she might wait until his return, if she chose, she went back to the parlor
+while Durward kept on his way.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/>
+THE WANDERER.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Fiercely the noontide blaze of a scorching July sun was falling upon the huge
+walls of the &ldquo;Laurel Hill Sun,&rdquo; where a group of idlers were
+lounging on the long, narrow piazza, some niching into still more grotesque
+carving the rude, unpainted railing, while others, half reclining on one elbow,
+shaded their eyes with their old slouch hats, as they gazed wistfully toward
+the long hill, eager to catch the first sight of the daily stage which was
+momentarily expected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jerry is late, to-day&mdash;but it&rsquo;s so plaguy hot he&rsquo;s
+favorin&rsquo; his hosses, I guess,&rdquo; said the rosy-faced landlord, with
+that peculiar intonation which stamped him at once a genuine Yankee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A watched pot never biles,&rdquo; muttered one of the loungers, who
+regularly for fifteen years had been at his post, waiting for the stage, which
+during all that time had brought him neither letter, message, friend, nor foe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But force of habit is everything, and after the very wise saying recorded
+above, he resumed his whittling, never again looking up until the loud blast of
+the driver&rsquo;s horn was heard on the distant hill-top, where the four
+weary, jaded horses were now visible. It was the driver&rsquo;s usual custom to
+blow his horn from the moment he appeared on the hill, until with a grand
+flourish he reined his panting steeds before the door of the inn. But this time
+there was one sharp, shrill sound, and then all was still, the omission
+eliciting several remarks not very complimentary to the weather, which was
+probably the cause of &ldquo;Jerry&rsquo;s&rdquo; unwonted silence. Very slowly
+the vehicle came on, the horses never leaving a walk, and the idler of fifteen
+years&rsquo; standing, who for a time had suspended his whittling,
+&ldquo;wondered what was to pay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A nearer approach revealed three or four male passengers, all occupied with a
+young lady, who, on the back seat, was carefully supported by one of her
+companions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A sick gal, I guess. Wonder if the disease is catchin&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+said the whittler, standing back several paces and looking over the heads of
+the others, who crowded forward as the stage came up. The loud greeting of the
+noisy group was answered by Jerry with a low &ldquo;sh&mdash;sh,&rdquo; as he
+pointed significantly at the slight form which two of the gentlemen were
+lifting from the coach, asking at the same time if there were a physician near.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter on her? Hain&rsquo;t got the cholery, has
+she,&rdquo; said the landlord, who, having hallooed to his wife to &ldquo;fetch
+up her vittles,&rdquo; now appeared on the piazza ready to welcome his guests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the first mention of cholera, the fifteen years&rsquo; man vamosed,
+retreating across the road, and seating himself on the fence under the shadow
+of the locust trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is she, Jerry?&rdquo; asked the younger of the set, gazing curiously
+upon the white, beautiful face of the stranger, who had been laid upon the
+lounge in the common sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lord only knows,&rdquo; said Jerry, wiping the heavy drops of sweat from
+his good-humored face; &ldquo;I found her at the hotel in Livony. She came
+there in the cars, and said she wanted to go over to &rsquo;tother railroad.
+She was so weak that I had to lift her into the stage as I would a baby, and
+she ain&rsquo;t much heavier. You orto seen how sweet she smiled when she
+thanked me, and asked me not to drive very fast, it made her head ache so.
+Zounds, I wouldn&rsquo;t of trotted the horses if I&rsquo;d never got here.
+Jest after we started she fainted, and she&rsquo;s been kinder talkin&rsquo;
+strange like ever since. Some of the gentlemen thought I&rsquo;d better leave
+her back a piece at Brown&rsquo;s tavern, but I wanted to fetch her here, where
+Aunt Betsy could nuss her up, and then I can kinder tend to her myself, you
+know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This last remark called forth no answering joke, for Jerry&rsquo;s companions
+all knew his kindly nature, and it was no wonder to them that his sympathies
+were so strongly enlisted for the fair girl thus thrown upon his protection. It
+was a big, noble heart over which Jerry Langley buttoned his driver&rsquo;s
+coat, and when the physician who had arrived pronounced the lady too ill to
+proceed any further, he called aside the fidgety landlord, whose peculiarities
+he well knew, and bade him &ldquo;not to fret and stew, for if the gal
+hadn&rsquo;t money, Jerry Langley was good for a longer time than she would
+live, poor critter;&rdquo; and he wiped a tear away, glancing, the while, at
+the burying-ground which lay just across the garden, and thinking how if she
+died, her grave should be beneath the wide-spreading oak, where often in the
+summer nights he sat, counting the head-stones which marked the last resting
+place of the slumbering host, and wondering if death were, as some had said, a
+long, eternal sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Betsey, of whom he had spoken, was the landlady, a little dumpy,
+pleasant-faced, active woman, equally in her element bending over the steaming
+gridiron, or smoothing the pillows of the sick-bed, where her powers of nursing
+had won golden laurels from Others than Jerry Langley. When the news was
+brought to the kitchen that among the passengers was a sick girl, who was to be
+left, her first thought, natural to everybody, was, &ldquo;What shall I do
+?&rdquo; while the second, natural to her, was, &ldquo;Take care of her, of
+course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, when the dinner was upon the table, she laid aside her broad check
+apron, substituting in its place a half-worn silk, for Jerry had reported the
+invalid to be &ldquo;every inch a lady;&rdquo; then smoothing her soft, silvery
+hair with her fat, rosy hands, she repaired to the sitting-room, where she
+found the driver watching his charge, from whom he kept the buzzing flies by
+means of his bandana, which he waved to and fro with untiring patience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Handsome as a London doll,&rdquo; was her first exclamation, adding,
+&ldquo;but I should think she&rsquo;d be awful hot with them curls,
+dangling&rsquo; in her neck! If she&rsquo;s goin&rsquo; to be sick they&rsquo;d
+better be cut off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If there was any one thing for which Aunt Betsey Aldergrass possessed a
+particular passion, it was for <i>hair-cutting</i>, she being barber general
+for Laurel Hill, which numbered about thirty houses, store and church
+inclusive, and now when she saw the shining tresses which lay in such profusion
+upon the pillow, her fingers tingled to their very tips, while she
+involuntarily felt for her scissors! Very reverentially, as if it were almost
+sacrilege, Jerry&rsquo;s broad palm was laid protectingly upon the clustering
+ringlets, while he said, &ldquo;No, Aunt Betsey, if she dies for&rsquo;t, you
+shan&rsquo;t touch one of them; &rsquo;twould spile her hair, she looks so
+pretty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly the long, fringed lids unclosed, and the brown eyes looked up so
+gratefully at Jerry, that he beat a precipitate retreat, muttering to himself
+that &ldquo;he never could stand the gals, anyway, they made his heart thump
+so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I very sick, and can&rsquo;t I go on?&rdquo; asked the young lady,
+attempting to rise, but sinking back from extreme weakness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Considerable sick, I guess,&rdquo; answered the landlady, taking from a
+side cupboard an immense decanter of camphor, and passing it toward the
+stranger. &ldquo;Considerable sick, and I wouldn&rsquo;t wonder if you had to
+lay by a day or so. Will they be consarned about you to home, &rsquo;cause if
+they be, my old man&rsquo;ll write.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no home,&rdquo; was the sad answer, to which Aunt Betsey
+responded in astonishment, &ldquo;Hain&rsquo;t no home! Where does your marm
+live?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother is dead,&rdquo; said the girl, her tears dropping fast upon the
+pillow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, &ldquo;And your
+pa&mdash;where is he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never saw him,&rdquo; said the girl, while her interrogator continued:
+&ldquo;Never saw your pa, and your marm is dead&mdash;poor child, what is your
+name, and where did you come from?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment the stranger hesitated, and then thinking it better to tell the
+truth at once, she replied, &ldquo;My name is &rsquo;Lena. I lived with my
+uncle a great many miles from here, but I wasn&rsquo;t happy. They did not want
+me there, and I ran away. I am going to my cousin, but I&rsquo;d rather not
+tell where, so you will please not ask me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something in her manner which silenced Aunt Betsey, who, erelong,
+proposed that she should go upstairs and lie down on a nice little bed, where
+she would be more quiet. But &rsquo;Lena refused, saying she should feel better
+soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby, then, you&rsquo;d eat a mouffle or two. We&rsquo;ve got some
+roasted pork, and Hetty&rsquo;ll warm over the gravy;&rdquo; but
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s stomach rebelled at the very thought, seeing which, the
+landlady went back to the kitchen, where she soon prepared a bowl of gruel, in
+spite of the discouraging remarks of her husband, who, being a little after the
+<i>Old Hunks</i> order, cautioned her &ldquo;not to fuss too much, as gals that
+run away warn&rsquo;t apt to be plagued with money&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately, Aunt Betsey&rsquo;s heart covered a broader sphere, and the moment
+the stage was gone she closed the door to shut out the dust, dropped the green
+curtains, and drawing from the spare-room a large, stuffed chair, bade
+&rsquo;Lena &ldquo;see if she couldn&rsquo;t set up a minit.&rdquo; But this
+was impossible, and all that long, sultry afternoon she lay upon the lounge,
+holding her aching head, which seemed well-nigh bursting with its weight of
+pain and thought. &ldquo;Was it right for her to run away? Ought she not to
+have stayed and bravely met the worst? Suppose she were to die there alone,
+among strangers and without money, for her scanty purse was well-nigh
+drained.&rdquo; These and similar reflections crowded upon her, until her brain
+grew wild and dizzy, and when at sunset the physician came again he was
+surprised to find how much her fever had increased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She ought not to lie here,&rdquo; said he, as he saw how the loud shouts
+of the school-boys made her shudder. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there some place where
+she can be more quiet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the head of the stairs was a small room, containing a single bed and a
+window, which last looked out upon the garden and the graveyard beyond. Its
+furniture was of the plainest kind, it being reserved for more common
+travelers, and here the landlord said &rsquo;Lena must be taken. His wife would
+far rather have given her the front chamber, which was large, airy and light,
+but Uncle Tim Aldergrass said &ldquo;No,&rdquo; squealing out through his
+little peaked nose that &ldquo;&rsquo;twarn&rsquo;t an atom likely he&rsquo;d
+ever more&rsquo;n half git his pay, anyway, and he warn&rsquo;t a goin&rsquo;
+to give up the hull house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much more will it be if she has the best chamber,&rdquo; asked
+Jerry, pulling at Uncle Tim&rsquo;s coattail and leading him aside. &ldquo;How
+much will it be, &rsquo;cause if &rsquo;taint too much, she shan&rsquo;t stay
+in that eight by nine pen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A dollar a week, and cheap at that,&rdquo; muttered Uncle Tim, while
+Jerry, going out behind the wood-house, counted over his funds, sighing as he
+found them quite too small to meet the extra, dollar per week, should she long
+continue ill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I hadn&rsquo;t of fooled so much away for tobacker and things, I
+shouldn&rsquo;t be so plaguy poor now,&rdquo; thought he, forgetting the many
+hearts which his hard-earned gains had made glad, for no one ever appealed in
+vain for help from Jerry Langley, who represented one class of Yankees, while
+Timothy Aldergrass represented another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry knocked
+softly at Aunt Betsey&rsquo;s door, telling her that for more than an hour
+he&rsquo;d heard the young lady takin&rsquo; on, and he guessed she was worse.
+Hastily throwing on her loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+room, where she found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and
+whispering, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a disordered brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord help us! she&rsquo;s crazy as a loon. Run for the doctor,
+quick!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot or shoe, Jerry ran
+off in his stocking-feet, alarming the physician, who immediately hastened to
+the inn, pronouncing &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s disease to be brain fever, as he had
+at first feared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was sometimes in Kentucky
+and sometimes in Massachusetts, where she said they had buried her mother. At
+other times she would ask Aunt Betsey to send for Durward when she was dead,
+and tell him how innocent she was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I tell you there was something wrong?&rdquo; Uncle Timothy
+would squeak. &ldquo;Nobody knows who we are harborin&rsquo; nor how much
+&rsquo;twill damage the house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as day after day went by, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s fever raged more
+fiercely, even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of them to take her
+home and bury her by the side of Mabel, where Durward could see her grave, he
+would sigh, &ldquo;Poor critter, I wish you was to home,&rdquo; but whether
+this wish was prompted by a sincere desire to please &rsquo;Lena, or from a
+more selfish motive, we are unable to state. One morning, the fifth of
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly and
+tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild disorder over her
+pillow, or streaming down her shoulders. Hitherto Aunt Betsey had restrained
+her <i>barberic</i> desire, each day arranging the heavy locks, and tucking
+them under the muslin cap, where they refused to stay. Once the doctor himself
+had suggested the propriety of cutting them away, adding, though, that they
+would wait awhile, as it was a pity to lose them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better be cut off than yanked off,&rdquo; said Aunt Betsey, on the
+morning when &rsquo;Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear out handfulls of
+her shining hair and scatter it over the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached the bedside, and
+taking one of the curls in her hand, was about to sever it, when &rsquo;Lena,
+divining her intentions, sprang up, and gathering up her hair, exclaimed,
+&ldquo;No, no, not these; take everything else, but leave me my curls. Durward
+thought they were beautiful, and I cannot lose them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its passengers, and as
+the tones of their voices came in at the open window, &rsquo;Lena suddenly grew
+calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered, &ldquo;Hark! He&rsquo;s
+come. Don&rsquo;t you hear him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling her to come down, and
+leaving &rsquo;Lena, who had almost instantly become quiet, to the care of a
+neighbor, she started for the kitchen, meeting in the lower hall with Hetty,
+who was showing one of the passengers to a room where he could wash and refresh
+himself after his dusty ride. As they passed each other, Hetty asked,
+&ldquo;Have you clipped her curls?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Aldergrass, &ldquo;she wouldn&rsquo;t let me
+touch &rsquo;em, for she said that Durward, whom she talks so much about, liked
+&rsquo;em, and they mustn&rsquo;t be cut off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty and her mistress
+had been admiring, stopped, and turning to the latter, said, &ldquo;Of whom are
+you speaking?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days
+ago,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Aldergrass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is her name, and where does she live?&rdquo; continued the
+stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She calls herself &rsquo;Lena, but the &rsquo;tother name I don&rsquo;t
+know, and I guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically followed Hetty to his
+room, starting and turning pale as a wild, unnatural laugh fell on his ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is the young lady, sir,&rdquo; said Hetty, observing his agitated
+manner. &ldquo;She raves most all the time, and the doctor says she&rsquo;ll
+die if she don&rsquo;t stop.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he wished to be, alone. He
+had found her then&mdash;his lost &rsquo;Lena&mdash;sick, perhaps dying, and
+his heart gave one agonized throb as he thought, &ldquo;What if she should die?
+Yet why should I wish her to live?&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;when she is as
+surely lost to me as if she were indeed resting in her grave!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet be well,
+else, perhaps, he had never followed her. Believing she would stop at Mr.
+Everett&rsquo;s, he had come on thus far, finding her where he least expected
+it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure mingled with his pain as
+he thought how he would protect and care for her, ministering to her comfort,
+and softening, as far as possible, the disagreeable things which he saw must
+necessarily surround her. Money, he knew, would purchase almost everything, and
+if ever Durward Bellmont felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers sick and alone at the not very comfortable inn of Laurel
+Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry&mdash;whose long, lank figure
+and original manner had afforded him much amusement during his
+ride&mdash;handing a dozen or more oranges to Mrs. Aldergrass, saying, as he
+did so, &ldquo;They are for Miss &rsquo;Lena. I thought mebby they&rsquo;d
+taste good, this hot weather, and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest
+and best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment Durward&rsquo;s cheek flushed at the idea of Lena&rsquo;s being
+cared for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart grew warm toward the
+uncouth driver who, without any possible motive save the promptings of his own
+kindly nature, had thus thought of the stranger girl. Erelong the stage was
+announced as ready and waiting, but to the surprise and regret of his
+fellow-passengers, who had found him a most agreeable traveling companion,
+Durward said he was not going any further that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A new streak, ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; asked Jerry, who knew he was booked
+for the entire route; but the young man made no reply, and the fresh, spirited
+horses soon bore the lumbering vehicle far out of sight, leaving him to watch
+the cloud of dust which it carried in its train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that a guest of
+Durward&rsquo;s appearance honored his house with more than a passing call, and
+with the familiarity so common to a country landlord, he slapped him on the
+shoulder, telling him &ldquo;there was the tallest kind of fish in the
+Honeoye,&rdquo; whose waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were just
+discernible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never fish, thank you, sir,&rdquo; answered Durward, while the
+good-natured landlord continued: &ldquo;Now you don&rsquo;t say it! Hunt, then,
+mebby?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Occasionally,&rdquo; said Durward, adding, &ldquo;But my reason for
+stopping here is of entirely a different nature. I hear there is with you a
+sick lady. She is a friend of mine, and I am staying to see that she is well
+attended to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his opinion of
+&rsquo;Lena, whose want of money had made him sadly suspicious of her.
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, a fine gal; fell into good hands, too, for my old woman is the
+greatest kind of a nuss. Want to see her, don&rsquo;t you?&mdash;the lady I
+mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not just yet; I would like a few moments&rsquo; conversation with your
+wife first,&rdquo; answered Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Greatly frustrated when she learned that the stylish looking gentleman wished
+to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her shining face with flour, and donning
+another cap, repaired to the sitting-room, where she commenced making excuses
+about herself, the house, and everything else, saying, &ldquo;&rsquo;twant what
+he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he&rsquo;d try to put up with
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded to ask her every
+particular concerning &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s illness, and whether she would
+probably recognize him should he venture into her presence,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless your dear heart, no. She hain&rsquo;t known a soul on us these
+three days. Sometimes she calls me &lsquo;grandmother,&rsquo; and says when
+she&rsquo;s dead I&rsquo;ll know she&rsquo;s innocent. &rsquo;Pears Like
+somebody has been slanderin&rsquo; her, for she begs and pleads with Durward,
+as she calls him, not to believe it. Ain&rsquo;t you the one she means?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin&rsquo; straight
+in the bed, ravin&rsquo; and screechin&rsquo;, but the minit she heard your
+voice she dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since. Will you go up
+now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward signified his willingness, and following his landlady, he soon stood in
+the close, pent-up room where, in an uneasy slumber, &rsquo;Lena lay panting
+for breath, and at intervals faintly moaning in her sleep. She had fearfully
+changed since last he saw her, and with a groan, he bent over her, murmuring,
+&ldquo;My poor &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; while he gently laid his cool, moist hand
+upon her burning brow. As if there were something soothing in its touch, she
+quickly placed her little hot, parched hand on his, whispering, &ldquo;Keep it
+there. It will make me well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and carefully removing from her
+face and neck the thick curls which Mrs. Aldergrass had thought to cut away. At
+last she awoke, but Durward shrank almost in fear from the wild, bright eyes
+which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in them was no ray of reason. She called
+him &ldquo;John&rdquo; blessing him for coming, and saying, &ldquo;Did you tell
+Durward. Does <i>he</i> know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am Durward,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you recognize me? Look
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she answered, with a mocking laugh, which made him
+shudder, it was so unlike the merry, ringing tones he had once loved to hear.
+&ldquo;No, no, you are not Durward. He would not look at me as you do. He
+thinks me guilty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his identity. She would only
+answer with a laugh, which grated so harshly on his ear that he finally
+desisted, and suffered her to think he was her cousin. The smallness of her
+chamber troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up he asked if there was no
+other apartment where &rsquo;Lena would be more comfortable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course there is,&rdquo; said Aunt Betsy. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the
+best chamber I was goin&rsquo; to give to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Let her have every comfort the
+house affords, and you shall be amply paid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Uncle Timothy had now no objection to the offer, and the large, airy room with
+its snowy, draped bed was soon in readiness for the sufferer, who, in one of
+her wayward moods, absolutely refused to be moved. It was in vain that Aunt
+Betsey plead, persuaded, and threatened, and at last in despair Durward was
+called in to try his powers of persuasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s something more like it,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and when
+he urged upon her the necessity of her removal, she asked, &ldquo;Will you go
+with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And stay with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; she continued, stretching her arms toward him
+as a child toward its mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A moment more and she was reclining on the soft downy pillows, the special
+pride of Mrs. Aldergrass, who bustled in and out, while her husband, ashamed of
+his stinginess, said &ldquo;they should of moved her afore, only &rsquo;twas a
+bad sign.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the remainder of the day she seemed more quiet, talking incessantly, it
+is true, but never raving if Durward were near. It is strange what power he had
+over her, a word from him sufficing at any time to subdue her when in her most
+violent fits of frenzy. For two days and nights he watched by her side, never
+giving himself a moment&rsquo;s rest, while the neighbors looked on, surmising
+and commenting as people always will. Every delicacy of the season, however
+costly, was purchased for her comfort, while each morning the flowers which he
+knew she loved the best were freshly gathered from the different gardens of
+Laurel Hill, and in broken pitchers, cracked tumblers, and nicked saucers,
+adorned the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the close of the third day she fell into a heavy slumber, and Durward, worn
+out and weary, retired to take the rest he so much needed. For a long time
+&rsquo;Lena slept, watched by the physician, who, knowing that the crisis had
+arrived, waited anxiously for her waking, which came at last, bringing with it
+the light of returning reason. Dreamily she gazed about the room, and in a
+voice no longer strong with the excitement of delirium, asked, &ldquo;Where am
+I, and how came I here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a few words the physician explained all that was necessary for her to know,
+and then going for Mrs. Aldergrass, told her of the favorable change in his
+patient, adding that a sudden shock might still prove fatal.
+&ldquo;Therefore,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;though I know not in what relation
+this Mr. Bellmont stands to her, I think it advisable for her to remain awhile
+in ignorance of his presence. It is of the utmost consequence that she be kept
+quiet for a few days, at the end of which time she can see him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this Aunt Betsey communicated to Durward, who unwilling to do anything
+which would endanger &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s safety, kept himself aloof, treading
+softly and speaking low, for as if her hearing were sharpened by disease she
+more than once, when he was talking in the hall below, started up, listening
+eagerly; then, as if satisfied that she had been deceived, she would resume her
+position, while the flush on her cheek deepened as she thought, &ldquo;Oh, what
+if it had indeed been he!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nearly all the day long he sat just without the door, holding his breath as he
+caught the faint tones of her voice, and longing for the hour when he could see
+her, and obtain, if possible, some clue to the mystery attending her and his
+father. His mother&rsquo;s words, together with what he had heard &rsquo;Lena
+say in her ravings, had tended to convince him that <i>she</i>, at least, might
+be innocent, and once assured of this, he felt that he would gladly fold her to
+his bosom, and cherish her there as the choicest of heaven&rsquo;s blessings.
+All this time &rsquo;Lena had no suspicion of his presence, but she wondered at
+the many luxuries which surrounded her, and once, when Mrs. Aldergrass offered
+her some choice wine, she asked who it was that supplied her with so many
+comforts. Aunt Betsey&rsquo;s, forte did not lay in keeping a secret, and
+rather evasively she replied, &ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t ask me too many
+questions just yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s suspicions were at once aroused, and for more than an hour
+she lay thinking&mdash;trying to recall something which seamed to her like a
+dream. At last calling Aunt Betsey to her, she said, &ldquo;There was somebody
+here while I was so sick&mdash;somebody besides strangers&mdash;somebody that
+stayed with me all the time&mdash;who was it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody, nobody&mdash;I mustn&rsquo;t tell,&rdquo; said Mrs. Aldergrass,
+hurriedly, while &rsquo;Lena continued, &ldquo;Was it Cousin John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no; don&rsquo;t guess any more,&rdquo; was Mrs. Aldergrass&rsquo;s
+reply, and &rsquo;Lena, clasping her hands together, exclaimed, &ldquo;Oh,
+could it he be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words reached Durward&rsquo;s ear, and nothing but a sense of the harm it
+might do prevented him from going at once to her bedside. That night, at his
+earnest request, the physician gave him permission to see her in the morning,
+and Mrs. Aldergrass was commissioned to prepare her for the interview.
+&rsquo;Lena did not ask who it was; she felt that she knew; and the knowledge
+that he was there&mdash;that he had cared for her&mdash;operated upon her like
+a spell, soothing her into the most refreshing slumber she had experienced for
+many a weary week. With the sun-rising she was awake, but Mrs. Aldergrass, who
+came in soon after, told her that the visitor was not to be admitted until
+about ten, as she would by that time have become more composed, and be the
+better able to endure the excitement of the interview. A natural delicacy
+prevented &rsquo;Lena from objecting to the delay, and, as calmly as possible,
+she watched Mrs. Aldergrass while she put the room to rights, and then
+patiently submitted to the arranging of her curls, which during her illness had
+become matted and tangled. Before eight everything was in readiness, and soon
+after, worn out by her own exertions, &rsquo;Lena again fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How lovely she looks,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Aldergrass. &ldquo;He shall
+just have a peep at her,&rdquo; and stepping to the door she beckoned Durward
+to her side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never before had &rsquo;Lena, seemed so beautiful to him, and as he looked upon
+her, he felt his doubts removing, one by one. She was innocent&mdash;it could
+not be otherwise&mdash;and very impatiently he awaited the lapse of the two
+hours which must pass ere he could see her, face to face. At length, as the
+surest way of killing time, he started out for a walk in a pleasant wood, which
+skirted the foot of Laurel Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here for a time we leave him, while in another chapter we speak of an event
+which, in the natural order of things, should here be narrated.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV<br/>
+&rsquo;LENA&rsquo;S FATHER.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Two or three days before the morning of which we have spoken, Uncle Timothy,
+who like many of his profession had been guilty of a slight infringement of the
+&ldquo;Maine&rdquo; liquor law, had been called to answer for the same at the
+court then in session in the village of Canandaigua, the terminus of the stage
+route. Altogether too stingy to pay the coach fare, his own horse had carried
+him out, going for him on the night preceding Durward&rsquo;s projected meeting
+with &rsquo;Lena. On the afternoon of that day the cars from New York brought
+up several passengers, who being bound for Buffalo, were obliged to wait some
+hours for the arrival of the Albany train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among those who stopped at the same house with Uncle Timothy, was our old
+acquaintance, Mr. Graham, who had returned from Europe, and was now homeward
+bound, firmly fixed in his intention to do right at last. Many and many a time,
+during his travels had the image of a pale, sad face arisen before him,
+accusing him of so long neglecting to own his child, for &rsquo;Lena was his
+daughter, and she, who in all her bright beauty had years ago gone down to an
+early grave, was his wife, the wife of his first, and in bitterness of heart he
+sometimes thought, of his only love. His childhood&rsquo;s home, which was at
+the sunny south, was not a happy one, for ere he had learned to lisp his
+mother&rsquo;s name, she had died, leaving him to the guardianship of his
+father, who was cold, exacting, and tyrannical, ruling his son with a rod of
+iron, and by his stern, unbending manner increasing the natural cowardice of
+his disposition. From his mother Harry had inherited a generous, impulsive
+nature, frequently leading him into errors which his father condemned with so
+much severity that he early learned the art of concealment, as far, at least,
+as his father was concerned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the age of eighteen he left home for Yale, where he spent four happy years,
+for the restraints of college life, though sometimes irksome, were preferable
+far to the dull monotony of his southern home; and when at last he was
+graduated, and there was no longer an excuse for tarrying, he lingered by the
+way, stopping at the then village of Springfield, where, actuated by some
+sudden freak, he registered himself as Harry <i>Rivers</i>, the latter being
+his middle name. For doing this he had no particular reason, except that it
+suited his fancy, and Rivers, he thought, was a better name than Graham. Here
+he met with Helena Nichols, whose uncommon beauty first attracted his
+attention, and whose fresh, unstudied manners afterward won his love to such an
+extent, that in an unguarded moment, and without a thought of the result, he
+married her, neglecting to tell her his real name before their marriage,
+because he feared she would cease to respect him if she knew he had deceived
+her, and then afterward finding it harder than ever to confess his fault.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As time wore on, his father&rsquo;s letters, commanding him to return, grew
+more and more peremptory, until at last he wrote, &ldquo;I am
+sick&mdash;dying&mdash;and if you do not come, I&rsquo;ll cast you off
+forever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Harry knew this was no unmeaning threat, and he now began to reap the fruit of
+his folly. He could not give up Helena, who daily grew dearer to him, neither
+could he brave the displeasure of his father by acknowledging his marriage, for
+disinheritance was sure to follow. In this dilemma he resolved to compromise
+the matter. He would leave Helena awhile; he would visit his father, and if a
+favorable opportunity occurred, he would confess all; if not, he would return
+to his wife and do the best he could. But she must be provided for during his
+absence, and to effect this, he wrote to his father, saying he stood greatly in
+need of five hundred dollars, and that immediately on its receipt he would
+start for home. Inconsistent as it seemed with his general character, the elder
+Mr. Graham was generous with his money, lavishing upon his son all that he
+asked for, and the money was accordingly sent without a moment&rsquo;s
+hesitation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now Harry&rsquo;s besetting sin, <i>secrecy</i>, came again in action, and
+instead of manfully telling Helena the truth, he left her privately, stealing
+away at night, and quieting his conscience by promising himself to reveal all
+in a letter, which was actually written, but as at the time of its arrival
+Helena was at home, and the postmaster knew of no such person, it was at last
+sent to Washington with thousands of its companions. The reader already knows
+how &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s young mother watched for her recreant husband&rsquo;s
+coming until life and hope died out together, and it is only necessary to
+repeat that part of the story which relates to Harry, who on his return home
+found his father much worse than he expected. At his bedside, ministering to
+his wants, was a young, dashing widow, who prided herself upon being Lady
+Bellmont. On his death-bed her father had committed her to the guardianship of
+Mr. Graham, who, strictly honorable in all his dealings, had held his trust
+until the time of her marriage with a young Englishman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unfortunately, as it proved for Harry, and fortunately for Sir Arthur, who had
+nothing in common with his wife, the latter died within two years after his
+marriage, leaving his widow and infant son again to the care of Mr. Graham,
+with whom Lady Bellmont, as she was pleased to call herself, lived at
+intervals, swaying him whichever way she listed, and influencing him as he had
+never been influenced before. The secret of this was, that the old man had his
+eye upon her vast possessions, which he destined for his son, who, ignorant of
+the honor intended him, had presumed to marry according to the promptings of
+his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely was the first greeting over, ere his father at once made known his
+plans, to which Harry listened with mingled pain and amazement.
+&ldquo;Lucy&mdash;Lady Bellmont!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;why, she&rsquo;s a
+mother&mdash;a widow&mdash;beside being ten years my senior.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three years,&rdquo; interrupted his father. &ldquo;She is twenty-five,
+you twenty-two, and then as to her being a widow and a mother, the immensity of
+her wealth atones for that. She is much sought after, but I think she prefers
+you. She will make you a good wife, and I am resolved to see the union
+consummated ere I die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never sir, never,&rdquo; answered Harry, in a more decided manner than
+he had before assumed toward his father. &ldquo;It is utterly
+impossible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was too much exhausted to urge the matter at that time, but he
+continued at intervals to harass Harry, until the very sight of Lucy Bellmont
+became hateful to him. It was not so, however, with the son, the Durward of our
+story. He was a fine little fellow, whom every one loved, and for hours would
+Harry amuse himself with him, while his thoughts were with his own wife and
+child, the latter of whom was to be so strangely connected with the fortunes of
+the boy at his side. For weeks his father lingered, each day seeming an age to
+Harry, who, though he did not wish to hasten his father&rsquo;s death, still
+longed to be away. Twice had he written without obtaining an answer, and he was
+about making up his mind to start, at all events, when his father suddenly
+died, leaving him the sole heir of all his princely fortune, and with his
+latest breath enjoining it upon him to marry Lucy Bellmont, who, after the
+funeral was over, adverted to it, saying, in her softest tones, &ldquo;I hope
+you don&rsquo;t feel obliged to fulfill your father&rsquo;s request.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; was Harry&rsquo;s short answer, as he went on with
+his preparations for his journey, anticipating the happiness he should
+experience in making Helena the mistress of his luxurious home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But alas for human hopes. The very morning on which he was intending to start,
+he was seized with a fever, which kept him confined to his bed until the spring
+was far advanced. Sooner than he was able he started for Springfield in quest
+of Helena, learning from the woman whom he had left in charge, that she was
+dead, and her baby too! The shock was too much for him in his weak state, and
+for two weeks he was again confined to a sick-bed, sincerely mourning the
+untimely end of one whom he had truly loved, and whose death his own foolish
+conduct had hastened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon after their marriage her portrait had been taken by the best artist in the
+town, and this he determined to procure as a memento of the few happy days he
+had spent with Helena. But the cottage where he left her was now occupied by
+strangers, and after many inquiries, he learned that the portrait, together
+with some of the furniture, had been sold to pay the rent, which became due
+soon after his departure. His next thought was to visit her parents, but from
+this his natural timidity shrank. They would reproach him, he thought, with the
+death of their daughter, whom he had so deeply wronged, and not possessing
+sufficient courage to meet them face to face, he again started for home,
+bearing a sad heart, which scarcely again felt a thrill of joy until the
+morning when he first met with &rsquo;Lena, whose exact resemblance to her
+mother so startled him as to arouse the jealousy of his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the many ways and means by
+which Lucy Bellmont sought to ensnare him. Suffice it to say, that she at last
+succeeded, and he married her, finding in the companionship of her son more
+real pleasure than he ever experienced in her society. After a time Mrs.
+Graham, growing weary of Charleston, where her haughty, overbearing manner made
+her unpopular, besought her husband to remove, which he finally did, going to
+Louisville, where he remained until the time of his removal to Woodlawn. Fully
+believing what the old nurse had told him of the death of his wife and child,
+he had no idea of the existence of the latter, though often in the stillness of
+night the remembrance of the little girl whom Durward had pointed out to him in
+the cars, arose before him, haunting him with visions of the past, but it was
+not until he met her at Maple Grove that he entertained a thought of her being
+his daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there was now an object for
+which to live. Carefully had he guarded from his wife a knowledge of his first
+marriage, for he dreaded her sneering reproaches, and he could not hear his
+beloved Helena&rsquo;s name breathed lightly by one so greatly her inferior.
+When he saw &rsquo;Lena, however, his first impulse was to clasp her in his
+arms and compel his wife to own her, but day after day went by, and he still
+delayed, hoping for a more favorable opportunity, which never came. Had he
+found her in less favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but
+seeing only the brightest side of her life, he believed her comparatively
+happy. She was well educated, accomplished, and beautiful, and so he waited,
+secure in the fact that he was near to see that no harm should befall her. Once
+it occurred to him that possibly he might die suddenly, thus leaving his
+relationship to her a secret forever, and acting upon this thought, he
+immediately made his will, bequeathing all to &rsquo;Lena, whom he acknowledged
+to be his daughter, adding an explanation of the whole affair, together with a
+most touching letter to his child, who would never see it until he was dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some good excuse for
+still keeping it from his wife, who worried him incessantly concerning his
+evident preference for &rsquo;Lena. Many and many a time he resolved to tell
+her all, but as often postponed the matter, until, with the broad Atlantic
+between them, he ventured to write what he could not tell her verbally and,
+strange to say, the effect upon his wife was far different from what he had
+expected. She did not faint, for there was no one by to see her, neither did
+she rave, for there was no one to hear her, but with her usual inconsistency,
+she blamed her husband for not telling her before. Then came other thoughts of
+a different nature. <i>She</i> had helped to impair &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+reputation, and if disgrace attached to her, it would also fall upon her own
+family. Consequently, as we have seen, she set herself at work to atone, as far
+as possible, for her conduct. Her husband had given her permission to wait, if
+she chose, until his return, ere she made the affair public, and as she dreaded
+the remarks it would necessarily call forth, she resolved to do so. He had
+advised her to tell &rsquo;Lena, but she was gone&mdash;no one knew whither,
+and nervously she waited for some tidings of the wanderer. She was willing to
+receive &rsquo;Lena, but not the grandmother, <i>she</i> was voted an
+intolerable nuisance, who should never darken the doors of
+Woodlawn&mdash;never!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, landing in New York, from
+whence he started for home, meeting, as we have seen, with a detention in
+Canandaigua, where he accidentally fell in with Uncle Timothy, who, being minus
+quite a little sum of money on account of his transgression, was lamenting his
+ill fortune to one of his acquaintances, and threatening to give up tavern
+keeping if the Maine law wasn&rsquo;t repealed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it has cost me up&rsquo;ards of fifty
+dollars, and I&rsquo;ll bet I hain&rsquo;t sold mor&rsquo;n a barrel, besides
+what wine that Kentucky chap has bought for his gal, and I suppose they call
+that nothin&rsquo;, bein&rsquo; it&rsquo;s for sickness. Why, good Lord, the
+hull on&rsquo;t was for medicine, or chimistry, or mechanics!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name he did not
+remember.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; answered Uncle Timothy,
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers that dandified chap calls her, and it&rsquo;s plaguy
+curis to me what she&rsquo;s a runnin&rsquo; away for, and he a streakin&rsquo;
+it through the country arter her; there&rsquo;s mischief summers, so I tell
+&rsquo;em, but that&rsquo;s no consarn of mine so long as he pays down
+regular.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s curiosity was instantly aroused, and the moment he could
+speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he meant by the sick lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, &ldquo;A
+relation of yourn, mebby?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham. &ldquo;Is it far to Laurel
+Hill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better&rsquo;n a dozen miles! Was you goin&rsquo; out there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time asking if he could
+procure a horse and carriage there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a penny, and now
+nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, &ldquo;Them liv&rsquo;ry
+scamps&rsquo;ll charge you tew dollars, at the lowest calkerlation. I&rsquo;m
+going right out, and will take you for six shillin&rsquo;. What do you
+think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s thoughts were not very complimentary to the shrewd Yankee,
+but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied that he would go, suggesting
+that they should start immediately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In less than five minits. You jest set down while I go to the store
+arter some jimcracks for the old woman,&rdquo; said Uncle Timothy, starting up
+the street, which was the last Mr. Graham saw of him for three long hours.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of that time, the little man came stubbing down the walk, making
+many apologies, and saying &ldquo;he got so engaged about the darned
+&lsquo;liquor law,&rsquo; and the putty-heads that made it, that he&rsquo;d no
+idee &rsquo;twas so late.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On their way home he still continued to discourse on his favorite topic,
+lamenting that he had voted for the present governor, announcing his intention
+of &ldquo;jinin&rsquo; the <i>Hindews</i> the fust time they met at
+Suckerport,&rdquo; a village at the foot of Honeoye lake, and stopping every
+man whom he knew to belong to that order, to ask if they took a <i>fee</i>, and
+if &ldquo;there was any bedivelment of <i>gridirons</i> and <i>goats</i>, such
+as the Masons and Odd Fellers had!&rdquo; Being repeatedly assured that the fee
+was only a dollar, and that the initiatory process was not very painful, he
+concluded &ldquo;to go it, provided they&rsquo;d promise to run him for
+constable. Office is the hull any of the scallywags jine &rsquo;em for, and I
+may as well go in for a sheer,&rdquo; said he, thinking if he could not have
+the privilege of selling liquor, he would at least secure the right of
+arresting those who drank it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and the clock had struck
+ten long ere they reached the inn, which they found still and dark, save the
+light which was kept burning in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s her chamber&mdash;the young gal&rsquo;s&mdash;where you see
+the candle,&rdquo; said Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge walls of
+the tavern. &ldquo;I guess you won&rsquo;t want to disturb her to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt a twinge
+of his inveterate habit of secrecy, &ldquo;If you&rsquo;d just as lief, you
+need not speak of me to the young gentleman; I wish to take him by
+surprise&rdquo;&mdash;meaning Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle Timothy was too
+much absorbed in his loss to think of anything else, and when his wife asked
+&ldquo;who it was that he lighted up to bed,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;A chap
+that wanted to come out this way, and so rid with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was very tired, and now scarcely had his head pressed the pillow ere
+he was asleep, dreaming of &rsquo;Lena, whose presence was to shed such a halo
+of sunlight over his hitherto cheerless home. The ringing of the bell next
+morning failed to arouse him, but when Mrs. Aldergrass, noticing his absence
+from the table, inquired for him, Uncle Timothy answered, &ldquo;Never mind,
+let him sleep&mdash;tuckered out, mebby&mdash;and you know we allus have a
+sixpence more for an extra meal!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usually careful toilet, he
+sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, for now that the interview was so
+near, his ideas seemed suddenly to forsake him. From the window he saw Durward
+depart for his walk, watching him until he disappeared in the dim shadow of the
+woods.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will wait until his return, and let him tell her,&rdquo; thought he,
+but when a half hour or more went by and Durward did not come, he concluded to
+go down and ask to see her by himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In order to do this, it was necessary for him to pass &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room,
+the door of which was ajar. She was awake, and hearing his step, thought it was
+Mrs. Aldergrass, and called to her. A thrill of exquisite delight ran through
+his frame at the sound of her voice, and for an instant he debated the
+propriety of going to her at once. A second call decided him, and in a moment
+he was at her bedside, clasping her in his arms, and exclaiming, &ldquo;My
+precious &rsquo;Lena! My <i>daughter</i>! Has nothing ever told you that I am
+your father, the husband of your angel mother, who lives again in her
+child&mdash;<i>my</i> child&mdash;my &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s brain grew dizzy, and she had well-nigh
+fainted, when the sound of Mr. Graham&rsquo;s voice brought her back to
+consciousness. Pressing his lips to her white brow, he said, &ldquo;Speak to me
+my daughter. Say that you receive me as your father for such I am.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With lightning rapidity &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s thoughts traversed the past, whose
+dark mystery was now made plain, and as the thought that it might be
+so&mdash;that it was so&mdash;flashed upon her, she clasped her hands together,
+exclaiming, &ldquo;My father! Is it true? You are not deceiving me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Deceive you, darling?&mdash;no,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am your father,
+and Helena Nichols was my wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left me
+unacknowledged?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham groaned bitterly. The hardest part was yet to come, but he met it
+manfully, telling her the whole story, sparing not himself in the least, and
+ending by asking if, after all this, she could forgive and love him as her
+father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Raising herself in bed, &rsquo;Lena wound her arms around his neck, and laying
+her face against his, wept like a little child. He felt that he was
+sufficiently answered, and holding her closer to his bosom, he pushed back the
+clustering curls, kissing her again and again, while he said aloud, &ldquo;I
+have your answer, dearest one; we will never be parted again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he did not observe the
+fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched fist of Durward Bellmont, who
+had returned from his walk, and who, in coming up to his, room, had recognized
+the tones of his father&rsquo;s voice. Recoiling backward a step or two, he was
+just in time to see &rsquo;Lena as she threw herself into Mr. Graham&rsquo;s,
+arms&mdash;in time to hear the tender words of endearment lavished upon her by
+his father. Staggering backward, he caught at the banister to keep from
+falling, while a moan of anguish came from his ashen lips. Alone in his room,
+he grew calmer, though his heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he
+strode up and down the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before, &ldquo;I
+would far rather see her dead than thus&mdash;my lost, lost &rsquo;Lena!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his father, whom he
+believed to be far more guilty than she. &ldquo;I cannot meet him,&rdquo;
+thought he; &ldquo;there is murder at my heart, and I must away ere he knows of
+my presence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stairs, glancing back
+once, and seeing &rsquo;Lena reclining upon his father&rsquo;s arm, while her
+eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding smile, which told of perfect
+happiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank God that I am unarmed, else he could not live,&rdquo; thought he,
+hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in Uncle Timothy&rsquo;s hands
+double the sum due for himself and &rsquo;Lena, and then, without a word of
+explanation, he walked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in his present state of
+feeling, he determined to go on foot to Canandaigua, a distance of little more
+than a dozen miles. Meantime, Mr. Graham was learning from &rsquo;Lena the
+cause of her being there, and though she, as far as possible, softened the fact
+of his having been accessory to her misfortunes, he felt it none the less
+keenly, and would frequently interrupt her with the exclamation that it was the
+result of his cowardice&mdash;his despicable habit of secrecy. When she spoke
+of the curl which his wife had burned, he seemed deeply affected, groaning
+aloud as he hid his face in his hands,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And <i>she</i> found it&mdash;she burned it,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;and
+it was all I had left of my Helena. I cut it from her head on the morning of my
+departure, when she lay sleeping, little dreaming of my cruel desertion.
+But,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I can bear it better now that I have you, her
+living image, for what she was when last I saw her, you are now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the tact he so well knew
+how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from his blushing daughter a confession of the
+love she bore him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is worthy of you,&rdquo; said he, while &rsquo;Lena, without seeming
+to heed the remark, said, &ldquo;I have not seen him yet, but I am expecting
+him every moment, for he was to visit me this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this juncture Mrs. Aldergrass, who had been at one of her neighbors&rsquo;,
+came in, appearing greatly surprised at the sight of the stranger, whom
+&rsquo;Lena quietly introduced as &ldquo;her father,&rdquo; while Mr. Graham
+colored painfully as Mrs. Aldergrass, curtsying very low, hoped <i>Mr.
+Rivers</i> was well!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let it go so,&rdquo; whispered &rsquo;Lena, as she saw her father about
+to speak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his daughter&rsquo;s eyes
+sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was heard, he asked Mrs. Aldergrass for
+Mr. Bellmont, saying they would like to see him, if he had returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, announcing that
+&ldquo;he&rsquo;d paid his bill and gone off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; said Mr. Graham. &ldquo;There must be some mistake. I will
+go down and inquire.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing the gold, Uncle
+Timothy told all he knew, adding, that &ldquo;&rsquo;twan&rsquo;t noways likely
+but he&rsquo;d come back agin, for he&rsquo;d left things in his room to the
+vally of five or six dollars.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon reflection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and returning to &rsquo;Lena, he
+sat by her all day, soothing her with assurances that Durward would surely come
+back, as there was no possible reason for his leaving them so abruptly. As the
+day wore away and the night came on he seemed less sure, while even Uncle
+Timothy began to fidget, and when in the evening a young pettifogger, who had
+recently hung out his shingle on Laurel Hill, came in, he asked him, in a low
+tone, &ldquo;if, under the present governor, they <i>hung</i> folks on
+circumstantial evidence alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evidence,&rdquo;
+answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little ivory tablets and making
+a charge against Uncle Timothy for professional advice!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off in broad
+daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any sign he was
+murdered&mdash;by the landlord?&rdquo; continued Uncle Timothy, beginning to
+think there might be a worse law than the Maine liquor law.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That depends upon the previous character of the landlord,&rdquo;
+answered the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Timothy, brightening up,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;I shall stand the racket, then, for my character is
+tip-top.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of going in quest of Durward,
+and with a magnanimity quite praiseworthy, Uncle Timothy offered his
+<i>hoss</i> and wagon &ldquo;for nothin&rsquo;, provided Mr. Graham would leave
+his watch as a guaranty against <i>his</i> runnin&rsquo; off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, saying he had come
+from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. Bellmont, who wished him to bring
+letters for Mr. Graham and Miss Rivers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where is Mr. Bellmont?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham, to which the man
+replied, that he took the six o&rsquo;clock train the night before, saying,
+further, that his manner was so strange as to induce a suspicion of insanity on
+the part of those who saw him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room, giving her
+her letter, and then reading his, which was full of bitterness, denouncing him
+as a villain and cautioning him, as he valued his life, never again to cross
+the track of his outraged step-son.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have robbed me,&rdquo; he wrote, &ldquo;of all I hold most dear, and
+while I do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, for you are older in
+experience, older in years, and ten-fold older in sin, and I know you must have
+used every art your foul nature could suggest, ere you won my lost &rsquo;Lena
+from the path of rectitude.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at &rsquo;Lena, who had
+fainted. It was long ere she returned to consciousness, and then her fainting
+fit was followed by another more severe, if possible, than the first, while in
+speechless agony Mr. Graham hung over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child,&rdquo; thought he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But at last &rsquo;Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow the crumpled
+note, she passed it toward her father, bidding him read it. It was as follows;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;MY LOST &rsquo;LENA: By this title it seems appropriate for me to call
+you, for you are more surely lost to me than you would be were this summer sun
+shining upon your grave. And, &rsquo;Lena, believe me when I say I would
+rather, far rather, see you dead than the guilty thing you are, for then your
+memory would be to me as a holy, blessed influence, leading me on to a better
+world, where I could hope to greet you as my spirit bride. But now, alas! how
+dark the cloud which shrouds you from my sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, &rsquo;Lena, &rsquo;Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I
+thought you so pure and innocent, when even now, I would willingly lay down my
+life could that save you from ruin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you ask what I mean? I have only to refer you to what this morning
+took place between you and the vile man I once called father, and whom I
+believed to be the soul of truth and honor. With a heart full of tenderness
+toward you, I was hastening to your side, when a scene met my view which
+stilled the beatings of my pulse and curdled the very blood in my veins, I saw
+you throw your arms around <i>his</i> neck&mdash;the husband of <i>my</i>
+mother. I saw you lay your head upon his bosom. I heard him as he called you
+<i>dearest</i>, and said you would never be parted again!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know all that has passed heretofore, and can you wonder that my
+worst fears are now confirmed? God knows how I struggled against those doubts,
+which were nearly removed, when, by the evidence of my own eyesight,
+uncertainty was made sure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now, my once loved, but erring &rsquo;Lena, farewell. I am going
+away&mdash;whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear your name
+coupled with disgrace. Another reason why I go, is that the hot blood of the
+south burns too fiercely in my veins to suffer me to meet your destroyer and
+not raise my hand against him. When this reaches you, I shall be far away. But
+what matters it to you? And yet, &rsquo;Lena, there will come a time when
+you&rsquo;ll remember one who, had you remained true to yourself, would have
+devoted his life to make you happy, for I know I am not indifferent to you. I
+have read it in your speaking eye, and in the childlike confidence with which
+you would yield to <i>me</i> when no one else could control your wild ravings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But enough of this. Time hastens, and I must say farewell&mdash;farewell
+forever&mdash;my <i>lost, lost</i> &rsquo;Lena!
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;DURWARD.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gradually as Mr. Graham read, he felt a glow of indignation at Durward&rsquo;s
+hastiness. &ldquo;Rash boy! he might at least have spoken with me,&rdquo; said
+he, as he finished the letter, but &rsquo;Lena would hear no word of censure
+against him. She did not blame him. She saw it all, understood it all, and as
+she recalled the contents of his letter, her own heart sadly echoed,
+&ldquo;<i>lost forever</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but in spite of his
+endeavors, there was still at her heart the same dull, heavy pain, and most
+anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, waiting impatiently for the time when she
+would be able to start for home, as he hoped a change of place and scene would
+do much toward restoring both her health and spirits. Soon after his arrival at
+Laurel Hill, Mr. Graham had written to Mr. Livingstone, telling him what he had
+before told his wife, and adding, &ldquo;Of course, my <i>daughter&rsquo;s</i>
+home will in future be with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see
+yourself and family at any time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This part of the letter he showed to &rsquo;Lena, who, after reading it, seemed
+for a long time absorbed in thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it, darling? Of what are you thinking?&rdquo; Mr. Graham asked,
+at length, and &rsquo;Lena, taking the hand which he had laid gently upon her
+forehead, replied, &ldquo;I am thinking of poor grandmother. She is not happy,
+now, at Maple Grove. She will be more unhappy should I leave her, and if you
+please, I would rather stay there with her. I can see you every day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from your
+grandmother?&rdquo; interrupted Mr. Graham. &ldquo;No, no, I am not quite so
+bad as that. Woodlawn is large&mdash;there are rooms enough&mdash;and grandma
+shall have her choice, provided it is a reasonable one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And your wife&mdash;Mrs. Graham? What will she say?&rdquo; timidly
+inquired &rsquo;Lena, involuntarily shrinking from the very thought of coming
+in contact with the little lady who had so recently come up before her in the
+new and formidable aspect of <i>stepmother</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, neither did he care. The
+fault of his youth once confessed, he felt himself a new man, able to cope with
+almost anything, and if in the future his wife objected to what he knew to be
+right, it would do her no good, for henceforth he was to rule his own house.
+Some such thoughts passed through his mind, but it would not be proper, he
+knew, to express himself thus to &rsquo;Lena, so he laughingly replied,
+&ldquo;Oh, we&rsquo;ll fix that, easily enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a letter to his wife,
+announcing his safe return from Europe, and saying that he should be at home as
+soon as &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s health would admit of her traveling. Not wishing to
+alarm her unnecessarily, he merely said of Durward, that he had found him at
+Laurel Hill. To this letter Mrs. Graham replied immediately, and with a far
+better grace than her husband had expected. Very frankly she confessed the
+unkind part she had acted toward &rsquo;Lena, and while she said she was sorry,
+she also spoke of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of
+Lena&rsquo;s friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The continued absence of Durward was now the only drawback to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s happiness, and with a comparatively light heart, she began
+to anticipate her journey home. Most liberally did Mr. Graham pay for both
+himself and &rsquo;Lena, and Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining coin,
+dropping it upon the table to make sure it was not <i>bogus</i>, felt quite
+reconciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars. Jerry, the driver, was also
+generously rewarded for his kindness to the stranger-girl, and just before he
+left, Mr. Graham offered to make him his chief overseer, if he would accompany
+him to Kentucky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are just the man I want,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and I know
+you&rsquo;ll like it. What do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the sake of occasionally seeing &rsquo;Lena, whom he considered as
+something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly have gone, but he was a staunch
+abolitionist, dyed in the wool, and scratching his head, he replied,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m obleeged to you, but I b&rsquo;lieve I&rsquo;d rather drive
+<i>hosses</i> than <i>niggers</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby you could run one on &rsquo;em off, and so make a little
+sumthin&rsquo;,&rdquo; slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on the
+main chance, but it was no part of Jerry&rsquo;s creed to make anything, and as
+&rsquo;Lena at that moment appeared, he beat a precipitate retreat, going out
+behind the church, where he watched the departure of his southern friends,
+saying afterward, to Mrs. Aldergrass, who chided him for his conduct, that
+&ldquo;he never could bid nobody good-bye, he was so darned
+tender-hearted!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br/>
+EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after
+her! That is smart, I must say. Why didn&rsquo;t you let me know it
+before!&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his
+appearance at Maple grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for some reason
+or other she delayed telling him of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s flight until quite
+recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning for a year, he
+came home with headlong haste, determining to start immediately after his
+cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you
+wouldn&rsquo;t feel quite so anxious to get her back,&rdquo; said Carrie.
+&ldquo;For my part, I feel quite relieved at her absence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shut up your head,&rdquo; roared John Jr. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena is no more
+guilty than <i>you</i>. By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she
+worked to save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious Peter!
+I sometimes wish there wasn&rsquo;t a woman in the world!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If they&rsquo;d all marry you, there wouldn&rsquo;t be long!&rdquo;
+retorted Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve said it now, haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; answered John Jr.,
+while his father suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for
+his own neglect, that Durward had gone after &rsquo;Lena, who was probably at
+Mr. Everett&rsquo;s, and that he himself had advertised in all the principal
+papers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just like Bellmont! He&rsquo;s a fine fellow and deserves &rsquo;Lena,
+if anybody does,&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in,
+&ldquo;Pshaw! I&rsquo;ve no idea he&rsquo;s gone for her. Why, they&rsquo;ve
+hardly spoken for several months, and besides that, Mrs. Graham will never
+suffer him to marry one of so low origin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The deary me!&rdquo; said John Jr., mimicking his sister&rsquo;s manner,
+&ldquo;how much lower is her origin than yours?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie&rsquo;s reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother, who,
+hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him. Perfectly rational
+on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying of &rsquo;Lena,
+that she had killed her, and now, when her first greeting with John Jr. was
+over, she whispered in his ear, &ldquo;Have they told you &rsquo;Lena was dead?
+She is&mdash;I killed her&mdash;it says so here,&rdquo; and she handed him the
+almost worn-out note which she constantly carried with her. Rough as he seemed
+at times, there was in John Jr.&rsquo;s nature many a tender spot, and when he
+saw the look of childish imbecility on his grandmother&rsquo;s face, he pressed
+his strong arm around her, and a tear actually dropped upon her gray hair as he
+told her &rsquo;Lena was not dead&mdash;he was going to find her and bring her
+home. At that moment old Cæsar, who had been to the post-office, returned,
+bringing Mr. Graham&rsquo;s letter, which had just arrived.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s Mr. Graham&rsquo;s handwriting,&rdquo; said Carrie;
+glancing at the superscription. &ldquo;Perhaps <i>he</i> knows something of
+&rsquo;Lena!&rdquo; and she looked meaningly at her mother, who, with a
+peculiar twist of her mouth, replied, &ldquo;Very likely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are right. He <i>does</i> know something of her,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Livingstone, as he finished reading the letter. &ldquo;She is with him at a
+little village called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must go and
+see her immediately,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself back
+quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her brother, asked
+&ldquo;what he thought of &rsquo;Lena now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just what I always did,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s fraud
+somewhere. Will you let me see that, sir?&rdquo; advancing toward his father,
+who, placing the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied
+emotions of his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was
+finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted,
+&ldquo;Hurrah! Hurrah for <i>Miss &rsquo;Lena Rivers Graham</i>, daughter of
+the Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life.
+Hurrah!&rdquo; and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly
+vase, the fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young
+man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is the boy crazy?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the
+coat as he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from his
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Crazy?&mdash;yes,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Who do you think
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s father is? No less a person than Mr. Graham himself. Now
+taunt her again, Cad, with her low origin, if you like. She isn&rsquo;t coming
+here to live any more. She&rsquo;s going to Woodlawn. She&rsquo;ll marry
+Durward, while you&rsquo;ll be a cross, dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?&rdquo; and
+he chucked her under the chin, while she began to cry, bidding him let her
+alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it
+might be true.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,&rdquo; replied
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a syllable, while,
+in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue. Bending forward, grandma had
+listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up as she occasionally caught the
+meaning of what she heard; but she could not understand it at once, and turning
+to her son, she said, &ldquo;What is it, John? what does it mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to her, and
+when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way she exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Thank God that &rsquo;Leny is a lady, at last&mdash;as good as the
+biggest on &rsquo;em. Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her husband was.
+Poor critter! Mebby he&rsquo;ll give me money to go back and see the old place,
+once more, afore I die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he don&rsquo;t I will,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his
+wife, who had not spoken before, wondered &ldquo;where he&rsquo;d get
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance that as
+&rsquo;Lena was now Durward&rsquo;s sister, he would not, of course, marry her,
+and determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother, who rallied
+her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly mistaken, for &ldquo;she was
+as pleased as any one at &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s good fortune, but it did not
+follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some others did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left the room. In
+the first excitement, he had thought &ldquo;how glad Nellie will be,&rdquo; and
+acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now ordered his horse, and
+dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised Nellie, first, with his sudden
+appearance, second, with his announcement of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s parentage, and
+third, by an offer of himself!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your destiny,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and it&rsquo;s of no use
+to resist. What did poor little Meb die for, if it wasn&rsquo;t to make room
+for you. So you may as well say yes first as last. I&rsquo;m odd, I know, but
+you can fix me over. I&rsquo;ll do exactly what you wish me to. Say yes,
+Nellie, won&rsquo;t you ?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, if ever before woman had such
+wooing. We think not, for never was there another John Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have had happiness enough for one day,&rdquo; said he, kissing her
+blushing cheek and hurrying away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he went
+straight from Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s to the marble factory, where he ordered a
+costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as yet unmarked save by
+the tall grass and rank weeds which grew above it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What inscription will you have?&rdquo; asked the engraver. John Jr.
+thought for a moment, and then replied; &ldquo;Simply &lsquo;Mabel.&rsquo;
+Nothing more or less; that tells the whole story,&rdquo; and involuntarily
+murmuring to himself, &ldquo;Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I
+am,&rdquo; he started for home, where he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs.
+Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy no longer
+advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her great satisfaction, she
+found that the news had preceded her. Feeling sure that Mrs. Graham must feel
+greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother began, at first, to act the part of
+consolers, telling her it might not be true, after all, for perhaps it was a
+ruse of Mr. Graham&rsquo;s to cover some deep-laid, scheme. But for once in her
+life Mrs. Graham did well, and to their astonishment, replied, &ldquo;Oh, I
+hope not, for you do not know how I long for the society of a daughter, and as
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s child I shall gladly welcome &rsquo;Lena home, trying, if
+possible, to overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter were to be
+outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her tactics, so could they,
+and for the next half hour they lauded &rsquo;Lena to the skies. They had
+always liked her&mdash;particularly Mrs. Livingstone&mdash;who said, &ldquo;If
+allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a good deal
+pained by those reports which you put in circulation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I</i> put reports in circulation!&rdquo; retorted Mrs. Graham.
+&ldquo;What do you mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole
+neighborhood!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John Jr.&rsquo;s
+appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they might as well be
+friends as enemies, introduced another topic of conversation, soon after which
+Mrs. Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway, she said, &ldquo;Would it
+afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn when &rsquo;Lena arrives?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, Mrs. Livingstone
+said &ldquo;yes,&rdquo; while Carrie, thinking Durward would be there, made a
+similar reply, saying &ldquo;she was exceedingly anxious to see her
+cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Graham, curtsying herself from the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spell <i>Toady</i>, Cad,&rdquo; whispered John Jr., and with more than
+her usual quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; said he, as he walked off to the back yard,
+where he found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel
+employment for them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The news of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing
+much excitement, for she was a favorite there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Clar for&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, &ldquo;we orto have a
+bonfire. It won&rsquo;t hurt nothin&rsquo; on the brick pavement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work gathering
+blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the time John Jr.
+appeared, they had collected quite a pile. Not knowing how he would like it,
+they all took to their heels, except Thomas Jefferson, who, having some of his
+mother&rsquo;s spirit, stood his ground, replying, when asked what they were
+about, that they were &ldquo;gwine to celebrate Miss &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo; Taking
+in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called out, &ldquo;Good! come back here, you
+scapegraces.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach, the
+smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes and ivories
+shining with the expected frolic. Taught by John Jr., they hurrahed at the top
+of their voices when the flames burst up, and one little fellow, not yet able
+to talk plain, made his bare, shining legs fly like drumsticks as he shouted,
+&ldquo;Huyah for Miss &rsquo;Leny Yivers Gayum&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bellmont, too, say,&rdquo; whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the
+back piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Bellmont, too, say</i>,&rdquo; yelled the youngster, leaping so high
+as to lose his balance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of Carrie, who,
+spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the parlor, where for more than
+an hour she cried from pure vexation.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/>
+ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The windows were open, and through
+the richly-wrought curtains the balmy air of evening was stealing, mingling its
+delicious perfume of flowers without with the odor of those which drooped from
+the many costly vases which adorned the handsome parlors. Lamps were burning,
+casting a mellow light over the gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy
+white the mistress of the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous,
+a little fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross. For more than
+two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the supper, which the cook,
+quite as anxious as herself, pronounced spoiled by the delay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+According to promise the party from Maple Grove had arrived, with the exception
+of John Jr., who had generously remained with his grandmother, she having been
+purposely omitted in the invitation. From the first, Mrs. Graham had decided
+that Mrs. Nichols should never live at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to
+have it understood at once. Accordingly, as she was conducting Mrs. Livingstone
+and Carrie to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room, she casually remarked,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve made no provision for Mrs. Nichols, except as an occasional
+visitor, for of course she will remain with her son. She is undoubtedly much
+attached to your family, and will be happier there!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>This</i> &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s!&rdquo; interrupted Carrie, ere her
+mother had time to reply. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the very best chamber in the
+house&mdash;Brussels carpets, marble and rosewood furniture, damask curtains.
+Why, she&rsquo;ll hardly know how to act,&rdquo; she continued, half
+unconsciously, as she gazed around the elegant apartment, which, with one of
+her unaccountable freaks, Mrs. Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, this is Lena&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham, complacently.
+&ldquo;Will it compare at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I do not wish it
+to seem inferior!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, &ldquo;Ye-es, on the
+whole <i>quite</i> as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is
+new!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have I told you,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting
+them,&mdash;&ldquo;have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New
+Orleans, where &rsquo;Lena will of course be the reigning belle? You ought to
+be there, dear,&rdquo; laying her hand on Carrie&rsquo;s shoulder. &ldquo;It
+would be so gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spiteful old thing&mdash;she tries to insult us,&rdquo; thought Carrie,
+her heart swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated &rsquo;Lena, whose
+future life seemed so bright and joyous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower hall just
+as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at Midway, drove up at a
+side door. Carrie&rsquo;s first thought was for Durward, and shading her eyes
+with her hand, she looked anxiously out. But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently
+lifting out his daughter, who was still an invalid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mighty careful of her,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms
+he bore her up the marble steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he said, turning
+to his wife, &ldquo;Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and love her as
+such, for my sake?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of
+Mrs. Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo;
+and saying &ldquo;she was welcome to Woodlawn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her with
+caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence, chiding her for
+running away, calling her a <i>naughty puss</i>, and perfectly bewildering her
+with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s turn came next, but he
+neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in keeping with his nature,
+but very, very tenderly he looked into her eyes, as he said, &ldquo;You know,
+&rsquo;Lena, that <i>I</i> am glad&mdash;most glad for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unostentatious as was this greeting, &rsquo;Lena felt that there was more
+sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed forth
+involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one &ldquo;a baby,&rdquo; and the
+other &ldquo;a fool,&rdquo; Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor,
+while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show &rsquo;Lena to her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t you better go up and assist your cousin,&rdquo; whispered
+Mrs. Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking at the door, an
+act of politeness she had never before thought it necessary to offer
+&rsquo;Lena. But she was an <i>heiress</i>, now, fully, yes, more than equal,
+and that made a vast difference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I came to see if I could render you any service,&rdquo; she said in
+answer to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s look of inquiry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No I thank you,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, beginning to get an inkling
+of the truth. &ldquo;You know I&rsquo;m accustomed to waiting upon myself, and
+if I want anything, Drusa can assist me. I&rsquo;ve only to change my soiled
+dress and smooth my hair,&rdquo; she continued, as she shook out her long and
+now rather rough tresses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What handsome hair you&rsquo;ve got,&rdquo; said Carrie, taking one of
+the curls in her hand. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d forgotten it was so beautiful.
+Hasn&rsquo;t it improved during your absence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one&rsquo;s hair, I
+believe,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, as she proceeded to brush and arrange her
+wavy locks, which really had lost some of their luster.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack. Looking
+&rsquo;Lena in the face, she said, &ldquo;What is it? I can&rsquo;t make it
+out, but&mdash;but somehow you&rsquo;ve changed, you don&rsquo;t look
+so&mdash;so&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So <i>well</i> you would say, I suppose,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena,
+laughingly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve grown thin, but I hope to improve by and
+by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, and her large eyes
+sparkled as she thought her young mistress &ldquo;a heap the best lookin&rsquo;
+<i>now</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward. Instantly &rsquo;Lena
+turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, and in an unsteady voice she
+replied, that &ldquo;she did not know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not know!&rdquo; repeated Carrie, her own countenance brightening
+visibly. &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you seen him? Wasn&rsquo;t he at that funny,
+out-of-the-way place, where you were?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but he left before I saw him,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, her
+manner plainly indicating that there was something wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie&rsquo;s spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and on their way
+downstairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly, that &rsquo;Lena wondered if
+it could be the same haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her except to
+repulse or command her. The supper-bell rang just as they reached the parlor,
+and Mr. Graham, taking &rsquo;Lena on his arm, led the way to the dining-room,
+where the entire silver tea-set had been brought out, in honor of the occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena changed, mother?&rdquo; said Carrie, feeling
+hateful, and knowing no better way of showing it &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t her
+sickness changed her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It has made her grow <i>old</i>; that&rsquo;s all the difference I
+perceive,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she&rsquo;d said the
+thing which she knew would most annoy herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How old are you, dear?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eighteen,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s answer, to which Mrs. Graham
+replied, &ldquo;I thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, I
+believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two, only two,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Horrors! How old do you take me to be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and soon after
+they rose from the table. Scarcely had they returned to the parlor, when John
+Jr. was announced. &ldquo;He had,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;got his grandmother to
+sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his respects to <i>Miss
+Graham</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Little girl! I&rsquo;m as much
+delighted with your good fortune as I should be had it happened to myself. But
+where is Bellmont?&rdquo; he continued, looking about the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham replied that he was not there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not here?&rdquo; repeated John Jr. &ldquo;What have you done with him,
+&rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin&rsquo;s face, &rsquo;Lena said,
+softly, &ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t talk about it now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something wrong,&rdquo; thought John Jr. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+bet I&rsquo;ll have to shoot that dog yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she could
+confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of whispering to him,
+&ldquo;Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie taking
+a most affectionate leave of &rsquo;Lena, urging her not to fail of coming over
+the next day, as they should be expecting her. The ludicrous expression of John
+Jr.&rsquo;s face was a sufficient interpretation of his thoughts, as whispering
+aside to &rsquo;Lena, he said, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t do it justice if I
+try!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry &rsquo;Lena to Maple
+Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. But she excused herself, on the plea
+of a headache, and they set off without her. The meeting between &rsquo;Lena
+and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in order to sustain the
+character she had assumed, walked to the window, to hide her emotions,
+probably&mdash;at least John Jr. thought so, for with the utmost gravity he
+passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the first transports of her
+interview with &rsquo;Lena were over, Mrs. Nichols fastened herself upon Mr.
+Graham, while John Jr. invited &rsquo;Lena to the garden, where he claimed from
+her the promised story, which she told him unreservedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s nothing, compared with my experience,&rdquo; said John
+Jr., plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters above his
+head. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s easily settled. I&rsquo;ll go after Durward myself,
+and bring him back, either dead or alive&mdash;the latter if possible, the
+former if necessary. So cheer up. I&rsquo;ve faith to believe that you and
+Durward will be married about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are
+engaged&mdash;did I tell you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Involuntarily &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny
+slope and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know what you think,&rdquo; said John Jr. rather testily, &ldquo;but
+hang me if I can help it. Meb was never intended for me, except by mother. I
+suppose there is in the world somebody for whom she was made, but it
+wasn&rsquo;t I, and that&rsquo;s the reason she died. I am sorry as anybody,
+and every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well, and who
+met with so poor a return. I&rsquo;ve bought her some gravestones,
+though,&rdquo; he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for the past.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs. Nichols the
+propriety of her removing to Woodlawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t live long to trouble anybody,&rdquo; said she when asked
+if she would like to go, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;m nothin&rsquo; without
+&rsquo;Leny.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when &rsquo;Lena returned
+to the house, she found her grandmother in her chamber, packing up, preparatory
+to her departure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to come agin,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for I&rsquo;ve as
+much as two loads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take them,&rdquo; interposed &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;You
+won&rsquo;t need them, and nothing will harm them here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to Mrs. Livingstone
+and Carrie was, &ldquo;that they keep the dum niggers from her things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had lived at Maple Grove for years,
+and every niche and corner of her room she understood. She knew the blacks and
+they knew her, and ere she was half-way to Woodlawn, she began to wish she had
+not started. Politely, but coldly, Mrs. Graham received her, saying &ldquo;I
+thought, perhaps, you would return with them to <i>spend the day</i>!&rdquo;
+laying great emphasis on the last words, as if that, of course, was to be the
+limit of her visit Grandma understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of
+not remaining long.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Graham don&rsquo;t want to be pestered with me,&rdquo; said she to
+&rsquo;Lena, the first time they were alone, &ldquo;and I don&rsquo;t mean that
+she shall be. &rsquo;Tilda is used to me, and she don&rsquo;t mind it now, so I
+shall go back afore long. You can come to see me every day, and once in a while
+I&rsquo;ll come here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham remarked to Mrs. Nichols
+that &ldquo;she hoped she was not homesick, as there was every probability of
+her being obliged to <i>stay over night</i>!&rdquo; adding, by way of comfort,
+that &ldquo;she was going to Frankfort the next day to make purchases for
+&rsquo;Lena, and would take her home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not very agreeably surprised
+by the return of her mother-in-law, who, Mrs. Graham said, &ldquo;was so
+home-sick they couldn&rsquo;t keep her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, returned from the
+city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle for grandma, consisting of
+dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, which she had purchased as a sort or
+peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her having decamped so quietly from
+Woodlawn. But the poor old lady did not live to wear them. Both her mind and
+body were greatly impaired, and for two or three years she had been failing
+gradually. There was no particular disease, but a general breaking up of the
+springs of life, and a few weeks after &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s arrival at
+Woodlawn,, they made another grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer
+slept alone.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/>
+DURWARD.</h2>
+
+<p>
+From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had hurried, caring nothing
+except to forget, if possible, the past, and knowing not where he was going,
+until he at last found himself in Richmond, Virginia. This was his
+mother&rsquo;s birthplace, and as several of her more distant relatives were
+still living here, he determined to stop for awhile, hoping that new objects
+and new scenes would have some power to rouse him from the lethargy into which
+he had fallen. Constantly in terror lest he should hear of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+disgrace, which he felt sure would be published to the world, he had, since his
+departure from Laurel Hill, resolutely refrained from looking in a newspaper,
+until one morning some weeks after his arrival at Richmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Gazette, and after
+assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did not contain what he so much
+dreaded to see, he sat down to read it, paying no attention to the date, which
+was three or four weeks back. Accidentally he cast his eye over the list of
+arrivals at the Burnet House, seeing among them the names of &ldquo;Mr. H. R.
+Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford county, Kentucky!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Audacious</i>! How dare they be so bold!&rdquo; he exclaimed,
+springing to his feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered
+upon the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Considerable kind of uppish, &rsquo;pears to me,&rdquo; said a strange
+voice, having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain class of
+Yankees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose style of dress and
+freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slocum. Wearying of Cincinnati, as he
+had before done with Lexington, he had traveled at last to Virginia.
+Remembering to have heard that his grandmother&rsquo;s aunt had married, died,
+and left a daughter in Richmond, he determined, if possible, to find some trace
+of her. Accordingly, he had come on to that city, making it the theater of his
+daguerrean operations. These alone not being sufficient to support him, he had
+latterly turned his attention to <i>literary pursuits</i>, being at present
+engaged in manufacturing a book after the Sam Slick order, which, to use his
+own expression, &ldquo;he expected would have a thunderin&rsquo; sale.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, he came every day
+to the reading-room, tumbling over books and papers, generally carrying one of
+the former in his hand, affecting an utter disregard of his personal
+appearance, daubing his fingers with ink, wiping them on the pocket of his
+coat, and doing numerous other things which he fancied would stamp him a
+distinguished person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel&rsquo;s attention was attracted
+toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he had seen at Maple Grove, and though he
+did not recognize the original, he fancied he might have met him before, and
+was about making his acquaintance, when Durward&rsquo;s action drew from him
+the remark we have mentioned. Thinking him to be some impertinent fellow,
+Durward paid him no attention, and was about leaving, when, hitching his chair
+a little nearer, Joel said, &ldquo;Be you from Virginny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From York state?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From Pennsylvany?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be you from Kentucky?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know Mr. Graham&rsquo;s folks?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something
+concerning his stepfather&mdash;but it was not.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel continued:
+&ldquo;Wall, I calkerlate that I&rsquo;m some relation to Miss Graham. Be you
+&rsquo;quainted with her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward knew that a relationship with <i>Mrs</i>. Graham also implied a
+relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious as well as somewhat
+amused, he replied, &ldquo;Related to Mrs. Graham! Pray how?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, you see,&rdquo; said Joel, &ldquo;that my grandmarm&rsquo;s
+aunt&mdash;she was younger than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew. Wall, she went
+off to Virginia to teach music, and so married a nabob&mdash;know what that is,
+I s&rsquo;pose; she had one gal and died, and this gal was never heard from
+until I took it into my head to look her up, and I&rsquo;ve found out that she
+was <i>Lucy Temple</i>. She married an Englishman, first&mdash;then a man from
+South Carolina, who is now livin&rsquo; in Kentucky, between Versailles and
+Frankfort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What was your grandmother&rsquo;s aunt&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; asked
+Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Susan Howard,&rdquo; returned Joel. &ldquo;The Howards were a stuck-up
+set, grandmarm and all&mdash;not a bit like t&rsquo;other side of the family.
+My mother&rsquo;s name was Scovandyke&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And yours?&rdquo; interrupted Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,&rdquo;
+said the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow, which he
+always used on great occasions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said, &ldquo;Can
+you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your
+great-great-aunt&rsquo;s daughter, would be to you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My third cousin, of course,&rdquo; answered Joel. &ldquo;I figgered that
+out with a slate and pencil.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And her son, if she had one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure&mdash;but
+enough to brag on, if they happened to be smart!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple&rsquo;s son?&rdquo; said
+Durward, to which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, &ldquo;Wall,
+s&rsquo;posin&rsquo; you du, &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t make it so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I <i>am</i>, really and truly,&rdquo; continued Durward. &ldquo;Her
+first husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it
+seems.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Jehosiphat</i>! If this ain&rsquo;t curis,&rdquo; exclaimed Joel,
+grasping Durward&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;How <i>do</i> you du, and how is your
+marm. And do you know Helleny Rivers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward&rsquo;s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel
+continued: &ldquo;We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of each
+other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she&rsquo;d got to be mighty
+toppin&rsquo;. Mebby, though, &rsquo;twas only my notion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, &ldquo;I suppose
+you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin&rsquo;. I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; to
+my office now, and if you&rsquo;ll come with me I&rsquo;ll take yourn for
+nothin&rsquo;, bein&rsquo; you&rsquo;re related.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed the young
+man to his &ldquo;office,&rdquo; which was a dingy, cheerless apartment in the
+fourth story of a crazy old building. On the table in the center of the room
+were several likenesses, which he carelessly examined. Coming at last to a
+larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly it dropped from his hand,
+while an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the row, old feller,&rdquo; asked Joel, coming forward and
+picking up the picture which Durward had recognized as &rsquo;Lena Rivers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How came you by it?&rdquo; said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing
+wink, Joel replied, &ldquo;I know, and that&rsquo;s enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I must know, too. It is of the utmost importance that I know,&rdquo;
+said Durward, and after a moment&rsquo;s reflection, Joel answered &ldquo;Wall,
+I don&rsquo;t s&rsquo;pose it&rsquo;ll do any hurt if I tell you. When I was a
+boy I had a hankerin&rsquo; for &rsquo;Leny, and I didn&rsquo;t get over it
+after I was grown, either, so a year or two ago I thought I&rsquo;d go to
+Kentuck and see her. Knowin&rsquo; how tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be
+with a picter of their old home in the mountains, I took it for &rsquo;em and
+started. In Albany I went to see a family that used to live in Slocumville. The
+woman was a gal with &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s mother, and thought a sight of her.
+Wall, in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was an old portrait, which
+looked so much like &rsquo;Leny that in the mornin&rsquo; I asked whose it was,
+and if you b&rsquo;lieve me, &rsquo;twas &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s mother! You know
+she married, or thought she married, a southern rascal, who got her portrait
+taken and then run off, and the picter, which in its day was an expensive one,
+was sold to pay up. A few years afterward, Miss Rice, the woman I was
+tellin&rsquo; you about, came acrost it, and bought it for a little or
+nothin&rsquo; to remember Helleny Nichols by. Thinks to me, nothin&rsquo; can
+please &rsquo;Leny better than a daguerreotype of her mother, so I out with my
+apparatus and took it. But when I come to see that they were as nigh alike as
+two peas, I hated to give it up, for I thought it would be almost as good as
+lookin&rsquo; at &rsquo;Leny. So I kept it myself, but I don&rsquo;t want her
+to know it, for she&rsquo;d be mad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?&rdquo; asked Durward, a
+faint light beginning to dawn upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a feller to hang on,&rdquo; answered Joel, &ldquo;but bein&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ve started, I&rsquo;ll go it and tell the hull. One morning when I was
+in Lexington, a gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Graham, and saying he
+wanted a copy of an old mountain house which he had seen at Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s. Whilst I was gettin&rsquo; it ready, he happened to come
+acrost this one, and what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away. I
+had to throw water in his face and everything. Bimeby he cum to, and says he,
+&lsquo;Where did you get that?&rsquo; I told him all about it, and then,
+layin&rsquo; his head on the table, he groaned orfully, wipin&rsquo; off the
+thumpinest great drops of sweat and kissin&rsquo; the picter as if he was
+crazy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?&rsquo; says I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Knew her, yes,&rsquo; says he, jumpin&rsquo; up and walkin&rsquo;
+the room as fast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin&rsquo; had happened, and
+says he, &lsquo;I must have that or one jest like it.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At first I hesitated, for I felt kinder mean always about keepin&rsquo;
+it, and I didn&rsquo;t want &rsquo;Leny to know I&rsquo;d got it. I told him
+so, and he said nobody but himself should ever see it. So I took a smaller one,
+leavin&rsquo; off the lower part of the body, as the dress is old-fashioned,
+you see. He was as tickled as a boy with a new top, and actually forgot to take
+the other one of the mountain house. Some months after, I came across him in
+Cincinnati. His wife was with him, and I thought then that she looked like Aunt
+Nancy. Wall, he went with me to my office, and said he wanted another
+daguerreotype, as he&rsquo;d lost the first one. Now I&rsquo;m, pretty good at
+figgerin&rsquo;, and I&rsquo;ve thought that matter over until I&rsquo;ve come
+to this conclusion&mdash;<i>that man</i>&mdash;was&mdash;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+father&mdash;the husband or something of Helleny Nichols! But what ails you?
+Are you faintin&rsquo;, too,&rdquo; he exclaimed, as he saw the death-like
+whiteness which had settled upon Durward&rsquo;s face and around his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me more, everything you know,&rdquo; gasped Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have told you all I know for certain,&rdquo; said Joel. &ldquo;The
+rest is only guess-work, but it looks plaguy reasonable. &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s
+father, I&rsquo;ve heard was from South Car&rsquo;lina&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So was Mr. Graham,&rdquo; said Durward, more to himself than to Joel,
+who continued, &ldquo;And he&rsquo;s your step-father, ain&rsquo;t he&mdash;the
+husband of Lucy Temple, my cousin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, he arose to go, telling
+Joel he would see him again. Alone in his room, he sat down to think of the
+strange story he had heard. Gradually as he thought, his mind went back to the
+time when Mr. Graham first came home from Springfield. He was a little boy,
+then, five or six years of age, but he now remembered many things calculated to
+prove what he scarcely yet dared to hope. He recalled Mr. Graham&rsquo;s
+preparations to return, when he was taken suddenly ill. He knew that
+immediately atter his recovery he had gone northward. He remembered how sad he
+had seemed after his return, neglecting to play with him as had been his wont,
+and when to this he added Joel&rsquo;s story, together with the singularity of
+his father&rsquo;s conduct towards &rsquo;Lena, he could not fail to be
+convinced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She <i>is</i> innocent, thank heaven! I see it all now. Fool that I was
+to be so hasty,&rdquo; he exclaimed, his whole being seemed to undergo a sudden
+change as the joyous conviction flashed upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel Slocum, and ere
+the sun-setting he was far on his road home. Occasionally he felt a lingering
+doubt, as he wondered what possible motive his father could have had for
+concealment, but these wore away as the distance between himself and Kentucky
+diminished. As the train paused at one of the stations, he was greatly
+surprised at seeing John Jr. among the crowd gathered at the depot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?&rdquo; shouted Durward,
+leaning from the open window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life John Jr. bounded
+upon the platform, and was soon seated by the side of Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a great one, ain&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Here
+I&rsquo;ve been looking for you all over Christendom, to tell you the news.
+You&rsquo;ve got a new sister. Did you know it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>! Is it true? <i>Is</i> it &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo; said
+Durward, and John replied by relating the particulars as far as he knew them,
+and ending by asking Durward if &ldquo;he didn&rsquo;t think he was
+sold!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk,&rdquo; answered Durward. &ldquo;I want to think, for I
+was never so happy in my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor I either,&rdquo; returned John Jr. &ldquo;So if you please you
+needn&rsquo;t speak to <i>me</i>, as I wish to think, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his companion of his
+engagement with Nellie&mdash;and he did, falling asleep soon after, and leaving
+Durward to his own reflections.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/>
+CONCLUSION.</h2>
+
+<p>
+We hope the reader does not expect us to describe the meeting between Durward
+and &rsquo;Lena, for we have not the least, or, at the most, only a faint idea
+of what took place. We only know that it occurred in the summer-house at the
+foot of the garden, whither &rsquo;Lena had fled at the first intimation of his
+arrival, and that on her return to the house, after an interview of two whole
+hours, there were on her cheeks traces of tears, which the expression of her
+face said were not tears of grief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you like my daughter?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham, mischievously, at
+the same time laying his arm proudly about her neck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So well that I have asked her to become my wife, and she has promised to
+do so, provided we obtain your consent,&rdquo; answered Durward, himself
+throwing an arm around the blushing girl, who tried to escape, but he would not
+let her, holding her fast until his father&rsquo;s answer was given.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, &ldquo;Now, mother, we will hear
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Kind and affectionate as she tried to be toward &rsquo;Lena, Mrs. Graham had
+not yet fully conquered her olden prejudice, and had the matter been left
+wholly with herself, she would, perhaps, have chosen for her son a bride in
+whose veins <i>no plebeian blood</i> was flowing; but she well knew that her
+objections would have no weight, and she answered, that &ldquo;she should not
+oppose him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it is settled,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and four weeks from to-night
+I shall claim &rsquo;Lena for my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not so soon after grandma&rsquo;s death,&rdquo; &rsquo;Lena said,
+and Durward replied:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If grandma could speak, she would tell you not to wait!&rdquo; but
+&rsquo;Lena was decided, and the most she would promise was, that in the spring
+she would think about it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Six months,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never wait so
+long!&rdquo; but he forbore pressing her further on the subject, knowing that
+he should have her in the house with him, which would in a great measure
+relieve the tedium of waiting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the autumn, his devotion to &rsquo;Lena furnished Carrie with a subject
+for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly-engaged people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I declare,&rdquo; said she, one evening after the departure of Durward,
+&rsquo;Lena, and Nellie, who had been spending the day at Maple Grove,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m perfectly disgusted, and if this is a specimen, I hope I shall
+never be engaged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t give yourself a moment&rsquo;s uneasiness,&rdquo; retorted
+John Jr., &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not the least idea that such a calamity will ever
+befall you, and years hence my grandchildren will read on some gravestone,
+&lsquo;Sacred to the memory of Miss Caroline Livingstone, aged 70. In single
+blessedness she lived&mdash;and in the same did die!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You think you are cunning, don&rsquo;t you,&rdquo; returned Carrie, more
+angry than she was willing to admit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had received the news of Durward&rsquo;s engagement much better than could
+have been expected, and after a little she took to quoting and cousining
+&rsquo;Lena, while John Jr. seldom let an opportunity pass of hinting at the
+very recent date Of her admiration for Miss Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Almost every day for several weeks after Durward&rsquo;s return, he looked for
+a visit from Joel Slocum, who did not make his appearance until some time
+toward the last of November. Then he came, claiming, and <i>proving</i>, his
+relationship with Mrs. Graham, who was terribly annoyed, and who, it was
+rumored, <i>hired</i> him to leave!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the winter, nothing of importance occurred, if we except the fact that a
+part of Mabel&rsquo;s fortune, which was supposed to have been lost, was found
+to be good, and that John Jr. one day unexpectedly found himself to be the
+lawful heir of fifty thousand dollars. Upon Mrs. Livingstone this circumstance
+produced a rather novel effect, renewing, in its original force, all her old
+affection for Mabel, who was now &ldquo;our dear little Meb.&rdquo; Many were
+the comparisons drawn between Mrs. John Jr. No. 1, and Mrs. John Jr. No. 2,
+that was to be, the former being pronounced far more lady-like and accomplished
+than the latter, who, during her frequent visits at Maple Grove, continually
+startled her mother-in-law elect by her loud, ringing laugh, for Nellie was
+very happy. Her influence, too, over John Jr. became ere long, perceptible in
+his quiet, gentle manner, and his abstinence from the rude speeches which
+heretofore had seemed a part of his nature.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham had proposed spending the winter in New Orleans, but to this
+Durward objected. He wanted &rsquo;Lena all to himself, he said, and as she
+seemed perfectly satisfied to remain where she was, the project was given up,
+Mrs. Graham contenting herself with anticipating the splendid entertainment she
+would give at the wedding, which was to take place about the last of March.
+Toward the first of January the preparations began, and if Carrie had never
+before felt a pang of envy, she did now, when she saw the elegant trousseau
+which Mr. Graham ordered for his daughter. But all such feelings must be
+concealed, and almost every day she rode over to Woodlawn, admiring this, going
+into ecstasies over that, and patronizingly giving her advice on all subjects,
+while all the time her heart was swelling with bitter disappointment. Having
+always felt so sure of securing Durward, she had invariably treated other
+gentlemen with such cool indifference that she was a favorite with but few, and
+as she considered these few her inferiors, she had more than once feared lest
+John Jr.&rsquo;s prediction concerning the <i>lettering</i> on her tombstone
+should prove true!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything but that,&rdquo; said she, dashing away her tears, as she
+thought how &rsquo;Lena had supplanted her in the affections of the only person
+she could ever love,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the parlor,&rdquo; said
+Corinda, putting her head in at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since his unfortunate affair with Anna, the captain had avoided Maple Grove,
+but feeling lonely at Sunnyside, he had come over this morning to call. Finding
+Mrs. Livingstone absent, he had asked for Carrie, who was so unusually gracious
+that he wondered he had never before discovered how greatly superior to her
+sister she was! All his favorite pieces were sung to him, and then, with the
+patience of a martyr, the young lady seated herself at the backgammon board,
+playing game after game, until she could scarcely tell her men from his. On his
+way home the captain fell into a curious train of reflections, while Carrie,
+when asked by Corinda, if &ldquo;old marster was done gone,&rdquo; sharply
+reprimanded the girl, telling her &ldquo;it was very impolite to call anybody
+<i>old</i>, particularly one so young as Captain Atherton!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day the captain came again, and the next, and the next, until at last
+his former intimacy at Maple Grove seemed to be re-established. And all this
+time no one had an inkling of the true state of things, not even John Jr., who
+never dreamed it possible for his haughty sister, to grace Sunnyside as its
+mistress. &ldquo;But stranger things than that had happened and were happening
+every day,&rdquo; Carrie reasoned, as she sat alone in her room, revolving the
+propriety of answering &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; to a note which the captain had that
+morning placed in her hand at parting. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her
+face was very fair, and as yet untouched by a single mark or line. She thought
+of him, <i>bald</i>, <i>wrinkled</i>, <i>fat</i> and <i>forty-six</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never do it,&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Better live single
+all my days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment, the carriage of Mrs. Graham drew up, and from it alighted
+&rsquo;Lena, richly clad. The sight of her produced a reaction, and Carrie
+thought again. Captain Atherton was generous to a fault. He was able and
+willing to grant her slightest wish, and as his wife, she could compete with,
+if not outdo, &rsquo;Lena in the splendor of her surroundings. The pen was
+resumed, and Carrie wrote the words which sealed her destiny for life. This
+done, nothing could move her, and though her father entreated, her mother
+scolded, and John Jr. <i>swore</i>, it made no difference. &ldquo;She was old
+enough to choose for herself,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and she had done
+so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Livingstone became convinced that her daughter was in earnest, she
+gave up the contest, taking sides with her. Like Durward, Captain Atherton was
+in a hurry, and it was decided that the wedding should take place a week before
+the time appointed for that of her cousin. Determining not to be outdone by
+Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Livingstone launched forth on a large scale, and there
+commenced between the two houses a species of rivalry extremely amusing to a
+looker on. Did Mrs. Graham purchase for &rsquo;Lena a costly silk, Mrs.
+Livingstone forthwith secured a piece of similar quality, but different
+pattern, for Carrie. Did Mrs. Graham order forty dollars&rsquo; worth of
+confectionery, Mrs. Livingstone immediately increased her order to fifty
+dollars. And when it was known that Mrs. Graham had engaged a Louisville French
+cook at two dollars per day, Mrs. Livingstone sent to Cincinnati, offering
+three for one!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie had decided upon a tour to Europe, and the captain had given his
+consent, when it was reported that Durward and &rsquo;Lena were also intending
+to sail for Liverpool. In this dilemma there was no alternative save a trip to
+California or the Sandwich Islands! The former was chosen, Captain Atherton
+offering to defray Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s expenses if she would accompany
+them. This plan Carrie warmly seconded, for she knew her mother&rsquo;s
+presence would greatly relieve her from the society of her husband, which was
+<i>not</i> as agreeable to her as it ought to have been. But Mr. Livingstone
+refused to let his wife go, unless Anna came home and stayed with him while she
+was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He accordingly wrote to Anna, inviting her and Malcolm to be present at
+Carrie&rsquo;s wedding, purposely omitting the name of the bridegroom; and
+three days before the appointed time they came. It was dark when they arrived,
+and as they were not expected that night, they entered the house before any one
+was aware of their presence. John Jr. chanced to be in the hall, and the moment
+he saw Anna, he caught her in his arms, shouting so uproariously that his
+father and mother at once hastened to the spot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you forgive me, father ?&rdquo; Anna said, and Mr. Livingstone
+replied by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended his hand to Malcolm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Carrie?&rdquo; Anna said, and John Jr. replied, &ldquo;In
+the parlor, with her future spouse. Shall I introduce you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then recoiled in terror as
+she saw Captain Atherton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Carrie!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;It cannot be&mdash;&mdash;that
+I see you again!&rdquo; she added, as she met her sister&rsquo;s warning look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another moment and they were in each other&rsquo;s arms weeping bitterly, the
+one that her sister should thus throw herself away, and the other, because she
+was wretched. It was but for an instant, however, and then Carrie was herself
+again. Playfully presenting Anna to the Captain, she said, &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I
+good to take up with what you left!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no one smiled at this joke&mdash;the captain, least of all, and as Carrie
+glanced from him to Malcolm, she felt that her sister had made a happy choice.
+The next day &rsquo;Lena came, overjoyed to meet Anna, who more than any one
+else, rejoiced in her good fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You deserve it all,&rdquo; she said, when they were alone, &ldquo;and if
+Carrie had one tithe of your happiness in store I should be satisfied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Carrie asked for no sympathy. &ldquo;It was no one&rsquo;s business whom
+she married,&rdquo; she said; and so one pleasant night in the early spring,
+they decked her in her bridal robes, and then, white, cold, and feelingless as
+a marble statue, she laid her hand in Captain Atherton&rsquo;s, and took upon
+her the vows which made her his forever. A few days after the ceremony, Carrie
+began to urge their immediate departure for California.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was no need of further delay,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;No one cared
+to see &rsquo;Lena married. Weddings were stupid things, anyway, and her mother
+could just as well go one time as another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Mrs. Livingstone hesitated, but when Carrie burst into a passionate
+fit of weeping, declaring &ldquo;she&rsquo;d kill herself if she had to stay
+much longer at Sunnyside and be petted by <i>that old fool</i>,&rdquo; she
+consented, and one week from the day of the marriage they started. In
+Carrie&rsquo;s eyes there was already a look of weary sadness, which said that
+the bitter tears were constantly welling up, while on her brow a shadow was
+resting, as if Sunnyside were a greater burden than she could bear. Alas, for a
+union without love! It seldom fails to end in misery, and thus poor Carrie
+found it. Her husband was proud of her, and, had she permitted, would have
+loved her after his fashion, but his affectionate advances were invariably
+repulsed, until at last he treated her with a cold politeness, far more
+endurable than his fawning attentions had been. She was welcome to go her own
+way, and he went his, each having in San Francisco their own suite of rooms,
+and setting up, as it were, a separate establishment. In this way they got on
+quite comfortably for a few weeks, at the end of which time Carrie took it into
+her capricious head to return to Maple Grove. She would never go back to
+Sunnyside, she said. And without a word of opposition the captain paid his
+bills, and started for Kentucky, where he left his wife at Maple Grove, she
+giving as a reason that &ldquo;ma could not spare her yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Far different from this were the future prospects of Durward and &rsquo;Lena,
+who with perfect love in their hearts were married, a week after the departure
+of Captain Atherton for California. Very proudly Durward looked down upon her
+as he placed the first husband&rsquo;s kiss on her brow, and in the soft brown
+eyes, brimming with tears, which she raised to his face, there was a world of
+tenderness, telling that theirs was a union of hearts as well as hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next night a small party assembled at the house of Mr. Douglass, in
+Frankfort, where Nellie was transformed into Nellie Livingstone. Perhaps it was
+the remembrance of the young girl to whom his vows had once before been
+plighted, that made John Jr. appear for a time as if he were in a dream. But
+the moment they rallied him upon the strangeness of his manner, he brightened
+up, saying that he was trying to get used to thinking that Nellie was really
+his. It had been decided that he should accompany Durward and &rsquo;Lena to
+Europe, and a day or two after his marriage he asked Mr. Everett to go too.
+Anna&rsquo;s eyes fairly danced with joy, as she awaited Malcolm&rsquo;s reply.
+But much as he would like to go, he could not afford it, and so he frankly
+said, kissing away the big tear which rolled down Anna&rsquo;s cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a smile John Jr. placed a sealed package in his sister&rsquo;s hand,
+saying to Malcolm, &ldquo;I have anticipated this and provided for it. I
+suppose you are aware that Mabel willed me all her property, which contrary to
+our expectations, has proved to be considerable. I know I do not deserve a cent
+of it, but as she had no nearer relative than Mr. Douglass, I have concluded to
+use it for the comfort of his daughter and for the good of others. I want you
+and Anna to join us, and I&rsquo;ve given her such a sum as will bear your
+expenses, and leave you more than you can earn dickering at law for three or
+four years. So, puss,&rdquo; turning to Anna, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s all settled.
+Now hurrah for the sunny skies of France and Italy, I&rsquo;ve talked with
+father about it, and he&rsquo;s willing to stay alone for the sake of having
+you go. Oh, don&rsquo;t thank me,&rdquo; he continued, as he saw them about to
+speak. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s poor little Meb to whom you are indebted. She loved
+Anna, and would willingly have her money used for this purpose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a little reflection Malcolm concluded to accept John&rsquo;s offer, and a
+happier party never stepped on board a steamer than that which, on the 15th of
+April, sailed for Europe, which they reached in safety, being at the last
+accounts in Paris, where they were enjoying themselves immensely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few words more, and our story is told. Just as Mr. Livingstone was getting
+tolerably well suited with his bachelor life, he was one morning surprised by
+the return of his wife and daughter, the latter of whom, as we have before
+stated, took up her abode at Maple Grove. Almost every day the old captain
+rides over to see her, but he generally carries back a longer face than he
+brings. The bald spot on his head is growing larger, and to her dismay Carrie
+has discovered a &ldquo;crow track&rdquo; in the corner of her eye. Frequently,
+after a war of words with her mother, she announces her intention of returning
+to Sunnyside, but a sight of the captain is sufficient to banish all such
+thoughts. And thus she lives, that most wretched of all beings, an unloving and
+unloved wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the absence of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Graham remain at Woodlawn,
+which, as it is the property of Durward, will be his own and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jerry Langley has changed his occupation of driver for that of a brakeman on
+the railroad between Canandaigua and Niagara Falls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In conclusion we will say of our old friend, Uncle Timothy, that he joined
+&ldquo;the <i>Hindews</i>&rdquo; as proposed, was nominated for constable, and,
+sure of success, bought an old gig for the better transportation of himself
+over the town. But alas for human hopes&mdash;if funded upon politics&mdash;the
+whole American ticket was defeated at Laurel Hill, since which time he has gone
+over to the Republicans, to whom he has sworn eternal allegiance.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+THE END
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12835 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7192a56
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #12835 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12835)
diff --git a/old/12835-0.txt b/old/12835-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7378fbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/12835-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,13857 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of ’Lena Rivers, by Mary J. Holmes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: ’Lena Rivers
+
+Author: Mary J. Holmes
+
+Release Date: July 7, 2004 [eBook #12835]
+[Most recently updated: November 23, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Al Haines
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ’LENA RIVERS ***
+
+
+
+
+’LENA RIVERS
+
+by MRS. MARY J. HOLMES
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+“TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,” “ENGLISH ORPHANS,”
+“DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT,” “MARIAN GRAY,”
+“ETHELYN’S MISTAKE,” “CAMERON PRIDE,” “EDNA
+BROWNING,” “WEST LAWN,” “EDITH LYLE,” ETC.,
+ETC.
+
+MDCCCXCVII.
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE.
+ CHAPTER I. ’LENA.
+ CHAPTER II. JOHN.
+ CHAPTER III. PACKING UP.
+ CHAPTER IV. ON THE ROAD.
+ CHAPTER V. MAPLE GROVE.
+ CHAPTER VI. THE ARRIVAL.
+ CHAPTER VII. MALCOLM EVERETT.
+ CHAPTER VIII. SCHEMING.
+ CHAPTER IX. FIVE YEARS LATER.
+ CHAPTER X. MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.
+ CHAPTER XI. WOODLAWN.
+ CHAPTER XII. MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.
+ CHAPTER XIII. MABEL.
+ CHAPTER XIV. NELLIE AND MABEL.
+ CHAPTER XV. MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.
+ CHAPTER XVI. CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
+ CHAPTER XVII. FRANKFORT.
+ CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEPARTURE.
+ CHAPTER XIX. THE VISIT.
+ CHAPTER XX. A FATHER’S LOVE.
+ CHAPTER XXI. JOEL SLOCUM.
+ CHAPTER XXII. THE DAGUERREOTYPE.
+ CHAPTER XXIII. THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+ CHAPTER XXIV. JOHN JR. AND MABEL.
+ CHAPTER XXV. THE BRIDAL.
+ CHAPTER XXVI MARRIED LIFE.
+ CHAPTER XXVII. THE SHADOW.
+ CHAPTER XXVIII. MRS. GRAHAM’S RETURN.
+ CHAPTER XXIX. ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.
+ CHAPTER XXX. THE RESULT.
+ CHAPTER XXXI. MORE CLOUDS.
+ CHAPTER XXXII. REACTION.
+ CHAPTER XXXIII. THE WANDERER.
+ CHAPTER XXXIV ’LENA’S FATHER.
+ CHAPTER XXXV. EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.
+ CHAPTER XXXVI. ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
+ CHAPTER XXXVII. DURWARD.
+ CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+If it be true, as some have said, that a _secret_ is safer in a
+_preface_ than elsewhere, it would be worse than folly for me to waste
+the “midnight oil,” in the manufacture of an article which no one would
+read, and which would serve no purpose, save the adding of a page or so
+to a volume perhaps already too large. But I do not think so. I wot of
+a few who, with a horror of anything savoring of _humbug_, wade
+industriously through a preface, be it never so lengthy, hoping therein
+to find the _moral_, without which the story would, of course, be
+valueless. To such I would say, seek no further, for though I claim for
+“’Lena Rivers,” a moral—yes, half a dozen morals, if you please—I shall
+not put them in the preface, as I prefer having them sought after, for
+what I have written I wish to have read.
+
+Reared among the rugged hills of the Bay State, and for a time
+constantly associated with a class of people known the wide world over
+as _Yankees_, it is no more than natural that I should often write of
+the places and scenes with which I have been the most familiar. In my
+delineations of New England character I have aimed to copy from memory,
+and in no one instance, I believe, have I overdrawn the pictures; for
+among the New England mountains there lives many a “Grandma Nichols,” a
+“Joel Slocum,” or a “Nancy Scovandyke,” while the wide world holds more
+than one ’_Lena_, with her high temper, extreme beauty, and rare
+combination of those qualities which make the female character so
+lovely.
+
+Nearly the same remarks will also apply to my portraitures of Kentucky
+life and character, for it has been my good fortune to spend a year and
+a half in that state, and in my descriptions of country lanes and
+country life, I have with a few exceptions copied from what I saw.
+_Mrs. Livingstone_ and _Mrs. Graham_ are characters found everywhere,
+while the impulsive _John Jr_., and the generous-hearted _Durward_,
+represent a class of individuals who belong more exclusively to the
+“sunny south.”
+
+I have endeavored to make this book both a good and an interesting one,
+and if I have failed in my attempt, it is too late to remedy it now;
+and, such as it is, I give it to the world, trusting that the same
+favor and forbearance which have been awarded to my other works, will
+also be extended to this.
+
+M. J. H.
+
+
+BROCKPORT, N. Y., _October_, 1856.
+
+LENA RIVERS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+’LENA.
+
+
+For many days the storm continued. Highways were blocked up, while
+roads less frequented were rendered wholly impassable. The oldest
+inhabitants of Oakland had “never seen the like before,” and they shook
+their gray heads ominously as over and adown the New England mountains
+the howling wind swept furiously, now shrieking exultingly as one by
+one the huge forest trees bent before its power, and again dying away
+in a low, sad wail, as it shook the casement of some low-roofed
+cottage, where the blazing fire, “high piled upon the hearth,” danced
+merrily to the sound of the storm-wind, and then, whirling in fantastic
+circles, disappeared up the broad-mouthed chimney.
+
+For nearly a week there was scarcely a sign of life in the streets of
+Oakland, but at the end of that time the storm abated, and the December
+sun, emerging from its dark hiding-place, once more looked smilingly
+down upon the white, untrodden snow, which covered the earth for miles
+and miles around. Rapidly the roads were broken; paths were made on the
+narrow sidewalk, and then the villagers bethought themselves of their
+mountain neighbors, who might perchance have suffered from the severity
+of the storm. Far up the mountain side in an old yellow farmhouse,
+which had withstood the blasts of many a winter, lived Grandfather and
+Grandmother Nichols, as they were familiarly called, and ere the
+sun-setting, arrangements were made for paying them a visit.
+
+Oakland was a small rural village, nestled among rocky hills, where the
+word fashion was seldom heard, and where many of the primitive customs
+of our forefathers still prevailed. Consequently, neither the buxom
+maidens, nor the hale old matrons, felt in the least disgraced as they
+piled promiscuously upon the four-ox sled, which erelong was moving
+slowly through the mammoth drifts which lay upon the mountain road. As
+they drew near the farmhouse, they noticed that the blue paper curtains
+which shaded the windows of Grandma Nichols’ “spare room,” were rolled
+up, while the faint glimmer of a tallow candle within, indicated that
+the room possessed an occupant. Who could it be? Possibly it was
+_John_, the proud man, who lived in Kentucky, and who, to please his
+wealthy bride exchanged the plebeian name of Nichols, for that of
+_Livingstone_, which his high-born lady fancied was more aristocratic
+in its sounding!
+
+“And if it be John,” said the passengers of the ox sled, with whom that
+gentleman was no great favorite, “if it be John, we’ll take ourselves
+home as fast as ever we can.”
+
+Satisfied with this resolution, they kept on their way until they
+reached the wide gateway, where they were met by Mr. Nichols, whose
+greeting they fancied was less cordial than usual. With a simple “how
+d’ye do,” he led the way into the spacious kitchen, which answered the
+treble purpose of dining-room, sitting-room, and cook-room. Grandma
+Nichols, too, appeared somewhat disturbed, but she met her visitors
+with an air which seemed to say, she was determined to make the best of
+her trouble, whatever it might be.
+
+The door of the “spare room” was slightly ajar, and while the visitors
+were disrobing, one young girl, more curious than the rest, peered
+cautiously in, exclaiming as she did so, “Mother! mother! Helena is in
+there on the bed, pale as a ghost.”
+
+“Yes, Heleny is in there,” interrupted Grandma Nichols, who overheard
+the girl’s remark. “She got hum the fust night of the storm, and what’s
+queerer than all, she’s been married better than a year.”
+
+“Married! Married! Helena married! Who to? Where’s her husband?” asked
+a dozen voices in the same breath.
+
+Grandfather Nichols groaned as if in pain, and his wife, glancing
+anxiously toward the door of her daughter’s room, said in reply to the
+last question, “That’s the worst on’t. He was some grand rascal, who
+lived at the suthard, and come up here to see what he could do. He
+thought Heleny was handsome, I s’pose, and married her, making her keep
+it still because his folks in Car’lina wouldn’t like it. Of course he
+got sick of her, and jest afore the baby was born he gin her five
+hundred dollars and left her.”
+
+A murmur of surprise ran round the room, accompanied with a look of
+incredulity, which Grandma Nichols quickly divined, and while her
+withered cheek crimsoned at the implied disgrace, she added in an
+elevated tone of voice, “It’s true as the Bible. Old Father Blanchard’s
+son, that used to preach here, married them, and Heleny brought us a
+letter from him, saying it was true. Here ’tis,—read it yourselves, if
+you don’t b’lieve me;” and she drew from a side drawer a letter, on the
+back of which, the villagers recognized the well remembered handwriting
+of their former pastor.
+
+This proof of Helena’s innocence was hardly relished by the clever
+gossips of Oakland, for the young girl, though kind-hearted and gentle,
+was far too beautiful to be a general favorite. Mothers saw in her a
+rival for their daughters, while the daughters looked enviously upon
+her clear white brow, and shining chestnut hair; which fell in wavy
+curls about her neck and shoulders. Two years before our story opens,
+she had left her mountain home to try the mysteries of millinery in the
+city, where a distant relative of her mother was living. Here her
+uncommon beauty attracted much attention, drawing erelong to her side a
+wealthy young southerner, who, just freed from the restraints of
+college life, found it vastly agreeable making love to the fair Helena.
+Simple-minded, and wholly unused to the ways of the world, she believed
+each word he said, and when at last he proposed marriage, she not only
+consented, but also promised to keep it a secret for a time, until he
+could in a measure reconcile his father, who he feared might disinherit
+him for wedding a penniless bride.
+
+“Wait, darling, until he knows you,” said he, “and then he will gladly
+welcome you as his daughter.”
+
+Accordingly, one dark, wintry night, when neither moon nor stars were
+visible, Helena stole softly from her quiet room at Mrs. Warren’s, and
+in less than an hour was the lawful bride of Harry Rivers, the wife of
+the clergyman alone witnessing the ceremony.
+
+“I wish I could take you home at once,” said young Rivers, who was less
+a rascal than a coward; “I wish I could take you home at once, but it
+cannot be. We must wait awhile.”
+
+So Helena went back to Mrs. Warren’s, where for a few weeks she stayed,
+and then saying she was going home, she left and became the mistress of
+a neat little cottage which stood a mile or two from the city. Here for
+several months young Rivers devoted himself entirely to her happiness,
+seeming to forget that there was aught else in the world save his
+“beautiful ’Lena,” as he was wont to call her. But at last there came a
+change. Harry seemed sad, and absent-minded, though ever kind to
+Helena, who strove in vain to learn the cause of his uneasiness.
+
+One morning when, later than usual, she awoke, she missed him from her
+side; and on the table near her lay a letter containing the following:—
+
+“Forgive me, darling, that I leave you so abruptly. Circumstances
+render it neccessary, but be assured, I shall come back again. In the
+mean time, you had better return to your parents, where I will seek
+you. Enclosed are five hundred dollars, enough for your present need.
+Farewell.
+
+
+“H. RIVERS.”
+
+
+There was one bitter cry of hopeless anguish, and when Helena Rivers
+again awoke to perfect consciousness, she lay in a darkened room, soft
+footsteps passed in and out, kind faces, in which were mingled pity and
+reproach, bent anxiously over her, while at her side lay a little
+tender thing, her infant daughter, three weeks old. And now there arose
+within her a strong desire to see once more her childhood’s home, to
+lay her aching head upon her mother’s lap, and pour out the tale of
+grief which was crushing the life from out her young heart.
+
+As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started for
+Oakland, taking the precaution to procure from the clergyman, who had
+married her, a letter confirming the fact. Wretched and weary she
+reached her home at the dusk of evening, and with a bitter cry fell
+fainting in the arms of her mother, who having heard regularly from
+her, never dreamed that she was elsewhere than in the employ of Mrs.
+Warren. With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man and his
+wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer more than once blessing
+the fearful storm which for a time, at least, would keep away the
+prying eyes of those who, they feared, would hardly credit their
+daughter’s story.
+
+And their fears were right, for many of those who visited them on the
+night of which we have spoken, disbelieved the tale, mentally
+pronouncing the clergyman’s letter a forgery, got up by Helena to
+deceive her parents. Consequently, of the few who from time to time
+came to the old farmhouse, nearly all were actuated by motives of
+curiosity, rather than by feelings of pity for the young girl-mother,
+who, though feeling their neglect, scarcely heeded it. Strong in the
+knowledge of her own innocence, she lay day after day, watching and
+waiting for one who never came. But at last, as days glided into weeks,
+and weeks into months, hope died away, and turning wearily upon her
+pillow, she prayed that she might die; and when the days grew bright
+and gladsome in the warm spring sun, when the snow was melted from off
+the mountain tops, and the first robin’s note was heard by the
+farmhouse door, Helena laid her baby on her mother’s bosom, and without
+a murmur glided down the dark, broad river, whose deep waters move
+onward and onward, but never return.
+
+When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been loudest in their condemnation, were
+now the first to hasten forward with offers of kindness and words of
+sympathy. But neither tears nor regrets could recall to life the fair
+young girl, who, wondrously beautiful even in death, slept calmly in
+her narrow coffin, a smile of sadness wreathing her lips, as if her
+last prayer had been for one who had robbed her thus early of happiness
+and life. In the bright green valley at the foot of the mountain, they
+buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp earth fall upon her
+grave, asked that he too might die. But his wife, younger by several
+years, prayed to live—live that she might protect and care for the
+little orphan, who first by its young mother’s tears, and again by the
+waters of the baptismal fountain, was christened HELENA RIVERS;—the
+’_Lena_ of our story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+JOHN.
+
+
+Ten years of sunlight and shadow have passed away, and the little grave
+at the foot of the mountain is now grass-grown and sunken. Ten times
+have the snows of winter fallen upon the hoary head of Grandfather
+Nichols, bleaching his thin locks to their own whiteness and bending
+his sturdy frame, until now, the old man lay dying—dying in the same
+blue-curtained room, where years agone his only daughter was born, and
+where ten years before she had died. Carefully did Mrs. Nichols nurse
+him, watching, weeping, and praying that he might live, while little
+’Lena gladly shared her grandmother’s vigils, hovering ever by the
+bedside of her grandfather, who seemed more quiet when her soft hand
+smoothed his tangled hair or wiped the cold moisture from his brow. The
+villagers, too, remembering their neglect, when once before death had
+brooded over the mountain farmhouse, now daily came with offers of
+assistance.
+
+But one thing still was wanting. John, their only remaining child, was
+absent, and the sick man’s heart grew sad and his eyes dim with tears,
+as day by day went by, and still he did not come. Several times had
+’Lena written to her uncle, apprising him of his father’s danger, and
+once only had he answered. It was a brief, formal letter, written,
+evidently, under some constraint, but it said that he was coming, and
+with childish joy the old man had placed it beneath his pillow,
+withdrawing it occasionally for ’Lena to read again, particularly the
+passage, “Dear father, I am sorry you are sick.”
+
+“Heaven bless him! I know he’s sorry,” Mr. Nichols would say. “He was
+always a good boy—is a good boy now. Ain’t he, Martha?”
+
+And mother-like, Mrs. Nichols would answer, “Yes,” forcing back the
+while the tears which would start when she thought how long the “good
+boy” had neglected them, eighteen years having elapsed since he had
+crossed the threshold of his home.
+
+With his hand plighted to one of the village maidens, he had left
+Oakland to seek his fortune, going first to New York, then to Ohio, and
+finally wending his way southward, to Kentucky. Here he remained,
+readily falling into the luxurious habits of those around him, and
+gradually forgetting the low-roofed farmhouse far away to the
+northward, where dwelt a gray-haired pair and a beautiful young girl,
+his parents and his sister. She to whom his vows were plighted was
+neither graceful nor cultivated, and when, occasionally, her tall,
+spare figure and uncouth manners arose before him, in contrast with the
+fair forms around him, he smiled derisively at the thoughts of making
+her his wife.
+
+About this time there came from New Orleans a wealthy invalid, with his
+only daughter Matilda. She was a proud haughty girl, whose disposition,
+naturally unamiable, was rendered still worse by a disappointment from
+which she was suffering. Accidentally Mr. Richards, her father, made
+the acquaintance of John Nichols, conceiving for him a violent fancy,
+and finally securing him as a constant companion. For several weeks
+John appeared utterly oblivious to the presence of Matilda who,
+accustomed to adulation, began at last to feel piqued at his neglect,
+and to strive in many ways to attract his attention.
+
+John, who was ambitious, met her advances more than half way, and
+finally, encouraged by her father, offered her his heart and hand.
+Under other circumstances, Matilda would undoubtedly have spurned him
+with contempt; but having heard that her recreant lover was about
+taking to himself a bride, she felt a desire, as she expressed it, “to
+let him know she could marry too.” Accordingly, John was accepted, on
+condition that he changed the name of Nichols, which Miss Richards
+particularly disliked, to that of Livingstone. This was easily done,
+and the next letter which went to Oakland carried the news of John’s
+marriage with the proud Matilda.
+
+A few months later and Mr. Richards died, leaving his entire property
+to his daughter and her husband. John was now richer far than even in
+his wildest dreams he had ever hoped to be, and yet like many others,
+he found that riches alone could not insure happiness. And, indeed, to
+be happy with Matilda Richards, seemed impossible. Proud, avaricious,
+and overbearing, she continually taunted her husband with his entire
+dependence upon her, carefully watching him, lest any of her hoarded
+wealth should find its way to the scanty purse of his parents, of whom
+she always spoke with contempt.
+
+Never but once had they asked for aid, and that to help them rear the
+little ’Lena. Influenced by his wife, John replied sneeringly, scouting
+the idea of Helena’s marriage, denouncing her as his sister, and saying
+of her child, that the poor-house stood ready for such as she! This
+letter ’Lena had accidentally found among her grandfather’s papers, and
+though its contents gave her no definite impression concerning her
+mother, it inspired her with a dislike for her uncle, whose coming she
+greatly dreaded, for it was confidently expected that she, together
+with her grandmother, would return with him to Kentucky.
+
+“You’ll be better off there than here,” said her grandfather one day,
+when speaking of the subject. “Your Uncle John is rich, and you’ll grow
+up a fine lady.”
+
+“I don’t want to be a lady—I won’t be a lady,” said ’Lena passionately.
+“I don’t like Uncle John. He called my mother a bad woman and me a
+little brat! I hate him!” and the beautiful brown eyes glittering with
+tears flashed forth their anger quite as eloquently as language could
+express it.
+
+The next moment ’Lena was bending over her grandfather, asking to be
+forgiven for the hasty words which she knew had caused him pain. “I’ll
+try to like him,” said she, as the palsied hand stroked her disordered
+curls in token of forgiveness, “I’ll try to like him,” adding mentally,
+“but I do hope he won’t come.”
+
+It would seem that ’Lena’s wish was to be granted, for weeks glided by
+and there came no tidings of the absent one. Daily Mr. Nichols grew
+weaker, and when there was no longer hope of life, his heart yearned
+more and more to once more behold his son; to hear again, ere he died,
+the blessed name of father.
+
+“’Lena,” said Mrs. Nichols one afternoon when her husband seemed worse,
+“’Lena, it’s time for the stage, and do you run down to the ‘turn’ and
+see if your uncle’s come; something tells me he’ll be here to-night.”
+
+’Lena obeyed, and throwing on her faded calico sunbonnet, she was soon
+at the “turn,” a point in the road from which the village hotel was
+plainly discernible. The stage had just arrived, and ’Lena saw that one
+of the passengers evidently intended stopping, for he seemed to be
+giving directions concerning his baggage.
+
+“That’s Uncle John, I most know,” thought she, and seating herself on a
+rock beneath some white birches, so common in New England, she awaited
+his approach. She was right in her conjecture, for the stranger was
+John Livingstone, returned after many years, but so changed that the
+jolly landlord, who had known him when a boy, and with whom he had
+cracked many a joke, now hardly dared to address him, he seemed so cold
+and haughty.
+
+“I will leave my trunk here for a few days,” said John, “and perhaps I
+shall wish for a room. Got any decent accommodations?”
+
+“Wonder if he don’t calculate to sleep to hum,” thought the landlord,
+replying at the same instant, “Yes, sir, tip-top accommodations. Hain’t
+more’n tew beds in any room, and nowadays we allers has a wash-bowl and
+pitcher; don’t go to the sink as we used to when you lived round here.”
+
+With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house and started
+up the mountain road, where ’Lena still kept her watch. Oh, how that
+walk recalled to him the memories of other days, which came thronging
+about him as one by one familiar way-marks appeared, reminding him of
+his childhood, when he roamed over that mountain-side with those who
+were now scattered far and wide, some on the deep, blue sea, some at
+the distant west, and others far away across the dark river of death.
+He had mingled much with the world since last he had traversed that
+road, and his heart had grown callous and indifferent, but he was not
+entirely hardened, and when at the “turn” in the road, he came suddenly
+upon the tall walnut tree, on whose shaggy bark his name was carved,
+together with that of another—a maiden—he started as if smitten with a
+heavy blow, and dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed “Oh that I
+were a boy again!”
+
+From her seat on the mossy rock ’Lena had been watching him. She was
+very ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but quite
+ready to change the latter if she saw any indications of improvement in
+the person disliked. For her uncle she had conceived a great aversion,
+and when she saw him approaching, thrusting aside the thistles and
+dandelions with his gold-headed cane, she mimicked his motions,
+wondering “if he didn’t feel big because he wore a large gold chain
+dangling from his jacket pocket.”
+
+But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion
+suddenly changed. “A very bad man wouldn’t cry,” she thought, and
+springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, “I know you
+are my Uncle John, and I’m real glad you’ve come. Granny thought you
+never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time.”
+
+Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone would hardly
+have been more startled, for in form and feature ’Lena was exactly what
+her mother had been at her age. The same clear complexion, large brown
+eyes, and wavy hair; and the tones of her voice, too, how they thrilled
+the heart of the strong man, making him a boy again, guiding the steps
+of his baby sister, or bearing her gently in his arms when the path was
+steep and stony. It was but a moment, however, and then the vision
+faded. His sister was dead, and the little girl before him was her
+child—the child of shame he believed, or rather, his wife had said it
+so often that he began to believe it. Glancing at the old-womanish garb
+in which Mrs. Nichols always arrayed her, a smile of mingled scorn and
+pity curled his lips, as he thought of presenting her to his fastidious
+wife and elegant daughters; then withdrawing the hand which she had
+taken, he said, “And you are ’Lena—’Lena Nichols they call you, I
+suppose.”
+
+’Lena’s old dislike began to return, and placing both hands upon her
+hips in imitation of her grandmother she replied, “No ’tain’t ’Lena
+Nichols, neither. It’s ’Lena Rivers. Granny says so, and the town clark
+has got it so on his book. How are my cousins? Are they pretty well?
+And how is _Ant_?”
+
+Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at this little
+specimen of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of his mother. Poor
+little ’Lena! how should she know any better, living as she always had
+with two old people, whose language savored so much of the days before
+the flood! Some such thought passed through Mr. Livingstone’s mind, and
+very civilly he answered her concerning the health of her cousins and
+aunt; proceeding next to question her of his father, who, she said,
+“had never seen a well day since her mother died.”
+
+“Is there any one with him except your grandmother?” asked Mr.
+Livingstone; and Lena replied, “Aunt Nancy Scovandyke has been with us
+a few days, and is there now.”
+
+At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that ’Lena
+observed it, and asked “if he knew Miss Scovandyke?”
+
+“I used to,” said he, while ’Lena continued: “She’s a nice woman, and
+though she ain’t any connection, I call her aunt. Granny thinks a sight
+of her.”
+
+Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr. Livingstone,
+and changing the subject, he said, “What makes you say _Granny_,
+child?”
+
+’Lena blushed painfully. ’Twas the first word she had ever uttered, her
+grandmother having taught it to her, and encouraged her in its use.
+Besides that, ’Lena had a great horror of anything which she fancied
+was at all “stuck up,” and thinking an entire change from _Granny_ to
+_Grandmother_ would be altogether too much, she still persisted in
+occasionally using her favorite word, in spite of the ridicule it
+frequently called forth from her school companions. Thinking to herself
+that it was none of her uncle’s business what she called her
+grandmother, she made no reply, and in a few moments they came in sight
+of the yellow farmhouse, which looked to Mr. Livingstone just as it did
+when he left it, eighteen years before. There was the tall poplar, with
+its green leaves rustling in the breeze, just as they had done years
+ago, when from a distant hill-top he looked back to catch the last
+glimpse of his home. The well in the rear was the same—the lilac bushes
+in front—the tansy patch on the right and the gable-roofed barn on the
+left; all were there; nothing was changed but himself.
+
+Mechanically he followed ’Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
+bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he
+remembered had lain there when he went away. One thing alone seemed
+strange. The blue paper curtains were rolled away from the “spare room”
+windows, which were open as if to admit as much air as possible.
+
+“I shouldn’t wonder if grandpa was worse,” said ’Lena, hurrying him
+along and ushering him at once into the sick-room.
+
+At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bending tenderly
+over the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the small, scanty pillow.
+John thought “how small and scanty they were,” while he almost
+shuddered at the sound of his footsteps upon the uncarpeted floor.
+Everything was dreary and comfortless, and his conscience reproached
+him that his old father should die so poor, when he counted his money
+by thousands.
+
+As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading daylight,
+causing his mother to raise her head, and in a moment her long, bony
+arms were twined around his neck. The cruel letter, his long neglect,
+were all forgotten in the joy of once more beholding her “darling boy,”
+whose bearded cheek she kissed again and again. John was unused to such
+demonstrations of affection, except, indeed, from his little
+golden-haired Anna, who was _refined_ and _polished_, and all that,
+which made a vast difference, as he thought. Still, he returned his
+mother’s greeting with a tolerably good grace, managing, however, to
+tear himself from her as soon as possible.
+
+“How is my father?” he asked; and his mother replied, “He grew worse
+right away after ’Leny went out, and he seemed so put to’t for breath,
+that Nancy went for the doctor——”
+
+Here a movement from the invalid arrested her attention and going to
+the bedside she saw that he was awake. Bending over him she whispered
+softly, “John has come. Would you like to see him?”
+
+Quickly the feeble arms were outstretched, as if to feel what could not
+be seen, for the old man’s eyesight was dim with the shadows of death.
+
+Taking both his father’s hands in his, John said, “Here I am, father;
+can’t you see me?”
+
+“No, John, no; I can’t see you.” And the poor man wept like a little
+child. Soon growing more calm, he continued: “Your voice is the same
+that it was years ago, when you lived with us at home. That hasn’t
+changed, though they say your name has. Oh, John, my boy, how could you
+do so? ’Twas a good name—my name—and you the only one left to bear it.
+What made you do so, oh John, John?”
+
+Mr. Livingstone did not reply, and after a moment his father again
+spoke; “John, lay your hand on my forehead. It’s cold as ice. I am
+dying, and your mother will be left alone. We are poor, my son; poorer
+than you think. The homestead is mortgaged for all it’s worth and there
+are only a few dollars in the purse. Oh, I worked so hard to earn them
+for her and the girl—Helena’s child. Now, John, promise me that when I
+am gone they shall go with you to your home in the west. Promise, and I
+shall die happy.”
+
+This was a new idea to John, and for a time he hesitated. He glanced at
+his mother; she was ignorant and peculiar, but she was his mother
+still. He looked at ’Lena, she was beautiful—he knew that, but she was
+odd and old-fashioned. He thought of his haughty wife, his headstrong
+son and his imperious daughter. What would they say if he made that
+promise, for if he made it he would keep it.
+
+A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke again:
+“Won’t you give your old mother a home?”
+
+The voice was weaker than when it spoke before, and John knew that life
+was fast ebbing away, for the brow on which his hand was resting was
+cold and damp with the moisture of death. He could no longer refuse,
+and the promise was given.
+
+The next morning, the deep-toned bell of Oakland told that another soul
+was gone, and the villagers as they counted the three score strokes and
+ten knew that Grandfather Nichols was numbered with the dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+PACKING UP.
+
+
+The funeral was over, and in the quiet valley by the side of his only
+daughter, Grandfather Nichols was laid to rest. As far as possible his
+father’s business was settled, and then John began to speak of his
+returning. More than once had he repented of the promise made to his
+father, and as the time passed on he shrank more and more from
+introducing his “plebeian” mother to his “lady” wife, who, he knew, was
+meditating an open rebellion.
+
+Immediately after his father’s death he had written to his wife,
+telling her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth matters
+over, so that his mother might at least have a decent reception. In a
+violent passion, his wife had answered, that “she never would submit to
+it—never. When I married you,” said she, “I didn’t suppose I was
+marrying the ‘old woman,’ young one, and all; and as for my having them
+to maintain, I will not, so _Mr. John Nichols_, you understand it.”
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called her husband
+_Mr. John Nichols_, and when Mr. John Nichols was particularly angry,
+he did as he pleased, so in this case he replied that “he should bring
+home as many ‘old women’ and ‘young ones’ as he liked, and she might
+help herself if she could!”
+
+This state of things was hardly favorable to the future happiness of
+Grandma Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and deeming herself as good
+as anybody, never dreamed that her presence would be unwelcome to her
+daughter-in-law, whom she thought to assist in various ways, “taking
+perhaps the whole heft of the housework upon herself—though,” she
+added, “I mean to begin just as I can hold out. I’ve hearn of such
+things as son’s wives shirkin’ the whole on to their old mothers, and
+the minit ’Tilda shows any signs of that, I shall back out, I tell
+you.”
+
+John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, and then
+burst into a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Livingstone’s dismay
+at hearing herself called ’_Tilda_. Had John chosen, he could have
+given his mother a few useful hints with regard to her treatment of his
+wife, but such an idea never entered his brain. He was a man of few
+words, and generally allowed himself to be controlled by circumstances,
+thinking that the easiest way of getting through the world. He was very
+proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it would be to present his mother
+to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was in the future—many miles
+away—he wouldn’t trouble himself about it now; so he passed his time
+mostly in rambling through the woods and over the hills, while his
+mother, good soul, busied herself with the preparations for her
+journey, inviting each and every one of her neighbors to “be sure and
+visit her if they ever came that way,” and urging some of them to come
+on purpose and “spend the winter.”
+
+Among those who promised compliance with this last request, was Miss
+Nancy Scovandyke, whom we have once before mentioned, and who, as the
+reader will have inferred, was the first love of John Livingstone. On
+the night of his arrival, she had been sent in quest of the physician,
+and when on her return she learned from ’Lena that he had come, she
+kept out of sight, thinking she would wait awhile before she met him.
+“Not that she cared the snap of her finger for him,” she said, “only
+’twas natural that she should hate to see him.”
+
+But when the time did come, she met it bravely, shaking his hand and
+speaking to him as if nothing had ever happened, and while he was
+wondering how he ever could have fancied _her_, she, too, was mentally
+styling herself “a fool,” for having liked “such a _pussy_, overgrown
+thing!” Dearly did Miss Nancy love excitement, and during the days that
+Mrs. Nichols was packing up, she was busy helping her to stow away the
+“crockery,” which the old lady declared should go, particularly the
+“blue set, which she’d had ever since the day but one before John was
+born, and which she intended as a part of ’Leny’s settin’ out. Then,
+too, John’s wife could use ’em when she had a good deal of company;
+’twould save buyin’ new, and every little helped!”
+
+“I wonder, now, if ’Tilda takes snuff,” said Mrs. Nichols, one day,
+seating herself upon an empty drygoods box which stood in the middle of
+the floor, and helping herself to an enormous pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy; “I wonder if she takes snuff, ’cause if she does, we shall
+take a sight of comfort together.”
+
+“I don’t much b’lieve she does,” answered Miss Nancy, whose face was
+very red with trying to cram a pair of cracked bellows into the already
+crowded top of John’s leathern trunk, “I don’t b’lieve she does, for
+somehow it seems to me she’s a mighty nipped-up thing, not an atom like
+you nor me.”
+
+“Like enough,” returned Mrs. Nichols, finishing her snuff, and wiping
+her fingers upon the corner of her checked apron; “but, Nancy, can you
+tell me how in the world I’m ever going to carry this _mop_? It’s bran
+new, never been used above a dozen times, and I can’t afford to give it
+away.”
+
+At this point, John, who was sitting in the adjoining room, came
+forward. Hitherto he had not interfered in the least in his mother’s
+arrangements, but had looked silently on while she packed away article
+after article which she would never need, and which undoubtedly would
+be consigned to the flames the moment her back was turned. The _mop_
+business, however, was too much for him, and before Miss Nancy had time
+to reply, he said, “For heaven’s sake, mother, how many traps do you
+propose taking, and what do you imagine we can do with a mop? Why, I
+dare say not one of my servants would know how to use it, and it’s a
+wonder if some of the little chaps didn’t take it for a horse before
+night.”
+
+“A _nigger_ ride my mop! _my new mop_!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, rolling
+up her eyes in astonishment, while Miss Nancy, turning to John, said,
+“In the name of the people, how do you live without mops? I should
+s’pose you’d rot alive!”
+
+“I am not much versed in the mysteries of housekeeping,” returned John,
+with a smile; “but it’s my impression that what little cleaning our
+floors get is done with a cloth.”
+
+“Wall, if I won’t give it up now,” said Miss Nancy. “As good an
+abolutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored folks wash the
+floor with a rag, on their hands and knees! It can’t be that you
+indulge a hope, if you’ll do such things!”
+
+John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, he said,
+“I’m in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many useless things.
+_We_ don’t want them. Our house is full now, and besides that, Mrs.
+Livingstone is very particular about the style of her furniture, and I
+am afraid yours would hardly come up to her ideas of elegance.”
+
+“That chist of drawers,” said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an
+old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, “cost an ocean of money when ’twas
+new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, ’Tilda couldn’t tell ’em
+from gold, unless she’s seen more on’t than I have, which ain’t much
+likely, bein’ I’m double her age.”
+
+“The chest does very well for you, I admit,” said John; “but we have
+neither use nor room for it, so if you can’t sell it, why, give it
+away, or burn it, one or the other.”
+
+Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith ’Lena was dispatched to
+Widow Fisher’s, to see if she would take it at half price. The widow
+had no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy was told
+“to keep it, and maybe she’d sometime have a chance to send it to
+Kentucky. It won’t come amiss, I know, s’posin’ they be well on’t. I
+b’lieve in lookin’ out for a rainy day. I can teach ’Tilda economy
+yet,” whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the room where John sat,
+whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the best way if
+reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.
+
+’Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the cause
+of her uncle’s moodiness. The more she saw of him the better she liked
+him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to cure
+herself of the peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he would
+only notice her a little, which he was not likely to do. He seldom
+noticed any child, much less little ’Lena, who he fancied was ignorant
+as well as awkward; but he did not know her.
+
+One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, ’Lena approached
+him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather timidly,
+“Uncle, I wish you’d tell me something about my cousins.”
+
+“What about them,” he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon his
+feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.
+
+“I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the best,”
+continued ’Lena.
+
+“You’ll like Anna the best,” said her uncle, and ’Lena asked, “Why!
+What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to go to school and study?”
+
+“None too well, I reckon,” returned her uncle, adding that “there were
+not many little girls who did.”
+
+“Why _I_ do,” said ’Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a moment his
+whittling, replied rather scornfully, “_You_! I should like to know
+what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!”
+
+’Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she bore
+the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her age, and
+now she rather tartly answered, “I study geography, arithmetic,
+grammar, and——” history, she was going to add, but her uncle stopped
+her, saying, “That’ll do, that’ll do. You study all these? Now I don’t
+suppose you know what one of ’em is.”
+
+“Yes, I do,” said ’Lena, with a good deal of spirit. “Olney’s geography
+is a description of the earth; Colburn’s arithmetic is the science of
+numbers: Smith’s grammar teaches us how to speak correctly.”
+
+“Why don’t you do it then,” asked her uncle.
+
+“Do what?” said ’Lena, and her uncle continued, “Why don’t you make
+some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar? Why, my Anna has never
+seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don’t _talk like
+you do_.”
+
+“Don’t _what_, sir?” said ’Lena,
+
+“Don’t _talk like you do_,” repeated her uncle, while ’Lena’s eyes
+fairly danced with mischief as she asked, “if that were good grammar.”
+
+Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself
+might sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so
+harshly chided ’Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more
+favorably. It could hardly be said that he treated her with any more
+attention, and still there was a difference which she felt, and which
+made her very happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+ON THE ROAD.
+
+
+At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to
+sell, and too good to give away, had found a place—some here, some
+there, and some in John’s trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars,
+dickeys, and so forth. Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was
+made the receiver of sundry cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and
+iron spoons, which could not be disposed of elsewhere.
+
+And now every box and trunk was ready. Farmer Truesdale’s red wagon
+stood at the door, waiting to convey them to the depot, and nothing
+remained for Grandma Nichols, but to bid adieu to the old spot,
+endeared to her by so many associations. Again and again she went from
+room to room, weeping always, and lingering longest in the one where
+her children were born, and where her husband and daughter had died. In
+the corner stood the old low-post bedstead, the first she had ever
+owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long years before,
+when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, blushing deeply at the
+sly allusion which the cabinet maker made to her approaching marriage.
+_He_, too, was with her, strong and healthy. Now, he was gone from her
+side forever. _His_ couch was a narrow coffin, and the old bedstead
+stood there, naked—empty. Seating herself upon it, the poor old lady
+rocked to and fro, moaning in her grief, and wishing that she were not
+going to Kentucky, or that it were possible now to remain at her
+mountain home. Summoning all her courage, she gave one glance at the
+familiar objects around her, at the flowers she had planted, and then
+taking ’Lena’s hand, went down to the gate, where her son waited.
+
+He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not appreciate the
+cause of her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and his voice and
+manner were unusually kind as he helped her to the best seat in the
+wagon, and asked if she were comfortable. Then his eye fell upon her
+dress, and his pity changed to anger as he wondered if she was wholly
+devoid of taste. At the time of his father’s death, he purchased decent
+mourning for both his mother and ’Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols
+pronounced “altogether too good for the nasty cars; nobody’d think any
+better of them for being rigged out in their best meetin’ gowns.”
+
+So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore a dark blue
+and white spotted calico, which John could have sworn she had twenty
+years before, and which was not unlikely, as she never wore out a
+garment. She was an enemy to long skirts, hence hers came just to her
+ankles, and as her black stockings had been footed with white, there
+was visible a dark rim. Altogether she presented a rather grotesque
+appearance, with her oblong work-bag, in which were her snuff-box,
+brass spectacles and half a dozen “nutcakes,” which would “save John’s
+buying dinner.”
+
+Unlike her grandmother’s, ’Lena’s dress was a great deal too long, and
+as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of a premature old woman,
+instead of a child ten summers old, as she was. Still the uncommon
+beauty of her face, and the natural gracefulness of her form, atoned in
+a measure for the singularity of her appearance.
+
+In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her nephew, Joel
+Slocum, a freckle-faced boy, who had frequently shown a preference for
+’Lena, by going with her for her grandmother’s cow, bringing her
+harvest apples, and letting her ride on his sled oftener than the other
+girls at school. Strange to say, his affection was not returned, and
+now, notwithstanding he several times wiped both eyes and nose, on the
+end of which there was an enormous freck, ’Lena did not relent at all,
+but with a simple “Good-bye, Jo,” she sprang into the wagon, which
+moved rapidly away.
+
+It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and when half
+that distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols suddenly seized the
+reins, ordering the driver to stop, and saying, “she must go straight
+back, for on the shelf of the north room cupboard she had left a whole
+paper of tea, which she couldn’t afford to lose!”
+
+“_Drive on_,” said Johny rather angrily, at the same time telling his
+mother that he could buy her a ton of tea if she wanted it.
+
+“But that was already bought, and ’twould have saved so much,” said
+she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occasioned partly by her
+son’s manner, and partly by the great loss she felt she sustained in
+leaving behind her favorite “old hyson.”
+
+This _saving_ was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so much, that
+John, who was himself slightly avaricious, began to regret that he ever
+knew the definition of the word _save_. Lest our readers get a wrong
+impression of Mrs. Nichols, we must say that she possessed very many
+sterling qualities, and her habits of extreme economy resulted more
+from the manner in which she had been compelled to live, than from
+natural stinginess. For this John hardly made allowance enough, and his
+mother’s remarks, instead of restraining him, only made him more lavish
+of his money than he would otherwise have been.
+
+When Mrs. Nichols and ’Lena entered the cars, they of course attracted
+universal attention, which annoyed John excessively. In Oakland, where
+his mother was known and appreciated, he could bear it, but among
+strangers, and with those of his own caste, it was different, so
+motioning them into the first unoccupied seat, he sauntered on with an
+air which seemed to say, “they were nothing to him,” and finding a
+vacant seat at the other end of the car, he took possession of it.
+Scarcely, however, had he entered into conversation with a gentleman
+near him, when some one grasped his arm, and looking up, he saw his
+mother, her box in one hand; and an enormous pinch of snuff in the
+other.
+
+“John,” said she, elevating her voice so as to drown the noise of the
+cars, “I never thought on’t till this minit, but I’d just as lief ride
+in the second-class cars as not, and it only costs half as much!”
+
+Mr. Livingstone colored crimson, and bade her go back, saying that if
+he paid the fare she needn’t feel troubled about the cost. Just as she
+was turning to leave, the loud ring and whistle, as the train neared a
+crossing, startled her, and in great alarm she asked if “somethin’
+hadn’t bust!”
+
+John made no answer, but the gentleman near him very politely explained
+to her the cause of the disturbance, after which, she returned to her
+seat. When the conductor appeared, he fortunately came in at the door
+nearest John, who pointed out the two, for whom he had tickets, and
+then turned again to converse with the gentleman, who, though a
+stranger, was from Louisville, Kentucky, and whose acquaintance was
+easily made. The sight of the conductor awoke in Mrs. Nichols’s brain a
+new idea, and after peering out upon the platform, she went rushing up
+to her son, telling him that: “the trunks, box, feather bed, and all,
+were every one on ’em left!”
+
+“No, they are not,” said John; “I saw them aboard myself.”
+
+“Wall, then, they’re lost off, for as sure as you’re born, there ain’t
+one on ’em in here; and there’s as much as twenty weight of new
+feathers, besides all the crockery! Holler to ’em to stop quick!”
+
+The stranger, pitying Mr. Livingstone’s chagrin, kindly explained to
+her that there was a baggage car on purpose for trunks and the like,
+and that her feather bed was undoubtedly safe. This quieted her, and
+mentally styling him “a proper nice man,” she again returned to her
+seat.
+
+“A rare specimen of the raw Yankee,” said the stranger to John, never
+dreaming in what relation she stood to him.
+
+“Yes,” answered John, not thinking it at all necessary to make any
+further explanations.
+
+By this time Mrs. Nichols had attracted the attention of all the
+passengers, who watched her movements with great interest. Among these
+was a fine-looking youth, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who sat
+directly in front of ’Lena. He had a remarkably open, pleasing
+countenance, while there was that in his eyes which showed him to be a
+lover of fun. Thinking he had now found it in a rich form, he turned
+partly round, and would undoubtedly have quizzed Mrs. Nichols
+unmercifully, had not something in the appearance of ’Lena prevented
+him. This was also her first ride in the cars, but she possessed a tact
+of concealing the fact, and if she sometimes felt frightened, she
+looked in the faces of those around her, gathering from them that there
+was no danger. She knew that her grandmother was making herself
+ridiculous, and her eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “Do sit
+still, granny; everybody is looking at you.”
+
+The young lad noticed this, and while it quelled in him the spirit of
+ridicule, it awoke a strange interest in ’Lena, who he saw was
+beautiful, spite of her unseemly guise. She was a dear lover of nature,
+and as the cars sped on through the wild mountain scenery, between
+Pittsfield and Albany, she stood at the open window, her hands closely
+locked together, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes wide with
+wonder at the country through which they were passing. At her
+grandmother’s suggestion she had removed her bonnet, and the brown
+curls which clustered around her white forehead and neck were moved up
+and down by the fresh breeze which was blowing. The youth was a
+passionate admirer of beauty, come in what garb it might, and now as he
+watched, he felt a strong desire to touch one of the glossy ringlets
+which floated within his reach. There would be no harm in it, he
+thought—“she was only a little girl, and he was _almost a man_—had
+tried to shave, and was going to enter college in the fall.” Still he
+felt some doubts as to the propriety of the act, and was about making
+up his mind that he had better not, when the train shot into the
+“tunnel,” and for an instant they were in total darkness. Quick as
+thought his hand sought the brown curls, but they were gone, and when
+the cars again emerged into daylight, ’Lena’s arms were around her
+grandmother’s neck, trying to hold her down, for the old lady, sure of
+a _smash-up_ this time, had attempted to rise, screaming loudly for
+“_John_!”
+
+The boy laughed aloud—he could not help it; but when ’Lena’s eyes
+turned reprovingly upon him, he felt sorry; and anxious to make amends,
+addressed himself very politely to Mrs. Nichols, explaining to her that
+it was a “tunnel” through which they had passed, and assuring her there
+was no danger whatever. Then turning to ’Lena, he said, “I reckon your
+grandmother is not much accustomed to traveling.”
+
+“No, sir,” answered ’Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek at being
+addressed by a stranger.
+
+It was the first time any one had ever said “_sir_” to the boy, and now
+feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he continued: “I
+believe old people generally are timid when they enter the cars for the
+first time.”
+
+Nothing from ’Lena except a slight straightening up of her body, and a
+smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was broken, and erelong she
+and her companion were conversing as familiarly as if they had known
+each other for years. Still the boy was not inquisitive—he did not ask
+her name, or where she was going, though he told her that his home was
+in Louisville, and that at Albany he was to take the boat for New York,
+where his mother was stopping with some friends. He also told her that
+the gentleman near the door, with dark eyes and whiskers, was his
+father.
+
+Glancing toward the person indicated, ’Lena saw that it was the same
+gentleman who, all the afternoon, had been talking with her uncle. He
+was noble looking, and she felt glad that he was the father of the
+boy—he was just such a man, she fancied, as ought to be his father—just
+such a man as she could wish her father to be—and then ’Lena felt glad
+that the youth had asked her nothing concerning her parentage, for,
+though her grandmother had seldom mentioned her father in her presence,
+there were others ready and willing to inform her that he was a
+villain, who broke her mother’s heart.
+
+When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his hand to ’Lena,
+said “I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but I’d like right well to go
+farther with you.”
+
+At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on seeing how his
+son was occupied, said smilingly, “So-ho! Durward, you always manage to
+make some lady acquaintance.”
+
+“Yes, father,” returned the boy called Durward, “but not always one
+like this. Isn’t she pretty,” he added in a whisper.
+
+The stranger’s eyes fell upon ’Lena’s face, and for a moment, as if by
+some strange fascination, seemed riveted there; but the crowd pressed
+him forward, and ’Lena only heard him reply to his son, “Yes, Durward,
+very pretty; but hurry, or we shall lose the boat.”
+
+The next moment they were gone. Leaning from the window, ’Lena tried to
+catch another glimpse of him, but in vain. He was gone—she would never
+see him again, she thought; and then she fell into a reverie concerning
+his home, his mother, his sisters, if he had any, and finally ended by
+wishing that she were his sister, and the daughter of his father. While
+she was thus pondering, her grandmother, also, was busy, and when ’Lena
+looked round for her she was gone. Stepping from the car, ’Lena espied
+her in the distance, standing by her uncle and anxiously watching for
+the appearance of her “great trunk, little trunk, band-box, and bag.”
+Each of these articles was forthcoming, and in a few moments they were
+on the ferry-boat crossing the blue waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols
+declaring that “if she’d known it wasn’t a bridge she was steppin’
+onto, she’d be bound they wouldn’t have got her on in one while.”
+
+“Do sit down,” said ’Lena; “the other people don’t seem to be afraid,
+and I’m sure we needn’t.”
+
+This Mrs. Nichols was more willing to do, as directly at her side was
+another old lady, traveling for the first time, frightened and anxious.
+To her Mrs. Nichols addressed herself, announcing her firm belief that
+“she should be blew sky high before she reached Kentucky, where she was
+going to live with her son John, who she supposed was well off, worth
+twenty negroes or more; but,” she added, lowering her voice, “I don’t
+b’lieve in no such, and I mean he shall set ’em free—poor critters,
+duddin’ from mornin’ till night without a cent of pay. He says they
+call him ‘master,’ but I’ll warrant he’ll never catch me a’callin’ him
+so to one on ’em. I promised Nancy Scovandyke that I wouldn’t, and I
+won’t!”
+
+Here a little _popcorn_ boy came ’round, which reminded Mrs. Nichols of
+her money, and that she hadn’t once looked after it since she started.
+Thinking this as favorable a time as she would have, she drew from her
+capacious pocket an old knit purse, and commenced counting out its
+contents, piece by piece.
+
+“Beware of pickpockets!” said some one in her ear, and with the
+exclamation of “Oh the Lord!” the purse disappeared in her pocket, on
+which she kept her hand until the boat touched the opposite shore. Then
+in the confusion and excitement it was withdrawn, the purse was
+forgotten, and when on board the night express for Buffalo it was again
+looked for, _it was gone_!
+
+With a wild outcry the horror-stricken matron sprang up, calling for
+John, who in some alarm came to her side, asking what she wanted.
+
+“I’ve lost my purse. Somebody’s stole it. Lock the door quick, and
+search every man, woman, and child in the car!”
+
+The conductor, who chanced to be present, now came up, demanding an
+explanation, and trying to convince Mrs. Nichols how improbable it was
+that any one present had her money.
+
+“Stop the train then, and let me get off.”
+
+“Had you a large amount?” asked the conductor.
+
+“Every cent I had in the world. Ain’t you going to let me get off?” was
+the answer.
+
+The conductor looked inquiringly at John, who shook his head, at the
+same time whispering to his mother not to feel so badly, as he would
+give her all the money she wanted. Then placing a ten dollar bill in
+her hand, he took a seat behind her. We doubt whether this would have
+quieted the old lady, had not a happy idea that moment entered her
+mind, causing her to exclaim loudly, “There, now, I’ve just this minute
+thought. I hadn’t but _five_ dollars in my purse; t’other fifty I sewed
+up in an old night-gown sleeve, and tucked it away in that satchel up
+there,” pointing to ’Lena’s traveling bag, which hung over her head.
+She would undoubtedly have designated the very corner of said satchel
+in which her money could be found, had not her son touched her
+shoulder, bidding her be silent and not tell everybody where her money
+was, if she didn’t want it stolen.
+
+Mrs. Nichols made no reply, but when she thought she was not observed,
+she arose, and slyly taking down the satchel, placed it under her. Then
+seating herself upon it, she gave a sigh of relief as she thought,
+“they’d have to work hard to get it now, without her knowing it!” Dear
+old soul, when arrived at her journey’s end, how much comfort she took
+in recounting over and over again the incidents of the robbery,
+wondering if it was, as John said, the very man who had so kindly
+cautioned her to beware of pickpockets, and who thus ascertained where
+she kept her purse. Nancy Scovandyke, too, was duly informed of her
+loss, and charged when she came to Kentucky, “to look out on the
+ferry-boat for a youngish, good-looking man, with brown frock coat,
+blue cravat, and mouth full of white teeth.”
+
+At Buffalo Mr. Livingstone had hard work to coax his mother on board
+the steamboat, but he finally succeeded, and as the weather chanced to
+be fine, she declared that ride on the lake to be the pleasantest part
+of her journey. At Cleveland they took the cars for Cincinnati, going
+thence to Lexington by stage. On ordinary occasions Mr. Livingstone
+would have preferred the river, but knowing that in all probability he
+should meet with some of his friends upon the boat, he chose the route
+via Lexington, where he stopped at the Phoenix, as was his usual
+custom.
+
+After seeing his mother and niece into the public parlor he left them
+for a time, saying he had some business to transact in the city.
+Scarcely was he gone when the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall
+announced an arrival, and a moment after, a boy, apparently fifteen
+years of age, appeared in the door. He was richly though carelessly
+dressed, and notwithstanding the good-humored expression of his rather
+handsome face, there was in his whole appearance an indescribable
+something which at once pronounced him to be a “fast” boy. A rowdy hat
+was set on one side of his head, after the most approved fashion, while
+in his hand he held a lighted cigar, which he applied to his mouth when
+he saw the parlor was unoccupied, save by an “old woman” and a “little
+girl.”
+
+Instinctively ’Lena shrank from him, and withdrawing herself as far as
+possible within the recess of the window, pretended to be busily
+watching the passers-by. But she did not escape his notice, and after
+coolly surveying her for a moment, he walked up to her, saying, “How
+d’ye, polywog? I’ll be hanged if I know to what gender you belong—woman
+or _gal_—which is it, hey?”
+
+“None of your business,” was ’Lena’s ready answer.
+
+“Spunky, ain’t you,” said he, unceremoniously pulling one of the brown
+curls which Durward had so longed to touch. “Seems to me your hair
+don’t match the rest of you; wonder if ’tisn’t somebody else’s head set
+on your shoulders.”
+
+“No, it ain’t. It’s my own head, and you just let it alone,” returned
+’Lena, growing more and more indignant, and wondering if this were a
+specimen of Kentucky boys.
+
+“Don’t be saucy,” continued her tormentor; “I only want to see what
+sort of stuff you are made of.”
+
+“Made of _dirt_” muttered ’Lena.
+
+“I reckon you are,” returned the boy; “but say, where _did_ you come
+from and who _do_ you live with?”
+
+“I came from Massachusetts, and I live with _granny_,” said ’Lena,
+thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would perhaps let her
+alone. But she was mistaken.
+
+Glancing at “_granny_,” he burst into a loud laugh, and then placing
+his hat a little more on one side, and assuming a nasal twang, he said,
+“Neow dew tell, if you’re from Massachusetts. How dew you dew, little
+Yankee, and how are all the folks to hum?”
+
+Feeling sure that not only herself but all her relations were included
+in this insult, ’Lena darted forward hitting him a blow in the face,
+which he returned by puffing smoke into hers, whereupon she snatched
+the cigar from his mouth and hurled it into the street, bidding him
+“touch her again if he dared.” All this transpired so rapidly that Mrs.
+Nichols had hardly time to understand its meaning, but fully
+comprehending it now, she was about coming to the rescue, when her son
+reappeared, exclaiming, “_John_, John Livingstone, Jr., how came you
+here?”
+
+Had a cannon exploded at the feet of John Jr., as he was called, he
+could not have been more startled. He was not expecting his father for
+two or three days, and was making the most of his absence by having
+what he called a regular “spree.” Taking him altogether, he was,
+without being naturally bad, a spoiled child, whom no one could manage
+except his father, and as his father seldom tried, he was of course
+seldom managed. Never yet had he remained at any school more than two
+quarters, for if he were not sent away, he generally ran away, sure of
+finding a champion in his mother, who had always petted him, calling
+him, “Johnny darling,” until he one day very coolly informed her that
+she was “a silly old fool,” and that “he’d thank her not to ‘Johnny
+darling’ him any longer.”
+
+It would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr. when ’Lena
+was presented to him as his _cousin_, and Mrs. Nichols as his
+_grandmother_. Something which sounded very much like an oath escaped
+his lips, as turning to his father he muttered, “Won’t mother go into
+fits?” Then, as he began to realize the ludicrousness of the whole
+affair, he exclaimed, “Rich, good, by gracious!” and laughing loudly,
+he walked away to regale himself with another cigar.
+
+Lena began to tremble for her future happiness, if this boy was to live
+in the same house with her. She did not know that she had already more
+than half won his good opinion, for he was far better pleased with her
+antagonistical demonstrations, than he would have been had she cried or
+ran from him, as his sister Anna generally did when he teased her.
+After a few moments here turned to the parlor, and walking up to Mrs.
+Nichols, commenced talking very sociably with her, calling her
+“Granny,” and winking slyly at ’Lena as he did so. Mr. Livingstone had
+too much good sense to sit quietly by and hear his mother ridiculed by
+his son, and in a loud, stern voice he bade the young gentleman “behave
+himself.”
+
+“Law, now,” said Mrs. Nichols, “let him talk if he wants to. I like to
+hear him. He’s the only grandson I’ve got.”
+
+This speech had the effect of silencing John Jr. quite as much as his
+father’s command. If he could tease his grandmother by talking to her,
+he would take delight in doing so, but if she _wanted_ him to talk—that
+was quite another thing. So moving away from her, he took a seat near
+’Lena, telling her her dress was “a heap too short,” and occasionally
+pinching her, just to vary the sport! This last, however, ’Lena
+returned with so much force that he grew weary of the fun, and
+informing her that he was going to a _circus_ which was in town that
+evening, he arose to leave the room.
+
+Mr. Livingstone, who partially overheard what he had said, stopped him
+and asked “where he was going?”
+
+Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that “he was
+confounded sleepy and was going to bed.”
+
+“’Lena, where did he say he was going?” asked her uncle.
+
+’Lena trembled, for John Jr. had clinched his fist, and was shaking it
+threateningly at her.
+
+“Where did he say he was going?” repeated her uncle.
+
+Poor ’Lena had never told a lie in her life, and now braving her
+cousin’s anger, she said, “To the circus, sir. Oh, I wish you had not
+asked me.”
+
+“You’ll get your pay for that,” muttered John Jr. sullenly reseating
+himself by his father, who kept an eye on him until he saw him safely
+in his room.
+
+Much as John Jr. frightened ’Lena with his threats, in his heart he
+respected her for telling the truth, and if the next morning on their
+way home in the stage, in which his father compelled him to take a
+seat, he frequently found it convenient to step on her feet, it was
+more from a natural propensity to torment than from any lurking feeling
+of revenge. ’Lena was nowise backward in returning his cousinly
+attentions, and so between an interchange of kicks, wry faces, and so
+forth, they proceeded toward “Maple Grove,” a description of which will
+be given in another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+MAPLE GROVE.
+
+
+The residence of Mr. Livingstone, or rather of Mr. Livingstone’s wife,
+was a large, handsome building, such as one often finds in Kentucky,
+particularly in the country. Like most planters’ houses, it stood at
+some little distance from the street, from which its massive walls,
+wreathed with evergreen, were just discernible. The carriage road which
+led to it passed first through a heavy iron gate guarded by huge bronze
+lions, so natural and life-like, that Mrs. Nichols, when first she saw
+them, uttered a cry of fear. Next came a beautiful maple grove,
+followed by a long, green lawn, dotted here and there with forest trees
+and having on its right a deep running brook, whose waters, farther on
+at the rear of the garden, were formed into a miniature fish-pond.
+
+The house itself was of brick—two storied, and surrounded on three
+sides with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined with climbing
+roses, honey-suckle, and running vines, so closely interwoven as to
+give it the appearance of an immense summer-house. In the spacious yard
+in front, tall shade trees and bright green grass were growing, while
+in the well-kept garden at the left, bloomed an endless variety of
+roses and flowering shrubs, which in their season filled the air with
+perfume, and made the spot brilliant with beauty. Directly through the
+center of this garden ran the stream of which we have spoken, and as
+its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented the appearance of
+a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the starry dandelion and the
+blue-eyed violet grew.
+
+Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both of which
+were latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grape-vines, whose dark, green
+foliage was now intermingled with clusters of the rich purple fruit. At
+the right, and somewhat in the rear of the building, was a group of
+linden trees, overshadowing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who,
+imitating as far as possible the taste of their master, beautified
+their dwellings with hop-vines, creepers, hollyhocks and the like.
+Altogether, it was as ’Lena said, “just the kind of place which one
+reads of in stories,” and which is often found at the “sunny south.”
+The interior of the building corresponded with the exterior, for with
+one exception, the residence of a wealthy Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone
+prided herself upon having the best furnished house in the county;
+consequently neither pains nor money had been spared in the selection
+of the furniture, which was of the most costly kind.
+
+Carrie, the eldest of the daughters, was now about thirteen years of
+age. Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she was hated by the
+servants, and disliked by her equals. Some thought her pretty. _She_
+felt sure of it, and many an hour she spent before the mirror, admiring
+herself and anticipating the time when she would be a grown-up lady,
+and as a matter of course, a belle. Her mother unfortunately belonged
+to that class who seem to think that the chief aim in life is to secure
+a “brilliant match,” and thinking she could not commence too soon, she
+had early instilled into her favorite daughter’s mind the necessity of
+appearing to the best possible advantage, when in the presence of
+wealth and distinction, pointing out her own marriage as a proof of the
+unhappiness resulting from unequal matches. In this way Carrie had
+early learned that her father owed his present position to her mother’s
+condescension in marrying him—that he was once a poor boy living among
+the northern hills—that his parents were poor, ignorant and vulgar—and
+that there was with them a little girl, their daughter’s child, who
+never had a father, and whom she must never on any occasion call her
+cousin.
+
+All this had likewise been told to Anna, the youngest daughter, who was
+about ’Lena’s age, but upon her it made no impression. If her father
+was once poor, he was in her opinion none the worse for that—and if
+_he_ liked his parents, that was a sufficient reason why she should
+like them too, and if little ’Lena was an orphan, she pitied her, and
+hoped she might sometime see her and tell her so! Thus Anna reasoned,
+while her mother, terribly shocked at her low-bred taste, strove to
+instill into her mind some of her own more aristocratic notions. But
+all in vain, for Anna was purely democratic, loving everybody and
+beloved by everybody in return. It is true she had no particular liking
+for books or study of any kind, but she was gentle and affectionate in
+her manner, and kindly considerate of other people’s feelings. With her
+father she was a favorite, and to her he always looked for sympathy,
+which she seldom failed to give—not in words, it is true, but whenever
+he seemed to be in trouble, she would climb into his lap, wind her arms
+around his neck, and laying her golden head upon his shoulder, would
+sit thus until his brow and heart grew lighter as he felt there was yet
+something in the wide world which loved and cared for him.
+
+For Carrie Mrs. Livingstone had great expectations, but Anna she feared
+would never make a “brilliant match.” For a long time Anna meditated
+upon this, wondering what a “brilliant match” could mean, and at last
+she determined to seek an explanation from Captain Atherton, a bachelor
+and a millionaire, who was in the habit of visiting them, and who
+always noticed and petted her more than he did Carrie. Accordingly, the
+next time he came, and they were alone in the parlor, she broached the
+subject, asking him what it meant.
+
+Laughing loudly, the Captain drew her toward him, saying, “Why,
+marrying rich, you little novice. For instance, if one of these days
+you should be my little wife, I dare say your mother would think you
+had made a brilliant match!” and the well-preserved gentleman of forty
+glanced complacently at himself in the mirror thinking how probable it
+was that his youthfulness would be unimpaired for at least ten years to
+come!
+
+Anna laughed, for to her his words then conveyed no serious meaning,
+but with more than her usual quickness she replied, that “she would as
+soon marry her grandfather.”
+
+With Mrs. Livingstone the reader is partially acquainted. In her youth
+she had been pretty, and now at thirty-eight she was not without
+pretensions to beauty, notwithstanding her sallow complexion and sunken
+eyes, Her hair, which was very abundant, was bright and glossy, and her
+mouth, in which the dentist had done his best, would have been
+handsome, had it not been for a certain draw at the corners, which gave
+it a scornful and rather disagreeable expression. In her disposition
+she was overbearing and tyrannical, fond of ruling, and deeming her
+husband a monster of ingratitude if ever in any way he manifested a
+spirit of rebellion. Didn’t she marry him? and now they were married,
+didn’t her money support him? And wasn’t it exceedingly amiable in her
+always to speak of their children as _ours_! But as for the rest, ’twas
+_my_ house, _my_ servants, _my_ carriage, and _my_ horses. All
+_mine_—“Mrs. John Livingstone’s—Miss Matilda Richards that was!”
+
+Occasionally, however, her husband’s spirit was roused, and then, after
+a series of tears, sick-headaches, and then spasms, “Miss Matilda
+Richards that Was” was compelled to yield her face for many days
+wearing the look of a much-injured, heart-broken woman. Still her
+influence over him was great, else she had never so effectually
+weakened every tie which bound him to his native home, making him
+ashamed of his parents and of everything pertaining to them. When her
+husband first wrote, to her that his father was dead and that he had
+promised to take charge of his mother and ’Lena, she flew into a
+violent rage, which was increased ten-fold when she received his second
+letter, wherein he announced his intention of bringing them home in
+spite of her. Bursting into tears she declared “she’d leave the house
+before she’d have it filled up with a lot of paupers. Who did John
+Nichols think he was, and who did he think she was! Besides that, where
+was he going to put them? for there wasn’t a place for them that she
+knew of!”
+
+“Why, mother,” said Anna who was pleased with the prospect of a new
+grandmother and cousin, “Why, mother, what a story. There’s the two big
+chambers and bedrooms, besides the one next to Carrie’s and mine. Oh,
+do put them in there. It’ll be so nice to have grandma and cousin ’Lena
+so near me.”
+
+“Anna Livingstone!” returned the indignant lady, “Never let me hear you
+say grandma and cousin again.”
+
+“But they be grandma and cousin,” persisted Anna, while her mother
+commenced lamenting the circumstance which had made them so, wishing,
+as she had often done before, that she had never married John Nichols.
+
+“I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so,” slyly whispered
+John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion.
+
+Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother’s last remark
+awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, causing her to
+wonder whose little girl she would have been, her father’s or mother’s,
+in case they had each married some one else! As there was no one whose
+opinion Anna dared to ask, the question is undoubtedly to this day,
+with her, unsolved.
+
+The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger of the day
+before was somewhat abated, and knowing from past experience that it
+was useless to resist her husband when once he was determined, she
+wisely concluded that as they were now probably on the road, it was
+best to try to endure, for a time, at least, what could not well be
+helped. And now arose the perplexing question, “What should she do with
+them? where should she put them that they would be the most out of the
+way? for she could never suffer them to be round when she had company.”
+The chamber of which Anna had spoken was out of the question, for it
+was too nice, and besides that, it was reserved for the children of her
+New Orleans friends, who nearly every summer came up to visit her.
+
+At the rear of the building was a long, low room, containing a
+fireplace and two windows, which looked out upon the negro quarters and
+the hemp fields beyond. This room, which in the summer was used for
+storing feather-beds, blankets, and so forth, was plastered, but minus
+either paper or paint. Still it was quite comfortable, “better than
+they were accustomed to at home,” Mrs. Livingstone said, and this she
+decided to give them. Accordingly the negroes were set at work
+scrubbing the floor, washing the windows, and scouring the sills, until
+the room at least possessed the virtue of being clean. A faded carpet,
+discarded as good for nothing, and over which the rats had long held
+their nightly revels, was brought to light, shaken, mended, and nailed
+down—then came a bedstead, which Mrs. Livingstone had designed as a
+Christmas gift to one of the negroes, but which of course would do well
+enough for her mother-in-law. Next followed an old wooden
+rocking-chair, whose ancestry Anna had tried in vain to trace, and
+which Carrie had often proposed burning. This, with two or three more
+chairs of a later date, a small wardrobe, and a square table, completed
+the furniture of the room, if we except the plain muslin curtains which
+shaded the windows, destitute of blinds. Taking it by itself, the room
+looked tolerably well, but when compared with the richly furnished
+apartments around it, it seemed meager and poor indeed; “but if they
+wanted anything better, they could get it themselves. They were welcome
+to make any alterations they chose.”
+
+This mode of reasoning hardly satisfied Anna, and unknown to her mother
+she took from her own chamber a handsome hearth-rug, and carrying it to
+her grandmother’s room, laid it before the fireplace. Coming
+accidentally upon a roll of green paper, she, with the help of Corinda,
+a black girl, made some shades for the windows, which faced the west,
+rendering the room intolerably hot during the summer season. Then, at
+the suggestion of Corinda, she looped back the muslin curtains with
+some green ribbons, which she had intended using for her “dolly’s
+dress.” The bare appearance of the table troubled her, but by
+rummaging, she brought to light a cast-off spread, which, though soiled
+and worn, was on one side quite handsome.
+
+“Now, if we only had something for the mantel,” said she; “it seems so
+empty.”
+
+Corinda thought a moment, then rolling up the whites of her eyes,
+replied, “Don’t you mind them little pitchers” (meaning vases) “which
+Master Atherton done gin you? They’d look mighty fine up thar, full of
+sprigs and posies.”
+
+Without hesitating a moment Anna brought the vases, and as she did not
+know the exact time when her grandmother would arrive, she determined
+to fill them with fresh flowers every morning.
+
+“There, it looks a heap better, don’t it, Carrie?” said she to her
+sister, who chanced to be passing the door and looked in.
+
+“You must be smart,” answered Carrie, “taking so much pains just for
+them; and as I live, if you haven’t got those elegant vases that
+Captain Atherton gave you for a birthday present! I know mother won’t
+like it. I mean to tell her;” and away she ran with the important news.
+
+“There, I told you so,” said she, quickly returning. “She says you
+carry them straight back and let the room alone.”
+
+Anna began to cry, saying “the vases were hers, and she should think
+she might do what she pleased with them.”
+
+“What did you go and blab for, you great for shame, you?” exclaimed
+John Jr., suddenly appearing in the doorway, at the same time giving
+Carrie a push, which set her to crying, and brought Mrs. Livingstone to
+the scene of action,
+
+“Can’t my vases stay in here? Nobody’ll hurt ’em, and they’ll look so
+pretty,” said Anna.
+
+“Can’t that hateful John behave, and let me alone?” said Carrie.
+
+“And can’t Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks’ business?”
+chimed in John Jr.
+
+“Oh Lordy, what a fuss,” said Corinda, while poor Mrs. Livingstone,
+half distracted, took refuge under one of her dreadful headaches, and
+telling her children “to fight their own battles and let her alone,”
+returned to her room.
+
+“A body’d s’pose marster’s kin warn’t of no kind of count,” said Aunt
+Milly, the head cook, to a group of sables, who, in the kitchen, were
+discussing the furniture of the “trump’ry room,” as they were in the
+habit of calling the chamber set apart for Mrs. Nichols. “Yes, they
+would s’pose they warn’t of no kind o’ count, the way miss goes on,
+ravin’ and tarin’ and puttin’ ’em off with low-lived truck that we
+black folks wouldn’t begin to tache with the tongs. Massy knows ef my
+ole mother warn’t dead and gone to kingdom come, I should never think
+o’ sarvin’ her so, and I don’t set myself up to be nothin’ but an old
+nigger, and a black one at that. But Lor’ that’s the way with more’n
+half the white folks. They jine the church, and then they think they
+done got a title deed to one of them houses up in heaven (that nobody
+ever built) sure enough. Goin’ straight thar, as fast as a span of
+race-horses can carry ’em. Ki! Won’t they be disappointed, some on ’em,
+and Miss Matilda ’long the rest, when she drives up, hosses all a
+reekin’ sweat, and spects to walk straight into the best room, but is
+told to go to the kitchen and turn hoe-cakes for us niggers, who are
+eatin’ at the fust table, with silver forks and napkins——?”
+
+Here old Milly stopped to breathe, and her daughter Vine, who had
+listened breathlessly to her mother’s description of the “good time
+coming,” asked “when these things come to pass, if Miss Carrie wouldn’t
+have to swing the feathers over the table to keep off the flies,
+instead of herself?”
+
+“Yes, that she will, child,” returned her mother; “Things is all gwine
+to be changed in the wink of your eye. Miss Anna read that very tex’ to
+me last Sunday and I knew in a minit what it meant. Now thar’s Miss
+Anna, blessed lamb. She’s one of ’em that’ll wear her white gowns and
+stay in t’other room, with her face shinin’ like an ile lamp!”
+
+While this interesting conversation was going on in the kitchen, John
+Jr., in the parlor was teasing his mother for money, with which to go
+up to Lexington the next day. “You may just as well give it to me
+without any fuss,” said he, “for if you don’t, I’ll get my bills at the
+Phoenix charged. The old man is good, and they’ll trust. But then a
+feller feels more independent when he can pay down, and treat a friend,
+if he likes; so hand over four or five Vs.”
+
+At first Mrs. Livingstone refused, but her head ached so hard and her
+“nerves trembled so,” that she did not feel equal to the task of
+contending with John Jr., who was always sure in the end to have his
+own way. Yielding at last to his importunities, she gave him fifteen
+dollars, charging him to “keep out of bad company and be a good boy.”
+
+“Trust me for that,” said he, and pulling the tail of Anna’s pet
+kitten, upsetting Carrie’s work-box, poking a black baby’s ribs with
+his walking cane, and knocking down a cob-house, which “Thomas
+Jefferson” had been all day building, he mounted his favorite
+“Firelock,” and together with a young negro, rode off.
+
+“The Lord send us a little peace now,” said Aunt Milly, tossing her
+squalling baby up in the air, and telling Thomas Jefferson not to cry,
+“for his young master was done gone off.”
+
+“And I hope to goodness he’ll stay off a spell,” she added, “for thar’s
+ole Sam to pay the whole time he’s at home, and if ever thar was a
+tickled critter in this world it’s me, when he clar’s out.”
+
+“I’m glad, too,” said Anna, who had been sent to the kitchen to stop
+the screaming, “and I wish he’d stay ever so long, for I don’t take a
+bit of comfort when he’s at home.”
+
+“Great hateful! I wish he didn’t live here,” said Carrie, gathering up
+her spools, thimble and scissors, while Mrs. Livingstone, feeling that
+his absence had taken a load from her shoulders, settled herself upon
+her silken lounge and tried to sleep.
+
+Amid all this rejoicing at his departure, John Jr. put spurs to the
+fleet Firelock, who soon carried him to Lexington, where, as we have
+seen, he came unexpectedly upon his father, who, not daring to trust
+him on horseback, lest he should play the truant, took him into the
+stage with himself, leaving Firelock to the care of the negro.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+THE ARRIVAL.
+
+
+“Oh, mother, get up quick—the stage has driven up at the gate, and I
+reckon pa has come,” said Anna, bursting into the room where her
+mother, who was suffering from a headache, was still in bed.
+
+Raising herself upon her elbow, and pushing aside the rich, heavy
+curtains, Mrs. Livingstone looked out upon the mud-bespattered vehicle,
+from which a leg, encased in a black and white stocking, was just
+making its egress. “Oh, heavens!” said she, burying her face again in
+the downy pillows. Woman’s curiosity, however, soon prevailed over all
+other feelings, and again looking out she obtained a full view of her
+mother-in-law, who, having emerged from the coach, was picking out her
+boxes, trunks, and so forth. When they were all found, Mr. Livingstone
+ordered two negroes to carry them to the side piazza, where they were
+soon mounted by three or four little darkies, Thomas Jefferson among
+the rest.
+
+“John, _John_” said Mrs. Nichols, “them niggers won’t scent my things,
+will they?”
+
+“Don’t talk, granny,” whispered ’Lena, painfully conscious of the
+curious eyes fixed upon them by the bevy of blacks, who had come out to
+greet their master, and who with sidelong glances at each other, were
+inspecting the new comers.
+
+“Don’t talk! why not?” said Mrs. Nichols, rather sharply. “This is a
+free country I suppose.” Then bethinking herself, she added quickly,
+“Oh, I forgot, ’taint free _here_!”
+
+After examining the satchel and finding that the night gown sleeve was
+safe, Mrs. Nichols took up her line of march for the house, herself
+carrying her umbrella and band-box, which she would not intrust to the
+care of the negroes, “as like enough they’d break the umberell, or
+squash her caps.”
+
+“The trumpery room is plenty good enough for ’em,” thought Corinda,
+retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of
+her contempt.
+
+The moment ’Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, “Oh, mercy,
+which is the oldest?” and truly, poor ’Lena did present a sorry figure,
+
+Her bonnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had received an ugly
+crook in front, which neither her grandmother or uncle had noticed, and
+of which John Jr. would not tell her, thinking that the worse she
+looked the more fun he would have! Her skirts were not very full, and
+her dress hung straight around her, making her of the same bigness from
+her head to her feet. Her shoes, which had been given to her by one of
+the neighbors, were altogether too large, and it was with considerable
+difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as they were a
+present, Mrs. Nichols said “it was a pity not to get all the good out
+of them she could.”
+
+In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Livingstone, moody,
+silent, and cross. Behind them was John Jr., mimicking first ’Lena’s
+gait and then his grandmother’s. The negroes, convulsed with laughter,
+darted hither and thither, running against and over each other, and
+finally disappearing, some behind the house and some into the kitchen,
+and all retaining a position from which they could have a full view of
+the proceedings. On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie, the one with her
+handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, and the other with her mouth open,
+astounded at the unlooked-for spectacle.
+
+“Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” groaned Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Do? Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your new relations:
+that’s what I should do,” answered John Jr., who, tired of mimicking,
+had run forward, and now rushed unceremoniously into his mother’s
+sleeping-room, leaving the door open behind him.
+
+“John Livingstone, what do you mean?” said she, “shut that door this
+minute.”
+
+Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he
+reached just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters.
+
+“This is Carrie, and this is Anna,” said Mr. Livingstone, pointing to
+each one as he pronounced her name.
+
+Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols
+exclaimed, “Now I want to know if this is Car’line. I’d no idee she was
+so big. You pretty well, Car’line?”
+
+Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother’s fingers,
+and with stately gravity replied that she was well.
+
+Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, “And this is Anny. Looks
+weakly ’pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she was
+fitty. Never have fits, do you, dear?”
+
+“No, ma’am,” answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from laughing
+outright.
+
+Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that she
+was sick, started for her room.
+
+“Sick? Is your marm sick?” asked Mrs. Nichols of John Jr. “Wall, I
+guess I’ll go right in and sea if I can’t do somethin’ for her. I’m
+tolerable good at nussin’.”
+
+Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered unannounced
+into the presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, who, with a little
+shriek, covered her head with the bed-clothes. Knowing that she meant
+well, and never dreaming that she was intruding, Mrs. Nichols walked up
+to the bedside, saying, “How de do, ’Tilda? I suppose you know I’m your
+mother—come all the way from Massachusetts to live with you. What is
+the matter? Do you take anything for your sickness?”
+
+A groan was Mrs. Livingstone’s only answer.
+
+“Little hystericky, I guess,” suggested Mrs. Nichols, adding that
+“settin’ her feet in middlin’ hot water is good for that.”
+
+“She is nervous, and the sight of strangers makes her worse. So I
+reckon you’d better go out for the present,” said Mr. Livingstone, who
+really pitied his wife. Then calling Corinda, he bade her show his
+mother to her room.
+
+Corinda obeyed, and Mrs. Nichols followed her, asking her on the way
+“what her surname was, how old she was, if she knew how to read, and if
+she hadn’t a good deal rather be free than to be a slave!” to which
+Corinda replied, that “she didn’t know what a surname meant, that she
+didn’t know how old she was, that she didn’t know how to read, and that
+she didn’t know whether she’d like to be free or not, but reckoned she
+shouldn’t.”
+
+“A half-witted gal that,” thought Mrs. Nichols, “and I guess ’Tilda
+don’t set much store by her.” Then dropping into the wooden
+rocking-chair and laying aside her bonnet, she for the first time
+noticed that ’Lena was not with her, and asked Corinda to go for her.
+
+Corinda complied, leaving the room just in time to stifle a laugh, as
+she saw Mrs. Nichols stoop down to examine the hearth-rug, wondering
+“how much it cost when ’twas new.”
+
+We left ’Lena standing on the steps of the piazza.
+
+At a glance she had taken in the whole—had comprehended that there was
+no affinity whatever between herself and the objects around her, and a
+wild, intense longing filled her heart to be once more among her native
+hills. She had witnessed the merriment of the blacks, the scornful curl
+of Carrie’s lip, the half-suppressed ridicule of Anna, when they met
+her grandmother, and now uncertain of her own reception, she stood
+before her cousins not knowing whether to advance or run away. For a
+moment there was an awkward silence, and then John Jr., bent on
+mischief, whispered to Carrie, “Look at that pinch in her bonnet, and
+just see her shoes! Big as little sailboats!”
+
+This was too much for Lena. She already disliked John Jr., and now,
+flying into a violent passion, she drew off her shoes, and hurling them
+at the young gentleman’s head fled away, away, she knew not, cared not
+whither, so that she got out of sight and hearing. Coming at last to
+the arbor bridge across the brook in the garden, she paused for breath,
+and throwing herself upon a seat, burst into a flood of tears. For
+several minutes she sobbed so loudly that she did not hear the sound of
+footsteps upon the graveled walk. Anna had followed her, partly out of
+curiosity, and partly out of pity, the latter of which preponderated
+when she saw how bitterly her cousin was weeping. Going up to her she
+said, “Don t cry so, ’Lena. Look up and talk. It’s Anna, your cousin.”
+
+’Lena had not yet recovered from her angry fit, and thinking Anna only
+came to tease her, and perhaps again ridicule her bonnet, she tore the
+article, from her head, and bending it up double, threw it into the
+stream, which carried it down to the fish-pond, where for two or three
+hours it furnished amusement for some little negroes, who, calling it a
+crab, fished for it with hook and line! For a moment Anna stood
+watching the bonnet as it sailed along down the stream, thinking it
+looked better there than on its owner’s head, but wondering why ’Lena
+had thrown it away. Then again addressing her cousin, she asked why she
+had done so?
+
+“It’s a homely old thing, and I hate it,” answered ’Lena, again
+bursting into tears. “I hate everybody, and I wish I was dead, or back
+in Massachusetts, I don’t care which!”
+
+With her impressions of the “Bay State,” where her mother said folks
+lived on “cold beans and codfish,” Anna thought she should prefer the
+first alternative, but she did not say so; and after a little she tried
+again to comfort ’Lena, telling her “she liked her, or at least she was
+going to like her a heap.”
+
+“No, you ain’t,” returned ’Lena. “You laughed at me and granny both. I
+saw you do it, and you think I don’t know anything, but I do. I’ve been
+through Olney’s geography, and Colburn’s arithmetic twice!”
+
+This was more than Anna could say. She had no scholarship of which to
+boast; but she had a heart brimful of love, and in reply to ’Lena’s
+accusation of having laughed at her, she replied, “I know I laughed,
+for grandma looked so funny I couldn’t help it. But I won’t any more. I
+pity you because your mother is dead, and you never had any father, ma
+says.”
+
+This made ’Lena cry again, while Anna continued, “Pa’ll buy you some
+new clothes I reckon, and if he don’t, I’ll give you some of mine, for
+I’ve got heaps, and they’ll fit you I most know. Here’s my mark—”
+pointing to a cut upon the door-post. “Here’s mine, and Carrie’s and
+brother’s. Stand up and see if you don’t measure like I do,”
+
+’Lena complied, and to Anna’s great joy they were just of a height.
+
+“I’m so glad,” said she. “Now, come to my room and Corinda will fix you
+up mighty nice before mother sees you.”
+
+Hand-in-hand the two girls started for the house, but had not gone far
+when they heard some one calling, “Ho, Miss ’Lena, whar is you? Ole
+miss done want you.” At the same time Corinda made her appearance round
+the corner of the piazza.
+
+“Here, Cora,” said Anna. “Come with me to my room; I want you.”
+
+With a broad grin Corinda followed her young mistress, while ’Lena,
+never having been accustomed to any negro save the one with whom many
+New England children are threatened when they cry, clung closer to
+Anna’s side, occasionally casting a timid glance toward the dark-browed
+girl who followed them. In the upper hall they met with Carrie, who in
+passing ’Lena held back her dress, as if fearing contamination from a
+contact with her cousin’s plainer garments. Painfully alive to the
+slightest insult, ’Lena reddened, while Anna said, “Never mind—that’s
+just like Cad, but nobody cares for _her_.”
+
+Thus reassured ’Lena followed on, until they reached Anna’s room, which
+they were about to enter, when the shrill voice of Mrs. Nichols fell
+upon their ears, calling, “’Leny, ’Leny, where upon airth is she?”
+
+“Let’s go to her first,” said ’Lena, and leading the way Anna soon
+ushered her into her grandmother’s room which, child as she was, ’Lena
+readily saw was far different from the handsome apartments of which she
+had obtained a passing glance.
+
+But Mrs. Nichols had not thought of this—and was doubtless better
+satisfied with her present quarters than she would have been with the
+best furnished chamber in the house. The moment her granddaughter
+appeared, she exclaimed, “’Leny Rivers, where have you been? I was
+worried to death, for fear you might be runnin’ after some of them
+paltry niggers. And now whilst I think on’t, I charge you never to go a
+nigh ’em; I’d no idee they were such half-naked, nasty critters.”
+
+This prohibition was a novelty to Anna, who spent many happy hours with
+her sable-hued companions, never deeming herself the worse for it. Her
+grandmother’s first remark, however, struck her still more forcibly,
+and she immediately asked, “Grandma, what did you call ’Lena, just now?
+’Lena what?”
+
+“I called her by her name, ’Lena Rivers. What should I call her?”
+returned Mrs. Nichols.
+
+“Why, I thought her name was ’Lena Nichols; ma said ’twas,” answered
+Anna.
+
+Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon ’Lena’s birth,
+and she rather tartly informed Anna, that “her mother didn’t know
+everything,” adding that “’Lena’s father was Mr. Rivers, and there
+wasn’t half so much reason why she should be called Nichols as there
+was why Anna should, for that was her father’s name, the one by which
+he was baptized, the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who’s jest his
+age, only he was born about a quarter past four in the morning, and she
+not till some time in the afternoon!”
+
+“But where is Mr. Rivers?” asked Anna more interested in him than in
+the exact minute of her father’s birth.
+
+“The Lord only knows,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “Little girls shouldn’t
+ask too many questions.”
+
+This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some mystery
+connected with ’Lena. The mention of Nancy Scovandyke reminded Mrs.
+Nichols of the dishes which that lady had packed away, and anxious to
+see if they were safe, she turned to ’Lena saying, “I guess we’ll have
+time before dinner to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how the
+crockery stood the racket. Anny, you run down and tell your pa to fetch
+’em up here, that’s a good girl.”
+
+In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes contained,
+Anna forgot her scheme of dressing ’Lena, and ran down, not to call her
+father, but the black boy, Adam. It took her a long time to find him,
+and Mrs. Nichols, growing impatient, determined to go herself, spite of
+’Lena’s entreaties that she would stay where she was. Passing down the
+long stairway, and out upon the piazza, she espied a negro girl on her
+hands and knees engaged in cleaning the steps with a cloth. Instantly
+remembering her mop, she greatly lamented that she had left it
+behind—“’twould come so handy now,” thought she, but there was no help
+for it.
+
+Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said, “Sissy,
+can you tell me where _John_ is?”
+
+Quickly “Sissy’s” ivories became visible, as she replied, “We hain’t
+got any such nigger as John.”
+
+With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one in
+particular, Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, “I didn’t
+ask for a _nigger_; I want your master, _John_!”
+
+Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed herself for
+thus early breaking her promise to Nancy Scovandyke. As it was, she
+mentally asked forgiveness, and as the colored girl “didn’t know where
+marster was,” but “reckoned he had gone somewhar,” she turned aside,
+and seeking her son’s room, again entered unannounced. Mrs.
+Livingstone, who was up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor.
+But Mrs. Nichols did not heed it, and advancing forward, she said, “Do
+you feel any better, ’Tilda? I’d keep kinder still to-day, and not try
+to do much, for if you feel any consarned about the housework, I’d just
+as lief see to’t a little after dinner as not.”
+
+“I have all confidence in Milly’s management, and seldom trouble myself
+about the affairs of the kitchen,” answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Wall, then,” returned her mother-in-law, nothing daunted, “Wall, then,
+mebby you’d like to have me come in and set with you a while.”
+
+It would be impossible for us to depict Mrs. Livingstone’s look of
+surprise and anger at this proposition. Her face alternately flushed
+and then grew pale, until at last she found voice to say, “I greatly
+prefer being alone, madam. It annoys me excessively to have any one
+round.”
+
+“Considerable kind o’ touchy,” thought Mrs. Nichols, “but then the poor
+critter is sick, and I shan’t lay it up agin her.”
+
+Taking out her snuff-box, she offered it to her daughter, telling her
+that “like enough ’twould cure her headache.” Mrs. Livingstone’s first
+impulse was to strike it from her mother’s hand, but knowing how
+unladylike that would be, she restrained herself, and turning away her
+head, replied, “Ugh! no! The very sight of it makes me sick.”
+
+“How you do talk! Wall, I’ve seen folks that it sarved jest so; but
+you’ll get over it. Now there was Nancy Scovandyke—did John ever say
+anything about her? Wall, she couldn’t bear snuff till after her
+disappointment—John told you, I suppose?”
+
+“No, madam, my husband has never told me anything concerning his
+eastern friends, neither do I wish to hear anything of them,” returned
+Mrs. Livingstone, her patience on the point of giving out.
+
+“Never told you nothin’ about Nancy Scovandyke! If that don’t beat all!
+Why, he was——”
+
+She was prevented from finishing the sentence, which would undoubtedly
+have raised a domestic breeze, when Anna came to tell her that the
+trunks were carried to her room.
+
+“I’ll come right up then,” said she, adding, more to herself than any
+one else, “If I ain’t mistaken, I’ve got a little paper of saffron
+somewhere, which I mean to steep for ’Tilda. Her skin looks desput
+jandissy!”
+
+When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife’s room, he found her in a
+collapsed state of anger and mortification.
+
+“_John_ Nichols,” said she, with a strong emphasis on the first word,
+which sounded very much like _Jarn_, “do you mean to kill me by
+bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room without
+knocking—calling me ’_Tilda_, and prating about Nancy somebody——”
+
+John started. His wife knew nothing of his _affaire du cœur_ with Miss
+Nancy, and for his own peace of mind ’twas desirable that she should
+not. Mentally resolving to give her a few hints, he endeavored to
+conciliate his wife, by saying that he knew “his mother was
+troublesome, but she must try not to notice her oddities.”
+
+“I wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon me
+continually,” returned his wife. “I must either deep the doors locked,
+or live in constant terror.”
+
+“It’s bad, I know,” said he, smoothing her glossy hair, “but then,
+she’s old, you know. Have you seen ’Lena?”
+
+“No, neither do I wish to, if she’s at all like her grandmother,”
+answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“She’s handsome,” suggested Mr. Livingstone.
+
+“Pshaw! handsome!” repeated his wife, scornfully, while he replied,
+“Yes, handsomer than either of our daughters, and with the same
+advantages, I’ve no doubt she’d surpass them both.”
+
+“Those advantages, then, she shall never have,” returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, already jealous of a child she had only seen at a
+distance.
+
+Mr. Livingstone made no reply, but felt that he’d made a mistake in
+praising ’Lena, in whom he began to feel a degree of interest for which
+he could not account. He did not know that way down in the depths of
+his heart, calloused over as it was by worldly selfishness, there was
+yet a tender spot, a lingering memory of his only sister whom ’Lena so
+strongly resembled. If left to himself, he would undoubtedly have taken
+pride in seeing his niece improve, and as it was, he determined that
+she should at home receive the same instruction that his daughters did.
+Perhaps he might not send her away to school. He didn’t know how that
+would be—his wife held the purse, and taking refuge behind that excuse,
+he for the present dismissed the subject. (So much for marrying a
+_rich_ wife and nothing else. This we throw in gratis!)
+
+Meantime grandma had returned to her room, at the door of which she
+found John Jr. and Carrie, both curious to know what was in those
+boxes, one of which had burst open and been tied up with a rope.
+
+“Come, children,” said she, “don’t stay out there—come in.”
+
+“We prefer remaining here,” said Carrie, in a tone and manner so nearly
+resembling her mother, that Mrs. Nichols could not refrain from saying,
+“chip of the old block!”
+
+“That’s so, by cracky. You’ve hit her this time, granny,” exclaimed
+John Jr., snapping his fingers under Carrie’s nose, which being rather
+long, was frequently a subject of his ridicule.
+
+“Let me be, John Livingstone,” said Carrie, while ’Lena resolved never
+again to use the word “granny,” which she knew her cousin had taken up
+on purpose to tease her.
+
+“Come, ’Lena, catch hold and help me untie this rope, I b’lieve the
+crockery’s in here,” said Mrs. Nichols to ’Lena, who soon opened the
+chest, disclosing to view as motley a variety of articles as is often
+seen.
+
+Among the rest was the “blue set,” a part of her “setting out,” as his
+grandmother told John Jr., at the same time dwelling at length upon
+their great value. Mistaking Carrie’s look of contempt for envy, Mrs.
+Nichols chucked her under the chin, telling her “May be there was
+something for her, if she was a good girl.”
+
+“Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your head,” said John
+Jr., vastly enjoying his sister’s vexation.
+
+“Where does your marm keep her china? I want to put this with it,” said
+Mrs. Nichols to Anna, who, uncertain what reply to make, looked at
+Carrie to answer for her.
+
+“I reckon mother don’t want that old stuff stuck into her
+china-closet,” said Carrie, elevating her nose to a height wholly
+satisfactory to John Jr., who unbuttoned one of his waistband buttons
+to give himself room to laugh.
+
+“Mortal sakes alive! I wonder if she don’t,” returned Mrs. Nichols,
+beginning to get an inkling of Carrie’s character, and the estimation
+in which her valuables were held.
+
+“Here’s a nice little cupboard over the fireplace; I’d put them here,”
+said ’Lena.
+
+“Yes,” chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother and cousin;
+“yes, granny, put ’em there; the niggers are _awful critters_ to steal,
+and like enough you’d ’lose ’em if they sot in with marm’s!”
+
+This argument prevailed. The dishes were put away in the cupboard,
+’Lena thinking that with all his badness John Jr., was of some use
+after all. At last, tired of looking on, Anna suggested to ’Lena, who
+did not seem to be helping matters forward much, that the should go and
+be dressed up as had been first proposed. Readily divining her sister’s
+intention, Carrie ran with it to her mother, who sent back word that
+“’Lena must mind her own affairs, and let Anna’s dresses alone!”
+
+This undeserved thrust made ’Lena cry, while Anna declared “her mother
+never said any such thing,” which Carrie understood as an insinuation
+that she had told a falsehood. Accordingly a quarrel of words ensued
+between the two sisters, which was finally quelled by John Jr., who
+called to Carrie “to come down, as she’d got a letter from _Durward
+Bellmont_.”
+
+Durward! How that name made ’Lena’s heart leap! Was it _her_
+Durward—the boy in the cars? She almost hoped not, for somehow the idea
+of his writing to Carrie was not a pleasant one. At last summoning
+courage, she asked Anna who he was, and was told that he lived in
+Louisville with his stepfather, Mr. Graham, and that Carrie about two
+months before had met him in Frankfort at Colonel Douglass’s, where she
+was in the habit of visiting. “Colonel Douglass,” continued Anna, “has
+got a right nice little girl whose name is Nellie. Then there’s Mabel
+Ross, a sort of cousin, who lives with them part of the time. She’s an
+orphan and a great heiress. You mustn’t tell anybody for the world, but
+I overheard ma say that she wanted John to marry Mabel, she’s so
+rich—but pshaw! he won’t for she’s awful babyish and ugly looking.
+Captain Atherton is related to Nellie, and during the holidays she and
+Mabel are coming up to spend a week, and I’ll bet Durward is coming
+too. Cad teased him, and he said may be he would if he didn’t go to
+college this fall. I’ll run down and see.”
+
+Soon returning, she brought the news that it was as she had
+conjectured. Durward, who was now travelling, was not going to college
+until the next fall and at Christmas he was coming to the country with
+his cousin.
+
+“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Anna. “We’ll have a time, for ma’ll invite them
+here, of course. Cad thinks a heap of Durward, and I want so bad to see
+him. Don’t you?”
+
+’Lena made no direct reply, for much as she would like to see her
+_compagnon du voyage_, she felt an unwillingness to meet him in the
+presence of Carrie, who she knew would spare no pains to mortify her.
+Soon forgetting Durward, Anna again alluded to her plan of dressing
+’Lena, wishing “Cad would mind her own business.” Then, as a new idea
+entered her head, she brightened up, exclaiming, “I know what I can do.
+I’ll have Corinda curl your hair real pretty. You’ve got beautiful
+hair. A heap nicer than my yellow flax.”
+
+’Lena offered no remonstrance, and Corinda, who came at the call of her
+young mistress, immediately commenced brushing and curling the bright,
+wavy hair which Anna had rightly called beautiful. While this was going
+on, Grandma Nichols, who had always adhered to the good old puritanical
+custom of dining exactly at twelve o’clock, began to wonder why dinner
+was not forthcoming. She had breakfasted in Versailles, but like many
+travelers, could not eat much at a hotel, and now her stomach clamored
+loudly for food. Three times had she walked back and forth before what
+she supposed was the kitchen, and from which a savory smell of
+something was issuing, and at last determining to stop and reconnoiter,
+she started for the door.
+
+The northern reader at all acquainted with southern life, knows well
+that a kitchen there and a kitchen here are two widely different
+things—ours, particularly in the country, being frequently used as a
+dining-room, while a southern lady would almost as soon think of eating
+in the barn as in her cook-room. Like most other planters, Mr.
+Livingstone’s kitchen was separate and at some little distance from the
+main building, causing grandma to wonder “how the poor critters managed
+to carry victuals back and to when it was cold and slippery.”
+
+When Aunt Milly, who was up to her elbows in dough, saw her visitor
+approaching, she exclaimed, “Lor’-a-mighty, if thar ain’t ole miss
+coming straight into this lookin’ hole! Jeff, you quit that ar’ pokin’
+in dem ashes, and knock Lion out that kittle; does you har? And you,
+Polly,” speaking to a superannuated negress who was sitting near the
+table, “you just shove that ar’ piece of dough, I done save to bake for
+you and me, under your char, whar she won’t see it.”
+
+Polly complied, and by this time Mrs. Nichols was at the door,
+surveying the premises, and thinking how differently she’d make things
+look after a little.
+
+“Does missus want anything?” asked Aunt Milly, and grandma replied,
+“Yes, I want to know if ’tain’t nigh about _noon_.”
+
+This is a term never used among the blacks, and rolling up her white
+eyes, Aunt Milly answered, “You done got me now, sartin, for this chile
+know nothin’ what you mean more’n the deadest critter livin’.”
+
+As well as she could, Mrs. Nichols explained her meaning, and Aunt
+Milly replied, “Oh, yes, yes, I know now. ‘Is it most _dinner time?’
+Yes—dinner’ll be done ready in an hour. We never has it till two no
+day, and when we has company not till three.”
+
+Confident that she should starve, Mrs. Nichols advanced a step or two
+into the kitchen, whereupon Aunt Milly commenced making excuses,
+saying, “she was gwine to clar up one of these days, and then if Thomas
+Jefferson and Marquis De Lafayette didn’t quit that litterin’ they’d
+cotch it”
+
+Attracted by the clean appearance of Aunt Polly, who, not having to
+work, prided herself upon always being neatly dressed, Mrs. Nichols
+walked up to her, and, to use a vulgar expression, the two old ladies
+were soon “hand-in-glove,” Mrs. Nichols informing her of her loss, and
+how sorry Nancy Scovandyke would feel when she heard of it, and ending
+by giving her the full particulars of her husband’s sickness and death.
+In return Aunt Polly said that “she was born and bred along with ole
+Marster Richards, Miss Matilda’s father, and that she, too, had buried
+a husband.”
+
+With a deep sigh, Mrs. Nichols was about, to commiserate her, when Aunt
+Polly cut her short by saying, “’Twant of no kind o’ count, as she
+never relished him much.”
+
+“Some drunken critter, I warrant,” thought Mrs. Nichols, at the same
+time asking what his name was.
+
+“Jeems,” said Aunt Polly.
+
+This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked for the
+surname, “Jeems what?”
+
+“Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein’ he ’longed to ole Marster Atherton,”
+said Polly.
+
+For a time Mrs. Nichols had forgotten her hunger but the habit of sixty
+years was not so easily broken and she now hinted so strongly of the
+emptiness of her stomach that Aunt Polly, emboldened by her
+familiarity, said, “I never wait for the rest, but have my cup of tea
+or coffee just when I feel like it, and if missus wouldn’t mind takin’
+a bite with a nigger, she’s welcome.”
+
+“Say nothin’ about it. We shall all be white in heaven.”
+
+“Dat am de trufe,” muttered Milly, mentally assigning Mrs. Nichols a
+more exalted occupation than that of turning hoe-cakes!
+
+Two cups and saucers were forthwith produced, Milly acting as a waiter
+for fear Aunt Polly would leave her seat and so disclose to view the
+loaf of bread which had been hidden under the chair! Some coffee was
+poured from the pot, which still stood on the stove, and then the
+little negroes, amused with the novelty of the thing, ran shouting and
+yelling that, “ole miss was eatin’ in the kitchen ’long with Lion, Aunt
+Polly and the other dogs!”
+
+The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, thinking
+“what sights of comfort she should take with _Mrs. Atherton_,” whom she
+pronounced to be “a likely, clever woman as ever was.”
+
+Scarcely had she reached her room when the dinner-bell rang, every note
+falling like an ice-bolt on the heart of ’Lena, who, though hungry like
+her grandmother, still greatly dreaded the dinner, fearing her
+inability to acquit herself creditably. Corinda had finished her hair,
+and Anna, looking over her wardrobe and coming upon the black dress
+which her father had purchased for her, had insisted upon ’Lena’s
+wearing it. It was of rather more modern make than any of her other
+dresses, and when her toilet was completed, she looked uncommonly well.
+Still she trembled violently as Anna led her to the dining-room.
+
+Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made their
+appearance, but the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped in a
+rose-colored shawl, which John Jr., said “she wore to give a delicate
+tint to her yellow complexion.” She was in the worst of humors, having
+just been opening her husband’s trunk, where she found the numerous
+articles which had been stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke. Very angrily
+she had ordered them removed from her sight, and at this very moment
+the little negroes in the yard were playing with the cracked bellows,
+calling them a “blubber,” and filling them with water to see it run
+out!
+
+Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen ’Lena, and
+now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna said,
+“Mother, mother, this is ’Lena. Look at her.”
+
+Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which
+she was prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for ’Lena was
+not a child to be looked upon and despised. Plain and humble as was her
+dress, there was something in her fine, open face, which at once
+interested and commanded respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father had
+felt it; and his mother felt it too, but it awoke in her a feeling of
+bitterness as she thought how the fair young girl before her might in
+time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw that ’Lena was
+beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of intellect as of
+feature and form.
+
+“Yes,” thought she, “husband was right when he said that, with the same
+advantages, she’d soon outstrip her cousins—but it shall never
+be—_never_,” and the white teeth shut firmly together, as the cold,
+proud woman bowed a welcome.
+
+At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared. Stimulated by the example of
+’Lena, she, too, had changed her dress, and now in black bombazine,
+white muslin cap, and shining silk apron, she presented so respectable
+an appearance that her son’s face instantly brightened.
+
+“Come, mother, we are waiting for you,” said he, as she stopped on her
+way to ask Vine, the _fly girl_, “how she did, and if it wasn’t hard
+work to swing them feathers.”
+
+Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, “Dun know, miss.”
+
+Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a plate
+of soup, “I don’t often eat broth, besides that, I ain’t much hungry,
+as I’ve just been takin’ a bite with _Miss Atherton_?”
+
+“With whom?” asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in the
+same breath.
+
+“With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the kitchen,”
+said Mrs. Nichols.
+
+The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone’s face darkened visibly, while her
+husband, thinking it time to speak, said, “It is my wish, mother, that
+you keep away from the kitchen. It does the negroes no good to be
+meddled with, and besides that, when you are hungry the servants will
+take you something.”
+
+“Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,” muttered Carrie, with all
+the air of a young lady of twenty.
+
+“Hold on to your nose, Cad,” whispered John Jr., thereby attracting his
+sister’s attention to himself.
+
+By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared.
+
+“What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain’t it?” asked Mrs. Nichols,
+touching the turkey with the knife.
+
+John Jr., roared, and was ordered from the table by his father, while
+’Lena, who stepped on her grandmother’s toes to keep her from talking,
+was told by that lady “to keep her feet still.” Along with the desert
+came ice-cream, which Mrs. Nichols had never before tasted, and now
+fancying that she was dreadfully burned, she quickly deposited her
+first mouthful upon her plate.
+
+“What’s the matter, grandma? Can’t you eat it?” asked Anna.
+
+“Yes, I kin eat it, but I don’t hanker arter it,” answered her
+grandmother, pushing the plate aside.
+
+Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but soon growing
+weary, she started out to view the premises. Coming suddenly upon a
+group of young negroes, she discovered her bellows, the water dripping
+from the nose, while a little farther on she espied ’Lena’s bonnet,
+which the negroes had at last succeeded in catching, and which, wet as
+it was, now adorned the head of Thomas Jefferson! In a trice the old
+lady’s principles were forgotten, and she cuffed the negroes with a
+right good will, hitting Jeff, the hardest, and, as a matter of course,
+making him yell the loudest. Out came Aunt Milly, scolding and
+muttering about “white folks tendin’ to thar own business,” and
+reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. Nichols’ position in the
+next world. Cuff, the watch-dog, whose kennell was close by, set up a
+tremendous howling, while John Jr., always on hand, danced a jig to the
+sound of the direful music.
+
+“For heaven’s sake, husband, go out and see what’s the matter,” said
+Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual noise.
+
+John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch a glimpse of
+John Jr.’s heels as he gave the finishing touch to his exploit, while
+Mrs. Nichols, highly incensed, marched from the field of battle with
+the bonnet and bellows, thinking “if them niggers was only her’n they’d
+catch it!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+MALCOLM EVERETT.
+
+
+It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to
+enumerate the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone
+were compelled to endure from their mother, who gradually came to
+understand her true position in the family. One by one her ideas of
+teaching them economy were given up, as was also all hopes of ever
+being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her son’s request,
+she had ceased to call “’Tilda.”
+
+“Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone,” said she, “but I shan’t.
+I’ll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she chooses.”
+
+Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every
+time she heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow a
+disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had
+requested his mother to keep it from his wife, and she, appreciating
+his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting the while the ill-fortune which
+had prevented Nancy from being her daughter-in-law, and dwelling
+frequently upon the comfort she should take were Nancy there in
+Matilda’s place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably contented;
+the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last, like most
+northern people, she fell in with the habits of those around her. Still
+her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and many a letter,
+wonderful for its composition and orthography, found its way to Nancy
+Scovandyke, who wrote in return that “some time or other she should
+surely visit Kentucky,” asking further if the “big bugs” didn’t prefer
+eastern teachers for their children, and hinting at her desire to
+engage in that capacity when she came south!
+
+“Now, that’s the very thing,” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding the
+letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting. “Nancy’s
+larnin’ is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and Anny, and I mean to
+speak to John about it right away.”
+
+“I wouldn’t do any such thing,” said ’Lena, seeing at a glance how such
+a proposal would be received.
+
+“Why not?” asked Mrs. Nichols, and ’Lena replied, “I don’t think Nancy
+would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and besides that, they’ve engaged a
+teacher, a Mr. Everett, and expect him next week.”
+
+“You don’t say so?” returned Mrs. Nichols. “I never hearn a word on’t.
+Where ’bouts is he from, and how much do they give him a week?”
+
+The latter ’Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that “she believed
+he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, New York.”
+
+“Why, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister lives there. I wouldn’t wonder if he
+knew her.”
+
+“Very likely,” returned Lena, catching her bonnet and hurrying off to
+ride with Captain Atherton and Anna.
+
+As we have once before observed, Anna was a great favorite with the
+captain, who had petted her until John Jr. teased her unmercifully,
+calling him her gray-haired lover, and the like. This made Anna
+exceedingly sensitive, and now when the captain called for her to ride,
+as he frequently did, she refused to go unless the invitation was also
+extended to ’Lena, who in this way got many a pleasant ride around the
+country. She was fast learning to like Kentucky, and would have been
+very happy had her aunt and Carrie been a little more gracious. But the
+former seldom spoke to her, and the latter only to ridicule something
+which she said or did.
+
+Many and amusing were the disputes between the two girls concerning
+their peculiarities of speech, Carrie bidding ’Lena “quit her Yankee
+habit of eternally _guessing_,” and ’Lena retorting that “she would
+when Carrie stopped her everlasting _reckoning_.” To avoid the remarks
+of the neighbors, who she knew were watching her narrowly, Mrs.
+Livingstone had purchased ’Lena two or three dresses, which, though
+greatly inferior to those worn by Carrie and Anna, were still
+fashionably made, and so much improved ’Lena’s looks, that her manners
+improved, also, for what child does not appear to better advantage when
+conscious of looking well? More than once had her uncle’s hand rested
+for a moment on her brown curls, while his thoughts were traversing the
+past, and in fancy his fingers were again straying among the silken
+locks now resting in the grave. It would seem as if the mother from her
+coffin was pleading for her child, for all the better nature of Mr.
+Livingstone was aroused; and when he secured the services of Mr.
+Everett, who was highly recommended both as a scholar and gentleman, he
+determined that ’Lena should share the same advantages with his
+daughters. To this Mrs. Livingstone made no serious objection, for as
+Mr. Everett would teach in the house, it would not do to debar ’Lena
+from the privilege of attending his school; and as the highest position
+to which she could aspire was to be governess in some private family,
+she felt willing, she said, that she should have a chance of acquiring
+the common branches.
+
+And now Mr. Everett was daily expected. Anna, who had no fondness for
+books, greatly dreaded his arrival, thinking within herself how many
+pranks she’d play off upon him, provided ’Lena would lend a helping
+hand, which she much doubted. John Jr., too, who for a time, at least,
+was to be placed under Mr. Everett’s instruction, felt in no wise eager
+for his arrival, fearing, as he told ’Lena that “between the ‘old man’
+and the tutor, he would be kept a little too straight for a gentleman
+of his habits;” and it was with no particular emotions of pleasure that
+he and Anna saw the stage stop before the gate one pleasant morning
+toward the middle of November. Running to one of the front windows,
+Carrie, ’Lena, and Anna watched their new teacher, each after her own
+fashion commenting upon his appearance.
+
+“Ugh,” exclaimed Anna, “what a green, boyish looking thing! I reckon
+nobody’s going to be afraid of him.”
+
+“I say he’s real handsome,” said Carrie, who being thirteen years of
+age, had already, in her own mind, practiced many a little coquetry
+upon the stranger.
+
+“I like him,” was ’Lena’s brief remark.
+
+Mr. Everett was a pale, intellectual looking man, scarcely twenty years
+of age, and appearing still younger so that Anna was not wholly wrong
+when she called him boyish. Still there was in his large black eye a
+firmness and decision which bespoke the man strong within him, and
+which put to flight all of Anna’s preconceived notions of rebellion.
+With the utmost composure he returned Mrs. Livingstone’s greeting, and
+the proud lady half bit her lip with vexation as she saw how little he
+seemed awed by her presence.
+
+Malcolm Everett was not one to acknowledge superiority where there was
+none, and though ever polite toward Mrs. Livingstone, there was
+something in his manner which forbade her treating him as aught save an
+equal. He was not to be trampled down, and for once in her life Mrs.
+Livingstone had found a person who would neither cringe to her nor
+flatter. The children were not presented to him until dinner time,
+when, with the air of a young desperado, John Jr. marched into the
+dining-room, eying, his teacher askance, calculating his strength, and
+returning his greeting with a simple nod. Mr. Everett scanned him from
+head to foot, and then turned to Carrie half smiling at the great
+dignity which she assumed. With ’Lena and Anna he seemed better
+pleased, holding their hands and smiling down upon them through rows of
+teeth which Anna pronounced the whitest she had ever seen.
+
+Mr. Livingstone was not at home, and when his mother appeared, Mrs.
+Livingstone did not think proper to introduce her. But if by this
+omission she thought to keep the old lady silent, she was mistaken, for
+the moment Mrs. Nichols was seated, she commenced with, “Your name is
+Everett, I b’lieve?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” said he, bowing very gracefully toward her.
+
+“Any kin to the governor that was?”
+
+“No, ma’am, none whatever,” and the white teeth became slightly visible
+for a moment, but soon disappeared.
+
+“You are from Rockford, ’Lena tells me?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am. Have you friends there?”
+
+“Yes—or that is, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister, Betsy Scovandyke that used
+to be, lives there. May be you know her. Her name is Bacon—Betsy Bacon.
+She’s a widder and keeps boarders.”
+
+“Ah,” said he, the teeth this time becoming wholly visible, “I’ve heard
+of Mrs. Bacon, but have not the honor of her acquaintance. You are from
+the east, I perceive.”
+
+“Law, now! how did you know that!” asked Mrs. Nichols, while Mr.
+Everett answered, “I _guessed_ at it,” with a peculiar emphasis on the
+word guessed, which led ’Lena to think he had used it purposely and not
+from habit.
+
+Mr. Everett possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of making
+those around him both respect and like him, and ere six weeks had
+passed, he had won the love of all his pupils. Even John Jr. was
+greatly improved, and Carrie seemed suddenly reawakened into a thirst
+for knowledge, deeming no task too long, and no amount of study too
+hard, if it won the commendation of her teacher. ’Lena, who committed
+to memory with great ease, and who consequently did not deserve so much
+credit for her always perfect lessons, seldom received a word of
+praise, while poor Anna, notoriously lazy when books were concerned,
+cried almost every day, because as she said, “Mr. Everett didn’t like
+her as he did the rest, else why did he look at her so much, watching
+her all the while, and keeping her after school to get her lessons
+over, when he knew how she hated them.”
+
+Once Mrs. Livingstone ventured to remonstrate, telling him that Anna
+was very sensitive, and required altogether different treatment from
+Carrie. “She thinks you dislike her,” said she, “and while she retains
+this impression, she will do nothing as far as learning is concerned;
+so if you do not like her, try and make her think you do!”
+
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Everett’s dark eyes as he answered,
+“You may think it strange, Mrs. Livingstone, but of all my pupils I
+love Anna the best! I know I find more fault with her, and am perhaps
+more severe with her than with the rest, but it’s because I would make
+her what I wish her to be. Pardon me, madam, but Anna does not possess
+the same amount of intellect with her cousin or sister, but by proper
+culture she will make a fine, intelligent woman.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone hardly relished being told that one child was inferior
+to the other, but she could not well help herself—Mr. Everett would say
+what he pleased—and thus the conference ended. From that time Mr.
+Everett was exceedingly kind to Anna, wiping away the tears which
+invariably came when told that she must stay with him in the
+school-room after the rest were gone; then, instead of seating himself
+in rigid silence at a distance until her task was learned, he would sit
+by her side, occasionally smoothing her long curls and speaking
+encouragingly to her as she pored over some hard rule of grammar, or
+puzzled her brains with some difficult problem in Colburn. Erelong the
+result of all this became manifest. Anna grew fonder of her books, more
+ready to learn, and—more willing to be kept after school!
+
+Ah, little did Mrs. Livingstone think what she was doing when she bade
+young Malcolm Everett make her warm-hearted, impulsive daughter _think_
+he liked her!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+SCHEMING.
+
+
+“Mother, where’s ’Lena’s dress? Hasn’t she got any?” asked Anna, one
+morning, about two weeks before Christmas, as she bent over a
+promiscuous pile of merinoes, delaines, and plaid silks, her own and
+Carrie’s dresses for the coming holidays. “Say, mother, didn’t you buy
+’Lena any?”
+
+Thus interrogated, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder if you think I’m
+made of money! ’Lena is indebted to me now for more than she can ever
+pay. As long as I give her a home and am at so much expense in
+educating her, she of course can’t expect me to dress her as I do you.
+There’s Carrie’s brown delaine and your blue one, which I intend to
+have made over for her, and she ought to be satisfied with that, for
+they are much better than anything she had when she came here.”
+
+And the lady glanced toward the spot where ’Lena sat, admiring the new
+things, in which she had no share, and longing to ask the question
+which Anna had asked for her, and which had now been answered. John
+Jr., who was present, and who knew that Mr. Everett had been engaged to
+teach in the family long before it was known that ’Lena was coming, now
+said to his cousin, who arose to leave, “Yes, ’Lena, mother’s a model
+of generosity, and you’ll never be able to repay her for her kindness
+in allowing you to wear the girls’ old duds, which would otherwise be
+given to the blacks, and in permitting you to recite to Mr. Everett,
+who, of course, was hired on your account.”
+
+The slamming together of the door as ’Lena left the room brought the
+young gentleman’s remarks to a close, and wishing to escape the lecture
+which he saw was preparing for him, he, too, made his exit.
+
+Christmas was coming, and with it Durward Bellmont, and about his
+coming Mrs. Livingstone felt some little anxiety. Always scheming, and
+always looking ahead, she was expecting great results from this visit.
+Durward was not only immensely wealthy, but was also descended on his
+father’s side from one of England’s noblemen. Altogether he was, she
+thought, a “decided catch,” and though he was now only sixteen, while
+Carrie was but thirteen, lifelong impressions had been made at even an
+earlier period, and Mrs. Livingstone resolved that her pretty daughter
+should at least have all the advantages of dress with which to set off
+her charms. Concerning Anna’s appearance she cared less, for she had
+but little hope of her, unless, indeed—but ’twas too soon to think of
+that—she would wait, and perhaps in good time ’twould all come round
+naturally and as a matter of course. So she encouraged her daughter’s
+intimacy with Captain Atherton, who, until Malcolm Everett appeared,
+was in Anna’s estimation the best man living. Now, however, she made an
+exception in favor of her teacher, “who,” as she told the captain,
+“neither wore false teeth, nor kept in his pocket a pair of specks, to
+be slyly used when he fancied no one saw him.”
+
+Captain Atherton coughed, colored, laughed, and saying that “Mr.
+Everett was a mash kind of a boy,” swore eternal enmity toward him, and
+under the mask of friendship—watched! Eleven years before, when Anna
+was a baby, Mrs. Livingstone had playfully told the captain, who was
+one day deploring his want of a wife, that if he would wait he should
+have her daughter. To this he agreed, and the circumstance, trivial as
+it was, made a more than ordinary impression upon his mind; and though
+he as yet had no definite idea that the promise would ever be
+fulfilled, the little girl was to him an object of uncommon interest.
+Mrs. Livingstone knew this, and whenever Anna’s future prospects were
+the subject of her meditations, she generally fell back upon that fact
+as an item not to be despised.
+
+Now, however, her thoughts were turned into another and widely
+different channel. Christmas week was to be spent by Durward Bellmont
+partly at Captain Atherton’s and partly at her own house, and as Mrs.
+Livingstone was not ignorant of the effect a becoming dress has upon a
+pretty face, she determined that Carrie should, at least, have that
+advantage. Anna, too, was to fare like her sister, while no thought was
+bestowed upon poor ’Lena’s wardrobe, until her husband, who accompanied
+her to Frankfort, suggested that a certain pattern, which he fancied
+would be becoming to ’Lena should be purchased.
+
+With an angry scowl, Mrs. Livingstone muttered something about
+“spending so much money for other folks’ young ones.” Then remembering
+the old delaines, and knowing by the tone of her husband’s voice that
+he was in earnest, she quickly rejoined, “Why, ’Lena’s got two new
+dresses at home.”
+
+Never doubting his wife’s word, Mr. Livingstone was satisfied, and
+nothing more was said upon the subject. Business of importance made it
+necessary for him to go for a few weeks to New Orleans, and he was now
+on his way thither, his wife having accompanied him as far as
+Frankfort, where he took the boat, while she returned home. When ’Lena
+left the room after learning that she had no part in the mass of
+Christmas finery, she repaired to the arbor bridge, where she had wept
+so bitterly on the first day of her arrival, and which was now her
+favorite resort. For a time she sat watching the leaping waters,
+swollen by the winter rains, and wondering if it were not possible that
+they started at first from the pebbly spring which gushed so cool and
+clear from the mountain-side near her old New England home. This
+reminded her of where and what she was now—a dependent on the bounty of
+those who wished her away, and who almost every day of her life made
+her feel it so keenly, too. Not one among them loved her except Anna,
+and would not her affection change as they grew older? Then her
+thoughts took another direction.
+
+Durward Bellmont was coming—but did she wish to see him? Could she bear
+the sneering remarks which she knew Carrie would make concerning
+herself? And how would he be affected by them? Would he ask her of her
+father? and if so, what had she to say?
+
+Many a time had she tried to penetrate the dark mystery of her birth,
+but her grandmother was wholly non-committal. Once, too, when her uncle
+seemed kinder than usual, she had ventured to ask him of her father,
+and with a frown he had replied, that “the least she knew of him the
+better!” Still ’Lena felt sure that he was a good man, and that some
+time or other she would find him.
+
+All day long the clouds had been threatening rain, which began to fall
+soon after ’Lena entered the arbor, but so absorbed was she in her own
+thoughts, that she did not observe it until her clothes were perfectly
+dampened; then starting up, she repaired to the house. For several days
+she had not been well, and this exposure brought on a severe cold,
+which confined her to her room for nearly two weeks. Meantime the
+dress-making process went on, Anna keeping ’Lena constantly apprised of
+its progress, and occasionally wearing in some article for her
+inspection. This reminded ’Lena of her own wardrobe, and knowing that
+it would not be attended to while she was sick, she made such haste to
+be well, that on Thursday at tea-time she took her accustomed seat at
+the table. After supper she lingered awhile in the parlor, hoping
+something would be said, but she waited in vain, and was about leaving,
+when a few words spoken by Carrie in an adjoining room caught her ear
+and arrested her attention.
+
+They were—“And so ’Lena came down to-night. I dare say she thinks
+you’ll set Miss Simpson at work upon my old delaine.”
+
+“Perhaps so,” returned Mrs. Livingstone, “but I don’t see how Miss
+Simpson can do it, unless you put off having that silk apron
+embroidered.”
+
+“I shan’t do any such thing,” said Carrie, glad of an excuse to keep
+’Lena out of the way. “What matter is it if she don’t come down when
+the company are here? I’d rather she wouldn’t, for she’s so green and
+awkward, and Durward is so fastidious in such matters, that I’d rather
+he wouldn’t know she’s a relative of ours! I know he’d tell his mother,
+and they say she is very particular about his associates.”
+
+’Lena’s first impulse was to defy her cousin to her face—to tell her
+she had seen Durward Bellmont, and that he didn’t laugh at her either.
+But her next thought was calmer and more rational. Possibly under
+Carrie’s influence he might make fun of her, and resolving on no
+condition whatever to make herself visible while he was in the house,
+she returned to her room, and throwing herself upon the bed, wept until
+she fell asleep.
+
+“When is Miss Simpson going to fix ’Lena’s dress?” asked Anna, as day
+after day passed, and nothing was said of the brown delaine.
+
+For an instant Miss Simpson’s nimble fingers were still, as she awaited
+the answer to a question which had occurred to her several times. She
+was a kind-hearted, intelligent girl, find at a glance had seen how
+matters stood. She, too, was an orphan, and her sympathies were all
+enlisted in behalf of the neglected ’Lena. She had heard from Anna of
+the brown delaine, and in her own mind she had determined that it
+should be fitted with the utmost taste of which she was capable.
+
+Her speculations, however, were brought to a close by Mrs.
+Livingstone’s saying in reply to Anna, that “’Lena seemed so wholly
+uninterested, and cared so little about seeing the company, she had
+decided not to have the dress fixed until after Christmas week.”
+
+The fiery expression of two large, glittering eyes, which at that
+moment peered in at the door, convinced Miss Simpson that her employer
+had hardly told the truth, and she secretly determined that ’Lena
+should have the dress whether she would or not. Accordingly, the next
+time she and Anna were alone, she asked for the delaine, entrusting her
+secret to Anna, who, thinking no harm, promised to keep it from her
+mother. But to get ’Lena fitted was a more difficult matter. Her spirit
+was roused, and for a time she resisted their combined efforts. At
+last, however, she yielded, and by working late at night in her own
+room, Miss Simpson managed to finished the dress, in which ’Lena really
+looked better than did either of her cousins in their garments of far
+richer materials. Still she was resolved not to go down, and Anna,
+fearing what her mother might say, dared not urge her very strongly
+hoping, though, that “something would turn up.”
+
+
+Durward Bellmont, Nellie Douglass, and Mabel Ross had arrived at
+Captain Atherton’s. Mrs. Livingstone and her daughters had called upon
+them, inviting them to spend a few days at Maple Grove, where they were
+to meet some other young people “selected from the wealthiest families
+in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Livingstone said, at the same time patting
+the sallow cheek of Mabel, whose reputed hundred thousand she intended
+should one day increase the importance of her own family.
+
+The invitation was accepted—the day had arrived, the guests were
+momentarily expected, and Carrie, before the long mirror, was admiring
+herself, alternately frowning upon John Jr., who was mimicking her
+“airs,” and scolding Anna for fretting because ’Lena could not be
+induced to join them. Finding that her niece was resolved not to
+appear, Mrs. Livingstone, for looks’ sake, had changed her tactics,
+saying, “’Lena could come down if she chose—she was sure there was
+nothing to prevent.”
+
+Knowing this, Anna had exhausted all her powers of eloquence upon her
+cousin. But she still remained inexorable, greatly to the astonishment
+of her grandmother who for several days had been suffering from a
+rheumatic affection, notwithstanding which she “meant to hobble down if
+possible, for” said she, “I want to see this Durward Bellmont. Matilda
+says he’s got _Noble_ blood in him. I used to know a family of Nobles
+in Massachusetts, and I think like as not he’s some kin!”
+
+Carrie, to whom this remark was made, communicated it to her mother,
+who forthwith repaired to Mrs. Nichols’ room, telling her “that ’twas a
+child’s party,” and hinting pretty strongly that she was neither wanted
+nor expected in the parlor, and would confer a great favor by keeping
+aloof.
+
+“Wall, wall,” said Mrs. Nichols, who had learned to dread her
+daughter’s displeasure, “I’d as lief stay up here as not, but I do want
+’Lena to jine ’em. She’s young and would enjoy it.”
+
+Without a word of answer Mrs. Livingstone walked away, leaving ’Lena
+more determined than ever not to go down. When the evening at last
+arrived, Anna insisted so strongly upon her wearing the delaine, for
+fear of what might happen, that ’Lena consented, curling her hair with
+great care, and feeling a momentary thrill of pride as she saw how well
+she looked.
+
+“When we get nicely to enjoying ourselves,” said Anna, “you come down
+and look through the glass door, for I do want you to see Durward, he’s
+so handsome—but there’s the carriage—I must go;” and away ran Anna down
+the stairs, while ’Lena flew to one of the front windows to see the
+company as they rode up.
+
+First came Captain Atherton’s carriage, and in it the captain and his
+maiden sister, together with a pale, sickly-looking girl, whom ’Lena
+knew to be Mabel Ross. Behind them rode Durward Bellmont, and at his
+side, on a spirited little pony was another girl, thirteen or fourteen
+years of age, but in her long riding-dress looking older, because
+taller. ’Lena readily guessed that this was Nellie Douglass, and at a
+glance she recognized the Durward of the cars—grown handsomer and
+taller since then, she thought. With a nimble bound he leaped from his
+saddle, kissing his hand to Carrie, who with her sunniest smile ran
+past him to welcome Nellie. A pang, not of jealousy, but of an
+undefined something, shot through ’Lena’s heart, and dropping the heavy
+curtain, she turned away, while the tears gathered thickly in her large
+brown eyes.
+
+“Where’s ’Lena?” asked Captain Atherton, of Anna, warming his red
+fingers before the blazing grate, and looking round upon the group of
+girls gathered near. Glancing at her mother, Anna replied, “She says
+she don’t want to come down.”
+
+“Bashful,” returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass asked, “who
+’Lena was,” at the same time returning the _pinch_ which John Jr. had
+slyly given her as a mode of showing his preference, for Nellie _was_
+his favorite.
+
+Fearful of Anna’s reply, Mrs. Livingstone answered, carelessly, “She’s
+the child of one of Mr. Livingstone’s poor relations, and we’ve taken
+her awhile out of charity.”
+
+At any other time John Jr. would doubtless have questioned his mother’s
+word, but now so engrossed was he with the merry, hoydenish Nellie,
+that he scarcely heard her remark, or noticed the absence of ’Lena.
+With the exception of his cousin, Nellie was the only girl whom John
+Jr. could endure—“the rest,” he said, “were so stuck up and affected.”
+
+For Mabel Ross, he seemed to have a particular aversion. Not because
+she was so very disagreeable, but because his mother continually
+reminded him of what she hoped would one day be, “and this,” he said,
+“was enough to make a ‘feller’ hate a girl.” So without considering
+that Mabel was not to blame, he ridiculed her unmercifully, calling her
+“a bundle of medicine,” and making fun of her thin, sallow face, which
+really appeared to great disadvantage when contrasted with Nellie’s
+bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks.
+
+When the guests were all assembled, Carrie, not knowing whether Durward
+Bellmont would relish plays, seated herself demurely upon the sofa,
+prepared to act the dignified young lady, or any other character she
+might think necessary.
+
+“Get up, Cad,” said John Jr. “Nobody’s going to act like they were at a
+funeral; get up, and let’s play something.”
+
+As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and erelong
+the joyous shouts reached ’Lena, making her half wish that she, too,
+was there. Remembering Anna’s suggestion of looking through the glass
+door she stole softly down the stairs, and stationing herself behind
+the door, looked in on the scene. Mr. Everett, usually so dignified,
+had joined in the game, claiming “forfeits” from Anna more frequently
+than was considered at all necessary by the captain, who for a time
+looked jealously on, and then declaring himself as young as any of
+them, joined them with a right good will.
+
+“Blind man’s buff,” was next proposed, and ’Lena’s heart leaped up, for
+that was her favorite game. John Jr. was first blinded, but he caught
+them so easily that all declared he could see, and loud were the calls
+for Durward to take his place. This he willingly did, and whether he
+could see or not, he suffered them to pass directly under his hands,
+thus giving entire satisfaction. On account of the heat of the rooms,
+Anna, on passing the glass door, threw it open, and the next time
+Durward came round he marched directly into the hall, seizing ’Lena,
+who was trying to hide.
+
+Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, “Anna, you are caught.”
+
+“No, I ain’t Anna; let me go,” said ’Lena, struggling to escape.
+
+This brought all the girls to the spot, while Durward, snatching the
+muffler from his eyes, looked down with astonishment upon the trembling
+’Lena, who would have escaped had she not been so securely hemmed in.
+
+“Ain’t you ashamed, ’Lena, to be peeking?” asked Carrie, while Durward
+repeated—“’_Lena_! ’_Lena_! I’ve seen her before in the cars between
+Springfield and Albany; but how came she here?”
+
+“She lives here—she’s our cousin,” said Anna, notwithstanding the
+twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not care to have the
+relationship exposed.
+
+“Your cousin,” said Durward, “and where’s the old lady who was with
+her?”
+
+“The one she called _granny_?” asked John Jr., on purpose to rouse up
+his fiery little cousin.
+
+“No, I don’t call her _granny_, neither—I’ve quit it,” said ’Lena,
+angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk, “she’s up _stars_, sick
+with the rheumatism.”
+
+“Good,” said Durward, “but why are you not down here with us?”
+
+“I didn’t want to come,” was her reply; and Durward, leading her into
+the parlor, continued, “but now that you are here, you must stay.”
+
+“Pretty, isn’t she,” said Nellie, as the full blaze of the chandelier
+fell upon ’Lena.
+
+“Rath-er,” was Carrie’s hesitating reply.
+
+She felt annoyed that ’Lena should be in the parlor, and provoked that
+Durward should notice her in any way, and at the first opportunity she
+told him “how much she both troubled and mortified them, by her
+vulgarity and obstinacy,” adding that “she had a most violent temper.”
+From Nellie she had learned that Durward particularly disliked
+passionate girls, and for this reason she strove to give him the
+impression that ’Lena was such an one. Once or twice she fancied him
+half inclined to disbelieve her, as he saw how readily ’Lena joined in
+their amusements, and how good-humoredly she bore John Jr.’s teasing,
+and then she hoped something would occur to prove her words true. Her
+wish was gratified.
+
+The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young people to the
+house. About ten o’clock the negro who had been to the post-office
+returned, bringing letters for the family, among which was one for
+’Lena, so curious in its shape and superscription, that even the negro
+grinned as he handed it out. ’Lena was not then present, and Carrie,
+taking the letter, exclaimed, “Now if this isn’t the last specimen from
+Yankeedom. Just listen,—” and she spelled out the direction—“_To Mis
+HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey post
+offis, care of Mis nichals_.”
+
+Unobserved by any one, ’Lena had entered the parlor in time to hear
+every word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy her, held out the letter,
+saying, “Here, _Helleny_, I _guess_ this came from down east,” she
+darted forward, and striking the letter from Carrie’s hands stamped
+upon it with her foot, declaring “she’d never open it in the world,”
+and saying “they might do what they pleased with it for all of her.”
+
+“Read it—may we read it?” eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to see ’Lena
+doing such justice to her reputation.
+
+“Yes, read it!” almost screamed ’Lena, and before any one could
+interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and commenced reading,
+announcing, first, that it came from “Joel Slocum!” It was as follows:
+
+“Dear Helleny, mebby you’ll wonder when you see a letter from me, but
+I’ll be hanged if I can help ’ritin’, I am so confounded lonesome now
+you are gone, that I dun know nothing what to do with myself. So I set
+on the great rock where the saxefax grows; and think, and think till it
+seems ’s ef my head would bust open. Wall, how do you git along down
+amongst them heathenish Kentucks & niggers? I s’pose there ain’t no
+great difference between ’em, is there? When I git a little more
+larnin’, I b’lieve I’ll come down there to keep school. O, I forgot to
+tell you that our old line back cow has got a calf—the prettiest little
+critter—Dad has gin her to me, and I call her Helleny, I do, I swow!
+And when she capers round she makes me think of the way you danced
+‘High putty Martin’ the time you stuck a sliver in your heel—”
+
+Up to this point ’Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud shouts of her
+companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes burned within and
+flashed from her eyes. And now springing forward, she caught the letter
+from Carrie’s hand, and inflicting a long scratch upon her forehead,
+fled from the room. Had not Durward Bellmont been present, Carrie would
+have flown after her cousin, to avenge the insult, and even now she was
+for a moment thrown off her guard, and starting forward, exclaimed,
+“the tigress!”
+
+Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, Durward gently
+wiped the blood from her white brow, saying “Never mind. It is not a
+deep scratch.”
+
+“I wish ’twas deeper,” muttered John Jr. “You’d no business to serve
+her so mean.”
+
+An angry retort rose to Carrie’s lips, but, just in time to prevent its
+utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, “It was too bad to tease her so,
+but we were all more or less to blame, and I’m not sure but we ought to
+apologize.”
+
+Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she’d apologize to such
+as ’Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough to give Durward
+the impression that she was doing, her best to make amends for her
+fault. Accordingly, the next time her cousin appeared in the parlor she
+was all smiles and affability, talking a great deal to ’Lena, who
+returned very short but civil answers, while her face wore a look which
+Durward construed into defiance and hatred of everybody and everything.
+
+“Too passionate,” thought he, turning from her to Carrie, whose voice,
+modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and musical, as she
+sported and laughed with her moody cousin, appearing the very essence
+of sweetness and amiability!
+
+Pity he could not have known how bitterly ’Lena had wept over her hasty
+action—not because _he_ witnessed it, but because she knew it was
+wrong! Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which she
+laid on Carrie’s work-box, and in which was written, “I am sorry,
+Carrie, that I hurt you so. I didn’t know what I was about, but I will
+try and not get so angry again.”
+
+Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt with which Carrie
+perused this note; and when the two girls accidentally met in the upper
+hall, and ’Lena laid her hand gently on Carrie’s arm, it is a thousand
+pities he was not present to see how fiercely she was repulsed, Carrie
+exclaiming, “Get out of my sight! _I hate you_, and so do all of them
+downstairs, Durward in particular.”
+
+Had he known all this he would have thought differently of ’Lena, who,
+feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept herself entirely
+aloof, never again appearing during the remainder of his stay. Once
+Durward asked for her, and half laughingly Carrie replied, that “she
+had not yet recovered from her pouting fit.” Could he have known her
+real occupation, he might have changed his mind again. The stormy
+weather had so increased Mrs. Nichols’ rheumatic complaint, that now,
+perfectly crippled, she lay as helpless as a child, carefully nursed by
+’Lena and old Aunt Polly, who, spite of her own infirmities, had
+hobbled in to wait upon her friend. Never but once did Mrs. Livingstone
+go near her mother’s sick-room—“the smell of herbs made her faint,” she
+said! But to do her justice, we must say that she gave Polly
+unqualified permission to order anything she pleased for the invalid.
+
+Toward the close of the third day, the company left. Nellie Douglass,
+who really liked ’Lena, and wished to bid her good-bye, whispered to
+John Jr., asking him to show her the way to his cousin’s room. No one
+except members of the family had ever been in Mrs. Nichols’ apartment,
+and for a moment John Jr. hesitated, knowing well that Nellie could not
+fail to observe the contrast it presented to the other richly-furnished
+chambers.
+
+“They ought to be mortified—it’ll serve ’em right,” he thought, at
+last, and motioning Nellie to fallow him, he silently led the way to
+his grandmother’s room, where their knock was answered by Aunt Polly’s
+gruff voice, which bade them “come in.”
+
+They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how greatly inferior
+was this room to the others around it. In an instant her eye took in
+everything, and she readily comprehended the whole.
+
+“It isn’t my doings, by a jug-full!” whispered John Jr., himself
+reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture which had
+never before seemed so meager and poor.
+
+On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. Nichols, white
+as the snowy cap-border which shaded her face. Behind her sat ’Lena,
+supporting her head, and when Nellie entered, she was carefully pushing
+back the few gray locks which had fallen over the invalid’s forehead,
+her own bright curls mingling with them, and resting, some on her neck,
+and some on her grandmother’s shoulder. A deep flush dyed her cheeks
+when she saw Nellie, who thought she had never looked upon a sight more
+beautiful.
+
+“I did not know your grandmother was ill,” said she, coming forward and
+gently touching the swollen hand which lay outside the counterpane.
+
+Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she commenced a
+history of her malady, beginning at the time she first had it when
+’Lena’s mother was a year and a day old, frequently quoting Nancy
+Scovandyke, and highly entertaining Nellie, who listened until warned
+by the sound of the carriage, as it came round to the door, that she
+must go.
+
+“We are going back to Uncle Atherton’s,” said she, “but I wanted to bid
+you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frankfort with your cousins.
+Will you do so?”
+
+This was wholly unexpected to ’Lena, who, without replying, burst into
+tears. Nellie hardly knew what to do. She seldom cried herself—she did
+not like to see others cry—and still she did not blame ’Lena, for she
+felt that she could not help it. At last, taking her hand, she bade her
+farewell, asking if she should not carry a good-bye to the others.
+
+“Yes, to Mabel,” said ’Lena.
+
+“And not Durward?” asked Nellie.
+
+With something of her old spirit ’Lena answered, “No, he hates
+me—Carrie says so.”
+
+“Cad’s a fool,” muttered John Jr., while Nellie rejoined, “Durward
+never hated anybody, and even if he did, he would not say so—I mean to
+tell him;” and with another good-bye she was gone.
+
+On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and asked where
+she had been.
+
+“To bid ’Lena good-bye; don’t you want to go too?” said Nellie.
+
+“Why, yes, if you are sure she won’t scratch my eyes out,” he returned,
+gayly, following his cousin.
+
+“I reckon I’d better tell ’Lena to come out into the hall—she may not
+want you in there,” said John Jr., and hastening forward he told his
+cousin what was wanted.
+
+Oh, how ’Lena longed to go, but pride, and the remembrance of Carrie’s
+words, prevented her, and coldly answering, “No, I don’t wish to see
+him,” she turned away to hide the tears and pain which those words had
+cost her.
+
+This visit to Grandma Nichols’ room was productive of some good, for
+John Jr., did not fail of repeating to his mother the impression which
+he saw was made on Nellie’s mind, adding, that “though Durward did not
+venture in, Nellie would of course tell him all about it. And then,”
+said he, “I wouldn’t give much for his opinion of your treatment of
+your mother.”
+
+Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs.
+Livingstone demanded “what he’d have her do.”
+
+“Do?” he repeated, “give grandmother a decent room, or else fix that
+one up, so it won’t look like the old scratch had been having a
+cotillon there. Paper and paint it, and make it look decent.”
+
+Upon this last piece of advice Mrs. Livingstone resolved to act, for
+recently several vague rumors had reached her ear, touching her neglect
+of her mother-in-law, and she began herself to think it just possible
+that a little of her money would be well expended in adding to the
+comfort of her husband’s mother. Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Nichols
+was able to sit up, her room underwent a thorough renovation, and
+though no great amount of money was expended upon it, it was fitted up
+with so much taste that the poor old lady, whom John Jr., ’Lena and
+Anna, had adroitly kept out of the way until her room was finished,
+actually burst into tears when first ushered into her light, airy
+apartment, in which everything looked so cheerful and pleasant.
+
+“’Tilda has now and then a good streak,” said she, while Aunt Milly,
+who had taken a great deal of interest in the repairing of the room,
+felt inclined to change her favorite theory with regard to her
+mistress’ future condition.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+FIVE YEARS LATER.
+
+
+And in the fair city of elms we again open the scene. It was
+commencement at Yale, and the crowd which filled the old Center church
+were listening breathlessly to the tide of eloquence poured forth by
+the young valedictorian.
+
+Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and first
+in the esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously chosen to
+that post of honor, and as the gathered multitude hung upon his words
+and gazed upon his manly beauty, they felt mat a better choice could
+not well have been made. At the right of the platform sat a group of
+ladies, friends, it would seem, of the speaker, for ever and anon his
+eyes turned in that direction, and as if each glance incited him to
+fresh efforts, his eloquence increased, until at last no sound save
+that of his deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the
+words of the young orator. But when his speech was ended, there arose
+deafening shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in perfect showers at
+his feet. Among them was one smaller and more elegant than the rest,
+and as if it were more precious, too, it was the first which Durward
+took from the floor.
+
+“See, Carrie, he gives you the preference,” whispered one of the young
+ladies on the right, and Carrie Livingstone for she it was, felt a
+thrill of gratified pride, when she saw how carefully he guarded the
+bouquet, which during all the exercises she had made her especial care,
+calling attention to it in so many different ways that hardly any one
+who saw it in Durward’s possession, could fail of knowing from what
+source it same.
+
+But then everybody said they were engaged—so what did it matter?
+Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and who while openly
+denying the engagement, teasingly hinted “that ’twas no fault of
+Cad’s.”
+
+For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had been
+inmates of the seminary in New Haven, and as they were now considered
+sufficiently accomplished to enter at once upon all the gayeties of
+fashionable life, John Jr. had come on “to see the elephant,” as he
+said, and to accompany them home. Carrie had fulfilled the promise of
+her girlhood, and even her brother acknowledged that she was handsome
+in spite of her _nose_, which like everybody’s else, still continued to
+be the most prominent feature of her face. She was proud, too, as well
+as beautiful, and throughout the city she was known as the “haughty
+southern belle,” admired by some and disliked by many. Among the
+students she was not half so popular as her unpretending sister, whose
+laughing blue eyes and sunny brown hair were often toasted, together
+with the classical brow and dignified bearing of Nellie Douglass, who
+had lost some of the hoydenish propensities of her girlhood, and who
+was now a graceful, elegant creature just merging into nineteen—the
+pride of her widowed father, and the idol still of John Jr., whose
+boyish preference had ripened into a kind of love such as only he could
+feel.
+
+With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face and dumpy
+little figure never receiving the least attention except from Durward
+Bellmont, who pitying her lonely condition, frequently left more
+congenial society for the sake of entertaining her. Of any one else
+Carrie would have been jealous, but feeling sure that Mabel had no
+attraction save her wealth, and knowing that Durward did not care for
+that, she occasionally suffered him to leave her side, always feeling
+amply repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society
+for that of Mabel’s.
+
+When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his preference for
+Carrie, Durward would sometimes laughingly refer them to the old
+worn-out story of the fox and the grapes, for to scarcely any one save
+himself did Carrie think it worth her while to be even gracious. This
+conduct was entirely at variance with her natural disposition, for she
+was fond of admiration, come from what source it might, and she would
+never have been so cold and distant to all save Durward, had she not
+once heard him say that “he heartily despised a _flirt_; and that no
+young lady could at all interest him if he suspected her of being a
+coquette.”
+
+This, then, was the secret of her reserve. She was resolved upon
+winning Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too great if in the end
+it secured the prize. It is true there was one sophomore, a perfumed,
+brainless fop, from Rockford, N. Y., who, next to Durward, was
+apparently most in favor, but the idea of her entertaining even a
+shadow of a liking for Tom Lakin, was too ludicrous to be harbored for
+a moment, so his attentions went for naught, public opinion uniting in
+giving her to Mr. Bellmont.
+
+With the lapse of years, Anna, too, had greatly improved. The extreme
+delicacy of her figure was gone, and though her complexion was as white
+and pure as marble, it denoted perfect health. With John Jr. she was
+still the favorite sister, the one whom he loved the best. “Carrie was
+too stiff and proud,” he said, and though when he met her in New Haven,
+after a year’s absence, his greeting was kind and brotherly, he soon
+turned from her to Anna and Nellie, utterly neglecting Mabel, who
+turned away to her chamber to cry, because no one cared for her.
+
+Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance of securing a
+wealthy bride, always finishing her discourse by speaking of Mr.
+Douglass’ small income, and enlarging upon the immense wealth of Mabel
+Ross, whose very name had become disagreeable to John Jr. At one time
+his father had hoped he, too, would enter college, but the young man
+derided the idea of his ever making a scholar, saying, however, more in
+sport than in earnest, that “he was willing to enter a store, or learn
+a _trade_, so that in case he was ever obliged to earn his own living,
+he would have some means of doing it;” but to this his mother would not
+listen. He was her “darling boy,” and “his hands, soft and white as
+those of a girl, should never become hardened and embrowned by labor!”
+So, while his sisters were away at school, he was at home, hunting,
+fishing, riding, teasing his grandmother, tormenting the servants, and
+shocking his mother by threatening to make love to his cousin ’Lena, to
+whom he was at once a pest and a comfort, and who now claims a share of
+our attention.
+
+When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New Haven, Mr.
+Livingstone proposed that ’Lena should also accompany them, but this
+plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed with all her force, declaring that _her_
+money should never be spent in educating the “beggarly relatives” of
+her husband, who in this, as in numerous other matters, was forced to
+yield the point. As Mr. Everett’s services were now no longer needed,
+he accepted the offer of a situation in the family of General Fontaine,
+a high-bred, southern gentleman, whose plantation was distant but half
+a mile from “Maple Grove;” and as he there taught a regular school,
+having under his charge several of the daughters of the neighboring
+planters, it was decided that ’Lena also should continue under his
+instruction.
+
+Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily routine of a
+fashionable boarding-school, ’Lena was storing her mind with useful
+knowledge, and though her accomplishments were not quite so showy as
+those of her cousins, they had in them the ring of the pure metal.
+Although her charms were as yet but partially developed, she was a
+creature of rare loveliness, and many who saw her for the first time,
+marveled that aught so beautiful could be real. She had never seen
+Durward Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week, but many a time
+had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not define, as
+she read Anna’s accounts of the flattering attentions which he paid to
+Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her with haughty contempt or
+cool indifference.
+
+But for this she did not care. She knew she was loved by Anna, and
+liked by John Jr., and she hoped—nay, half believed—that she was not
+wholly indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any show of
+his affection, still in his heart admired and felt proud of her. With
+his wife it was different. She hated ’Lena—hated her because she was
+beautiful and talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna
+were ever in the shade. Still her niece was too general a favorite in
+the neighborhood to allow of open hostility at home, and so the proud
+woman ground together her glittering teeth—_and waited_!
+
+Among the many who admired ’Lena, there was no one who gave her such
+full and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple
+Grove had been one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine. Gradually
+had she learned the estimation in which she was held by her son’s wife,
+and she felt how bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence. As far
+as she was able, ’Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, who
+thinking she had done all that was required of her when she fixed their
+room, would for days and even weeks appear utterly oblivious of their
+presence, or frown darkly whenever chance threw them in her way. She
+had raised no objection to ’Lena’s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett,
+who, she hoped, would not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying
+that in this way she would sooner be rid of one whom she feared as a
+rival of her daughters.
+
+But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire ’Lena,
+another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most carefully
+guarded was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport from the head
+it once adorned, and, now treasured as a sacred memento of the past.
+Believing that it would be so because she wished it to be so, Mrs.
+Livingstone had more than once whispered to her female friends her
+surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry ’Lena, and at the time of
+which we are speaking, it was pretty generally understood that a strong
+liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed between them.
+
+Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat
+hands complacently, and while applying Twigg’s Preparation to his hair,
+congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared was now
+out of his way. Thinking, too, that ’Lena had conferred a great favor
+upon himself by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became
+exceedingly polite to her, making her little presents and frequently
+asking her to ride. Whenever these invitations were accepted, they were
+sure to be followed by a ludicrous description to Anna, who laughed
+merrily over her cousin’s letters, declaring herself half jealous of
+her “gray-haired lover,” as she termed the captain.
+
+All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and fully
+discussed in the presence of Durward, who gradually received the
+impression that ’Lena was a flirt, a species of womankind which he held
+in great abhorrence. Just before he left New Haven, he received a
+letter from his stepfather, requesting him to stop for a day or two at
+Captain Atherton’s, where he would join him, as he wished to look at a
+country-seat near Mr. Livingstone’s, which was now for sale. This plan
+gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her brother proposed that
+Durward should stop at their father’s instead of the captain’s, she
+seconded the invitation so warmly, that Durward finally consented, and
+word was immediately sent to Mrs. Livingstone to hold herself in
+readiness to receive Mr. Bellmont.
+
+“Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn,” said Carrie, as in
+the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they were discussing the
+projected purchase.
+
+The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John Jr., who was
+present, and who felt just like teasing his sister, replied, “What do
+you care? Mrs. Graham has no daughters, and she won’t fancy such a chit
+as you, so it must be Durward’s society that you so much desire, but I
+can assure you that your _nose_ will be broken when once he sees our
+’Lena.”
+
+Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech, while
+Durward asked if “Miss Rivers were so very handsome?”
+
+“_Handsome_!” repeated John. “That don’t begin to express it. _Cad_ is
+what I call _handsome_, but ’Lena is beautiful, more beautiful, most
+beautiful—now you have it superlatively. Such complexion—such eyes—such
+hair—I’ll be hanged if I haven’t been more than half in love with her
+myself.”
+
+“I really begin to tremble,” said Durward, laughingly while Carrie
+rejoined, “You’ve only to make the slightest advance, and your love
+will be returned ten-fold, for ’Lena is very susceptible, and already
+encourages several admirers.”
+
+“There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken,” interrupted John
+Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, when Durward asked if
+“she ever left any _marks_ of her affection,” referring to the scratch
+she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to speak,
+replied that “the _will_ and the _claws_ remained the same, though
+common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary.”
+
+“That’s downright slander,” said John Jr., determined now upon
+defending his cousin, “’Lena has a high temper, I acknowledge, but she
+tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two years I’ve not seen her
+angry once, though she’s had every provocation under heaven.”
+
+“She knows _when_ and _where_ to be amiable,” retorted Carrie. “Any one
+of her admirers would tell the same story with yourself.”
+
+At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the room, and
+Carrie, fearing she had said too much, immediately apologized to
+Durward, saying, “it was not often that she allowed herself to speak
+against her cousin, and that she should not have done so now, were not
+John so much blinded, that her mother, knowing Lena’s ambitious nature,
+sometimes seriously feared the consequence. I know,” said she, “that
+John fancies Nellie, but ’Lena’s influence over him is very great.”
+
+Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: “I’m always sorry when I
+speak against ’Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn’t prejudice any one
+against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would never
+have been uttered in the presence of a stranger. She _is_ handsome and
+agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.”
+
+“I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,” was Durward’s
+gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the room,
+the conversation ceased.
+
+Meanwhile ’Lena was very differently employed. Nearly a year had
+elapsed since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with joy
+at the thought of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved. Carrie was to
+her an object of indifference, rather than dislike, and ofttimes had
+she thought, “If she would only let me love her.” But it could not be,
+for there was no affinity between them. Carrie was proud and
+overbearing—jealous of her high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. had
+said, strove hard to subdue her temper, and who now seldom resented
+Carrie’s insults, except when they were leveled at her aged
+grandmother.
+
+As we have before stated, news’ had been received at Maple Grove that
+Durward would accompany her cousins home. Mr. Graham would, of course,
+join him there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were
+immediately commenced. An unusual degree of sickness was prevailing
+among the female portion of Mrs. Livingstone’s servants, and the very
+day before the company was expected, Aunt Milly, the head cook was
+taken suddenly ill. Coaxing, scolding, and threatening were alike
+ineffectual. The old negress would not say she was well when she
+wasn’t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick (_lazy_, as
+her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged to
+superintend the cookery.
+
+“Crosser than a bar,” as the little darkies said, she flew back and
+forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the corners
+of her mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike at
+anything that came in her way. As if there were a fatality attending
+her movements, she was unfortunate in whatever she undertook. The cake
+was burned black, the custard curdled, the preserves were found to be
+working, the big preserve dish got broken, a thunder shower soured the
+cream, and taking it all in all, she really had trouble enough to
+disconcert the most experienced housekeeper. Still, the few negroes
+able to assist, thought “she needn’t be so fetch-ed cross.”
+
+But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft to
+the charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed, listened in
+dismay to the disastrous accounts brought her from time to time from
+the kitchen, mentally congratulating herself the while upon not being
+within hearing of her mistress’ tongue. Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to
+help, but she was repulsed so angrily that ’Lena did not presume to
+offer her services until the day of their arrival, when, without a
+word, she repaired to the chambers, which she swept and dusted,
+arranging the furniture, and making everything ready for the comfort of
+the travelers. Then descending to the parlors, she went through the
+same process there, filled the vases with fresh flowers, looped back
+the curtains, opened the piano, wheeled the sofa a little to the right,
+the large chair a little to the left, and then going to the
+dining-room, she set the table in the most perfect order, doing all so
+quietly that her aunt knew nothing of it until it was done. Jake the
+coachman, had gone down to Frankfort after them, and as he was not
+expected to return until between three and four, dinner was deferred
+until that hour.
+
+From sunrise Mrs. Livingstone had worked industriously, until her face
+and temper were at a boiling heat. The clock was on the point of
+striking three, and she was bending over a roasting turkey, when ’Lena
+ventured to approach her, saying, “I have seen Aunt Milly baste a
+turkey many a time, and I am sure I can do it as well as she.”
+
+“Well, what of it?” was the uncivil answer.
+
+’Lena’s temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied: “Why, it
+is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would want to cool and dress
+yourself before they came. I can see to the dinner, I know I can.
+Please let me try.”
+
+Somewhat mollified by her niece’s kind manner, Mrs. Livingstone
+resigned her post and repaired to her own room, while ’Lena, confining
+her long curls to the top of her head and donning the wide check-apron
+which her aunt had thrown aside, set herself at work with a right good
+will.
+
+“What dat ar you say?” exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her woolly head
+from her pillow, and looking at the little colored girl, who had
+brought to her the news that “young miss was in de kitchen.” “What dat
+ar you tellin’? Miss ’Leny pokin’ ’mong de pots and kittles, and dis
+ole nigger lazin’ in bed jes like white folks. Long as ’twas ole miss,
+I didn’t seer. Good ’nough for her to roast, blister, and bile; done
+get used to it, case she’s got to in kingdom come, no mistake—he!—he!
+But little Miss ’Leny, it’s too bad to bake her lamb’s-wool hands and
+face, and all de quality comin’: I’ll hobble up thar, if I can stand.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawling up to
+the kitchen, insisted upon taking ’Lena’s place, saying, “she could sit
+in her chair and tell the rest what to do.”
+
+For a time ’Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and weak, but
+the sound of wheels decided her. Springing to the sideboard in the
+dining-room, she brought Aunt Milly a glass of wine, which revived her
+so much that she now felt willing to leave her. By this time the
+carriage was at the door, and to escape unobserved was now her great
+object. But this she could not do, for as she was crossing the hall,
+Anna espied her, and darting forward, seized her around the neck, at
+the same time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with Durward’s eye upon
+her, _kissed_ her twice; then turning to him, she said, “I suppose you
+do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?”
+
+Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the strangeness
+of ’Lena’s appearance, for as nearly as she could, she looked like a
+fright. Bending over hot stoves and boiling gravies is not very
+beneficial to one’s complexion, and ’Lena’s cheeks, neck, forehead, and
+nose were of a purplish red—her hair was tucked back in a manner
+exceedingly unbecoming, while the broad check-apron, which came nearly
+to her feet, tended in nowise to improve her appearance. She felt it
+keenly, and after returning Durward’s salutation, she broke away before
+Anna or John, Jr., who were both surprised at her looks, had time to
+ask a question.
+
+Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but knowing that
+would disfigure her still more, she bathed her burning face and neck,
+brushed out her curls, threw on a simple muslin dress, and started for
+the parlor, of which Durward and Carrie were at that moment the only
+occupants. As she was passing the outer door, she observed upon one of
+the piazza pillars a half-blown rose, and for a moment stopped to
+admire it. Durward, who sat in a corner, did not see her, but Carrie
+did, and a malicious feeling prompted her to draw out her companion,
+who she felt sure was disappointed in ’Lena’s face. They were speaking
+of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and whom Carrie pronounced
+“perfectly beautiful,” while Durward would hardly admit that she was
+even good-looking.
+
+“I am surprised at your taste,” said Carrie, adding, as she noticed the
+proximity of her cousin, “I think she resembles ’Lena, and of course
+you’ll acknowledge _she_ is beautiful.”
+
+“She _was_ beautiful five years ago, but she’s greatly changed since
+then,” answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite satisfaction
+his words afforded Carrie, who replied, “You had better keep that
+opinion to yourself, and not express it before Captain Atherton or
+brother John.”
+
+“Who takes my name in vain?” asked John Jr., himself appearing at a
+side door.
+
+“Oh, John,” said Carrie, “we were just disputing about ’Lena. Durward
+does not think her handsome.”
+
+“Durward be hanged!” answered John, making a feint of drawing from his
+pocket a pistol which was not there. “What fault has he to find with
+’Lena?”
+
+“A little too rosy, that’s all,” said Durward, laughingly, while John
+continued, “She _did_ look confounded red and dowdyish, for her. I
+don’t understand it myself.”
+
+Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie’s eye had all the
+while been resting, disappeared, and as there was no longer an
+incentive for ill-natured remarks, the amiable young lady adroitly
+changed the conversation.
+
+John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and started in
+pursuit, in the course of his search passing the kitchen, where he was
+instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, while bemoaning her own aches and
+pains, did not fail to tell him how “Miss ’Lena, like aborned angel
+dropped right out of ’tarnity, had been in thar, burning her skin to a
+fiery red, a-tryin’ to get up a tip-top dinner.”
+
+“So ho!” thought the young man, “that explains it;” and turning on his
+heel, he walked back to the house just as the last bell was ringing for
+dinner.
+
+On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assembled, except
+’Lena. She had excused herself on the plea of a severe headache, and
+now in her own room was chiding herself for being so much affected by a
+remark accidentally overheard. What did she care if Durward did think
+her plain? He was nothing to her, and never would be—and again she
+bathed her head, which really was aching sadly.
+
+“And so ’Lena’s got the headache,” said John Jr. “Well, I don’t wonder,
+cooking all the dinner as she did.”
+
+“What do you mean?” asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone’s angry frown
+bade her son keep silence,
+
+Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.’s cardinal virtues,
+and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had told him, adding
+aside to Durward, “_This_ explains the extreme rosiness which so much
+offended your lordship. When next you see her, you’ll change your
+mind.”
+
+Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he
+now presented her to Durward. The _Noble’s_ blood had long been
+forgotten, but grandma was never at a loss for a subject, and she
+commenced talking notwithstanding Carrie’s efforts to keep her still.
+
+“Now I think on’t, Car’line,” said she at last, turning to her
+granddaughter, “now I think on’t, what made you propose to have my
+dinner sent up to my room. I hain’t et there but once this great while,
+and that was the day General Fontaine’s folks were here, and Matilda
+thought I warn’t able to come down.”
+
+Durward’s half-concealed smile showed that he understood it all, while
+John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was talking, managed, to
+lead her on, until she reached her favorite theme—Nancy Scovandyke.
+Here a look from her son silenced her, and as dinner was just then
+over, Durward missed of hearing that remarkable lady’s history.
+
+Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the piazza,
+’Lena joined them. Her headache had passed away, leaving her face a
+shade whiter than usual. The flush was gone from her forehead and nose,
+but mindful of Durward’s remark, the roses deepened on her cheek, which
+only increased her loveliness.
+
+“I acknowledge that I was wrong—your cousin _is_ beautiful,” whispered
+Durward to Carrie, who, mentally hating the beauty which had never
+before struck her so forcibly, replied in her softest tones, “I knew
+you would, and I hope you’ll be equally ready to forgive her for
+winning hearts only to break them, for with that face how can she help
+it?”
+
+“A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry,” answered Durward; “neither
+can I think Miss Rivers guilty of it. At all events, I mean to venture
+a little nearer,” and before Carrie could frame a reasonable excuse for
+keeping him at her side, he had crossed ever and taken a seat by ’Lena,
+with whom he was soon in the midst of an animated conversation, his
+surprise each moment increasing at the depth of intellect she
+displayed, for the beauty of her mind was equal to that of her person.
+Had it not been for the remembrance of Carrie’s insinuations, his
+admiration would have been complete. But anything like coquetry he
+heartily despised, and one great secret of his liking for Carrie, was
+her evident freedom from that fault. As yet he had seen nothing to
+condemn in ’Lena’s conduct. Wholly unaffected, she talked with him as
+she would have talked with any stranger, and still there was in her
+manner a certain coldness for which he could not account.
+
+“Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning,” thought he, and in spite
+of his principles, he erelong found himself exerting all his powers to
+please and interest her.
+
+About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and simultaneously
+with his arrival, Mr. Everett came also. Immediately remembering what
+he had heard, Durward, in his eagerness to watch ’Lena, failed to note
+the crimson flush on Anna’s usually pale cheek, as Malcolm bent over
+her with his low-spoken, tender words of welcome, and when the
+phthisicky captain, claiming the privilege of an old friend, kissed the
+blushing Anna, Durward in his blindness attributed the scornful
+expression of ’Lena’s face to a feeling of unwillingness that any save
+herself should share the attentions even of the captain! And in this
+impression he was erelong confirmed.
+
+Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed to keep Malcolm
+at a distance, while he himself wholly monopolized the young girl, who
+cast imploring glances toward her cousin, as if asking for relief. Many
+a time, on similar occasions, had ’Lena claimed the attention of the
+captain, for the sake of leaving Anna free to converse with Malcolm,
+and now understanding what was wanted of her, she nodded in token that
+she would come to the rescue. Just then, Mrs. Livingstone, who had kept
+an eye upon her niece, drew near, and as she seemed to want a seat;
+’Lena instantly arose and offered hers, going herself to the place
+where the captain was sitting. Erelong, her lively sallies and the
+captain’s loud laugh began to attract Mrs. Livingstone’s attention, and
+observing that Durward’s eyes were frequently drawn that way, she
+thought proper to make some remarks concerning the impropriety of her
+niece’s conduct.
+
+“I do wish,” said she, apparently speaking more to herself than to
+Durward, “I do wish ’Lena would learn discretion, and let Captain
+Atherton alone, when she knows how much her behavior annoys Mr.
+Everett.”
+
+“Is Mr. Everett anything to her!” asked Durward, half hoping that she
+would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted.
+
+“If he isn’t he ought to be,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, with an
+ominous shake of the head. “Rumor says they are engaged, and though
+when questioned she denies it, she gives people abundant reason to
+think so, and yet every chance she gets, she flirts with Captain
+Atherton, as you see her doing now.”
+
+“What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old man?”
+asked Durward, laughing at the very idea.
+
+“He is _rich_. ’Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious—there lies the
+secret,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s reply, and thinking she had said enough
+for the present, she excused herself, while she went to give orders
+concerning supper.
+
+John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left to himself,
+Durward had nothing to do but to watch ’Lena, who, as she saw symptoms
+of desertion in the anxious glances which the captain cast toward Anna,
+redoubled her exertions to keep him at her side, thus confirming
+Durward in the belief that she really was what her aunt and Carrie had
+represented her to be. “Poor, proud, and ambitious,” rang in his ears,
+and as he mistook the mischievous look which ’Lena frequently sent
+toward Anna and Malcolm, for a desire to see how the latter was
+affected by her conduct, he thought “Fickle as fair,” at the same time
+congratulating himself that he had obtained an insight into her real
+character, ere her exceeding beauty and agreeable manners had made any
+particular impression upon him.
+
+Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling piqued at his
+indifference, ’Lena in turn treated him so coldly, that even Carrie was
+satisfied with the phase which affairs had assumed, and that night, in
+the privacy of her mother’s dressing-room, expressed her pleasure that
+matters were progressing so finely.
+
+“You’ve no idea, mother,” said she, “how much he detests anything like
+coquetry. Nellie Douglass thinks it’s a kind of monomania with him, and
+I am inclined to believe it is so.”
+
+“In that case,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, “it behooves you, in his
+presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other
+gentlemen.”
+
+“I haven’t lived nineteen years for nothing,” said Carrie, folding her
+soft white hands complacently one over the other.
+
+“Speaking of Nellie Douglass,” continued Mrs. Livingstone, who had long
+desired this interview with her daughter, “speaking of Nellie, reminds
+me of your brother, who seems perfectly crazy about her.”
+
+“And what if he does ?” asked Carrie, her thoughts far more intent upon
+Durward Bellmont than her brother. “Isn’t Nellie good enough for him?”
+
+“Yes, good enough, I admit,” returned her mother, “but I think I can
+find a far more suitable match—Mabel Ross, for instance. Her fortune is
+said to be immense, while Mr. Douglass is worth little or nothing.”
+
+“When you bring about a union between John Livingstone Jr. and Mabel
+Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers to do anything, even
+to the marrying of Anna and Grandfather Atherton,” answered Carrie, to
+whom her mother’s schemes were no secret.
+
+“And that, too, I’ll effect, rather than see her thrown away upon a low
+bred northerner, who shall never wed her—never;” and the haughty woman
+paced up and down her room, devising numerous ways by which her long
+cherished three-fold plan should be effected.
+
+The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his usual custom,
+and going out into the garden he came suddenly upon ’Lena. “This,” said
+he, “is a pleasure which I did not expect when I rather unwillingly
+tore myself from my pillow.”
+
+All the coldness of the night before was gone, but ’Lena could not so
+soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, that “she learned to
+rise early among the New England hills.”
+
+“An excellent practice, and one which more of our young ladies would do
+well to imitate,” returned Durward, at the same time speaking of the
+beautifying effect which the morning air had upon her complexion.
+
+’Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday concerning her
+plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that “any information
+regarding her personal appearance was wholly unnecessary, as she knew
+very well how she looked.”
+
+Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment her again,
+walked on in silence at her side, while ’Lena, repenting of her hasty
+words, and desirous of making amends, exerted herself to be agreeable;
+and by the time the breakfast-bell rang, Durward mentally pronounced
+her “a perfect mystery,” which he would take delight in unraveling!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.
+
+
+Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of carriage wheels and
+a loud ring at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Graham, who, true
+to his appointment with Durward, had come up to meet him, accompanied
+by Mrs. Graham. This lady, who could boast of having once been the
+bride of an English lord, to say nothing of belonging to the “very
+first family of Virginia,” was a sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone,
+who, haughty and overbearing to her equals, was nevertheless cringing
+and cowardly in the presence of those whom she considered her
+superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her ideas concerning her were
+quite elevated, and now when she came unexpectedly, it quite overcame
+her. Unfortunately, too, she was this morning suffering from a nervous
+headache, the result of the excitement and late hours of the night
+before, and on learning that Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell
+back in her rocking-chair, and between a groan and a sigh, declared her
+utter inability to see her at present, saying that Carrie must play the
+part of hostess until such time as she felt composed enough to
+undertake it.
+
+“Oh, I can’t—I _shan’t_—that ends it!” said Carrie, who, though a good
+deal dressed on Durward’s account, still felt anxious to give a few
+more finishing touches to her toilet, and to see if her hair and
+complexion were all right, ere she ventured into the august presence ef
+her “mother-in-law elect,” as she confidently considered Mrs. Graham.
+
+“Anna must go, then,” persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full well
+how useless it would be to press Carrie farther. “Anna must go—where is
+she? Call her, ’Lena.”
+
+But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk
+which had been planned the night previous, and when ’Lena returned with
+the intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great
+distress exclaimed, “Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think—and Mr.
+Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to
+entertain her. What shall I do! I can’t go in looking so yellow and
+jaded as I now do!”
+
+’Lena’s first thought was to bring her aunt’s powderball, as the surest
+way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act would be
+deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go
+herself to the parlor.
+
+“_You_! What could _you_ say to her?” returned Mrs. Livingstone, to
+whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.
+
+“I can at least answer her questions,” returned ’Lena and after a
+moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how ’Lena, in her plain
+gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the
+fashionable Mrs. Graham.
+
+“But then,” thought she, “she has so little sensibility, I don’t s’pose
+she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham will of course look upon her
+as only a little above a servant”—and with this complimentary
+reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her
+dressing-room, while ’Lena, with a beating heart and slightly
+heightened color, repaired to the parlor.
+
+On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment ’Lena’s eye
+fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a
+smile at the idea of being afraid of _her_. She was a short, dumpy,
+florid looking woman, showily, and as ’Lena thought, _overdressed_ for
+morning, as her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed and
+sparkled with every movement. Her forehead was very low, and marked by
+a scowl of discontent which was habitual, for with everything to make
+her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from being so. Exceedingly nervous and
+fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker side, and when her husband
+and son, who were of exactly opposite temperaments, strove to laugh her
+into good spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as she usually
+reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy for her.
+
+Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into
+quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone’s apparent lack of courtesy in not
+hastening to receive her, and when ’Lena’s light step was heard in the
+hall, she turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why
+she had not come sooner. Durward, who was present immediately
+introduced his mother, at the same time admiring the extreme dignity of
+’Lena’s manner as she received the lady’s greeting, apologizing for her
+aunt’s non-appearance, saying “she was suffering from a severe
+headache, and begged to be excused for an hour or so.”
+
+“Quite excusable,” returned Mrs. Graham, at the same time saying
+something in a low tone about it’s not being her wish to stop there so
+early, as she knew _she_ was not expected.
+
+“But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,” ’Lena hastened to say, thinking
+that for the time being the reputation of her uncle’s house was resting
+upon her shoulders.
+
+“I dare say,” was Mrs. Graham’s ungracious answer, and then her little
+gray, deep-set eyes rested upon ’Lena, wondering if she were “a
+governess or what?” and thinking it strange that she should seem so
+perfectly self-possessed.
+
+Insensibly, too, ’Lena’s manner won upon her, for spite of her
+fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed woman. Ill
+health and long years of dissipation had helped to make her what she
+was. Besides this, she was not quite happy in her domestic relations,
+for though Mr. Graham possessed all the requisites of a kind and
+affectionate husband, he could not remove from her mind the belief that
+he liked others better then he did herself! ’Twas in vain that he
+alternately laughed at and reasoned with her on the subject. She was
+not to be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who was really exceedingly
+polite and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly provoking the
+green-eyed monster by his attentions to some one of the fair sex. In
+spite of his nightly “Caudle” lectures, he _would_ transgress again and
+again, until his wife’s patience was exhausted, and now she affected to
+have given him up, turning for comfort and affection toward Durward,
+who was her special delight, “the very apple of her eye—he was so much
+like his father, Sir Arthur, who during the whole year that she lived
+with him had never once given her cause for jealousy.”
+
+Just before ’Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham, had for a moment
+stepped out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, he, too, was
+introduced to the young lady. It was strange, considering ’Lena’s
+uncommon beauty, that Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband’s manner,
+but for once in her life she felt no fears, and looking from the
+window, she failed to note the sudden pallor which overspread his face
+when Mr. Livingstone presented to him “Miss Rivers—my niece.”
+
+Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored
+face, whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers, while
+his pleasant, affable deportment universally won the friendship of all
+who knew him. And ’Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for
+the moment his warm hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested
+upon her, her heart went toward him as a friend, while she wondered why
+he looked at her so long and earnestly, twice repeating her name—“Miss
+Rivers—_Rivers_.”
+
+From the first, ’Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom
+Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to
+apologize for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met
+before, she referred him to that time, saying “she thought it strange
+that he should remember her.”
+
+“Old acquaintances—ah—indeed !” and little Mrs. Graham nodded and
+fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen
+cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl
+which was of too long standing to be smoothed.
+
+“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, “I had
+entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars
+when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago. You were quite a
+little girl then”—turning to ’Lena.
+
+“Only ten,” was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and
+anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward ’Lena, asking “how
+long she had lived in Kentucky—where she used to live—and where her
+mother was.”
+
+At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone,
+suddenly stopped.
+
+“My mother is dead,” answered ’Lena.
+
+“And your father?”
+
+“Gone to Canada!” interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors of
+’Lena’s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother’s being so
+inquisitive.
+
+Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr.
+Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before.
+Here John Jr. appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated
+himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial remark, and
+calling her ’_Lena_. It was well for Mr. Graham’s after peace that his
+wife was just then too much engrossed with Durward to observe the
+effect which that name produced upon him.
+
+Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, “You were
+telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your
+yard—suppose we go and see it.”
+
+The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr.
+Graham casually remarked, “Your niece is a fine-looking girl—’Lena, I
+think your son called her?”
+
+“Yes, or _Helena_, which was her mother’s name.”
+
+“And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?”
+
+“No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,”
+returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at once.
+
+Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and
+keeping his face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose
+thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister was mentioned, were
+far back in the past. When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head there
+were no traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very
+heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked back to the
+parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
+their respects to his lady.
+
+Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie’s and
+’Lena’s manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even Durward noticed it, and while
+he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of the
+latter, who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met his
+mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his life felt
+a kind of contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an
+elegantly embroidered double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels,
+which almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a fawning
+servility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady in
+question. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her wealth
+and her husband’s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if something were
+withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughters
+rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for
+nothing could be more flattering than their attentions. Both mother and
+daughter having the son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs.
+Graham asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a
+servant, offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham
+laid her hand caressingly upon her shoulders, calling her a “dear
+little pet,” and asking “where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!”
+
+A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft sound which he
+was in the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his sister of
+her _nose_, made the “bright, naughty eyes” flash so angrily, that even
+Durward noticed it, and wondered if ’Lena’s temper had not been
+transferred to her cousin.
+
+“That young girl—’Lena, I think you call her—is a relative of yours,”
+said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending the stairs.
+
+“Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,” answered Carrie.
+
+“She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—does she belong to
+a Virginia family?”
+
+Carrie looked mysterious and answered, “I never knew anything of her
+father, and indeed, I reckon no one does”—then after a moment she
+added, “Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with which
+they could willingly dispense.”
+
+“Very true,” returned Mrs. Graham, “What a pity we couldn’t all have
+been born in England. There, dear, you can leave me now.”
+
+Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her
+mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. “Old Milly,”
+she said, “had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had
+got a _collapse_, as she called it.”
+
+“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham’s first dinner
+with them should be in style.
+
+“Yes, but she can’t do everything—somebody must superintend her, and as
+for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the table,
+I won’t.”
+
+“Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—it won’t hurt her to-day more
+than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie.
+
+“A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door she
+called ’Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham, who,
+the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now
+seemed oblivious to all else save her.
+
+There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the
+expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well
+knew his mother’s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present,
+while at the same time he wondered that his father should appear so
+deeply interested in an entire stranger.
+
+“’Lena, I wish to speak with you,” said Mrs. Livingstone, appearing at
+the door, and ’Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the room, while
+Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner,
+ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his
+forehead.
+
+Meantime, ’Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a
+word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with
+difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising
+within her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former
+_asked_ instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it
+willingly. But now in quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over
+pastry and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until a pleasant
+voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw Anna, who had
+just returned from her walk, and who on learning how matters stood,
+declared her intention of helping too.
+
+“If there’s anything I like, it’s being in a muss,” said she, and
+throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and fastening
+back her curls in imitation of ’Lena, she was soon up to her elbows in
+cooking—her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and cream, and
+her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the china
+closet. “There’s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham either,” said
+she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the pie line.
+
+But alas! Malcolm Everett’s words of love spoken beneath the
+wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna’s ears, so it was no
+wonder she _salted_ the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one
+noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both ’Lena and Hagar
+praised its white, uncurdled appearance.
+
+“Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,” said Anna, when
+everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but ’Lena,
+knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward’s
+distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing
+at the table.
+
+“I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she, “and you must
+look after her a little, for I shall not come down.”
+
+So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a
+great state of fermentation to know “who was below, and what the doin’s
+was, I should of gone down,” said she, “but I know’d ’Tilda would be
+madder’n a hornet.”
+
+’Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then
+informing her that Mr. Bellmont’s father and mother were there, she
+proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. The handsome black
+silk and neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were
+donned, and then, staff in hand, the old lady started for the
+dining-room, ’Lena giving her numerous charges not to talk much, and on
+no account to mention her favorite topic—Nancy Scovandyke!
+
+“Nancy’s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live lord,”
+was grandma’s mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady, rustling in a
+heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the
+table.
+
+Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her husband,
+through fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. But not so with John Jr.
+To be sure, he cared not a fig, on his grandmother’s account, whether
+she were introduced or not, for he well knew she would not hesitate to
+make their acquaintance; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and
+Carrie, he called out, in a loud tone, “My grandmother, Mrs.
+Nichols—Mr. and Mrs. Graham.”
+
+Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked “if anything stung
+him.”
+
+“Yes—no,” said he, at the same time indicating that it was not worth
+while to mind it.
+
+“Got stung, have you?” said Mrs. Nichols. “Mebby ’twas a
+bumble-bee—seems ’sef I smelt one; but like enough it’s the scent on
+Car’line’s handkercher.”
+
+Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on grandma,
+who, after a time, forgetful of ’Lena’s caution, said, “I b’lieve they
+say you’re from Virginny!”
+
+“Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,” returned Mrs. Graham,
+clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.
+
+“Anywheres near Richmond?” continued Mrs. Nichols.
+
+“I was born in Richmond, madam.”
+
+“Law, now I who knows but you’re well acquainted with Nancy
+Scovandyke’s kin.”
+
+Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as she
+replied, “I’ve not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or any
+of her relatives.”
+
+“Wall, she’s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s’pose you’d call her,
+bein’ she’s just the age of my son.”
+
+Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering ’Lena’s charge, stopped, but
+John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by asking
+what relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.
+
+“’Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein’ you’ve asked a civil
+question, ’tain’t more’n fair for me to answer it. Better’n forty year
+ago Nancy’s mother’s aunt——”
+
+“Which would be Miss Nancy’s great-aunt,” interrupted John Jr.
+
+“Bless the boy,” returned the old lady, “he’s got the Nichols’ head for
+figgerin’. Yes, Nancy’s great-aunt though she was six years and two
+months younger’n Nancy’s mother. Wall, as I was sayin’, she went off to
+Virginny to teach music. She was prouder’n Lucifer, and after a spell
+she married a southerner, rich as a Jew, and then she never took no
+more notice of her folks to hum, than’s ef they hadn’t been. But the
+poor critter didn’t live long to enjoy it, for when her first baby was
+born, she died. ’Twas a little girl, but her folks in Massachusetts
+have never heard a word whether she’s dead or alive. Joel Slocum,
+that’s Nancy’s nephew, says he means to go down there some day, and
+look her up, but I wouldn’t bother with ’em, for that side of the house
+always did feel big, and above Nancy’s folks, thinkin’ Nancy’s mother
+married beneath her.”
+
+Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during
+grandma’s recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never
+once looking up, while her face and neck were literally spotted, either
+with heat, excitement or anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs.
+Nichols’ attention, causing her to ask the lady “if she warn’t pestered
+with erysipelas.”
+
+“I am not aware of it, madam,” answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma
+replied, “It looks mighty like it to me, and I’ve seen a good deal
+on’t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less. Now I think
+on’t,” she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion, “now I
+think on’t, you look quite a considerable like Nancy—the same forehead
+and complexion—only she’s a head taller. Hain’t you noticed it, John?”
+
+“No, I have not,” answered John, at the same time proposing a change in
+the conversation, as he presumed “they had all heard enough of Nancy
+Scovandyke.”
+
+At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna’s pie. John Jr.
+was the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he
+exclaimed, “Horror, mother, who made this pie?”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that
+something was wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was busy
+at a side-table, she wondered “if there ever was any one who had so
+much trouble with servants as herself.”
+
+Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would burst
+on poor Hagar’s head, spoke out, “Hagar is not in the fault, mother—no
+one but myself is to blame. _I_ made the pie, and must have put in salt
+instead of sugar.”
+
+“You made the pie!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, “What business
+had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn’t a few more servants, for then we
+should all be obliged to turn drudges.”
+
+Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, “if it
+hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did ’Lena, who,”
+he said, “worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning herself until
+she is ashamed to appear at the table.”
+
+Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone
+hastened to explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that in
+her dilemma, ’Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of
+compliment, undoubtedly, that “her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to
+such work—indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles.”
+
+An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face,
+and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, “if she thought it
+detracted from a young lady’s worth, to be skilled in whatever
+pertained to the domestic affairs of a family.”
+
+Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied,
+“Not at all—not at all. I mean that my daughters shall learn
+everything, so that their husbands will find in them every necessary
+qualification.”
+
+“Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or
+other,” said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very
+interesting, while Anna retorted, “Of course we shall. I wouldn’t be an
+old maid for the world—I’d run away first!”
+
+And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company
+retired from the table. For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked with
+a cane, limping even then. Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual
+gallantry, offered her his arm, which she willingly accepted, casting a
+look of triumph upon her daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so
+well pleased. So thorough had been grandma’s training, that she did not
+often venture into the parlor without a special invitation from its
+mistress, but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led her in there as a matter
+of course, and placing her upon the sofa, seated himself by her side,
+and commenced questioning her concerning her former home and history.
+Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative, and never
+before had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon
+every word, when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty,
+her untimely death, and rascally husband.
+
+“Rivers—Rivers,” said he, “what kind of a looking man was he?”
+
+“The Lord only knows—I never see him,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “But this
+much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old woman’s
+curses can do him any harm, he’s had mine a plenty of times.”
+
+“You do wrong to talk so,” said Mr. Graham, “for who knows how bitterly
+he may have repented of the great wrong done to your daughter.”
+
+“Then why in the name of common sense don’t he hunt up her child, and
+own her—he needn’t be ashamed of ’Leny.”
+
+“Very true,” answered Mr. Graham. “No one need be ashamed of her. I
+should be proud to call her my daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps
+this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first marriage a
+secret from his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now, after
+the lapse of years, he dares not tell her for fear of what might
+follow.”
+
+“Then she’s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he’s a cowardly
+puppy! That’s my opinion on ’em, and I’ll tell ’em so, if ever I see
+’em!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath waxing warmer and warmer toward
+the destroyer of her daughter.
+
+Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment,
+took some, slyly casting it aside when she did not see him. This
+emboldened the old lady to offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly
+reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat talking to Carrie, who, on a
+low stool at her feet, was looking up into her face as if in perfect
+admiration. Without deigning other reply than a haughty shake of the
+head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who
+muttered, “How disgusting! But for pa’s sake we tolerate it.”
+
+Here ’Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh
+and blooming as a rose. There was no vacant seat near except one
+between Durward and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter,
+she accepted. A peculiar smile flitted over Carrie’s face, which was
+noticed by Mrs. Graham, and attributed to the right cause. Ere long
+Durward, John Jr., ’Lena and Anna, who had joined them, left the house,
+and from the window Carrie saw that they were amusing themselves by
+playing “Graces.” Gradually the sound of their voices increased, and as
+’Lena’s clear, musical laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs. Graham and
+Carrie looked out just in time to see Durward holding the struggling
+girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward of his having thrown the
+“grace hoop” upon her head.
+
+Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, “What kind of a
+girl is your cousin?” to which Carrie replied, “You have a fair sample
+of her,” at the same time nodding toward ’Lena, who was unmercifully
+pulling John Jr.’s ears as a reward for his presumption.
+
+“Rather hoydenish, I should think,” returned Mrs. Graham, secretly
+hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.
+
+At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat
+down in one of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm
+Everett, who naturally, and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna to
+himself, Durward observed this, and when he saw them walk away
+together, while ’Lena appeared wholly unconcerned, he began to think
+that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when she hinted of an
+engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John Jr.’s
+straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he
+said, “Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other’s
+society to ours.”
+
+“Oh, yes,” answered John. “I saw that years ago, when Anna wasn’t
+knee-high; and I’m glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine fellow.”
+
+’Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt certain
+that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger than that
+of friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton,
+the idea was too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment. Once
+exonerated from these charges, it was strange how fast ’Lena rose in
+his estimation, and when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did
+not wish he would leave them alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward
+replied, “Yes, yes, do.”
+
+“I reckon I will,” said John, shaking down his tight pants, and pulling
+at his long coat sleeves. “I never want anybody round when I’m with
+Nellie Douglass.”
+
+So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and ’Lena alone. That neither
+of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time which they
+remained together, for when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham
+proposed to Carrie to take a turn in the garden, she found the young
+couple still in the arbor, so wholly engrossed that they neither saw
+nor heard her until she stood before them.
+
+’Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a ride
+early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath, laid
+her hand on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from ’Lena
+instead of her son, she said, “No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can’t go—he
+has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna,
+whom I have asked to accompany me; so you see ’twill be impossible for
+him to ride with you.”
+
+“Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward. “You would like to
+visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?”
+
+“Oh, very much,” was ’Lena’s reply, while Mrs. Graham continued, “I am
+sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but our carriage
+will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded.”
+
+“It has carried six many a time,” said Durward, “and if she will go, I
+will take you on my lap, or anywhere.”
+
+Of course ’Lena declined—he knew she would—and determined not to be
+outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, “I shan’t
+release you from your engagement to ride with me. We will start early
+and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no way
+interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast.”
+
+Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but
+resolving not to leave them to finish their _tete-a-tete_, she threw
+herself upon one of the seats, and commenced talking to her son, while
+Carrie, burning with jealousy and vexation, started for the house,
+where she laid her grievances before her mother, who, equally enraged,
+declared her intention of “hereafter watching the vixen pretty
+closely.”
+
+“And she’s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well, I
+fancy I can prevent that.”
+
+“How?” asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, “You know she
+always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the
+Grattan woods, two miles away. Of course she’ll order Cæsar to bring
+him up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding him
+say nothing to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the
+morning she asks for the pony, he can tell her just how it is.”
+
+“Capital! capital!” exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there had
+been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the
+back parlor.
+
+“Whew!” thought the young man. “Plotting, are they? Well, I’ll see how
+good I am at counterplotting.”
+
+So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his servant,
+Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put in the
+lower stable instead of the one where she was usually kept; “and then
+in the morning, long before the sun is up,” said he, “do you have her
+at the door for one of the young ladies to ride.”
+
+“Yes, marster,” answered Bill, looking around for his old straw hat.
+
+“Now, see how quick you can go,” John Jr. continued, adding as an
+incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before old
+Cæsar, who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give him ten
+cents.
+
+Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and without
+stopping to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon the run,
+returning in the course of an hour and claiming his reward, as Cæsar
+had not yet got home.
+
+“All right,” said John Jr., tossing him the silver. “And now remember
+to keep your tongue between your teeth.”
+
+Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of
+tattling about something which to him seemed of no consequence
+whatever, and he walked off, eying his dime, and wishing he could earn
+one so easily every day.
+
+Meantime John Jr. sought out ’Lena, to whom he said, “And so you are
+going to ride to-morrow morning?”
+
+“How did you know ?” she asked, and John, looking very wise, replied,
+that “little girls should not ask too many questions,” adding, that as
+he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered Bill to
+have her at the door early in the morning.
+
+“Much obliged,” answered ’Lena. “I was about giving it up when I heard
+the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Cæsar is so cross I hated to ask
+him to go for her; but now I’ll say nothing to him about it.”
+
+That night when Cæsar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his
+mistress suddenly appeared, asking, “if he had received any orders to
+go for Fleetfoot.”
+
+The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, “No, miss, and
+Lord knows I don’t want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods
+to-night.”
+
+“You needn’t, either, and if any one tells you to go don’t you do it,”
+returned Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Somebody’s playin’ possum, that’s sartin,” thought Bill, who was
+present, and began putting things together. “Somebody’s playin’ possum,
+but they don’t catch this child leakin’.”
+
+“Have you told him?” whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the hall.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that “she presumed the
+ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Cæsar about the pony.”
+
+With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she
+commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to Woodlawn,
+dwelling upon it as if it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently
+exulting that ’Lena was to be left behind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+WOODLAWN.
+
+
+Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the eastern horizon,
+Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door saddled and waiting
+for its young rider, while near by it was Firelock, which Durward had
+borrowed of John Jr. At last ’Lena appeared, and if Durward had admired
+her beauty before, his admiration was now greatly increased when he saw
+how well she looked in her neatly fitting riding dress and tasteful
+straw hat. After bidding her good morning, he advanced to assist her in
+mounting, but declining his offer, she with one bound sprang into the
+saddle,
+
+“Jumps like a toad,” said Bill. “Ain’t stiff and clumsy like Miss
+Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.”
+
+At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the clatter of their
+horses’ hoofs arousing and bringing to the window Mrs. Graham, who had
+a suspicion of what was going on. Pushing aside the silken curtain, she
+looked uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her son cared aught
+for the graceful creature at his side, and thinking if he did, how hard
+she would labor to overcome his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the only
+one who watched them, for fearing lest Bill should not awake, John Jr.
+had foregone his morning nap, himself calling up the negro, and now
+from his window he, too, looked after them until they entered upon the
+turnpike and were lost to view. Then, with some very complimentary
+reflections upon Lena’s riding, he returned to his pillow, thinking to
+himself, “There’s a girl worth having. By Jove, if I’d never seen
+Nellie Douglass, and ’Lena wasn’t my cousin, wouldn’t I keep mother in
+the hysterics most of the time!”
+
+On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked ’Lena “where
+she wished to go.”
+
+“Anywhere you please,” said she, when, for reasons of his own, he
+proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn.
+
+’Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of
+satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family to
+visit Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it seemed like a
+perfect Eldorado. It was a grand old building, standing on a cross road
+about three miles from the turnpike, and commanding quite an extensive
+view of the country around. It was formerly owned by a wealthy
+Englishman, who spent his winters in New Orleans and his summers in the
+country. The year before he had died insolvent, Woodlawn falling into
+the hands of his creditors, who now offered it for sale, together with
+the gorgeous furniture which still remained just as the family had left
+it. To the left of the building was a large, handsome park, in which
+the former owner had kept a number of deer, and now as Durward and
+’Lena rode up and down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures
+would occasionally spring up and bound away with the fleetness of the
+wind.
+
+The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the
+former combining both the useful and the agreeable. A luxurious
+grape-vine wreathed itself over the arched entrance, while the wide,
+graveled walks were bordered, some with box, and others with choice
+flowers, now choked and overgrown with weeds, but showing marks of
+great beauty, when properly tended and cared for. At the extremity of
+the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the garden, was
+a summer house, fitted up with everything which could make it
+attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through
+the little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of the park, with
+many well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating finally at
+the side of a tiny sheet of water, which within a few years had forced
+itself through the limestone soil natural to Kentucky.
+
+Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting
+terms with the Livingstones; consequently, ’Lena had never before been
+at Woodlawn, and her admiration increased with every step, and when at
+last they entered the house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms,
+it knew no bounds. She remembered the time when she had thought her
+uncle’s furniture splendid beyond anything in the world, but it could
+not compare with the magnificence around her, and for a few moments she
+stood as if transfixed with astonishment. Durward had been highly
+amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning the grounds, and now
+noticing her silence, he asked “what was the matter?”
+
+“Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove
+an illusion and fade away,” said she.
+
+“Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw before?”
+he asked; and she replied, “Oh, yes, far more so,” at the same time
+giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she first saw
+the inside of her uncle’s house, and ending by saying, “But you can
+imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge pretty well
+what were my ideas of the world.”
+
+Wishing to see if ’Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode
+of living Durward said, “I have never heard anything concerning your
+eastern home and how you lived there—will you please to tell me?”
+
+“There’s nothing to tell which will interest you,” answered ’Lena; but
+Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade her
+commence.
+
+Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now
+at his bidding ’Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof,
+bare walls, and oaken floors—of herself, when, a bare-footed little
+girl, she picked _huckleberries_ with _Joel Slocum_! And then, in lower
+and more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother’s grave in the valley,
+near which her beloved grandfather—the only father she had ever
+known—was now sleeping. ’Lena never spoke of her grandfather without
+weeping. She could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did
+when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the
+arm of the sofa, she sobbed like a child.
+
+Durward’s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to
+consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently
+toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her ’_Lena_, and
+smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face. As soon as
+possible ’Lena released herself from him, and drying her tears,
+proposed that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time for
+them to return home. Accordingly, they passed on through room after
+room, ’Lena’s quick eye taking in and appreciating everything which she
+saw, while Durward was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking
+of herself so frankly as she had done. Many young ladies, he well knew,
+would shrink from acknowledging that their home was once in a brown,
+old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and ’Lena’s
+truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar things
+connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her
+which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance.
+
+But little was said by either of them as they went over the house,
+until Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly
+asked his companion “how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?”
+
+Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have
+blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer,
+but ’Lena quickly replied, “Not at all,” laughingly giving as an
+insuperable objection, “the size of the house and the number of windows
+she would have to wash!”
+
+With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home,
+and again mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which
+they reached just after the family had finished breakfast. With the
+first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what
+might occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie, anxious
+at the non-appearance of Durward and ’Lena, cast wistful glances toward
+each other, he very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had
+returned from his ride.”
+
+“I’ve not seen him,” answered the lady, her scowl deepening and her
+lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at
+ease.
+
+“Who’s gone to ride?” asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied that
+Durward and ’Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that “they
+must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so long.”
+
+This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept
+company with Mrs. Graham’s scowl. Chopping her steak into mince-meat,
+and almost biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at
+last found voice to ask, “what horse ’Lena rode!”
+
+“Fleetfoot, of course,” said John Jr., at the same time telling his
+father he thought “he ought to give ’Lena a pony of her own, for she
+was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting
+old and clumsy.”
+
+The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of Cæsar,
+whom she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him with the
+calaboose, and anything else which came to her mind. Old Cæsar was
+taken by surprise, and being rather slow of speech, was trying to think
+of something to say, when John Jr., who had followed his mother, came
+to his aid, saying that “he himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,” and
+adding aside to his mother, that “the next time she and Cad were
+plotting mischief he’d advise them to see who was in the back parlor!”
+
+Always ready to suspect ’Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately
+supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a
+reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide
+Cæsar, ’Lena, or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the
+pause followed the example of his young master and stole away. The
+tramp of horses’ feet was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally
+resolving that Fleetfoot should be sold, repaired to the door in time
+to see Durward carefully lift ’Lena from her pony and place her upon
+the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie were all standing upon the
+piazza, and as ’Lena came up the walk, her eyes sparkling and her
+bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed, “Isn’t she
+beautiful?” at the same time asking her “where she had been.”
+
+“To Woodlawn,” answered ’Lena.
+
+“To Woodlawn!” repeated Mrs. Graham.
+
+“To Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the
+rear by exclaiming, “To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?”
+
+“The pony,” answered ’Lena, as she passed into the house.
+
+Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. Livingstone said
+to her, in a low tone, “I would advise you to keep an eye upon your
+son, if he is at all susceptible, for there is no bound to ’Lena’s
+ambition.”
+
+Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her little gray
+eye was a sufficient answer, and satisfied with the result of her
+caution, Mrs. Livingstone reentered the house. Two hours afterward, the
+carriage stood at the door waiting to convey the party to Woodlawn. It
+had been arranged that Mrs. Graham, Carrie, Anna, and Durward should
+ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham went on horseback. Purposely,
+Carrie loitered behind her companions, who being first, of course took
+the back seat, leaving her the privilege of riding by the side of
+Durward. This was exactly what she wanted, and leaning back on her
+elbow, she complacently awaited his coming. But how was she chagrined,
+when, in his stead, appeared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage
+and took a seat beside her; saying to his wife’s look of inquiry, that
+as John Jr. had concluded to go, Durward preferred riding on horseback
+with him, adding, in his usually polite way, “And I, you know, would
+always rather go with the ladies. But where is Miss Rivers?” he
+continued. “Why isn’t she here?”
+
+“Simply because she wasn’t invited, I suppose,” returned his wife,
+detecting the disappointment in his face.
+
+“Not invited!” he repeated; “I didn’t know as this trip was of
+sufficient consequence to need a special invitation. I thought, of
+course, she was here——”
+
+“Or you would have gone on horseback,” said his wife, ever ready to
+catch at straws.
+
+Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the truthful:
+answer—“Yes”—while he compromised the matter by saying that “the
+presence of three fair ladies ought to satisfy him.”
+
+Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and during all the ride
+she was extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to Mr. Graham’s
+lively sallies, and winning golden laurels in the opinion of Mrs.
+Graham, who secretly thought her husband altogether too agreeable. As
+they turned into the long avenue which led to Woodlawn, and Carrie
+thought of the ride which ’Lena had enjoyed alone with its owner—for
+such was Durward reported to be—her heart swelled with bitterness
+toward her cousin, in whom she saw a dreaded rival. But when they
+reached the house, and Durward assisted her to alight, keeping at her
+side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy vanished, and
+with her sweetest smile she looked up into his face, affecting a world
+of childish simplicity, and making, as she believed, a very favorable
+impression.
+
+“I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as your cousin,”
+said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to be more intent on
+foreign subjects than the scenery around her.
+
+“Oh, no, I dare say not,” returned Carrie. “’Lena was never accustomed
+to anything until she came to Kentucky, and now I suppose she thinks
+she must go into ecstacies over everything, though I sometimes wish she
+wouldn’t betray her ignorance quite so often.”
+
+“According to her description, her home in Massachusetts was widely
+different from her present one,” said Durward, and Carrie quickly
+replied, “I wonder now if she bored you with an account of her former
+home! You must have been edified, and had a delightful ride, I
+declare.”
+
+“And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss Rivers is, I
+think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,” returned Durward, beginning
+to see the drift of her remarks.
+
+Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself from Carrie, he
+did not again return to her until it was time to go home. Meantime, at
+Maple Grove, Mrs. Livingstone, in the worst possible humor, was finding
+fault with poor ’Lena, accusing her of eavesdropping, and asking her if
+she did not begin to believe the old adage, that listeners never heard
+any good of themselves. In perfect astonishment ’Lena demanded what she
+meant, saying she had never, to her knowledge, been guilty of
+listening.
+
+Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone declared herself
+“satisfied now, for a person who would listen and then deny it, was
+capable of almost anything.”
+
+“What do you mean, madam ?” said ’Lena, her temper getting the
+ascendency. “Explain yourself, for no one shall accuse me of lying
+without an attempt to prove it.”
+
+With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder what you can do! Will
+you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?”
+
+“Admirers! What admirers?” asked ’Lena, and her aunt replied, “I’ll
+give you credit for feigning the best of any one I ever saw, but you
+can’t deceive me. I know very well of your intrigues to entrap Mr.
+Bellmont. But it is not strange that you should inherit something of
+your mother’s nature; and you know what she was!”
+
+This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the glittering
+tears, which shone like diamonds, ’Lena sprang to her feet, exclaiming,
+“Yes, I do know what she was. She was a far more worthy woman than you,
+and if in my presence you dare again breathe aught against her name,
+you shall rue it——”
+
+“That she shall, so help me heaven,” murmured a voice near, which
+neither Mrs. Livingstone nor ’Lena heard, nor were they aware of any
+one’s presence until Mr. Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway.
+
+At his wife’s request he had exchanged places with his son, and riding
+on before the rest, had reached home first, being just in time to
+overhear the last part of the conversation between Mrs. Livingstone and
+’Lena. Instantly changing her manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her
+niece from the room, heaving a deep sigh as the door closed after her,
+and saying that “none but those who had tried it knew what a thankless
+job it was to rear the offspring of others.”
+
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham’s eyes, as he answered, “In
+your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is willing. I have
+taken a great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would like to adopt her as my
+daughter. I will speak to Mrs. Graham to-night.”
+
+Much as she disliked ’Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for the world
+have her become an inmate of Mr. Graham’s family, where she would be
+constantly thrown in Durward’s way; and immediately changing her
+tactics, she replied, “I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my
+husband would not think of such a thing; neither should I be quite
+willing for her to leave us, much as she troubles me.”
+
+Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. That night, after he had
+retired to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, pacing up and down
+the apartment, occasionally pausing to gaze out into the moonlit sky,
+and then resuming his measured tread. At last nerving himself to brave
+the difficulty, he stopped before his wife, to whom he made known his
+plan of adopting ’Lena.
+
+“It seems hasty, I know,” said he, “but she is just the kind of person
+I would like to have round—just such a one as I would wish my daughter
+to be if I had one. In short, I like her, and with your consent I will
+adopt her as my own, and take her from this place where I know she’s
+not wanted. What say you, Lucy?”
+
+“Will you adopt the old woman too?” asked Mrs. Graham, whose face was
+turned away so as to hide its expression.
+
+“That is an after consideration,” returned her husband, “but if you are
+willing, I will either take her to our home, or provide for her
+elsewhere—but come, what do you say?”
+
+All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little dumpling
+hands folded one within the other, the long transparent nails making
+deep indentures in the soft flesh, and her gray eyes emitting _green_
+gleams of scorn. The answer her husband sought came at length, and was
+characteristic of the woman. Hissing out the words from between her
+teeth, she replied, “When I take ’Lena Rivers into my family for my
+husband and son to make love to, alternately, I shall be ready for the
+lunatic asylum at Lexington.”
+
+“And what objection have you to her?” asked Mr. Graham; to which his
+wife replied, “The very fact, sir, that you wish it, is a sufficient
+reason why I will not have her; besides that, you must misjudge me
+strangely if you think I’d be willing for my son to come daily in
+contact with a girl of her doubtful parentage.”
+
+“What know you of her parentage?” said Mr. Graham, his lips turning
+slightly pale.
+
+“Yes, what do I know?” answered his wife. “Her father, if she has any,
+is a rascal, a villain——”
+
+“Yes, yes, all of that,” muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife continued,
+“And her mother a poor, low, mean, ignorant——”
+
+“Hold!” thundered Mr. Graham. “You shall not speak so of any woman of
+whom you know nothing, much less of ’Lena Rivers’ mother.”
+
+“And pray what do you know of her—is she an old acquaintance?” asked
+Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner as much of insolence as possible.
+
+“I know,” returned Mr. Graham, “that ’Lena’s mother could be nothing
+else than respectable.”
+
+“Undoubtedly; but of this be assured—the daughter shall never, by my
+permission, darken my doors,” said Mrs. Graham, growing more and more
+excited, and continuing—“I know you of old, Harry Graham; and I know
+now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was so as to be near her,
+but it shan’t be.”
+
+In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself who had first
+suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that until within a day or two
+her husband and ’Lena were entire strangers. But this made no
+difference. She was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an
+hour she fretted and cried, declaring herself the most abused of her
+sex, and wishing she had never seen her husband, who, in his heart,
+warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving not to mention the
+offending ’Lena again in the presence of his wife.
+
+The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed; after which, Mr.
+and Mrs. Graham, together with Durward, returned to Louisville,
+intending to take possession of their new home about the first of
+October.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.
+
+
+As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were commenced for
+repairing Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in a style suited to the
+luxurious taste of its rightful owner, which, as report said, was in
+reality Durward. He had conceived a fancy for the place five years
+before, when visiting in the neighborhood, and on learning that it was
+for sale, he had purchased it, at the suggestion of his mother,
+proposing to his father that for a time, at least, he should be its
+nominal possessor. What reason he had for this he hardly knew himself,
+unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of great
+wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.
+
+And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved than was he.
+Courteous, kind-hearted, and generous almost to a fault, he gained
+friends wherever he went, and it was with some reason that Mrs. Graham
+thought herself blessed above mothers, in the possession of such a son.
+“He is so like me,” she would say, in speaking of his many virtues,
+when, in fact, there was scarcely anything in common between them, for
+nearly all of Durward’s sterling qualities were either inherited from
+his own father, or the result of many years’ companionship with his
+stepfather. Possessed of the most exquisite taste, he exercised it in
+the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under his skillful management,
+began in a few weeks to assume a more beautiful appearance than it had
+ever before worn.
+
+Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out to see how
+matters were progressing, the latter usually accepting Mrs.
+Livingstone’s pressing invitation to make her house his home. This he
+was the more willing to do, as it threw him into the society of ’Lena,
+who was fast becoming an object of absorbing interest to him. The more
+he saw of her, the more was his admiration increased, and oftentimes,
+when joked concerning his preference for Carrie, he smiled to think how
+people were deceived, determining, however, to keep his own secret
+until such time as he should be convinced that ’Lena was all he could
+desire in a wife. For her poverty and humble birth he cared nothing. If
+she were poor, he was rich, and he possessed too much good sense to
+deem himself better than she, because the blood of a nobleman flowed in
+his veins. He knew that she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could
+he be assured that she was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate
+a moment.
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone’s insinuation that she was a heartless coquette,
+troubled him, and though he could not believe it without more proof
+than he had yet received, he determined to wait and watch, studying her
+character, the while, to see if there was in her aught of evil. In this
+state of affairs, it was hardly more than natural that his manner
+toward her should be rather more reserved than that which he assumed
+toward Carrie, for whom he cared nothing, and with whom he talked
+laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was out of his sight,
+and never suspecting how much importance she attached to his every word
+and look, construing into tokens of admiration the most casual remark,
+such as he would utter to any one. This was of advantage to ’Lena, for,
+secure of their prize, both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie, for a time, at
+least, ceased to persecute her, seldom speaking of her in Durward’s
+presence, and, as a general thing, acting as though she were not in
+existence.
+
+John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of watching his
+mother and sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now withdrew his
+espionage, amusing himself, instead, by galloping three times a week
+over to Frankfort, the home of Nellie Douglass, and by keeping an eye
+upon Captain Atherton, who, as a spider would watch a fly, was lying in
+wait for the unsuspecting Anna.
+
+At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of Mrs.
+Graham, who came up early in October, bringing with her a larger train
+of house servants than was often seen in Woodford county. About three
+weeks after her arrival, invitations were issued for a party or “house
+warming,” as the negroes termed it. Nero, Durward’s valet, brought the
+tiny notes to Mr. Livingstone’s, giving them into the care of Carrie,
+who took them immediately to her mother’s room.
+
+“It’s Durward’s handwriting,” said she, glancing at the
+superscriptions, and reading as she did so—“Mr. and Mrs.
+Livingstone”—“Mr. John Livingstone, Jr.”—“Miss Carrie
+Livingstone”—“Miss Anna Livingstone”—“_Miss ’Lena Rivers_;” and here
+she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked up
+inquiringly—“And as I live, one for _grandma_—‘MRS. MARTHA NICHOLS!’”
+
+“Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for the
+billet. “Yes, ’tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!—what can it mean?”
+
+A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant. For once in
+his life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of being master in his own
+house, declaring that if Mrs. Nichols were not invited with the family,
+there should be no party at all. Mrs. Graham saw that he was in
+earnest, and yielded the point, knowing that in all probability the old
+lady would not be permitted to attend. Her husband had expected a like
+opposition with regard to ’Lena, but he was disappointed, for his wife,
+forgetting her declaration that ’Lena should never darken her doors and
+thinking it would not do to slight her, consented that, on her uncle’s
+account, she should be invited. Accordingly, the notes were despatched,
+producing the effect we have seen.
+
+“How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!” said Carrie. “It’s bad
+enough to have ’Lena stuck in with us, for of course _she’ll_ go.”
+
+“Why of course?” asked Mrs. Livingstone. “The invitations are at my
+disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two of them, no one will be
+blamed but Nero, who was careless and dropped them! ’Lena has nothing
+decent to wear, and I don’t feel like expending much more for a person
+so ungrateful as she is. You ought to have heard how impudent she was
+that time you all went to Woodlawn.”
+
+Then followed a one-sided description of that morning’s occurrence,
+Mrs. Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch of excitement, that
+before her recital was finished, she had determined at all events to
+keep back ’Lena’s invitation, as a method of punishing her for her
+“insolence,” as she termed it.
+
+“Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know,” said she, “for she cannot
+endure her; and besides that, I don’t think ’Lena expects to be
+invited, so there’s no harm done.”
+
+Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for a moment
+her better nature shrank from so mean a transaction, which might, after
+all, be found out, involving them in a still worse difficulty; but as
+the thought flashed upon her that possibly ’Lena might again attract
+Durward toward her, she assented, and they were about putting the notes
+aside, when John Jr. came in, catching up his grandmother’s note the
+first thing, and exclaiming, “Oh, _rich_!—_capital_! I hope she’ll go!”
+Then, before his mother could interpose a word, he darted away in quest
+of Mrs. Nichols, whose surprise was fully equal to that of Mrs.
+Livingstone and Carrie.
+
+“Now, you don’t say I’ve got an invite,” said she, leaving the
+darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mending, and wiping
+her steel-bowed spectacles. “Come, ’Leny, you read it, that’s a good
+girl.”
+
+’Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin’s hand, read that
+Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc.
+
+“But where’s the invite? That don’t say anything about _me_!” said Mrs.
+Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug after all.
+
+As well as they could, ’Lena and John Jr. explained it to her, and
+then, fully convinced that she was really invited, Mrs. Nichols began
+to wonder what she should wear, and how she should go, asking John “if
+he couldn’t tackle up and carry her in the shay,” as she called the
+single buggy.
+
+“Certainly,” answered John Jr. willing to do anything for the sake of
+the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother’s attendance.
+
+’Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify her
+grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to the ridicule
+which her appearance at a fashionable party would call forth. Glancing
+reprovingly at her cousin, she said, “I wouldn’t think of going,
+grandma, for you are lame and old, and there’ll be so many people
+there, all strangers, too, that you won’t enjoy it at all. Besides
+that, we’ll have a nice time at home together—-I’ll read to you all the
+evening.”
+
+“_We_,” repeated John Jr. “Pray, are you not going?”
+
+“Not without an invitation,” said ’Lena smilingly.
+
+“True, true,” returned her cousin. “It’s downstairs, I dare say. I only
+stopped to look at this. I’ll go and get yours now.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother’s room,
+asking for “’Lena’s card.”
+
+“’Lena’s card! What do you mean?” said Mrs. Livingstone, looking up
+from the book she was reading, while Carrie for a moment suspended her
+needle-work.
+
+“’Lena’s invitation; you know well enough what I mean,” returned John
+Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the table, and failing to
+find the one for which he was seeking.
+
+“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it’s not here,”
+was Mrs. Livingstone’s quiet answer.
+
+“Thunder!” roared John Jr., “’Lena not invited! That’s a smart caper.
+But there’s some mistake about it, I know. Who brought them?”
+
+“Nero brought them,” said Carrie, “and I think it is strange that
+grandmother should be invited and ’Lena left out. But I suppose Mrs.
+Graham has her reasons. She don’t seem to fancy ’Lena much.”
+
+“Mrs. Graham go to grass,” muttered John Jr., leaving the room and
+slamming the door after him with great violence.
+
+’Twas a pity he did not look in one of the drawers of his mother’s
+work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing note! But he did
+not think of that. He only knew that ’Lena was slighted, and for the
+next two hours he raved and fretted, sometimes declaring he would not
+go, and again wishing Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little suited to
+her round, fat proportions.
+
+“Wall, if they feel too big to invite ’Leny, they needn’t expect to see
+me there, that’s just all there is about it,” said grandma, settling
+herself in her rocking-chair, and telling ’Lena “she wouldn’t care an
+atom if she’s in her place.”
+
+But ’Lena did care. No one likes to be slighted, and she was not an
+exception to the general rule. Owing to her aunt’s skillful management
+she had never yet attended a large party, and it was but natural that
+she should now wish to go. But it could not be, and she was obliged to
+content herself with the hopes of a minute description from Anna;
+Carrie she would not trust, for she well knew that whatever she told
+would be greatly exaggerated.
+
+Mrs. Graham undoubtedly wished to give her friends ample time to
+prepare, for her invitations were issued nearly a week in advance. This
+suited Carrie, who had a longer time to decide upon what would be
+becoming, and when at last a decision was made, she could do nothing
+but talk about her dress, which really was beautiful, consisting of a
+pink and white silk, with an over-skirt of soft, rich lace. This, after
+it was completed, was tried on at least half a dozen times, and the
+effect carefully studied before the long mirror. Anna, who cared much
+less for dress than her sister, decided upon a black flounced skirt and
+velvet basque. This was Mr. Everett’s taste, and whatever suited him
+suited her.
+
+“I do think it’s too bad that ’Lena is not invited,” said she one day,
+when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party. “She would enjoy it so
+much. I don’t understand, either, why she is omitted, for Mr. Graham
+seemed to like her, and Durward too——”
+
+“A great ways off, you mean,” interrupted Carrie. “For my part, I see
+nothing strange in the omission. It is no worse to leave her out than
+scores of others who will not be invited.”
+
+“But to come into the house and ask all but her,” said Anna. “It does
+not seem right. She is as good as we are.”
+
+“That’s as people think,” returned Carrie, while John Jr., who was just
+going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at the door, exclaimed,
+“Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy yourself better than ’Lena Rivers.
+If you do, you are the only one that thinks so. Why, you can’t begin to
+compare with her, and it’s a confounded shame that she isn’t invited,
+and so I shall tell them if I have a good chance.”
+
+“You’ll look smart fishing for an invitation, won’t you?” said Carrie,
+her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of her hearing almost
+before the words were uttered.
+
+Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in with
+Durward, who was bound for the same place. After the usual greetings
+were exchanged, Durward said, “I suppose you are all coming on Thursday
+night?”
+
+“Yes,” returned John Jr., “I believe the old folks, Cad, and Anna
+intend doing so.”
+
+“But where’s Miss Rivers? Doesn’t she honor us with her presence?”
+asked Durward, in some concern.
+
+John Jr.’s first impulse, as he afterwards said, was “to knock him off
+from his horse,” but a second thought convinced him there might be some
+mistake; so he replied that “it was hardly to be supposed Miss Rivers
+would attend without an invitation—she wasn’t quite so verdant as
+that!”
+
+“Without an invitation!” repeated Durward, stopping short in the road.
+“’Lena not invited! It isn’t so! I directed one to her myself, and gave
+it to Nero, together with the rest which were designed for your family.
+He must have lost it. I’ll ask him the moment I get home, and see that
+it is all made right. She must come, any way, for I wouldn’t give——”
+
+Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished the
+sentence for him.
+
+“Wouldn’t give a picayune for the whole affair without her—that’s what
+you mean, and why not say so? I speak right out about Nellie, and she
+isn’t one half as handsome as ’Lena.”
+
+“It isn’t ’Lena’s beauty that I admire altogether,” returned Durward.
+“I like her for her frankness, and because I think her conduct is
+actuated by the best of principles; perhaps I am mistaken——”
+
+“No, you are not,” again interrupted John Jr., “’Lena is just what she
+seems to be. There’s no deception in her. She isn’t one thing to-day
+and another to-morrow. Spunky as the old Nick, you know, but still she
+governs her temper admirably, and between you and me, I know I’m a
+better man than I should have been had she never come to live with us.
+How well I remember the first time I saw her,” he continued, repeating
+to Durward the particulars of their interview in Lexington, and
+describing her introduction to his sisters. “From the moment she
+refused to tell that lie for me, I liked her,” said he, “and when she
+dealt me that blow in my face, my admiration was complete.”
+
+Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he laughed
+heartily at John’s description of his spirited cousin, thinking, too,
+how different was his opinion of her from that which his mother
+evidently entertained. Still, if Mrs. Livingstone was prejudiced, John
+Jr. might also be somewhat biased, so he would not yet make up his
+mind; but on one thing he was resolved—she should be invited, and for
+fear of contingencies, he would carry the card himself.
+
+Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely questioned, and
+negro-like, called down all manner of evil upon himself “if he done
+drapped the note any whar. ’Strue as I live and breathe, Mas’r
+Bellmont,” said he, “I done carried Miss ’Leny’s invite with the rest,
+and guv ’em all to the young lady with the big nose!”
+
+Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might have
+believed him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that Nero
+had accidentally dropped it. So he wrote another, taking it himself,
+and asking for “Miss Rivers.” Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him
+coming up to the house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her
+collar, puffing out her hair a little more, pinching her cheek, which
+was not quite so red as usual, and wishing that she was alone. But
+unfortunately, both Anna and ’Lena were present, and as there was no
+means of being rid of them, she retained her seat at the piano,
+carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when the door
+opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared.
+
+“If you please, Miss ’Lena,” said the girl, “Marster Bellmont want to
+speak with you in the hall.”
+
+“With ’Lena! How funny!” exclaimed Carrie. “Are you sure it was ’Lena?”
+
+“Yes, sure—he done ask for Miss Rivers.”
+
+“Ask him in, why don’t you?” said Carrie, suspecting his errand, and
+thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing “wonderfully
+pleased” that ’Lena was not intentionally neglected. Before Corinda
+could reply, ’Lena had stepped into the hall, and was standing face to
+face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he asked if “she really
+believed they, intended to slight her,” at the same time explaining how
+it came to his knowledge, and saying “he hoped she would not fail to
+attend.”
+
+’Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely
+think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented,
+and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if
+she were not there with the rest.
+
+“You feel better, now, don’t you ?” said Carrie with a sneer, as ’Lena
+re-entered the parlor.
+
+“Yes, a great deal,” was ’Lena’s truthful answer.
+
+“Oh, I’m real glad!” exclaimed Anna. “I most knew ’twas a mistake all
+the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you wear? Let me see.
+Why, you haven’t got anything suitable, have you?”
+
+This was true, for ’Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was
+beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and
+to him Anna forthwith stated the case, saying ’Lena must have a new
+dress, and suggesting embroidered muslin.
+
+“How ridiculous!” muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano.
+“There’s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her
+earlier.”
+
+“Isn’t Miss Simpson still here?” asked her father.
+
+Anna replied that she was, and then turning to ’Lena, Mr. Livingstone
+asked if “she wanted to go very much.”
+
+The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when at
+supper that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was said
+that he had gone to Frankfort.
+
+“To Frankfort!” repeated his wife. “What has he gone there for?”
+
+No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned home, bringing
+with him ’Lena’s dress, which Anna pronounced “the sweetest thing she
+ever saw,” at the same time running with it to her cousin. There was
+company in the parlor, which for a time kept down the gathering storm
+in Mrs. Livingstone’s face, but the moment they were gone, and she was
+alone with her husband in their room, it burst forth, and in angry
+tones she demanded “what he meant by spending her money in that way,
+and without her consent?”
+
+Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her work-box, and
+opening the little drawer, held to view the missing note. Then turning
+to his wife, whose face was very pale, he said, “This morning I made a
+discovery which exonerates Nero from all blame. I understand it fully,
+and while I knew you were capable of almost anything, I must say I did
+not think you would be guilty of quite so mean an act. Stay,” he
+continued, as he saw her about to speak, “you are my wife, and as ’Lena
+is at last invited, your secret is safe, but remember, it must not be
+repeated. You understand me, do you?”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and
+astonishment—the first, that she was detected, and the last, that her
+husband dare assume such language toward her. But he had her in his
+power—she knew that—and for a time it rendered her very docile, causing
+her to consult with Miss Simpson concerning the fitting of ’Lena’s
+dress, herself standing by when it was done, and suggesting one or two
+improvements, until ’Lena, perfectly bewildered, wondered what had come
+over her aunt, that she should be so unusually kind. Carrie, too,
+learning from her mother how matters stood, thought proper to change
+her manner, and while in her heart she hoped something would occur to
+keep ’Lena at home, she loudly expressed her pleasure that she was
+going, offering to lend her several little ornaments, and doing many
+things which puzzled ’Lena, who readily saw that she was feigning what
+she did not feel.
+
+Meanwhile, grandma, learning that ’Lena was invited, declared her
+intention of going. “I shouldn’t of gin up in the first on’t,” said
+she, “only I wanted to show ’em proper resentment; but now it’s
+different, and I’ll go, anyway—’Tilda may say what she’s a mind to.”
+
+It was in vain that ’Lena reasoned the case. Grandma was decided, and
+it was not until both her son and daughter interfered, the one advising
+and the other commanding her to stay at home, that she yielded with a
+burst of tears, for grandma was now in her second childhood, and easily
+moved. It was terrible to ’Lena to see her grandmother weep, and
+twining her arms around her neck, she tried to soothe her, saying, “she
+would willingly stay at home with her if she wished it.”
+
+Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this. “No, ’Leny,” said
+she, “I want you to go and enjoy yourself while you are young, for
+you’ll sometime be old and in the way;” and the old creature covered
+her face with her shriveled hands and wept.
+
+But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, and drying
+her tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride and satisfaction
+which she felt when she saw how well the white muslin became ’Lena,
+who, John Jr., said, never looked so beautifully as she did when
+arrayed for the party. Mr. Livingstone had not been sparing of his
+money when he purchased the party dress, which was a richly embroidered
+muslin, and fell in soft folds around ’Lena’s graceful figure. Her long
+flowing curls were intertwined with a few natural flowers, her only
+attempt at ornament of any kind, and, indeed, ornaments would have been
+sadly out of place on ’Lena.
+
+It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple Grove reached
+Woodlawn, where they found a large company assembled, some in the
+drawing-rooms below, and others still lingering at the toilet in the
+dressing chamber. Among these last were Nellie Douglass and Mabel Ross,
+the latter of whom Mrs. Livingstone was perfectly delighted to see,
+overwhelming her with caresses, and urging her to stop for awhile at
+Maple Grove.
+
+“I shall be so glad to have you with us, and the country air will do
+you so much good, that you must not refuse,” said she, pinching Mabel’s
+sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy hair, which, in
+contrast with the bandeau of pearls that she wore, looked dark as
+midnight.
+
+Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and
+there was something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone’s _motherly_ demeanor,
+that the heart of the young orphan warmed toward her, and tears
+glittered in her large, mournful eyes, the only beauty, save her hair,
+of which she could boast. Very few had ever cared for poor Mabel, who,
+though warm-hearted and affectionate, required to be known in order to
+be appreciated, and as she was naturally shy and retiring, there were
+not many who felt at all acquainted with her. Left alone in the world
+at a very early age, she had never known what it was to possess a real,
+disinterested friend, unless we except Nellie Douglass, who, while
+there was nothing congenial between them, had always tried to treat
+Mabel as she herself would wish to be treated, were she in like
+circumstances.
+
+Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which they knew
+would accrue, for she was generous to a fault, bestowing with a lavish
+hand upon those whom she loved, and who had too often proved false,
+denouncing her as utterly spiritless and insipid. So often had she been
+deceived, that now, at the age of eighteen, she had learned to distrust
+her fellow creatures, and oftentimes in secret would she weep bitterly
+over her lonely condition, lamenting the plain face and unattractive
+manners, which she fancied rendered her an object of dislike. Still
+there was about her a depth of feeling of which none had ever dreamed,
+and it only required a skillful hand to mold her into an altogether
+different being. She was, perhaps, too easily influenced, for in spite
+of her distrust, a pleasant word or kind look would win her to almost
+anything.
+
+Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the better
+accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel should
+believe her to be the best friend she had in the world. Accordingly,
+she now flattered and petted her, calling her “darling,” and “dearest,”
+and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, “provided
+Nellie Douglas were willing.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t care,” answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing disposition
+poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it rather
+a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.
+
+So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs.
+Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, “Go down with
+me,” at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her
+daughters, Nellie, and ’Lena. In the hall they met with John Jr. He had
+heard Nellie’s voice, and stationing himself at the head of the stairs,
+was waiting her appearance.
+
+“Miss Ross,” said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time
+indicating her willingness to give her into his care.
+
+But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he
+passed on toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie’s train
+and drawing from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness. Mrs.
+Livingstone glanced backward just in time to see the look of affection
+with which her son regarded Nellie, as she placed her soft hand
+confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward smilingly into his face. She
+dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with a mental invective
+against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and smoothing down the
+heavy folds of her _moire antique_, entered the drawing-room, which was
+brilliantly lighted, and filled with the beauty and fashion of
+Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.
+
+At the door they met Durward, who, as he took ’Lena’s hand, said, “It
+is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after
+you.” This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides
+having her son and Nellie under her special cognizance, had also an eye
+upon her niece and Anna. Her espionage of the latter, however, was not
+needed immediately, owing to her being straightway appropriated by
+Captain Atherton, who, in dainty white kids, and vest to match (the
+color not the material), strutted back and forth with Anna tucked under
+his arm, until the poor girl was ready to cry with vexation.
+
+When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham and Durward
+started for ’Lena, the latter reaching her first, and paying her so
+many little attentions, that the curiosity of others was aroused, and
+frequently was the question asked, “Who is she, the beautiful young
+lady in white muslin and curls?”
+
+Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in passing near
+her niece, she managed to whisper, “For heaven’s sake don’t show your
+ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. Bellmont’s good nature any longer.
+It’s very improper to claim any one’s attention so long, and you are
+calling forth remarks.”
+
+Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to
+Durward, “How _can_ you resist such beseeching glances as those ladies
+send toward you?” nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie was one.
+
+’Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room in quest of
+some other shelter when Durward should relinquish her, as she felt he
+would surely do, but none presented itself. Her uncle was playing the
+agreeable to Miss Atherton, Mr. Graham to some other lady, while John
+Jr. kept closely at Nellie’s side, forgetful of all else.
+
+“What shall I do?” said ’Lena, unconsciously and half aloud.
+
+“Stay with me,” answered Durward, drawing her hand further within his
+arm, and bending upon her a look of admiration which she could not
+mistake.
+
+Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who was highly
+incensed at her son’s proceedings, and at last actually asked him “if
+he did not intend noticing anyone except Miss Rivers,” adding, as an
+apology for her rudeness (for Mrs. Graham prided herself upon being
+very polite in her own house), “she has charms enough to win a dozen
+gallants, but there are others here who need attention from you.
+There’s Miss Livingstone, you’ve hardly spoken with her to-night.”
+
+Thus importuned, Durward released ’Lena and walked away, attaching
+himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possible, than did the
+old captain to Anna. About this time Mr. Everett came. He had been
+necessarily detained, and now, after paying his respects to the host
+and hostess, he started in quest of Anna, who was still held “in
+durance vile” by the captain. But the moment she saw Malcolm, she
+uttered a low exclamation of joy, and without a single apology, broke
+abruptly away from her ancient cavalier, whose little watery eyes
+looked daggers after her for an instant; then consoling himself with
+the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her, do what she would, he
+walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her for a time of her charge,
+who was becoming rather tiresome. Frequently, by nods, winks, and
+frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone tried to bring her son to a sense of his
+improper conduct in devoting himself exclusively to one individual, and
+neglecting all others.
+
+But her efforts were all in vain. John Jr. was incorrigible, slyly
+whispering to Nellie, that “he had no idea of beauing a medicine
+chest.” This he said, referring to Mabel’s ill health, for among his
+other oddities, John Jr. had a particular aversion to sickly ladies. Of
+course Nellie reproved him for his unkind remarks, at the same time
+warmly defending Mabel, “who,” she said, “had been delicate from
+infancy, and suffered far more than was generally suspected.”
+
+“Let her stay at home, then,” was John Jr.’s answer, as he led Nellie
+toward the supper-room, which the company were just then entering.
+
+About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs. Livingstone
+being the first to propose going. As she was ascending the stairs, John
+Jr. observed that Mabel was with her, and turning to ’Lena, who now
+leaned on his arm, he said, “There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.—so
+mother thinks!”
+
+“Where?” asked ’Lena, looking around.
+
+“Why, there,” continued John, pointing toward Mabel. “Haven’t you
+noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches over her?”
+
+“I saw them together,” answered ’Lena, “and I thought it very kind in
+my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and I felt sorry for
+her. She is going home with us, I believe.”,
+
+“Going home with _us_!” repeated John Jr. “In the name of the people,
+what is she going home with us for?”
+
+“Why,” returned ’Lena, “your mother thinks the country air will do her
+good.”
+
+“_Un_-doubtedly,” said John, with a sneer. “Mother’s motives are
+usually very disinterested. I wonder she don’t propose to the old
+captain to take up _his_ quarters with us, so she can nurse him!”
+
+With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr. should
+be very polite toward Mabel, and when his mother asked him to help her
+into the carriage, he complied so ungraciously, that Mabel observed it,
+and looked wonderingly at her _patroness_ for an explanation.
+
+“Only one of his freaks, love—he’ll get over it,” said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while poor Mabel, sinking back amoung the cushions, wept
+silently, thinking that everybody hated her.
+
+When ’Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good-night, the former
+retained her hand, while he expressed his sorrow at her leaving so
+soon. “I meant to have seen more of you,” said he, “but you must visit
+us often—will you not?”
+
+Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham’s observation, and
+the lecture which she that night read her offending spouse, had the
+effect to keep him awake until the morning was growing gray in the
+east. Then, when he was asleep, he so far forgot himself and the
+wide-open ears beside him as actually to breathe the name of ’Lena in
+his dreams!
+
+Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspicions, and at
+the breakfast-table next morning, she gave her son a lengthened account
+of her husband’s great sin in dreaming of a young girl, and that girl
+’Lena Rivers. Durward laughed heartily and then, either to tease his
+mother, or to make his father’s guilt less heinous in her eyes, he
+replied, “It is a little singular that our minds should run in the same
+channel, for, I, too, dreamed of ’Lena Rivers!”
+
+Poor Mrs. Graham. A double task was now imposed upon her—that of
+watching both husband and son; but she was accustomed to it, for her
+life, since her second marriage, had been one continued series of
+watching for evil where there was none. And now, with a growing hatred
+toward ’Lena, she determined to increase her vigilance, feeling sure
+she should discover something if she only continued faithful to the
+end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+MABEL.
+
+
+The morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone’s family were
+assembled in the parlor, discussing the various events of the previous
+night. John Jr., ’Lena, and Anna declared themselves to have been
+highly pleased with everything, while Carrie in the worst of humors,
+pronounced it “a perfect bore,” saying she never had so disagreeable a
+time in all her life, and ending her ill-natured remarks by a malicious
+thrust at ’Lena, for having so long kept Mr. Bellmont at her side.
+
+“I suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, but I think
+he showed his good taste by preferring ’Lena,” said John Jr.; then
+turning toward the large easy-chair, where Mabel sat, pale, weary, and
+spiritless, he asked “how she had enjoyed herself.”
+
+With the exception of his accustomed “good-morning,” this was the first
+time he had that day addressed her, and it was so unexpected, that it
+brought a bright glow to her cheek, making John Jr. think she was “not
+so horribly ugly after all.”
+
+But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, “that on account
+of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed anything of the kind.” Then
+pressing her hand upon her forehead, she continued, “My head is aching
+dreadfully, as a punishment for last night’s dissipation.”
+
+Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching head, and now,
+with an impatient gesture, he was turning away, when his mother said,
+“Poor girl, she really looks miserable. I think a ride would do her
+good. Suppose you take her with you—I heard you say you were going to
+Versailles.”
+
+If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horsemanship, she
+being a better rider, if possible; than ’Lena, and now, at Mrs.
+Livingstone’s proposition, she looked up eagerly at John Jr., who
+replied,
+
+“Oh, hang it all! mother, I can’t always be bothered with a girl;” then
+as he saw how Mabel’s countenance fell, he continued, “Let ’Lena ride
+with her—she wants to, I know.”
+
+“Certainly,” said ’Lena, whose heart warmed toward the orphan girl,
+partly because she was an orphan, and partly because she saw that she
+was neglected and unloved.
+
+As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected his
+mother’s object in detaining her as a guest. So when ’Lena was proposed
+as a substitute she seemed equally well pleased, and the young man, as
+he walked off to order the ponies, mentally termed himself a bear for
+his rudeness; “for after all,” thought he, “it’s mother who has designs
+upon me, not Mabel. She isn’t to blame.”
+
+This opinion once satisfactorily settled, it was strange how soon John
+Jr. began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her much more agreeable
+than he had at first supposed, and even acknowledging to ’Lena that
+“she was a good deal of a girl, after all, were it not for her
+everlasting headaches and the smell of medicine,” which he declared she
+always carried about with her.
+
+“Hush-sh,” said ’Lena—“you shan’t talk so, for she is sick a great
+deal, and she does not feign it, either.”
+
+“Perhaps not,” returned John Jr., “but she can at least keep her
+_miserable feelings_ to herself. Nobody wants to know how many times
+she’s been blistered and bled!”
+
+Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were somethings in Mabel which
+he liked, for no one could live long with her and not admire her
+gentleness and uncommon sweetness of disposition, which manifested
+itself in numerous little acts of kindness to those around her. Never
+before in her life had she been so constantly associated with a young
+gentleman, and as she was quite susceptible, it is hardly more than
+natural that erelong thoughts of John Jr. mingled in both her sleeping
+and waking dreams. She could not understand him, but the more his
+changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in him, and
+her eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word from him, or fill
+with tears at the abruptness of his speeches; while he seemed to take
+special delight in seeing how easily he could move her from one extreme
+to the other.
+
+Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each change, and
+warily calculating its result. Not once since Mabel became an inmate of
+her family had she mentioned her to her son, for she deemed it best to
+wait, and let matters take their course. But at last, anxious to know
+his real opinion, she determined to sound him. Accordingly, one day
+when they were alone, she spoke of Mabel, asking him if he did not
+think she improved upon acquaintance, at the same time enumerating her
+many excellent qualities, and saying that whoever married her would get
+a prize, to say nothing of a fortune.
+
+Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. replied, “I
+dare say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome to
+them for all me.”
+
+“I thought you liked Mabel,” said his mother; and John answered, “So I
+do like her, but for pity’s sake, is a man obliged to marry every girl
+he likes? Mabel does very well to tease and amuse one, but when you
+come to the marrying part, why, that’s another thing.”
+
+“And what objection have you to her,” continued his mother, growing
+very fidgety and red.
+
+“Several,” returned John, “She has altogether too many aches and pains
+to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever; and last, but not least, I
+like somebody else. So, mother mine, you may as well give up all hopes
+of that hundred thousand down in Alabama, for I shall never marry Mabel
+Ross, never.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very angry, and,
+in an elevated tone of voice, she said, “I s’pose it’s Nellie Douglass
+you mean, but if you knew all of her that I do, I reckon——”
+
+Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something dreadful, if
+she would! But John Jr. took no notice of her hints, and when he got a
+chance, he replied, “You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie
+will have me, I surely will have her.”
+
+“Marry her, then,” retorted his mother—“marry her with all her poverty,
+but for heaven’s sake, don’t give so much encouragement to a poor
+defenseless girl.”
+
+Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he’d neither speak to nor look
+at her again, if common civilities were construed into encouragement,
+John Jr. strode out of the room, determining, as the surest method of
+ending the trouble, to go forthwith to Nellie, and in a plain,
+straight-forward way make her an offer of himself. With him, to will
+was to do, and in about an hour he was descending the long hill which
+leads into Frankfort. Unfortunately, Nellie had gone for a few weeks to
+Madison, and again mounting Firelock, the young man galloped back,
+reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper. Not
+feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, the sight of
+his mother and Mabel, whom he believed were leagued against him, he
+repaired to the parlor, whistling loudly, and making much more noise
+than was at all necessary.
+
+“If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won’t you be a little more quiet, for
+my head aches so hard to-night,” said a languid voice, from the depths
+of the huge easy-chair which stood before the glowing grate.
+
+Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle of shawls,
+John Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up and her lips white as
+ashes, while the purple rings about her heavy eyes, told of the pain
+she was enduring.
+
+“Thunder!” was John’s exclamation, as he strode from the room, slamming
+together the door with unusual force.
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of hot tea and a
+slice of toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find her sobbing like a
+child. It did not take long for her to learn the cause, and then, as
+well as she could, she soothed her, telling her not to mind John’s
+freaks—it was his way, and he always had a particular aversion to sick
+people, never liking to hear them talk of their ailments. This hint was
+sufficient for Mabel, who ever after strove hard to appear well and
+cheerful in his presence. But in no way, if he could help it, would he
+notice her.
+
+Next to Mrs. Livingstone, ’Lena was Mabel’s best friend, and when she
+saw how much her cousin’s rudeness and indifference pained her, she
+determined to talk with him about it, So the first time they were
+alone, she broached the subject, speaking very kindly of Mabel, and
+asking if he had any well-grounded reason for his uncivil treatment of
+her. There was no person in the world who possessed so much influence
+over John Jr. as did ’Lena, and now, hearing her patiently through, he
+replied, “I know I’m impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I can help it.
+She is so flat and silly, and takes every little attention from me as a
+declaration of love. Still, I don’t blame her as much as I do mother,
+who is putting her up to it, and if she’d only go home and mind her own
+business, I should like her well enough.”
+
+“I don’t understand you,” said ’Lena, and her cousin continued; “Why,
+when Mabel first came here, I do not think she knew what mother was
+fishing for, so she was not so much at fault, but she does now——”
+
+“Are you sure?” interrupted ’Lena, and John Jr. replied, “She’s a
+confounded fool if she don’t. And what provokes me, is to think she’ll
+still keep staying here, when modesty, if nothing else, should prompt
+her to leave. You wouldn’t catch Nellie doing so. Why, she’ll hardly
+come her at all, for fear folks will say she comes to see me, and
+that’s why I like her so well.”
+
+“I think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel,” said Lena, “for I’ve
+no idea she’s in love with you a bit more than I am. I dare say she
+likes you well enough, for there’s nothing in you to dislike.”
+
+“Thank you,” interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a
+kiss, a liberty he often took with her.
+
+“Behave, can’t you?” said ’Lena, at the same time continuing—“No, I
+don’t suppose Mabel is dying for you at all. All of us girls like to
+receive attention from you gentlemen, and she’s not an exception.
+Besides that, you ought to be polite to her, because she’s your
+mother’s guest, if for nothing else. I don’t ask you to love her,” said
+she, “but I do ask you to treat her well. Kind words cost nothing, and
+they go far toward making others happy.”
+
+“So they do,” answered John, upon whom ’Lena’s words were having a good
+effect. “I’ve nothing under heaven against Mabel Ross, except that
+mother wants me to marry her; but if you’ll warrant me that the young
+lady herself has no such intentions, why, I’ll do my very best.”
+
+“I’ll warrant you,” returned ’Lena, who really had no idea that Mabel
+cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satisfied with the result
+of her interview she started to leave the room.
+
+As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, “You are sure
+she don’t care for me?”
+
+“Perfectly sure,” was ’Lena’s answer.
+
+“The plague, she don’t,” thought John, as the door closed upon ’Lena;
+and such is human nature, that the young man began to think that if
+Mabel didn’t care for him, he’d see if he couldn’t make her, for after
+all, there was something pleasant in being liked, even by Mabel!
+
+The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in the parlor,
+John Jr. joined them, and after wringing Carrie’s nose, pulling ’Lena’s
+and Anna’s curls, he suddenly upset Mabel’s work-box, at the same time
+slyly whispering to his cousin, “Ain’t I coming round?”
+
+Abrupt as this proceeding, was, it pleased Mabel, who with the utmost
+good humor, commenced picking up her things, John Jr. assisting her,
+and managing once to bump his head against hers! After this, affairs at
+Maple Grove glided on as smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could wish.
+John and Mabel were apparently on the most amicable terms, he deeming
+’Lena’s approbation a sufficient reward for the many little attentions
+which he paid to Mabel, and she, knowing nothing of all that had
+passed, drinking in his every word and look, learning to live upon his
+smile, and conforming herself, as far as possible, to what she thought
+would best please him.
+
+Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone unfolded to
+Mabel her own wishes, saying she should be perfectly happy could she
+only call her “daughter,” and hinting that such a thing “by wise
+management could easily be brought about.” With a gush of tears the
+orphan girl laid her head in Mrs. Livingstone’s lap, mentally blessing
+her as her benefactress, and thanking the Giver of all good for the
+light and happiness which she saw dawning upon her pathway.
+
+“John is peculiar,” said Mrs. Livingstone, “and if he fancied you liked
+him very much, it might not please him as well as indifference on your
+part.”
+
+So, with this lesson, Mabel, for the first time in her life attempted
+to act as she did not feel, feigning carelessness or indifference when
+every pulse of her heart was throbbing with joy at some little
+attention paid her by John Jr., who could be very agreeable when he
+chose, and who, observing her apparent indifference, began to think
+that what ’Lena had said was true, and that Mabel really cared nothing
+for him. With this impression he exerted himself to be agreeable,
+wondering how her many good qualities had so long escaped his
+observation.
+
+“There is more to her than I supposed,” said he one day to ’Lena, who
+was commending him for his improved manner. “Yes, a heap more than I
+supposed. Why, I really like her!”
+
+And he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid aside, he, as is
+often the case, began to find virtues in her the existence of which he
+had never suspected. Frequently, now, he talked, laughed, and rode with
+her, praising her horsemanship, pointing out some points wherein it
+might be improved, and never dreaming the while of the deep affection
+his conduct had awakened in the susceptible girl.
+
+“Oh, I am so happy,” said she one day to ’Lena, who was speaking of her
+improved health. “I never thought it possible for _me_ to be so happy.
+I dreaded to come here at first, but now I shall never regret it,
+never.”
+
+She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, adjusting the
+feathers to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her neatly fitting
+riding-dress, became her better than anything else. The excitement of
+her words sent a deep glow to her cheek, while her large black eyes
+sparkled with unusual brilliancy. She was going out with John Jr., who,
+just as she finished speaking, appeared in the doorway, and catching a
+glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, jocose way, “Upon my word,
+Meb, if you keep on, you’ll get to be quite decent looking in time.”
+
+’Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid her, and
+questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast forming belief
+that her affection for him was returned.
+
+“I can’t expect him to do anything like other people, he’s so odd,”
+thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which charmed her.
+
+At length Nellie, who had returned from Madison, and felt rather
+lonely, wrote to Mabel, asking her to come home. This plan Mrs.
+Livingstone opposed, but Mabel was decided, and the week before
+Christmas was fixed upon for her departure. John Jr., anxious to see
+Nellie, proposed accompanying her, but when the day came he was
+suffering from a severe cold, which rendered his stay in the house
+absolutely necessary. So his mother, who had reasons of her own for
+doing so, went in his stead. Carrie, who never had any fancy for Mabel,
+and only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite, merely
+offering her hand, and then resumed the novel she was reading, even
+before Mabel had left. Anna and ’Lena bade her a more affectionate
+adieu, and then advancing toward John Jr., who, in his dressing-gown
+and slippers, reclined upon the sofa, she offered him her hand.
+
+As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young man
+accompanied her to the door, playfully claiming the privilege of taking
+leave just as his sister and cousin had done.
+
+“It’s only me, you know,” said he, imprinting upon her forehead a kiss
+which sent the rich blood to her neck and face.
+
+John Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with Nellie, while
+Mabel, simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the world, saw in it a
+world of meaning, and for a long time after the carriage roiled away
+from Maple Grove the bright glow on her cheek told of happy thoughts
+within.
+
+“Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?” asked Mrs.
+Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city.
+
+“No, madam,” answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone continued, “That’s
+strange. He confessed to me that he—ah—he—loved you, and I supposed he
+intended telling you so; but bashfulness prevented, I dare say!”
+
+Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this down-right falsehood cost
+Mrs. Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied the case required it,
+and after a few twinges, her conscience felt easy, particularly when
+she saw how much satisfaction her words gave to her companion, to whom
+the improbability of the affair never occurred. Could she have known
+how lightly John Jr. treated the matter, laughingly describing his
+leave-taking to his sisters and ’Lena, and saying, “Meb wasn’t the
+worst girl in the world, after all,” she might not have been so easily
+duped.
+
+But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion perfect.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+NELLIE AND MABEL.
+
+
+Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with
+articles of elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from being
+wealthy, still loved to surround his only daughter with everything
+which could increase her comfort. So the best, the fairest, and the
+most Costly was always for her, his “darling Nellie,” as he called her,
+when with bounding footsteps she flew to greet him on his return at
+night, ministering to his wants in a thousand ways, and shedding over
+his home such a halo of sunshine that ofttimes he forgot that he was a
+lonely widower, while in the features of his precious child he saw
+again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed from his side
+forever.
+
+But not on him were Nellie’s thoughts resting, as she sat there alone
+that afternoon. She was thinking of the past—of John Livingstone, and
+the many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of words to
+tell her she was beloved. And freely did her heart respond. That John
+Jr. was not perfect, she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so
+easily influenced by those he loved, that she knew it would be an easy
+task to soften down some of the rougher shades of his character. Three
+times during her absence had he called, expressing so much
+disappointment, that with woman’s ready instinct she more than half
+divined his intentions, and regretted that she was gone. But Mabel was
+coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for so had ’Lena written,
+and Nellie’s cheeks glowed and her heart beat high, as she thought of
+what might occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she was not his
+equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father was
+poor—but one of John Jr.’s nature would never take that into
+consideration. They had known each other from childhood, and he had
+always evinced for her the same preference which he now manifested.
+Several weeks had elapsed since she had seen him, and now, rather
+impatiently, she awaited his arrival,
+
+“If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the
+parlor,” said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her
+reverie.
+
+“Mrs. Livingstone!” she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a
+mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, “Mrs.
+Livingstone!—and so _he_ has not come. I wonder what’s the matter!” and
+with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor, where, with
+rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs.
+Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of
+furniture, and her proud spirit whispering to herself, “Poverty,
+poverty.”
+
+With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming her
+back, congratulated her upon her improved health and looks, saying,
+“the _air_ of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;” then turning
+toward Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning than the
+one she intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at
+the same time for the fire being so low.
+
+“Father is absent most of the day,” said she; “and as I am much in my
+chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor.”
+
+“Just as well,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs.
+“One fire is _cheaper_ than two, and in these times I suppose it is
+necessary for some people to economize.”
+
+Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her
+visitor. After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking straight
+in Nellie’s face.
+
+“My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold
+prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute.”
+
+Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left the
+room. When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible improvement
+in her health.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily in
+her chair, “Yes, Mabel isn’t the same creature she was when she came to
+us, but then it’s no wonder, for love, you know, will work miracles.”
+
+No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming
+next.
+
+“Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you’ve no curiosity whatever. Why don’t
+you ask with whom Mabel is in love?”
+
+“Who is it?” laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the tassel
+of her blue silk apron.
+
+After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “It may seem out of place for
+me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of
+excellent sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either party.”
+
+“Certainly not,” answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her tormentor
+continued: “Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you, both myself and
+husband are well pleased that it should be so. From the moment I first
+saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for which I could not
+account, and if I were now to select my future daughter-in-law, I
+should prefer her to all others.”
+
+Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and
+again Mrs. Livingstone spoke: “It may be a weakness, but I have always
+felt anxious that John should make a match every way worthy of him,
+both as to wealth and station. Indeed, I would hardly be willing for
+him to marry one whose fortune is less than Mabel’s. But I need have no
+fears, for John has his own views on that subject, and though he may
+sometimes be attentive to girls far beneath him, he is pretty sure in
+the end to do as I think best!”
+
+Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to
+madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she
+heard. Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if
+John Jr. really loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there
+not been a thousand opportunities for him to tell her so? At this
+moment Mabel reentered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to
+the dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither, until she
+found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden, where many
+and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where he would never sit
+again—so she thought, so she believed—and throwing herself upon one of
+the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to meet the worst—to
+conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising within her toward
+Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only one she had
+ever loved.
+
+Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer
+reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering
+Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged her. “She is an orphan—a
+lonely orphan,” thought she, “and God forbid that through me one drop
+of bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.”
+
+With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders
+concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering
+when Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the
+little blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being
+over, Mrs. Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her
+leave, bidding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as
+if she had indeed been her mother.
+
+“Good-bye, darling Meb,” said she. “I shall come for you to visit us
+erelong.” Turning to Nellie, she said, “Do take care of her health,
+which you know is now precious to more than one;” then in a whisper she
+added, “Remember that what I have told you is sacred.”
+
+The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the
+parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits
+contrasted painfully with the silence and sadness which lay around her
+heart. That night, Mr. Douglass had some business in the city, and the
+two girls were left alone. The lamps were unlighted, for the full
+golden moonlight, which streamed through the window-panes, suited
+better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the sofa, looked
+listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little stool
+at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie’s lap, and her hand
+searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and
+farther away, as hers advanced.
+
+At length she spoke: “Nellie, dear Nellie—there is something I want so
+much to tell you—if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.”
+
+With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the
+sofa-cushion, came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon Mabel’s
+brow, while Nellie’s voice answered, softly and slow, “What is it,
+Mabel? I will hear you.”
+
+Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at the
+time when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother, chiding
+her for her tears, and threatening her with punishment if she did not
+desist. “Since then,” said she, “I have been so lonely—how lonely, none
+but a friendless orphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a
+time they seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten times
+more wretched than before. I never once dreamed that—that Mr.
+Livingstone could care aught for one so ugly as I know I am. I thought
+him better suited for you, Nellie. (How cold your hand is, but don’t
+take it away, for it cools my forehead.”)
+
+The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued: “Yes, I think him
+better suited to you, and when his mother told me that he loved me, and
+that he would, undoubtedly, one day make me his wife, it was almost too
+much for me to believe, but it makes me so happy—oh, so happy.”
+
+“And he—he, too, told you that he loved you?” said Nellie, very low,
+holding her breath for the answer.
+
+“Oh, no—_he_ never told me in _words_. ’Twas his mother that told me—he
+only _acted_!”
+
+“And what did he do?” asked Nellie, smiling in spite of herself, at the
+simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention of exaggerating,
+proceeded to tell what John Jr. had said and done, magnifying every
+attention, until Nellie, blinded as she was by what his mother had
+said, was convinced that, at all events, he was not true to herself. To
+be sure, he had never told her he loved her in words; but in actions he
+had said it many a time, and if he could do the same with Mabel, he
+must be false either to one or the other. Always frank and open-hearted
+herself, Nellie despised anything like deception in others, and the
+high opinion she had once entertained for John Jr., was now greatly
+changed.
+
+Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, and the
+hour of midnight found her restless and wakeful. At length, rising up
+and leaning upon her elbow, she looked down upon the face of Mabel, who
+lay sleeping sweetly at her side. Many and bitter were her thoughts,
+and as she looked upon her rival, marking her plain features and sallow
+skin, an expression of scorn flitted for an instant across her face.
+
+“And _she_ is preferred to me!” said she. “Well, let it be so, and God
+grant I may not hate her.”
+
+Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms wound round
+Mabel’s neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her unkind thoughts, she
+fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.
+
+
+After leaving Mr. Douglass’s, Mrs. Livingstone ordered her coachman to
+drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, where she was frequently
+in the habit of stopping, partly as a matter of convenience when
+visiting in town, and partly to learn the latest news of the day, for
+Mrs. Atkins was an intolerable gossip. Without belonging exactly to the
+higher circles, she still managed to keep up a show of intimacy with
+them, possessing herself with their secrets, and kindly intrusting them
+to the keeping of this and that “dear friend.”
+
+From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the amount of Mr.
+Douglass’ property, and how he was obliged to economize in various
+ways, in order to keep up the appearance of style. From her, too, had
+she learned how often her son was in the habit of calling there, and
+what rumor said concerning those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had learned,
+in return, that the ambitious lady had other views for John, and that
+anything which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to further the plans of her
+friend, would be gratefully received. On this occasion she was at home,
+and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“It is such an age since I’ve seen you, that I began to fear you were
+offended at something,” said she, as she led the way into a cozy little
+sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was blazing on the nicely
+painted hearth. “Do sit down and make yourself as comfortable as you
+can, on such poor accommodations. I have just finished dinner but will
+order some for you.”
+
+“No, no,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, “I dined at Mr. Douglass’s—thank
+you.”
+
+“Ah, indeed,” returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal relieved, for
+to tell the truth, her larder, as was often the case, was rather empty.
+“Dined at Mr. Douglass’s! Of course, then, nothing which I could offer
+you could be acceptable, after one of his sumptuous meals. I suppose
+Nellie brought out all her mother’s old silver, and made quite a
+display. It’s a wonder to me how they hold their heads so high, and
+folks notice them as they do, for between you and me, I shouldn’t be
+surprised to hear of his failing any minute.”
+
+“Is it possible?” said Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Why, yes,” returned Mrs. Atkins. “There’s nothing to prevent it, they
+say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of Nellie, who seems to be
+doing her best.”
+
+“Has she any particular one in view?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Mrs.
+Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone’s aversion to the match, replied,
+“Why, you know she tried to get your son——”
+
+“But didn’t succeed,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“No, didn’t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems she’s spreading
+sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison——”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone’s eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose one word,
+she drew her chair nearer to her friend, who proceeded; “He’s a rich
+bachelor—brother to Mary Wilbur, Nellie’s most intimate friend. You’ve
+heard of her?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. “Hasn’t Nellie been visiting
+her?”
+
+“Her or her brother,” answered Mrs. Atkins. “Mary’s health is poor, and
+you know it’s mighty convenient for Nellie to go there, under pretense
+of staying with her,”
+
+“Exactly,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied smile, and
+another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, after a moment,
+continued: “The brother came home with Nellie, stayed over Sunday, rode
+out with her Monday, indorsed ever so many notes for her father, so I
+reckon, and then went home. If that don’t mean something, then I’m
+mistaken”—and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice of cake.
+
+After an hour’s confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone told of
+Mabel’s prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks who were at Mr.
+Graham’s party praised ’Lena Rivers’ beauty, and predicted a match
+between her and Mr. Bellmont, the former rose to go; and calling upon
+one or two others, and by dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them to
+say “they shouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie
+Douglas,” she started for home, exulting to think how everything seemed
+working together for her good, and how, in the denouement, nothing
+particular could be laid to her charge.
+
+“I told Nellie no falsehood,” thought she. “I did not say John loved
+Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else for her to infer.
+And it has commenced operating, too. I could see it in the spots on her
+face and neck, when I was talking. Nellie’s a fine girl, though, but
+too poor for the Livingstones;” and with this conclusion, she told the
+coachman to drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach home.
+
+Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, grandma and all,
+assembled in the parlor, and with them Durward Bellmont. His arm was
+thrown carelessly across the back of ’Lena’s chair, while he
+occasionally bent forward to look at a book of prints which she was
+examining. The sight of him determined her to wait a little ere she
+retailed her precious bit of gossip to her son. He was Nellie’s cousin,
+and as such, would in all probability repeat to her what he heard.
+However communicative John Jr. might be in other respects, she knew he
+would never discuss his heart-troubles with any one, so, upon second
+thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until they were alone.
+
+Durward and ’Lena, however, needed watching, and by a little
+maneuvering, she managed to separate them, greatly to the satisfaction
+of Carrie, who sat upon the sofa, one foot bent under her, and the
+other impatiently tapping the carpet. From the moment Durward took his
+seat by her cousin, she had appeared ill at ease, and as he began to
+understand her better, he readily guessed that her silent mood was
+owing chiefly to the attentions he paid to ’Lena, and not to a nervous
+headache, as she said, when her grandmother, inquiring the cause of her
+silence, remarked, that “she’d been chipper enough until Mr. Bellmont
+came in.”
+
+But he did not care. He admired ’Lena, and John Jr. like, it made but
+little difference with him who knew it. Carrie’s freaks, which he
+plainly saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs. Livingstone
+he had no suspicion whatever. Consequently, when she sent ’Lena from
+the room on some trifling errand, herself appropriating the vacated
+seat, he saw in it no particular design, but in his usual pleasant way
+commenced talking with Carrie, who brightened up so much that grandma
+asked “if her headache wasn’t e’en-a’most well!”
+
+When ’Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise
+visit to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays. “We’ll invite
+Mr. Everett, and all go down. What do you say, girls?” said he, turning
+toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning ’Lena quite as much as either of
+them.
+
+“Capital,’ answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm instantly
+passing before her mind.
+
+“I should like it very much,” said Carrie, visions of a ride with
+Durward crossing her mind.
+
+“And I too,” said ’Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.’s shoulder, as if
+he would of course be her escort.
+
+Carrie’s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly
+insolent tone, she said, “How do you know you are included?”
+
+’Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at Carrie’s
+manner, prevented her by saying “Of course I meant Miss Rivers, and I
+will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me, either on
+horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers.”
+
+In a very graceful manner ’Lena accepted the invitation saying that
+“she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she
+usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in any
+other way.”
+
+“Fleetfoot sold! what’s that for?” asked Anna; and her mother replied,
+“We’ve about forty horses on our hands now, and as Fleetfoot was seldom
+used by any one except ’Lena, your father thought we couldn’t afford to
+keep him.”
+
+She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever since
+the morning when ’Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward, Fleetfoot’s fate
+had been decreed. Repeatedly had she urged the sale upon her husband,
+who, wearied with her importunity, at last consented, selling him to a
+neighboring planter, who had taken him away that very day.
+
+“That’s smart,” said John Jr. looking at his father, who had not
+spoken. “What is ’Lena going to ride, I should like to know.”
+
+’Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her.
+“Isn’t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?”
+
+“Certainly,” answered his father, compelled now to speak; “plenty of
+feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled. Perhaps
+we’ll get ’Lena a better and younger horse.”
+
+This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to ’Lena’s
+eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat looking
+into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing
+around her.
+
+“That reminds me of Christmas gifts,” said Durward, anxious to change
+the conversation. “I wonder how many of us will get one?”
+
+Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the door,
+asking Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly, the
+superannuated negress, who will be remembered as having nursed Mrs.
+Nichols during her attack of rheumatism, and for whom grandma had
+conceived a strong affection. For many days she had been very ill,
+causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder “what old niggers wanted to live
+for, bothering everybody to death.”
+
+The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with her
+from Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but the
+root was there still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly’s illness
+she had been revolving in her mind the momentous question, whether she
+would not be most guilty if Polly were suffered to die in bondage.
+
+“I promised Nancy Scovandyke,” said she, “that I’d have some on ’em set
+free, but I’ll be bound if ’taint harder work than I s’posed ’twould
+be.”
+
+Still Aunt Polly’s freedom lay warm at grandma’s heart and now when she
+was mentioned together with “Christmas gifts,” a bright idea entered
+her mind,
+
+“John,” said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the medicine,
+“John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since I’ve been here?”
+
+“I believe not,” was his answer.
+
+“Wall,” continued grandma, “bein’s the fashion, I want you to give me
+somethin’ this Christmas, will you?”
+
+“Certainly,” said he, “what is it?”
+
+Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then—she would wait
+until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here the
+conversation ended. Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling ’Lena
+he should call for her on Thursday.
+
+“That’s a plaguy smart feller,” said grandma, as the door closed upon
+him; “and I kinder think he’s got a notion after ’Leny.”
+
+“Ridiculous!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added, “Just
+reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!”
+
+“Shut up your head,” growled John Jr. “You are only angry because he
+asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself. I reckon he knows what
+he’s about.”
+
+“I reckon he does, too!” said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar smile,
+which nettled ’Lena more than any open attack would have done.
+
+With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the
+parlor, and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her
+opportunity for telling him what she had heard. Taking a light from the
+table, he was about retiring, when she said, “I learned some news
+to-day which a little surprised me.”
+
+“Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,” answered John, still advancing
+toward the door.
+
+“Partly from her, and partly from others,” said his mother, adding, as
+she saw him touch the door-knob, “It’s about Nellie Douglass.”
+
+This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he
+asked, “What of her?”
+
+“Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,” said Mrs.
+Livingstone, “only people in Frankfort think she’s going to be
+married.”
+
+“_I_ think so, too,” was John’s mental reply, while his verbal one was,
+“Married! To whom?”
+
+“Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?”
+
+“Yes, she’s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham’s party.”
+
+“Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, who they say
+is very attentive to Nellie. He came home with her from Madison,
+staying at her father’s the rest of the week, and paying her numberless
+attentions, which——”
+
+“_I don’t believe it_,” interrupted John Jr., striking his fist upon
+the table, to which he had returned.
+
+“Neither did I, at first,” said his mother, “but I heard it in so many
+places that there must be something in it. And I’m sure it’s a good
+match. He is rich, and willing, they say, to help her father, who is in
+danger of failing any moment.”
+
+Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jealous,
+particularly of those whom he loved very much, and now suddenly
+remembering to have heard Nellie speak in high terms of Robert Wilbur,
+he began to feel uneasy, lest what his mother had said were true. She
+saw her advantage, and followed it up until, in a fit of anger, he
+rushed from the room and repaired to his own apartment, where for a
+time he walked backward and forward, chafing like a caged lion, and
+wishing all manner of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed false to
+him.
+
+He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such a pitch,
+that he determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, to demand of
+Nellie if what he had heard were true! Upon cooler reflection, however,
+he concluded not to make a “perfect fool of himself,” and plunging into
+bed, he fell asleep, as what man will not be his trouble what it may.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
+
+
+The sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly dawned upon the
+earth, when from many a planter’s home in the sunny south was heard the
+joyful cry of “Christmas Gift,” “Christmas Gift,” as the negroes ran
+over and against each other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came
+within hailing distance, when their loud “Christmas Gift” would make
+all echo again. On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was
+remembered, for Anna and ’Lena had worked both early and late in
+preparing some little present, and feeling amply compensated for their
+trouble, when they saw how much happiness it gave. Mabel, too, while
+she stayed, had lent a helping hand, and many a blessing was that
+morning invoked upon her head from the hearts made glad by her generous
+gifts. Carrie, when asked to join them, had turned scornfully away,
+saying “she’d plenty to do, without working for niggers; who could not
+appreciate it.”
+
+So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine cambric
+handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, and which with a
+delicate note was, the evening previous, sent to Woodlawn, with
+instructions to have it placed next morning on Mrs. Graham’s table. Of
+course Mrs. Graham felt in duty bound to return the compliment, and
+looking over her old jewelry, she selected a diamond ring which she had
+formerly worn, but which was now too small for her fat chubby fingers.
+This was immediately forwarded to Maple Grove, reaching there just as
+the family were rising from the breakfast-table.
+
+“Oh, isn’t it beautiful—splendid—magnificent!” were Carrie’s
+exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham’s generosity, secretly
+wondering if “Durward did not have something to do with it.”
+
+On this point she was soon set right, for the young man himself erelong
+appeared, and after bidding them all a “Merry Christmas,” presented
+Anna with a package which, on being opened, proved to be a large and
+complete copy of Shakspeare, elegantly bound, and bearing upon its
+heavy golden clasp the words “Anna Livingstone, from Durward,”
+
+“This you will please accept from me,” said he. “Mother, I believe, has
+sent Carrie something, and if ’Lena will step to the door, she will see
+her gift from father, who hopes it will give her as much pleasure to
+accept it, as it does him to present it.”
+
+“What can it be?” thought Carrie, rising languidly from the sofa, and
+following ’Lena and her sister to the side door, where stood one of Mr.
+Graham’s servants, holding a beautiful gray pony, all nicely equipped
+for riding.
+
+Never dreaming that this was intended for ’Lena, Carrie looked vacantly
+around, saying, “Why, where is it? I don’t see anything.”
+
+“Here,” said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro’s hand, and
+playfully throwing it across ’Lena’s neck, “Here it is—this pony, which
+we call Vesta. Vesta, allow me to introduce you and your new mistress,
+Miss ’Lena, to each other,” and catching her up, as if she had been a
+feather, he placed her in the saddle. Then, at a peculiar whistle, the
+well-trained animal started off upon an easy gallop, bearing its burden
+lightly around the yard, and back again to the piazza.
+
+“Do you like her ?” he asked of ’Lena, extending his arms to lift her
+down.
+
+For a moment ’Lena could not speak, her heart was so full. But at last,
+forcing down her emotion, she replied, “Oh, very, very much; but it
+isn’t for me, I know—there must be some mistake. Mr. Graham never
+intended it for me.”
+
+“Yes, he did,” answered Durward. “He has intended it ever since the
+morning when you and I rode to Woodlawn. A remark which your cousin
+John made at the table, determined him upon him buying and training a
+pony for you. So here it is, and as I have done my share toward
+teaching her, you must grant me the favor of riding her to Frankfort
+day after to-morrow.”
+
+“Thank you, thank you—you and Mr. Graham too—a thousand times,” said
+’Lena, winding her arms around the neck of the docile animal, who did
+her best to return the caress, rubbing her face against ’Lena, and
+evincing her gentleness in various ways.
+
+By this time Mr. Livingstone had joined them, and while he was admiring
+the pony, Durward said to him, “I am commissioned by my father to tell
+you that he will defray all the expense of keeping Vesta.”
+
+“Don’t mention such a thing again,” hastily interposed Mr. Livingstone.
+“I can keep fifty horses, if I choose, and nothing will give me more
+pleasure than to take care of this one for ’Lena, who deserves it if
+any one does.”
+
+“That’s my Christmas gift from you, uncle, isn’t it?” asked ’Lena, the
+tears gushing from her shining, brown eyes. “And now please may I
+return it?”
+
+“Certainly,” said he, and with a nimble spring she caught him around
+the neck, imprinting upon his lips the first and only kiss she had ever
+given him; then, amid blushes and tears, which came from a heart full
+of happiness, she ran away upstairs followed by the envious eyes of
+Carrie, who repaired to her mother’s room, where she stated all that
+had transpired—“How Mr. Graham had sent ’Lena a gray pony—how she had
+presumed to accept it—and how, just to show off before Mr. Bellmont,
+she had wound her arms around its neck, and then actually _kissed pa_!”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was equally indignant with her daughter, wondering if
+Mr. Graham had lost his reason, and reckoning his wife knew nothing
+about Vesta! But fret as she would, there was no help for it. Vesta
+belonged to ’Lena—Mr. Livingstone had given orders to have it
+well-cared for—and worse than all the rest, ’Lena was to accompany
+Durward to Frankfort. Something must be done to meet the emergency, but
+what, Mrs. Livingstone didn’t exactly know, and finally concluded to
+wait until she saw Mrs. Graham.
+
+Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised Christmas gift,
+which was nothing less than “the freedom of old Aunt Polly.”
+
+“You won’t refuse me, John, I know you won’t,” said she, laying her
+bony hand on his. “Polly’s arnt her freedom forty times over, even
+s’posin’ you’d a right to her in the fust place which I and Nancy
+Scovandyke both doubt; so now set down like a man, make out her free
+papers, and let me carry ’em to her right away.”
+
+Without a word Mr. Livingstone complied with his mother’s request,
+saying, as he handed her the paper, “It’s not so much the fault of the
+south as of the north that every black under heaven is not free.”
+
+Grandma looked aghast. Her son, born, brought up, and baptized in a
+purely orthodox atmosphere, to hold such treasonable opinions in
+opposition to everything he’d ever been taught in good old
+Massachusetts! She was greatly shocked, but thinking she could not do
+the subject justice, she said, “Wall, wall, it’s of no use for you and
+I to arger the pint, for I don’t know nothin’ what I want to say, but
+if Nancy Scovandyke was here, she’d convince you quick, for she’s good
+larnin’ as any of the gals nowadays.”
+
+So saying, she walked away to Polly’s cabin. The old negress was better
+to-day, and attired in the warm double-gown which Mabel had purchased
+and ’Lena had made, she sat up in a large, comfortable rocking-chair
+which John Jr. had given her at the commencement of her illness, saying
+it was “his Christmas gift in advance.” Going straight up to her,
+grandma laid the paper in her lap, bidding her “read it and thank the
+Lord.”
+
+“Bless missus’ dear old heart,” said Aunt Polly, “I can’t read a word.”
+
+“Sure enough,” answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the paper she read
+it through, managing to make the old creature comprehend its meaning.
+
+“Praise the Lord! praise Master John, and all the other apostles!”
+exclaimed Aunt Polly, clasping together her black, wrinkled hands,
+while tears of joy coursed their way down her cheeks. “The breath of
+liberty is sweet—sweet as sugar,” she continued, drawing long
+inspirations as if to make up for lost time.
+
+Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having made her an
+humble instrument in contributing so much to another’s happiness.
+
+“Set down,” said Aunt Polly, motioning toward a wooden bottomed chair;
+“set down, and let’s us talk over this great meracle, which I’ve prayed
+and rastled for mighty nigh a hundred times, without havin’ an atom of
+faith that ’twould ever be.”
+
+So Mrs. Nichols sat down, and for nearly an hour the old ladies talked,
+the one of her newly-found freedom, and the other of her happiness in
+knowing that “’twasn’t for nothin’ she was turned out of her old home
+and brought away over land and sea to Kentucky.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+FRANKFORT.
+
+
+Thursday morning came, bright, sunshiny and beautiful, and at about ten
+o’clock ’Lena, dressed and ready for her ride, came down to the parlor,
+where she found John Jr. listlessly leaning upon the table with his
+elbows, and drumming with his fingers.
+
+“Come, cousin,” said she, “why are you not ready?”
+
+“Ready for what?” he answered, without raising his head.
+
+“Why, ready for our visit,” replied Lena, at the same time advancing
+nearer, to see what ailed him.
+
+“All the visit I make to-day won’t hurt me, I reckon,” said he; pushing
+his hat a little more to one side and looking up at ’Lena, who, in some
+surprise, asked what he meant.
+
+“I mean what I say,” was his ungracious answer; “I’ve no intention
+whatever of going to Frankfort.”
+
+“Not going?” repeated ’Lena. “Why not? What will Carrie do?”
+
+“Stick herself in with you and Durward, I suppose,” said John Jr., just
+as Carrie entered the room, together with Mr. Bellmont, Malcolm, and
+Anna.
+
+“Not going?—of course then I must stay at home, too,” said Carrie,
+secretly pleased at her brother’s decision.
+
+“Why of course?” asked Durward, who, in the emergency, felt constrained
+to offer his services to Carrie though he would greatly have preferred
+’Lena’s company alone. “The road is wide enough for three, and I am
+fully competent to take charge of two ladies. But why don’t you go?”
+turning to John Jr.
+
+“Because I don’t wish to. If it was anywhere in creation but there, I’d
+go,” answered the young man; hastily leaving the room to avoid all
+further argument.
+
+“He does it just to be hateful and annoy me,” said Carrie, trying to
+pout, but making a failure, for she had in reality much rather go under
+Durward’s escort than her brother’s.
+
+The horses were now announced as ready, and in a few moments the little
+party were on their way, Carrie affecting so much fear of her pony that
+Durward at last politely offered to lead him a while. This would of
+course bring him close to her side, and after a little well-feigned
+hesitation, she replied, “I am sorry to trouble you, but if you would
+be so kind——”
+
+’Lena saw through the ruse, and patting Vesta gently, rode on in
+advance, greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, and greatly to the
+chagrin of Durward, who replied to his loquacious companion only in
+monosyllables. Once, indeed, when she said something concerning ’Lena’s
+evident desire to show off her horsemanship, he answered rather coolly,
+that “he’d yet to discover in Miss Rivers the least propensity for
+display of any kind.”
+
+“You’ve never lived with her,” returned Carrie, and here the
+conversation concerning ’Lena ceased.
+
+Meantime, Nellie Douglass was engaged in answering a letter that
+morning received from Mary Wilbur. A few years before, Mary had spent
+some months in Mr. Douglass’s family, conceiving a strong affection for
+Nellie, whom she always called her sister, and with whom she kept up a
+regular correspondence. Mary was an orphan, living with her only
+brother Robert, who was a bachelor of thirty or thirty-five. Once she
+had ventured to hope that Nellie would indeed be to her a sister, but
+fate had decreed it otherwise, and her brother was engaged to a lady
+whom he found a school-girl in Montreal, and who was now at her own
+home in England. This was well-known to Nellie, but she did not deem it
+a matter of sufficient importance to discuss, so it was a secret in
+Frankfort, where Mr. Wilbur’s polite attentions to herself was a
+subject of considerable remark. For a long time Mary had been out of
+health, and the family physician at last said that nothing could save
+her except a sea voyage, and as her brother was about going to Europe
+to consummate his marriage, it was decided that she should accompany
+him. This she was willing to do, provided Nellie Douglass would go too.
+
+“It would be much pleasanter,” she said, “having some female companion
+besides her attendant, and then, too, Nellie had relatives in England;”
+so she urged her to accompany them, offering to defray all expenses for
+the pleasure of her society.
+
+Since Nellie’s earliest recollection, her fondest dreams had been of
+England, her mother’s birthplace; and now when so favorable an
+opportunity for visiting it was presented, she felt strongly tempted to
+say “Yes.” Still, she would give Mary no encouragement until she had
+seen her father and John Jr., the latter of whom would influence her
+decision quite as much as the former. But John Jr. no longer loved
+her—she was sure of that—and with her father’s consent she had half
+determined to go. Still she was undecided, until a letter came from
+Mary, urging her to make up her mind without delay, as they were to
+sail the 15th of January.
+
+“Brother is so sensitive concerning his love affairs,” wrote Mary,
+“that whether you conclude to join us or not, you will please say
+nothing about his intended marriage.”
+
+Nellie had seated herself to answer this letter, when a servant came
+up, saying that “Marster Bellmont, all the Livingstones, and a heap
+more were downstars, and had sent for her.”
+
+She was just writing, “I will go,” when this announcement came, and
+quickly suspending her pen, she thought, “He’s come, at last. It may
+all be a mistake. I’ll wait.” With a beating heart she descended to the
+parlor, where she politely greeted Mr. Everett and Durward, and then
+anxiously glanced around for the missing one. Mabel, who felt a similar
+disappointment, ventured to inquire for him, in a low tone, whereupon
+Carrie replied, loudly enough for Nellie to hear, “Oh, pray don’t speak
+of that bear. Why, you don’t know how cross he’s been ever since—let me
+see—ever since you came away. He doesn’t say a civil word to anybody,
+and I really wish you’d come back before he kills us all.’
+
+“Did you invite him to come ?” said Nellie.
+
+“To be sure we did,” answered Carrie, “and he said, ‘anywhere in
+creation but there.’”
+
+Nellie needed no further confirmation, and after conversing awhile with
+her guests, she begged leave to be excused for a few moments, while she
+finished a letter of importance, which must go out in the next mail.
+Alone in her room, she wavered, but the remembrance of the words,
+“anywhere in creation but there,” decided her, and with a firm hand she
+wrote to Mary that she would go. When the letter was finished and sent
+to the office, Nellie returned to her visitors, who began to rally her
+concerning the important letter which must be answered.
+
+“Now, coz,” said Durward, pulling her down upon the sofa by his side,
+“now, coz, I claim a right to know something about this letter. Was it
+one of acceptance or rejection?”
+
+“Acceptance, of course,” answered Nellie, who, knowing no good reason
+why her intended tour should be kept a secret, proceeded to speak of
+it, telling how they were to visit Scotland, France, Switzerland, and
+Italy, and almost forgetting, in her enthusiasm, how wretched the
+thought of the journey made her.
+
+“And Miss Wilbur’s brother is to be your escort—he is unmarried, I
+believe?” said Durward, looking steadily upon the carpet.
+
+In a moment Nellie would have told of his engagement, and the object of
+his going, but she remembered Mary’s request in time, and the blush
+which the almost committed mistake called to her cheek, was construed
+by all into a confession that there was something between her and Mr.
+Wilbur.
+
+“That accounts for John’s sudden churlishness,” thought ’Lena,
+wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so.
+
+“Oh, I see it all,” exclaimed Mabel. “I understand now what has made
+Nellie so absent-minded and restless these many days. She was making up
+her mind to become Mrs. Wilbur, while I fancied she was offended with
+me.”
+
+“I don’t know what you mean,” answered Nellie, without smiling in the
+least. “Mary Wilbur wishes me to accompany her to Europe, and I intend
+doing so. Her brother is nothing to me, nor ever will be.”
+
+“Quite a probable story,” thought Mr. Everett, without forming his
+reflections into words.
+
+Toward the middle of the afternoon, a violent ringing of the door-bell,
+and a heavy tramp in the hall, announced some new arrival, and Nellie
+was about opening the parlor door, when who should appear but John Jr.!
+From his room he had watched the departure of the party, one moment
+wishing he was with them, and the next declaring he’d never go to
+Frankfort again so long as he lived! At length inclination getting the
+ascendency of his reason, he mounted Firelock, and rushing furiously
+down the ’pike, never once slackened his speed until the city was in
+sight.
+
+“I dare say she’ll think me a fool,” thought he, “tagging her round,
+but she needn’t worry. I only want to show her how little her pranks
+affect me.”
+
+With these thoughts he could not fail to meet Nellie otherwise than
+coldly, while she received him with equal indifference, calling him Mr.
+Livingstone, and asking if he were cold, with other questions, such as
+any polite hostess would ask of her guest. But her accustomed smile and
+usual frankness of manner were gone, and while John Jr. felt it keenly,
+he strove under a mask of indifference, to conceal his chagrin. Mabel
+seemed delighted to see him, and for want of something better to do, he
+devoted himself to her, calling her Meb, and teasing her about her
+“Indian locks,” as he called her straight, black hair. Could he have
+seen the bitter tears which Nellie constantly forced back, as she moved
+carelessly among her guests, far different would have been his conduct.
+But he only felt that she had been untrue to him, and in his anger he
+was hardly conscious of what he was doing.
+
+So when Mabel said to him, “Nellie is going to Europe with Mr. Wilbur
+and Mary,” he replied, “Glad of it—hope she’ll”—be drowned, he
+thought—“have a good time,” he said—and Nellie, who heard all, never
+guessed how heavily the blow had fallen, or that the hand so suddenly
+placed against his heart, was laid there to still the wild throbbing
+which he feared she might hear.
+
+When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked when she was
+going, and how long she intended to be gone. “What! so soon?” said he,
+when told that she sailed the 15th of January, and other than that, not
+a word did he say to Nellie concerning her intended visit, until just
+before they left for home. Then for a moment he stood alone with her in
+the recess of a window. There was a film upon his eyes as he looked
+upon her, and thought it might be for the last time. There was anguish,
+too, in his heart, but it did not mingle in the tones of his voice,
+which was natural, and, perhaps, indifferent, as he said, “Why do you
+go to Europe, Nellie?”
+
+Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced up into his
+face, but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest they should betray
+themselves, were resting upon Mabel, who, on a stool across the room,
+was petting and caressing a kitten. ’Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie
+answered, “Because I want to; what do you suppose?”
+
+Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked away to where
+Mabel sat, and commenced teasing her and her kitten, while Nellie,
+maddened with herself, with him, with everybody, precipitately left the
+room, and going to her chamber hastily, and without a thought as to
+what she was doing, gathered together every little token which John Jr.
+had given her, together with his notes and letters, written in his own
+peculiar and scarcely legible hand. Tying them in a bundle, she wrote
+with unflinching nerve, “Do thou likewise,” and then descending to the
+hall, laid it upon the hat-stand, managing, as he was leaving, to place
+it unobserved in his hand. Instinctively he knew what it was, glanced
+at the three words written thereon, and in a cold, sneering voice,
+replied, “I will, with pleasure.”
+
+And thus they parted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE DEPARTURE.
+
+
+“John, how would you like to take a trip to New York—the city, I mean?”
+said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks following
+the events narrated in the last chapter.
+
+“Well enough—why do you ask?” answered John.
+
+“Because,” said his father, “I have to-day received a letter which
+makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are
+fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You had better start
+immediately—say to-morrow.”
+
+John Jr. started from his chair. To-morrow she left her home—the 15th
+she sailed. He might see her again, though at a distance, for she
+should never know he followed her! Since that night in Frankfort he had
+not looked upon her face, but he had kept his promise, returning to her
+everything—everything except a withered rose-bud, which years before,
+when but a boy, he had twined among the heavy braids of her hair, and
+which she had given back to him, playfully fastening it in the
+button-hole of his roundabout! How well he remembered that day. She was
+a little romping girl, teasing him unmercifully about his _flat feet_
+and _big hands_, chiding him for his _negro slang_, as she termed his
+favorite expressions, and with whatever else she did, weaving her image
+into his heart’s best and noblest affections, until he seemed to live
+only for her, But now ’twas changed—terribly changed. She was no longer
+“his Nellie,” the Nellie of his boyhood’s love; and with a muttered
+curse and a tear, large, round, and hot, such as only John Jr. could
+shed, he sent her back every memento of the past, all save that
+rose-bud, with which he could not part, it seemed so like his early
+hopes—withered and dead.
+
+Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box containing
+the treasures was handed her. Again and again she examined to see if
+there were not one farewell word, but there was nothing save, “Here
+endeth the first lesson!” followed by two exclamation points, which
+John Jr. had dashed off at random. Every article seemed familiar to her
+as she looked them over, and everything was there but one—she missed
+the rose-bud—and she wondered at the omission for she knew he had it in
+his possession. He had told her so not three months before. Why, then,
+did he not return it? Was it a lingering affection for her which
+prompted the detention? Perhaps so, and down in Nellie’s heart was one
+warm, bright spot, the memory of that bud, which grew green and fresh
+again, as on the day when first it was torn from its parent stem.
+
+When it was first known at Maple Grove, that Nellie was going to
+Europe, Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in the future the full consummation
+of her plans, proposed that Mabel should spend the period of Nellie’s
+absence with her. But to this Mr. Douglass would not consent.
+
+“He could not part with both his daughters,” he said, and Mabel decided
+to remain, stipulating that ’Lena, of whom she was very fond, should
+pass a portion of the time with her.
+
+“All the time, if she chooses,” said Mr. Douglass, who also liked
+’Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately proposed that she
+should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont, who had recently come to
+the city, and who was said to be a superior teacher. “She is fond of
+music,” said she, “and has always wanted to learn, but that aunt of
+hers never seemed willing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she
+can use my piano all the time if she chooses.”
+
+“Capital!” exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she would pay the
+bills, and how much she would assist ’Lena, for Mabel was an excellent
+musician, singing and playing admirably.
+
+When this plan was proposed to ’Lena, she objected, for two reasons.
+The first, that she could not leave her grandmother, and second, that
+much as she desired the lessons, she would not suffer Mabel to pay for
+them, and she had no means of her own. On the first point she began to
+waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who was in unusually good health, insisted
+upon her going.
+
+“It will do you a sight of good,” said she, “and there’s no kind of use
+why you should stay hived up with me. I’d as lief be left alone as not,
+and I shall take comfort thinkin’ you’re larnin’ to play the pianner,
+for I’ve allus wondered ’Tildy didn’t set you at Car’line’s. So, go,”
+the old lady continued, whispering in ’Lena’s ear, “Go, and mebby some
+day you’ll be a music teacher, and take care of us both.”
+
+Still, ’Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, after a
+moment’s thought, exclaimed, “Why, I can teach you myself! I should
+love to dearly. It will be something to occupy my mind; and my
+instructors have frequently said that I was capable of teaching
+advanced pupils, if I chose. You’ll go now, I know”—and Mabel plead her
+cause so well, that ’Lena finally consented, saying she should come
+home once a week to see her grandmother.
+
+“A grand arrangement, I must confess,” said Carrie, when she heard of
+it. “I should think she sponged enough from her connections, without
+living on other folks, and poor ones, too, like Mr. Douglass.”
+
+“How ridiculous you talk,” said John Jr., who was present. “You’d be
+perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham’s, or Mr. Douglass’s
+either, if he had a son whom you considered an eligible match. Then as
+to his being so poor, that’s one of Mother Atkins’ yarns, and she knows
+everybody’s history, from Noah down to the present day. For ’Lena’s
+sake I am glad to have her go, though heaven knows what I shall do
+without her.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone, too, was secretly pleased, for she would thus be more
+out of Durward’s way, and the good lady was again becoming somewhat
+suspicious. So when her husband objected, saying ’Lena could take
+lessons at home if she liked, she quietly overruled him, giving many
+good reasons why ’Lena should go, and finally saying that if Mrs.
+Nichols was very lonely without her, she might spend her evenings in
+the parlor when there was no company present! So it was decided that
+’Lena should go, and highly pleased with the result of their call, Mr.
+Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort.
+
+At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her journey. Mr.
+Wilbur had arrived the night before, together with his sister, whose
+marble cheek and lusterless eye even then foretold the lonely grave
+which awaited her far away ’neath a foreign sky. Durward and Mr.
+Douglass accompanied them as far as Cincinnati, where they took the
+cars for Buffalo. Just before it rolled from the depot, a young man
+closely muffled, who had been watching our party, sprang into a car
+just in the rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first
+vacant seat, abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have
+been very absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded
+the call of “Your ticket, sir.”
+
+Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellie’s tears
+were dropping. They had gushed forth when she saw the quivering chin
+and trembling lips of her gray-haired father, as he bade his only child
+good-bye, and now that he was gone, she wept on, never heeding her
+young friend, who strove in vain to call her attention to the fast
+receding hills of Kentucky, which she—Mary—was leaving forever. Other
+thoughts than those of her father mingled with Nellie’s tears, for she
+could not forget John Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last that he
+would come to say farewell. But he did not. They had parted in
+coldness, if not in anger, and she might never see him again.
+
+“Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass; I cannot suffer you to be so sad,” said
+Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and thoughtlessly throwing his
+arm across the back of the seat, while at the same time he bent
+playfully forward to peep under her bonnet.
+
+And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she did not
+observe the flashing eyes which watched her through the window at the
+rear of the car. Always restless and impatient of confinement, John Jr.
+had come out for a moment upon the platform, ostensibly to take the
+air, but really to see if it were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie.
+She was sitting not far from the door, and he looked in, just in time
+to witness Mr. Wilbur’s action, which he of course construed just as
+his jealousy dictated.
+
+“Confounded fool!” thought he. “_I_ wouldn’t hug Nellie in the cars in
+good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!”
+
+And returning to his seat; he wondered which was the silliest, “for
+Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run after her. Six
+of one and half a dozen of the other, I reckon,” said he; at the same
+time wrapping himself in his shawl, he feigned sleep at every station,
+for the sake of retaining his entire seat, and sometimes if the crowd
+was great, going so far as to snore loudly!
+
+And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting the close
+espionage kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the night, at a
+crowded depot, passed so closely to her that he felt her warm breath on
+his cheek. And when, on the morning of the 15th, she sailed, she little
+thought who it was that followed her down to the water’s edge, standing
+on the last spot where she had stood, and watching with a swelling
+heart the vessel which bore her away.
+
+“I’m nothing better than a walking dead man, now,” said he, as he,
+retraced his steps back to his hotel. “Nellie’s gone, and with her all
+for which I lived, for she’s the only girl except ’Lena who isn’t a
+libel on the sex—or, yes—there’s Anna—does as well as she knows how—and
+there’s Mabel, a little simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and
+good-natured, and on the whole, as smart as they’ll average. ’Twas kind
+in her, anyway, to offer to pay ’Lena’s music bills.”
+
+And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men whom he had
+come to see, transacted his business, and then started for home, where
+he found his mother in unusually good spirits. Matters thus far had
+succeeded even beyond her most sanguine expectations. Nellie was gone
+to Europe, and the rest she fancied would be easy. ’Lena, too, was
+gone, but the result of this was not what she had hoped. Durward had
+been at Maple Grove but once since ’Lena left, while she had heard of
+his being in Frankfort several times.
+
+“Something must be done”—her favorite expression and in her difficulty
+she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, whom she had not seen since
+Christmas. “It is quite time she knew about the gray pony, as well as
+other matters,” thought she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one
+morning for Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its
+mistress amiably disposed, which was not always the case.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+THE VISIT.
+
+
+Mrs. Graham reclined upon a softly-cushioned sofa, her tasteful lace
+morning-cap half falling from her head, and her rich cashmere gown
+flowing open, so as to reveal the flounced cambric skirt which her
+sewing-girl had sat up till midnight to finish. A pair of delicate
+French slippers pinched rather than graced her fat feet, one of which
+angrily beat the carpet, as if keeping time to its mistress’ thoughts.
+Nervous and uncomfortable was the lady of Woodlawn this morning, for
+she had just passed through a little conjugal scene with her husband,
+whom she had called a _brute_, lamenting the dispensation of Providence
+which took from her “her beloved Sir Arthur, who always thought
+whatever she said was right,” and ending by throwing herself in the
+most theatrical manner upon the sofa in the parlor, where, with both
+her blood and temper at a boiling heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid,
+but recently purchased, announced the approach of a carriage.
+
+“Mercy,” exclaimed the distressed lady, “whose is it? I hope no one
+will ask for me.”
+
+“Reckon how it’s Marster Livingstone’s carriage, ’case thar’s Tom on
+the box,” answered the girl, who had her own private reason for knowing
+Tom at any distance.
+
+“Mrs. Livingstone, I’ll venture to say,” groaned Mrs. Graham, burying
+her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the silken cushions.
+“Just because I stopped there a few days last summer, she thinks she
+must run here every week; and there’s no way of escaping her. Do shut
+that blind; it lets in so much light. There, would you think I’d been
+crying?”
+
+“Lor, no,” returned the stupid servant, “Lor, no; I should sooner think
+your eyes and face were swelled with _pisen_.”
+
+“The Lord help me,” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, “you don’t begin to know as
+much as poor Charlotte did. She was a jewel, and I don’t see anything
+what she wanted to die for, just as I had got her well trained; but
+that’s all the thanks I ever get for my goodness. Now go quick, and
+tell her I’ve got an excruciating headache.”
+
+“If you please, miss,” said the girl, trying in vain to master the big
+word, “if you please, give me somethin’ shorter, ’case I done forgit
+that ar, sartin’.”
+
+“Fool! Idiot!” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for want of something
+better, one of her satin slippers at the woolly head, which dodged out
+of the door in time to avoid it.
+
+“Is your mistress at home?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Martha,
+uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, “Yes—no—I dun know,
+’case she done driv me out afore I know’d whether she was at home or
+not.”
+
+“Martha, show the lady this way,” called out Mrs. Graham, who was
+listening. “Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it you. I’m glad to see you,” said
+she, half rising and shading her swollen eyes with her hand, as if the
+least effort were painful. “You must excuse my dishabille, for I am
+suffering from a bad headache, and when Martha said some one had come,
+I thought at first I could not see them, but you are always welcome.
+How have you been this long time, and why have you neglected me so,
+when you know how I must feel the change from Louisville, where I was
+constantly in society, to this dreary neighborhood?” and the lady lay
+back upon the sofa, exhausted with and astonished at her own eloquence.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was quite delighted with her friend’s unusual
+cordiality, and seating herself in the large easy-chair, began to make
+herself very agreeable, offering to bathe Mrs. Graham’s aching head,
+which kind offer the lady declined, bethinking herself of sundry gray
+hairs, which a close inspection would single out from among her flaxen
+tresses.
+
+“Are your family all well?” she asked; to which Mrs. Livingstone
+replied that they were, at the same time speaking of her extreme
+loneliness since Mabel left them.
+
+“Ah, you mean the little dark-eyed brunette, whom I saw with you at my
+party. She was a nice-looking girl—showed that she came of a good
+family. I think everything of that. I believe I’d rather Durward would
+marry a poor aristocrat, than a wealthy plebeian—one whose family were
+low and obscure.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone wondered what she thought of her family, the
+Livingstones. The Richards’ blood she knew was good, but the Nichols’
+was rather doubtful. Still, she would for once make the best of it, so
+she hastened to say that few American ladies were so fortunate as Mrs.
+Graham had been in marrying a noble man. “In this country we have no
+nobility, you know,” said she, “and any one who gets rich and into good
+society, is classed with the first.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” returned Mrs. Graham, “but in my mind there’s a great
+difference. Now, Mr. Graham’s ancestors boast of the best blood of
+South Carolina, while my family, everybody knows, was one of the first
+in Virginia, so if Durward had been Mr. Graham’s son instead of Sir
+Arthur’s, I should be just as proud of him, just as particular whom he
+married.”
+
+“Certainly,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, a little piqued, for there was
+something in Mrs. Graham’s manner which annoyed her—“certainly—I
+understand you. I neither married a nobleman, nor one of the best
+bloods of South Carolina, and still I should not be willing for my son
+to marry—let me see—well, say ’Lena Rivers.”
+
+“’Lena Rivers !” repeated Mrs. Graham—“why, I would not suffer Durward
+to look at her, if I could help it. She’s of a horridly low family on
+both sides, as I am told.”
+
+This was a home thrust which Mrs. Livingstone could not endure quietly,
+and as she had no wish to defend the royalty of a family which she
+herself despised, she determined to avenge the insult by making her
+companion as uncomfortable as possible. So she said, “Perhaps you are
+not aware that your son’s attentions to this same ’Lena Rivers, are
+becoming somewhat marked.”
+
+“No, I was not aware of it,” and the greenish-gray eyes fastened
+inquiringly upon Mrs. Livingstone, who continued: “It is nevertheless
+true, and as I can appreciate your feelings, I thought it might not be
+out of place for me to warn you.”
+
+“Thank you,” returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself upon her elbow,
+“Thank you—-but do you know anything positive? What has Durward done?”
+
+“’Lena is in Frankfort now, at Mr. Douglass’s,” answered Mrs.
+Livingstone, “and your son is in the constant habit of visiting there;
+besides that, he invited her to ride with him when they all went to
+Frankfort—’Lena upon the gray pony which your husband gave her as a
+Christmas present.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone had touched the right spot. ’Twas the first intimation
+of Vesta which Mrs. Graham had received, and now sitting bolt upright,
+she demanded what Mrs. Livingstone meant. “My husband give ’Lena Rivers
+a pony! Harry Graham do such a thing! It can’t be possible. There must
+be some mistake.”
+
+“I think not,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. “Your son came over with it,
+saying ‘it was a present from his father, who sent it, together with
+his compliments.’”
+
+Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, groaning, and
+pronouncing herself wholly heart-broken. “I knew he was bad,” said she,
+“but I never dreamed it had come to this. And I might have known it,
+too, for from the moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a
+crazy creature. Talks about her in his sleep—wants me to adopt
+her—keeps his eyes on her every minute when he’s where she is; and to
+crown all, without consulting me, his lawful wife, he has made her a
+present, which must have cost more than a hundred dollars! And she
+accepted it—the vixen!”
+
+“That’s the worst feature in the case,” said Mrs. Livingstone. “I have
+always been suspicious of ’Lena, knowing what her mother was, but I
+must confess I did not think her quite so presumptuous as to accept so
+costly a present from a gentleman, and a married one, too. But she has
+a peculiar way of making them think what she does is right, and neither
+my husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keeping Vesta.
+Carrie wouldn’t have done such a thing.”
+
+“Indeed she wouldn’t. She is too well-bred for that,” said Mrs. Graham,
+who had been completely won by Carrie’s soft speeches and fawning
+manner.
+
+This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, who
+straightway proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by pulling ’Lena
+down. Accordingly, every little thing which she could remember, and
+many which she could not, were told in an aggravated manner, until
+quite a case was made out, and ’Lena would never have recognized
+herself in the artful, designing creature which her aunt kindly
+pictured her to be.
+
+“Of course,” said she, “if you ever repeat this, you will not use my
+name, for as she is my husband’s niece it will not look well in me to
+be proclaiming her vices, except in cases where I think it my duty.”
+
+Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own reflections to make a
+reply, and as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her company was hardly desired,
+she soon arose to go, asking Mrs. Graham “why she did not oftener visit
+Maple Grove.”
+
+When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make others so, too,
+and to her friend’s question she answered, “I may as well be plain as
+not, and to tell you the truth, I should enjoy visiting you very much,
+were it not for one thing. That mother of yours——”
+
+“Of my husband’s,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs. Graham
+continued just where she left off.
+
+“Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a resemblance to
+some down-east creature or other—what is her name—Sco—Sco—Scovandyke;
+yes, that’s it—Scovandyke. Of course it’s not pleasant for me to be
+told every time I meet your mother——”
+
+“Mr. Livingstone’s mother,” again interrupted the lady.
+
+“That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that
+families of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken.”
+
+“Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that “she was
+herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols’s vulgarity, but her
+husband insisted that she should come to the table, so what could she
+do?”
+
+And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about
+her husband’s mother, the two amiable ladies parted.
+
+Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham entered the room,
+finding his wife, who had heard his footsteps, in violent hysterics. He
+had seen her so too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the
+bellrope, when she found voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself
+who was killing her by inches, and that the sooner she was dead, the
+better she supposed he would like it. “But, for my sake,” she added, in
+a kind of howl, between crying and scolding, “do try to behave yourself
+during the short time I have to live, and not go to giving away ponies,
+and mercy knows what.”
+
+Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except
+through the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked
+him, he was at a great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all
+became plain, and on the whole, he felt glad that the worst was over.
+He would not acknowledge, even to himself, that he was afraid of his
+wife, still he had a little rather she would not always know what he
+did. He supposed, as a matter of course, that she would, earlier or
+later, hear of his present to ’Lena, and he well knew that such an
+event would surely be followed by a storm, but after what had taken
+place between them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for
+he had thought her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable
+of great things—as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband
+with his preference for ’Lena, accusing him of loving her better than
+he did herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.
+
+“Say,” she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a slipper),
+“say—I will be answered. Don’t you like ’Lena better than you do me?”
+
+Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated
+question, he at length replied, “God knows I’ve far more reason to love
+her than I have you.” At the same moment he left the room, in time to
+avoid a sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who
+did not expect such an answer, had fallen.
+
+“Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?” he thought, as he wiped the
+drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of
+his spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew
+calmer, and cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what
+he was) whispered, “Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace.”
+
+So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking
+how his conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him
+far than his own life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his
+wife lay upon her sofa, Durward entered the parlor and began
+good-humoredly to rally his mother upon her wobegone face, asking what
+was the matter now.
+
+“Oh, you poor boy, you,” she sobbed, “you’ll soon have no mother to go
+to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather, who
+alone will be to blame for making you an orphan!”
+
+Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too,
+and while he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of
+which he was becoming weary. He knew there had been a jar in the
+morning, but he had supposed that settled, and now, when he found his
+mother ten times worse than ever, he felt half vexed, and said, “Do be
+a woman mother, and not give way to such fancies. I really wonder
+father shows as much patience with you as he does, for you make our
+home very unpleasant; and really,” he continued, in a laughing tone,
+“if this goes on much longer, I shall, in self-defense, get me a wife
+and home of my own.”
+
+“And if report is true, that wife will be ’Lena Rivers,” said Mrs.
+Graham, in order to try him.
+
+“Very likely—I can’t tell what may be,” was his answer; to which Mrs.
+Graham replied, “that it would be extremely pleasant to marry a bride
+with whom one’s father was in love.”
+
+“How ridiculous!” Durward exclaimed. “As though my father cared aught
+for ’Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable manners.”
+
+“But, he’s acknowledged it. He’s just told me, ‘God knew he loved her
+better than he did me.’ What do you think of that?”
+
+“Did Mr. Graham say that?” asked Durward, looking his mother directly
+in her face.
+
+“Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it’s not a
+secret either. Others know it and talk about it. Think of his giving
+her that pony.”
+
+Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the circumstances, he
+felt deeply pained at his father’s remark. He had always supposed he
+liked ’Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his
+own wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life
+Durward distrusted his father. Still, ’Lena was not to blame; there was
+comfort in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side,
+admiring her more and more, and learning each time he saw her to love
+her better. And she—she dared not confess to herself how dear he was to
+her—she dared not hope her affection was returned. She could not think
+of the disappointment the future might bring, so she lived on the
+present, waiting anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the
+things which she thought would please him best.
+
+True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon
+the piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who
+should walk in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying “he had been
+hired by von nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in
+musique.”
+
+’Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her
+sharing in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was
+overruled by his wife.
+
+“’Twas my uncle, was it not?” she asked of Du Pont, who replied, “I
+promised not to tell. He say, though, he connected with mademoiselle.”
+
+And ’Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his
+wife’s account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du
+Pont as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her
+willingness to assist her whenever it was necessary. Naturally fond of
+music, ’Lena’s improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified
+Durward appeared, she redoubled her exertions, practicing always five,
+and sometimes six hours a day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+A FATHER’S LOVE.
+
+
+When it was known at Maple Grove that ’Lena was taking lessons of Du
+Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first proposed,
+paid the bills.
+
+“Mighty kind in her, and no mistake,” said John Jr., throwing aside the
+stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to himself
+that “Mabel was a nice girl, after all.”
+
+The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he suddenly
+wondered why he had never thought to call upon ’Lena. “To be sure, I’ll
+feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know she is not there,
+but it’s lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I’m bound to do
+something.”
+
+So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no regrets
+from his mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had been
+intolerably cross and fault-finding. He found a servant in the door, so
+he was saved the trouble of ringing, and entering unannounced, walked
+noiselessly to the parlor-door, which was ajar. ’Lena, as usual, sat at
+the piano, wholly absorbed, while over her bent Mabel, who was
+assisting her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly, and patiently
+helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel’s health was
+improved since first we saw her, and though she was still plain—ugly,
+many would say—there was something pleasing in her face, and in the
+expression of her black, eyes, which looked down so kindly upon ’Lena.
+John Jr. noticed it, and never before had Mabel appeared to so good
+advantage to him as she did at that moment, as he watched her through
+the open door.
+
+At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, ’Lena said, “I know I
+should never learn if it were not for you,” at the same time winding
+her arm about Mabel’s neck and kissing her glowing cheek.
+
+“Let me have a share of that,” exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward and
+clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his
+presence.
+
+With a gay laugh they shook him off, and ’Lena, leading him to the
+sofa, sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and her
+grandmother. John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed to ask
+if there had come any tidings of the absent one; but he would not—she
+had left him of her own accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for
+her. So he sat gazing dreamily upon her piano, the chair she used to
+occupy and the books she used to read, until ’Lena, either divining his
+thoughts, or fancying he would wish to know, said, “We’ve not heard
+from Nellie since she left us.”
+
+“You didn’t expect to, so soon, I suppose,” was John’s indifferent
+reply.
+
+“Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they’d taken
+a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,” said ’Lena.
+
+“I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could
+have with Nellie, looking out upon the sea,” was John’s answer, while
+Mabel quickly rejoined, that “he had chosen a sailing vessel solely on
+Mary’s account.”
+
+In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment
+after, Durward was ushered into the parlor. “He was in town on
+business,” he said, “and thought he would call.”
+
+Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time
+admitting Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also
+found it convenient to call. Involuntarily Durward glanced toward
+’Lena, but her face was as calm and unruffled as if the visitor had
+been her uncle.
+
+“All right there,” thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her, he
+fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat disconcerted
+when he saw him there. Mentally blaming himself for the distrust which
+he felt rising within him, he still determined to watch, and judge for
+himself how far his mother’s suspicions were correct. Taking up a book
+which lay near, he pretended to be reading, while all the time his
+thoughts were elsewhere. It was ’Lena’s lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont
+came in, appearing both pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.
+
+“I hope you don’t expect me to expose my ignorance before all these
+people,” said ’Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.
+
+“Suppose we adjourn to another room,” said Mabel, leading the way and
+followed by John Jr. only.
+
+Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on
+observing that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed his
+seat and book, poring over the latter as intently as if it had not been
+wrong side up!
+
+“Does monsieur incline to stay,” asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took his
+station at the end of the piano.
+
+“Certainly,” answered Mr. Graham, “unless Miss Rivers insists upon my
+leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much interest
+I take in her progress.”
+
+So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed
+upon ’Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his book
+was watching him. Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all seemed
+mingled in the expression of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt
+that there was a something which he could not fathom.
+
+“I never knew he was so fond of music,” thought he—“I mean to put him
+to the test.”
+
+Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was an
+excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best
+pieces—“something lively and new which will wake us up,” said he.
+
+Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she was
+habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking her seat
+at the piano, she brought out sounds far different from those of a new
+performer. But Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes
+and ears being alone for ’Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced
+talking to her in an undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else
+around him, and it was not until Durward twice asked how he liked
+Mabel’s playing, that he heard a note. Then, starting up and going
+toward the instrument, he said, “Ah, yes, that was a fine march, (’twas
+the ‘Rainbow Schottish,’ then new,) please repeat it, or something just
+like it!”
+
+Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off
+into a spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr.
+Graham, who seemed in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece of
+white paper which lay upon the piano, and of which Durward managed to
+get possession, finding thereon the name, “Helena Nichols,” to which
+was added that of “Rivers,” the Nichols being crossed out. It would
+seem as if both father and son were determined each to outstay the
+other, for hour after hour went by and neither spoke of leaving,
+although John Jr. had been gone some time. At last, as the sun was
+setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his father contemplated
+spending the night; “and if so,” said he, with a meaning in his manner,
+“where shall I tell my mother I left you?”
+
+This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to
+start, adding, that “he could not find it in his heart to tear him away
+from two so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the weakness of
+his own youth.”
+
+“In your second youth, now, I fancy,” thought Durward, watching him as
+he bade ’Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much longer
+he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.
+
+“Does she see as I do, or not?” thought he, as he took the hand his
+father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes, which
+returned his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a little
+child.
+
+“All right here,” again thought Durward, slightly pressing the soft,
+warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw how
+quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+“Durward,” said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city, “I have a
+request to make of you.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham
+again spoke.
+
+“You know your mother as well as I do——”
+
+“Well.”
+
+Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; “You know how groundlessly
+jealous she is of me—and it may be just as well for her not to know
+that——”
+
+Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.
+
+“Just as well for her not to know that you’ve spent the afternoon with
+’Lena Rivers; is that it?”
+
+“That’s it—yes—yes”—answered Mr. Graham, adding, ere Durward had time
+to utter the angry words which he felt rising within him, “I wish you’d
+marry ’Lena.”
+
+This was so sudden—so different from anything which Durward had
+expected, that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little
+time ere he answered,
+
+“Perhaps I shall.”
+
+“I wish you would,” continued Mr. Graham, “I’d willingly give every
+dollar I’m worth for the privilege of calling her my daughter.”
+
+Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If his father had
+an undue regard for ’Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife of
+another, and that other his son? Was it his better and nobler nature
+struggling to save her from evil, which prompted the wish? Durward
+hoped so—he believed so; and the confidence which had so recently been
+shaken was fully restored, when, by the light of the hall lamp at home,
+he saw how white and almost ghostly was the face which, ere they
+entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him, asking him “to
+be careful.”
+
+Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of
+Mrs. Livingstone’s call, and now, though she had not seen her husband
+for several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head,
+meantime, and replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a
+much-injured-woman way, as provoking as it was uncalled for.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+“Father’s suggestion was a good one,” thought Durward, when he had
+retired to rest. “’Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the world. I
+will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of danger.”
+
+But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there to Woodlawn,
+where scarcely a day passed without some domestic storm? No, his home
+should be full of sunlight, of music and flowers, where no angry word
+or darkening frown could ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a
+blissful future, when ’Lena should be his bride, he fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+JOEL SLOCUM.
+
+
+In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an individual
+who, though not a very important personage, is still in some degree
+connected with our story. On the night when Durward and his father were
+riding home from Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the
+exception of grandma, were as usual assembled in the parlor. John Jr.
+had returned, and purposely telling his mother and Carrie whom he had
+left with ’Lena, had succeeded in putting them both into an
+uncomfortable humor, the latter secretly lamenting the mistake which
+she had committed in suffering ’Lena to stay with Mabel. But it could
+not be remedied now. There was no good reason for calling her home, and
+the lady broke at least three cambric-needles in her vigorous jerks at
+the handkerchief she was hemming.
+
+A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and Carrie
+straightened up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, who had called
+on his way home, but the voice was strange, and rather impatiently she
+waited.
+
+“Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?” asked the stranger of the negro
+who answered the summons.
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance.
+
+“And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?”
+
+The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young
+man to walk in.
+
+“Wall, guess I will,” said he, advancing a few steps toward the parlor
+door. Then suddenly halting, he added, more to himself than to the
+negro, “Darned if I don’t go the hull figger, and send in my card as
+they do to Boston.”
+
+So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and bending his
+knee for a table, he wrote with sundry nourishes, “Mr. Joel Slocum,
+Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts.”
+
+“There, hand that to your _boss_,” said he, “and tell him I’m out in
+the entry.” At the same time he stepped before the hat-stand, rubbing
+up his oily hair, and thinking “Mr. Joel Slocum would make an
+impression anywhere.”
+
+“Who is it, Ben ?” whispered Carrie.
+
+“Dunno, miss,” said the negro, passing the card to his master, and
+waiting in silence for his orders.
+
+“Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,” slowly read Mr.
+Livingstone, wondering where he had heard that name before.
+
+“Who?” simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their mother looked
+wonderingly up.
+
+Instantly John Jr. remembered ’Lena’s love-letter, and anticipating
+fun, exclaimed, “Show him in, Ben—show him in.”
+
+While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him more fully to our
+readers, promising that the picture is not overdrawn, but such as we
+saw it in our native state. Joel belonged to that extreme class of
+Yankees with which we sometimes, though not often meet. Brought up
+among the New England mountains, he was almost wholly ignorant of what
+really belonged to good manners, fancying that he knew everything, and
+sneering at those of his acquaintance who, being of a more quiet turn
+of mind, were content to settle down in the home of their fathers,
+caring little or nothing for the world without. But as for him, “he was
+bound,” he said, “to see the elephant, and if his brothers were green
+enough to stay tied to their mother’s apron strings, they might do it,
+but he wouldn’t. No, _sir_! he was going to make something of himself.”
+
+To effect this, about two years before the time of which we are
+speaking, he went to Boston to learn the art of daguerreotype-taking,
+in which he really did seem to excel, returning home with some money, a
+great deal of vanity, and a strong propensity to boast of what he had
+seen. Recollections of ’Lena, his early, and, as he sentimentally
+expressed it, “his undying, all-enduring” love, still haunted him, and
+at last he determined upon a tour to Kentucky, purchasing for the
+occasion a rather fantastic suit, consisting of greenish pants, blue
+coat, red vest, and yellow neck-handkerchief. These he laid carefully
+by in his trunk until he reached Lexington, where he intended stopping
+for a time, hanging out a naming sign, which announced his presence and
+capabilities.
+
+After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to impress its
+inhabitants with a sense of his consequence, and mentally styling them
+all “Know Nothings,” be-cause they did not seem to be more affected, he
+one afternoon donned his best suit, and started for Mr. Livingstone’s,
+thinking he should create a sensation there, for wasn’t he as good as
+anybody? Didn’t he learn his trade in Boston, the very center and
+source of all the _isms_ of the day, and ought not Mr. Livingstone to
+feel proud of such a guest, and wouldn’t ’Lena stare when she saw him
+so much improved from what he was when they picked _checkerberries_
+together?
+
+With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at all probable
+that he felt any misgivings when Ben ushered him at once into the
+presence of Mr. Livingstone’s family, who stared at him in unfeigned
+astonishment. Nothing daunted, he went through with the five changes of
+a bow, which he had learned at a dancing-school, bringing himself up
+finally in front of Mr. Livingstone, and exclaiming,
+
+“How-dy-do?—Mr. Livingstone, I s’pose, it comes more natural to say
+cousin John, I’ve heard Miss Nichols and Aunt Nancy talk of you since I
+was knee high, and seems as how you must be related. How is the old
+lady, and Helleny, too? I don’t see ’em here, though I thought, at
+fust, this might be her,” nodding to Anna.
+
+Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had strong intentions of
+ordering the intruder from the room, but John Jr. had no such idea. He
+liked the fun, and now coming forward, said, “Mr. Slocum, as your card
+indicates, allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my mother—and
+sisters,” at the same time ringing the bell, he ordered a servant to go
+for his grandmother.
+
+“Ah, ladies, how-dy-do? Hope you are well till we are better
+acquainted,” said Joel, bowing low, and shaking out the folds of his
+red silk handkerchief, strongly perfumed with peppermint.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while Anna
+said, “Good-evening, Mr. Slocum.”
+
+Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone’s silence, Joel turned to John Jr.,
+saying, “Don’t believe she heard you—deaf, mebby?”
+
+John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared, in a great flurry
+to know who wanted to see her.
+
+Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, “Now Aunt Martha, if this
+ain’t good for sore eyes. How _do_ you do ?”
+
+“Pretty well, pretty well,” she returned, “but you’ve got the better of
+me, for I don’t know more’n the dead who you be.”
+
+“Now how you talk,” said Joel. “If this don’t beat all my fust wife’s
+relations. Why, I should have known you if I’d met you in a
+porridge-pot. But then, I s’pose I’ve altered for the better since I
+see you. Don’t you remember Joel Slocum, that used to have kind of a
+snickerin’ notion after Helleny?”
+
+“Why-ee, I guess I do,” answered grandma, again seizing his hand.
+“Where did you come from, and why didn’t your Aunt Nancy come with you?
+
+“’Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke’s sister’s boy. Caroline and Anny,
+this is Joel; you’ve heard tell of him.”
+
+“I’ve been introduced, thank you,” said Joel, taking a seat near
+Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample folds of her dress, lest it
+should be polluted.
+
+“Bashful critter, but she’ll get over it by the time she’s seen as much
+of the world as I have,” soliloquized Joel; at the same time thinking
+to make some advances, he hitched a little nearer, and taking hold of a
+strip of embroidery on which she was engaged, he said, “Now, du tell,
+if they’ve got to workin’ with floss way down here. Waste of time, I
+tell ’em, this makin’ holes for the sake of sewin’ ’em up. But law!” he
+added, as he saw the deepening scowl on Carrie’s face, “wimmin may jest
+as well by putterin’ about that as anything else, for their time ain’t
+nothin’ moren’ an old settin’ hen’s.”
+
+This speech called forth the first loud roar in which John Jr. had
+indulged since Nellie went away, and now settling back in his chair, he
+gave vent to his feelings in peals of laughter, in which Joel also
+joined, thinking he’d said something smart. When at last he’d finished
+laughing, he thought again of ’Lena, and turning to Mrs. Livingstone,
+asked where she was, raising his voice to a high key on account of her
+supposed deafness.
+
+“Did you speak to me?” asked the lady, with a look which she meant
+should annihilate him, and in a still louder tone Joel repeated his
+question, asking Anna, aside, if her mother had ever tried
+“McAllister’s All-Healing Ointment,” for her deafness, saying it had
+“nighly cured his grandmother when she was several years older than
+Mrs. Livingstone.”
+
+“Much obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately, I do not
+need,” said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while Joel thought, “how strange
+it was that deaf people would always hear in the wrong time!”
+
+“Mother don’t seem inclined to answer your question concerning ’Lena,”
+said John Jr., “so I will do it for her. She is in Frankfort, taking
+music lessons. You used to know her, I believe.”
+
+“Lud, yes! I chased her once with a streaked snake, and if she didn’t
+put ’er through, then I’m no ‘Judge. Takin’ music lessons, is she? I’d
+give a fo’ pence to hear her play.”
+
+“Are you fond of music?” asked John Jr., in hopes of what followed.
+
+“Wall, I wouldn’t wonder much if I was,” answered Joel, taking a
+tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it upon the table. “I’ve kep’
+singin’ school one term, besides leadin’ the Methodis’ choir in
+Slocumville: so I orto know a little somethin’ about it.”
+
+“Perhaps you play, and if so, we’d like to hear you,” continued John
+Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance cast upon him by Carrie.
+
+“Not such a dreadful sight,” answered Joel, sauntering toward the piano
+and drumming a part of “Auld Lang Syne.” “Not such a dreadful sight,
+but I guess these girls do. Come, girls, play us a jig, won’t you?”
+
+“Go, Cad, it won’t hurt you,” whispered John, but Carrie was immovable,
+and at last, Anna, who entered more into her brother’s spirit, took her
+seat at the instrument, asking what he would have.
+
+“Oh, give us ‘Money Musk,’ ‘Hail Columby,’ ‘Old Zip Coon,’ or anything
+to raise a feller’s ideas.”
+
+Fortunately, Anna’s forte lay in playing old music, which she preferred
+to more modern pieces, and, Joel was soon beating time to the lively
+strains of “Money Musk.”
+
+“Wall, I declare,” said he, when it was ended, “I don’t see but what
+you Kentucky gals play most as well as they do to hum. I didn’t s’pose
+many on you ever seen a pianner. Come,” turning to Carrie, “less see
+what you can do. Mebby you’ll beat her all holler,” and he offered his
+hand to Carrie, who rather petulantly said she “must be excused.”
+
+“Oh, get out,” he continued. “You needn’t feel so bashful, for I shan’t
+criticise you very hard. I know how to feel fer new beginners.”
+
+“Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?” asked Mr. Livingstone, pitying
+Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the performance.
+
+“No, I hain’t, and I’m hungrier than a bear,” answered Joel, whereupon
+Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was her guest, arose, saying she would see
+that he had some.
+
+When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone’s wrath boiled
+over.
+
+“That’s what comes of harboring your relatives,” said she, looking
+indignantly upon her husband, and adding that she hoped “the insolent
+fellow did not intend staying all night, for if he did he couldn’t.”
+
+“Do you propose turning him into the street?” asked Mr. Livingstone,
+looking up from his paper.
+
+“I don’t propose anything, except that he won’t stay in my house, and
+you needn’t ask him.”
+
+“I hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume he expects to
+stay,” returned Mr. Livingstone; while John Jr. rejoined, “Of course he
+does, and if mother doesn’t find him a room, I shall take him in with
+me, besides going to Frankfort with him to-morrow.”
+
+This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost anything rather
+than have her son seen in the city with that specimen. Accordingly,
+when the hour for retiring arrived, she ordered Corinda to show him
+into the “east chamber,” a room used for her common kind of visitors,
+but which Joel pronounced “as neat as a fiddle.”
+
+The next morning he announced his intention of visiting Frankfort,
+proposing to grandma that she should accompany him, and she was about
+making up her mind to do so, when ’Lena and Mabel both appeared in the
+yard. They had come out for a ride, they said, and finding the morning
+so fine, had extended their excursion as far as Maple Grove, sending
+their servant back to tell where they were going. With his usual
+assurance, Joel advanced toward ’Lena, greeting her tenderly, and
+whispering in her ear that “he found she was greatly improved as well
+as himself,” while ’Lena wondered in what the improvement consisted.
+She had formerly known him as a great, overgrown, good-natured boy, and
+now she saw him a “conceited gawky.” Still, her manner was friendly
+toward him, for he had come from her old home, had breathed the air of
+her native hills, and she well remembered how, years ago, he had with
+her planted and watered the flowers which he told her were still
+growing at her mother’s grave.
+
+And yet there was something about her which puzzled Joel, who felt that
+the difference between them was great. He was disappointed, and the
+declaration which he had fully intended making was left until another
+time, when, as he thought, “he shouldn’t be so confounded shy of her.”
+His quarters, too, at Maple Grove were not the most pleasant, for no
+one noticed him except grandma and John Jr., and with the conviction
+that “the Kentuckians didn’t know what politeness meant,” he ordered
+his horse after dinner, and started back to Lexington, inviting all the
+family to call and “set for their picters,” saying that “seein’ ’twas
+them, he’d take ’em for half price.”
+
+As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and drawing a large,
+square case from his pocket, passed it to ’Lena, saying it was a
+daguerreotype of her mountain home, which he had taken on purpose for
+her, forgetting to give it to her until that minute. The look of joy
+which lighted up ’Lena’s face made Joel almost repent of not having
+said to her what he intended to, but thinking he would wait till next
+time, he started off, his heart considerably lightened by her warm
+thanks for his thoughtfulness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+THE DAGUERREOTYPE.
+
+
+“Look, grandmother!—a picture of our old home. Isn’t it natural?”
+exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.
+
+Yes, it was natural, and the old lady’s tears gushed forth the moment
+she looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, the gate partially
+open, the barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the curtain of the
+west window rolled up as it was wont to be, while on the doorstep,
+basking in the warm sunshine, lay a cat, which Mrs. Nichols’ declared
+was hers.
+
+“John ought to see this,” said she, wiping the tears from her eyes, and
+turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting her
+son, together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called. “Look here,
+John,” said she, calling him to her side—“Do you remember this?”
+
+The deep flush which mounted to John’s brow, showed that he did, and
+his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: “It is our old
+home in Massachusetts. There’s the room where John and Helleny both
+were born, and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but
+yesterday since she died, and they carried her out of this door, and
+down the road, there—do you see?”
+
+This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or not,
+made no answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon the
+prospect beyond, which for him had no attractions then. The sight of
+that daguerreotype had stirred up many bitter memories, and for some
+time he stood gazing vacantly through the window, and thinking—who
+shall say of what? It would seem that the daguerreotype possessed a
+strong fascination for him, for after it had been duly examined and
+laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it minutely, asking where
+it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure a similar one.
+
+“I have a fancy for such scenes,” said he, “and would like to have just
+such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say. He can
+take one from this, I suppose. I mean to see him;” and with his usual
+good-morning, he departed.
+
+Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort,
+determining, if a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer
+’Lena his heart and fortune.
+
+He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day. For a time
+they conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which was
+entirely foreign from that which lay nearest Durward’s heart. At last
+the conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had
+heard.
+
+“I really think, ’Lena,” said he, laughingly, “that you ought to
+patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the sake
+of seeing you. Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for me, will
+you?”
+
+Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls,
+’Lena answered lightly, “Oh, no, no. I have never had my picture taken
+in my life, and I shan’t begin with Joel.”
+
+“Never had it taken!” repeated Durward, in some surprise.
+
+“No, never,” said ’Lena, and Durward continued drawing her nearer to
+him, “It is time you had, then. So have it taken for me. I mean what I
+say,” he continued, as he met the glance of her merry eyes. “There is
+nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except, indeed the
+original, which you will not refuse me, when I ask it, will you?”
+
+’Lena’s mirth was all gone—she knew he was in earnest now. She felt it
+in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her waist; she saw it in
+his eye, and heard it in the tones of his voice. But what should she
+say? Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon her
+cheek; and an inaudible answer trembled on her lips, when noiselessly
+through the door came _Mr. Graham_, starting when he saw their
+position, and offering to withdraw if he was intruding. ’Lena was
+surprised and excited, and springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm
+as he was about to leave the room, bidding him stay and saying he was
+always welcome there.
+
+So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which ’Lena had
+ever seen, Durward left—left without receiving an answer to his
+question, or even referring to it again, though ’Lena accompanied him
+to the door, half dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it. But he did
+not, and wishing her much pleasure in his father’s company, he walked
+away, writing in his heart bitter things against _him_, not her. On his
+way home he fell in with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a
+little too much wine, and was very talkative.
+
+“Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,” said he. “She be von fine
+girl. What relation be she to Monsieur Graham?”
+
+“None whatever. Why do you ask?”
+
+“Because he pay her musique lessons and——”
+
+Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he kept back Mr.
+Graham’s assertion that he was a near relative, adding in its place,
+that “he thought probable he related; but you no tell,” said he, “for
+Monsieur bid me keep secret and I forgot.”
+
+Here, having reached a cross-road, they parted, and again Durward wrote
+down bitter things against his father, for what could be his object in
+wishing it kept a secret that he was paying for ’Lena’s lessons, or why
+did he pay for them at all—and did ’Lena know it? He thought not, and
+for a time longer was she blameless in his eyes.
+
+On reaching home he found both the parlor and drawing-room deserted,
+and upon inquiry learned that his mother was in her own room.
+Something, he could hardly tell what, prompted him to knock for
+admission, which being granted, he entered, finding her unusually pale,
+with the trace of tears still upon her cheek. This of itself was so
+common an occurrence, that he would hardly have observed it had not
+there been about her a look of unfeigned distress which he had seldom
+seen before.
+
+“What’s the matter, mother?” said he, advancing toward her; “What has
+happened to trouble you?”
+
+Without any reply, Mrs. Graham placed in his hand a richly-cased
+daguerreotype, and laying her head upon the table, sobbed aloud. A
+moment Durward stood transfixed to the spot, for on opening the case,
+the fair, beautiful face of ’Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon him!
+
+“Where did you get this, mother?—how came you by it?” he asked, and she
+answered, that in looking through her husband’s private drawer, the key
+of which she had accidentally found in his vest pocket, she had come
+upon it, together with a curl of soft chestnut-brown hair which she
+threw across Durward’s finger, and from which he recoiled as from a
+viper’s touch.
+
+For several minutes not a word was spoken by either, and then Mrs.
+Graham, looking him in the face, said, “You recognize that countenance,
+of course?”
+
+“I do,” he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Durward was
+terribly moved.
+
+Twice had ’Lena asserted that never in her life had her daguerreotype
+been taken, and yet he held it in his hands; there was no mistaking
+it—the same broad, open brow—the same full, red lips—the same smile—and
+more than all, the same clustering ringlets, though arranged a little
+differently from what she usually wore them, the hair on the picture
+being combed smoothly over the forehead, while ’Lena’s was generally
+brushed up after the style of the prevailing fashion. Had Durward
+examined minutely, he might have found other points of difference, but
+he did not think of that. A look had convinced him that ’twas ’Lena—his
+’Lena, he had fondly hoped to call her. But that was over now—she had
+deceived him—told him a deliberate falsehood—refused him her
+daguerreotype and given it to his father, whose secrecy concerning it
+indicated something wrong. His faith was shaken, and yet for the sake
+of what she had been to him, he would spare her good name. He could not
+bear to hear the world breathe aught against her, for possibly she
+might be innocent; but no, there was no mistaking the falsehood, and
+Durward groaned in bitterness as he handed the picture to his mother,
+bidding her return it where she found it. Mrs. Graham had never seen
+her son thus moved, and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm,
+asking, “why he was so affected—what she was to him?”
+
+“Everything, everything,” said he, laying his face upon the table.
+“’Lena Rivers was all the world to me. I loved her as I shall never
+love again.”
+
+And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his mother all—how
+he had that very morning gone to Frankfort with the intention of
+offering ’Lena his hand—how he had partially done so, when they were
+interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, he did not say whom.
+
+“Thank heaven for your escape. I can bear your father’s conduct, if it
+is the means of saving you from her,” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while her
+son continued: “And now, mother, I have a request to make of you—a
+request which you must grant. I have loved ’Lena too well to cease from
+loving her so soon. And though I can never again think to make her my
+wife, I will not hear her name lightly spoken by the world, who must
+never know what we do. Promise me, mother, to keep secret whatever you
+may know against her.”
+
+“Do you think me bereft of my senses,” asked Mrs. Graham petulantly,
+“that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every one?”
+
+“No, no, mother,” he answered, “but you are easily excited, and say
+things you had better not. Mrs. Livingstone bears ’Lena no good will,
+you know, and sometimes when she is speaking disparagingly of her, you
+may be thrown off your guard, and tell what you know. But this must not
+be. Promise me, mother, will you?”
+
+Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly about his
+mouth as he asked this of his mother who, mentally congratulating
+herself upon her son’s escape, promised what he asked, at the same time
+repeating to him all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone concerning
+’Lena, until Durward interrupted her with, “Stop, stop, I’ve heard
+enough. Nothing which Mrs. Livingstone could say would have weighed a
+straw, but the conviction of my own eyes and ears have undeceived me,
+and henceforth ’Lena and I are as strangers.”
+
+Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of her son’s
+marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and though she felt
+indignant toward her husband so peculiar was her nature that she would
+not have had matters otherwise if she could and when Durward, who
+disliked _scenes_, suggested the propriety of her not speaking to his
+father on the subject at present he assented, saying that it would be
+more easy for her to refrain, as she was intending to start for
+Louisville on the morrow.
+
+“I’ve been contemplating a visit there for some time and before Mr.
+Graham left home this morning, I had decided to go,” said she, at the
+same time proposing that Durward should accompany her.
+
+To this consented willingly, for in the first shock of his
+disappointment, a change of place and scene was what he most desired.
+The hot blood of the south, which burned in his veins, seemed all on
+fire, and he felt that he could not, for the present, at least be daily
+associated with his stepfather. An absence of several days, he thought,
+might have the effect of calming him down. It was accordingly decided
+that he should on the morrow, start with her for Louisville, to be gone
+two weeks; and with this understanding they parted, Durward going to
+his own chamber, there to review the past and strive, if possible, to
+efface from his heart every memory of ’Lena, whom he had loved so well.
+But ’twas all in vain; he could not so soon forget her and far into the
+hours of night he sat alone striving to frame some excuse for her
+conduct. The fact that his father possessed her daguerreotype might
+possibly be explained, without throwing censure upon her; but the
+falsehood—never; and with the firm conviction that she was lost to him
+forever, he at last retired to rest, just as the clock in the ball
+below proclaimed the hour of midnight.
+
+Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind the probable result
+of a letter which, in the heat of passion, she had that day dispatched
+to ’Lena, accusing her of “marring the domestic peace of a hitherto
+happy family,” and while she cast some reflections upon her birth,
+commanding her never, under any circumstances, “to venture into her
+presence!”
+
+This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward’s return,
+and as she well knew how much he would disapprove of it, she resolved
+not to tell him, secretly hoping ’Lena would keep her own counsel.
+“Base creature!” said she, “to give my husband her likeness—but he
+shall never see it again;” and with stealthy step she advanced toward
+the secret drawer, which she again opened, and taking from it both
+daguerreotype and ringlet, locked it, replacing the key in the pocket
+where she found it. Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled it
+into the glowing grate, shuddering as she did so, and trembling, as if
+she really knew a wrong had been done to the dead.
+
+Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated features, which
+now seemed to regard her mournfully, as if reproaching her for what she
+had done. No part of the dress was visible—nothing except the head and
+neck, which was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut curls,
+whose companion so recently lay seething and scorching on the burning
+coals.
+
+There was a footstep without—her husband had returned—and quick as
+thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while Mrs. Graham, forcing
+down her emotion, took up a book, which she seemed to be intently
+reading when her husband entered. After addressing to her a few
+commonplace remarks, all of which she answered civilly, he went to the
+wardrobe, and on pretense of looking for his knife, which, he said he
+believed he left in his vest pocket, he took out the key, and then
+carelessly proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his wife watching
+him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation when he
+saw that his treasure was gone. Again and again was his drawer
+searched, but all to no purpose, and casting an anxious glance toward
+his wife, whose face, for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he commenced
+walking the floor in a very perturbed state of mind, his wife exulting
+in his discomfiture, and thinking herself amply avenged for all that
+she had endured.
+
+At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day
+received from South Carolina, containing the news of the death of a
+distant relative, who had left him some property. “It is not necessary
+for me to be there in person,” said he, “but still I should like to
+visit my old home once more. What do you think of it?”
+
+“Go, by all means,” said she, glad of anything which would place
+distance between him and ’Lena. “No one can attend to your business
+one-half as well as yourself. When will you start if you go?”
+
+“Immediately—before your return from Louisville—unless you wish to
+accompany me.”
+
+“I’m afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather not,” said
+she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him to wonder what had come
+over her.
+
+“You can do as you choose,” said he, “but I should be glad of your
+company.”
+
+“No, I thank you,” was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, wondered
+what had come over him.
+
+The next morning the carriage came up to the door to convey Mrs. Graham
+and Durward to Frankfort. The latter was purposely late, and he did not
+see his father until he came down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the
+carriage. Then Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise, “where he was
+going?”
+
+“With my mother to Louisville, sir,” answered Durward, stiffly. “I am
+not willing she should travel alone, if you are;” and he sprang into
+the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive off ere another word could
+be spoken.
+
+“Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!—my usual luck!”
+mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the house, and sure of no prying
+eyes, recommenced his search for the daguerreotype, which was nowhere
+to be found. Could she have found it? Impossible! for it was not in her
+jealous nature to have held her peace; and again he sought for it, but
+all to no purpose, and finally thinking he must have taken it with him
+and lost it, he gave it up, mourning more for the loss of the curl,
+which could never, never be replaced, while the picture might be found.
+
+“Why do I live so?” thought he, as he nervously paced the room. “My
+life is one of continual fear and anxiety, but it shall be so no
+longer. I’ll tell her all when she returns. I’ll brave the world, dare
+her displeasure, take ’Lena home, and be a man.”
+
+Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that he should
+keep it, he started for Versailles, where he had an engagement with a
+gentleman who transacted business for him in Lexington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+
+
+Mabel had gone out, and ’Lena sat alone in the little room adjoining
+the parlor which Mr. Douglass termed his library, but which Nellie had
+fitted up for a private sewing-room. It was ’Lena’s favorite resort
+when she wished to be alone, and as Mabel was this morning absent, she
+had retired thither, not to work, but to think—to recall every word and
+look of Durward’s, to wonder when and how he would repeat the question,
+the answer to which had been prevented by Mr. Graham.
+
+Many and blissful were her emotions as she sat there, wondering if it
+were not a bright dream, from which she would too soon awaken, for
+could it be that one so noble, so good, and so much sought for as
+Durward Bellmont had chosen her, of all others, to be his bride? Yes,
+it must be so, for he was not one to say or act what he did not mean;
+he would come that day and repeat what he had said before; and she
+blushed as she thought what her answer would be.
+
+There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered, bringing her a
+letter, which she eagerly seized, thinking it was from him. But ’twas
+not his writing, though bearing the post-mark of Versailles. Hastily
+she broke the seal, and glancing at the signature, turned pale, for it
+was “Lucy Graham,” his mother, who had written, but for what, she could
+not guess. A moment more and she fell back on the sofa, white and rigid
+as a piece of marble. ’Twas a cruel and insulting letter, containing
+many dark insinuations, which she, being wholly innocent; could not
+understand. She knew indeed, that Mr. Graham had presented her with
+Vesta, but was there anything wrong in that? She did not think so, else
+she had never taken her. Her uncle, her cousin, and Durward, all three
+approved of her accepting it, the latter coming with it himself—so it
+could not be that; and for a long time Lena wept passionately,
+resolving one moment to answer the letter as it deserved determining,
+the next, to go herself and see Mrs. Graham face to face; and then
+concluding to treat it with silent contempt, trusting that Durward
+would erelong appear and make it all plain between them.
+
+At last, about five o’clock, Mabel returned, bringing the intelligence
+that Mrs. Graham was in the city, at the Weisiger House, where she was
+going to remain until the morrow. She had met with an accident, which
+prevented her arrival in Frankfort until the train which she was
+desirous of taking had left.
+
+“Is her husband with her?” asked ’Lena, to which Mabel replied, that
+she understood she was alone.
+
+“Then I’ll see her and know what she means,” thought ’Lena, trembling,
+even then, at the idea of venturing into the presence of the cold,
+haughty woman.
+
+
+Supper was over at the Weisiger House, and in a handsome private parlor
+Mrs. Graham lay, half asleep, upon the sofa, while in the dressing-room
+adjoining Durward sat, trying to frame a letter which should tell poor
+’Lena that their intimacy was forever at an end. For hours, and until
+the last gleam of daylight had faded away, he had sat by the window,
+watching each youthful form which passed up and, down the busy street,
+hoping to catch a glimpse of her who once had made his world. But his
+watch was in vain, and now he had sat down to write, throwing aside
+sheet after sheet, as he thought its beginning too cold, too harsh, or
+too affectionate. He was about making up his mind not to write at all,
+but to let matters take their course, when a knock at his mother’s
+door, and the announcement that a lady wished to see her arrested his
+attention.
+
+“Somebody want to see me? Just show her up,” said Mrs. Graham,
+smoothing down her flaxen hair, and wiping from between her eyes a spot
+of powder which the opposite mirror revealed.
+
+In a moment the visitor entered—a slight, girlish form, whose features
+were partially hidden from view by a heavy lace veil, which was thrown
+over her satin hood. A single glance convinced Mrs. Graham that it was
+a lady, a well-bred lady, who stood before her, and very politely she
+bade her be seated.
+
+Rather haughtily the proffered chair was declined, while the veil was
+thrown aside, disclosing to the astonished gaze of Mrs. Graham the face
+of ’Lena Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, while her dark eyes grew
+darker with the intensity of her feelings.
+
+“’Lena Rivers! why came you here?” she asked, while at the mention of
+that name Durward started to his feet, but quickly resumed his seat,
+listening with indescribable emotions to the sound of a voice which
+made every nerve quiver with pain.
+
+“You ask me why I am here, madam,” said ’Lena. “I came to seek an
+explanation from you—to know of what I am accused—to ask why you wrote
+me that insulting letter—me, an orphan girl, alone and unprotected in
+the world, and who never knowingly harmed you or yours.”
+
+“Never harmed me or mine!” scornfully repeated Mrs. Graham. “Don’t add
+falsehood to your other sins—though, if you’ll lie to my son, you of
+course will to me, his mother.”
+
+“Explain yourself, madam, if you please,” exclaimed ’Lena, her olden
+temper beginning to get the advantage of her.
+
+“And what if I do not please?” sneeringly asked Mrs. Graham.
+
+“Then I will compel you to do so, for my good name is all I have, and
+it shall not be wrested from me without an effort on my part to
+preserve it,” answered ’Lena.
+
+“Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help you. I am sure
+it would be very ungentlemanly in him to desert you, now,” said Mrs.
+Graham, her manner conveying far more meaning than her words.
+
+’Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly distinct as
+she replied, “Will you explain yourself, or will you not? What have I
+done, that you should treat me thus?”
+
+“Done? Done enough, I should think! Haven’t you whiled him away from me
+with your artful manners? Has he ever been the same man since he saw
+you? Hasn’t he talked of you in his sleep? made you most valuable
+presents which a true woman would have refused? and in return, haven’t
+you bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together with a lock of your
+hair, on which you no doubt pride yourself, but which to me and my son
+seem like so many coiling serpents?”
+
+’Lena had sat down. She could stand no longer, and burying her face in
+her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had finished. Then, lifting up
+her head, she replied in a voice far more husky than the one in which
+she before had spoken—“You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs. Graham, for as I
+hope for heaven, I never entertained a feeling for your husband which I
+would not have done for my own father, and indeed, he has seemed to me
+more like a parent than a friend——”
+
+“Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,” interrupted
+Mrs. Graham.
+
+’Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but continued: “I
+know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it was wrong, and if it was,
+I will make amends by immediately returning her, for much as I love
+her, I shall never use her again.”
+
+“But the daguerreotype?” interrupted Mrs. Graham, anxious to reach that
+point. “What have you to say about the daguerreotype? Perhaps you will
+presume to deny that, too.”
+
+Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched ’Lena, whose dark
+brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, “It is false, madam. You know
+it is false. I never yet have had my picture taken.”
+
+“But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?”
+
+“Again I repeat, that is false!” said ’Lena, while Mrs. Graham,
+strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, “I can prove it,
+miss.”
+
+“I defy you to do so,” said ’Lena, strong in her own innocence.
+
+“Shall I show it to her, Durward,” asked Mrs. Graham, and ’Lena,
+turning suddenly round, became for the first time conscious of his
+presence.
+
+With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly toward him,
+asking him, in piteous tones, to save her from his mother. Durward
+would almost have laid down his life to prove her innocent, but he felt
+that could not be. So he made her no reply, and in his eye she read
+that he, too, was deceived. With a low, wailing moan she again covered
+her face with her hands, while Mrs. Graham repeated her question,
+“Shall I show it to her?”
+
+Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and he
+answered, “Why do you ask, when you know you cannot do so?”
+
+Oh, how joyfully ’Lena started up; he did not believe it, after all,
+and if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that was which she gave
+to Durward, who returned her no answering glance, save one of pity; and
+again that wailing cry smote painfully on his ear. Taking the case from
+her pocket, Mrs. Graham advanced toward ’Lena, saying, “Here, see for
+yourself, and then deny it if you can.”
+
+But ’Lena had no power to take it. Her faculties seemed benumbed and
+Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded brow stood leaning against
+the mantel, construed her hesitation into guilt, which dreaded to be
+convicted.
+
+“Why don’t you take it?” persisted Mrs. Graham. “You defied me to prove
+it, and here it is. I found it in my husband’s private drawer, together
+with one of those long curls, which last I burned out of my sight.”
+
+Durward shuddered, while ’Lena involuntarily thought of the mass of
+wavy tresses which they had told her clustered around her mother’s
+face, as she lay in her narrow coffin. Why thought she of her mother
+then? Was it because they were so strangely alike, that any allusion to
+her own personal appearance always reminded her of her lost parent?
+Perhaps so. But to return to our story ’Lena would have sworn that the
+likeness was not hers, and still an undefined dread crept over her,
+preventing her from moving.
+
+“You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist you,” said
+Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case and holding to view
+the picture, on which with wondering eyes, ’Lena gazed in astonishment.
+
+“It is I—it is; but oh, heaven, how came he by it?” she gasped, and the
+next moment she fell fainting at Durward’s feet.
+
+In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, “Pray,
+don’t touch her—she does it for effect.”
+
+But he knew better. He knew there was no feigning the corpse-like
+pallor of that face, and pushing his mother aside, he took the
+unconscious girl in his arms, and bearing her to the sofa, laid her
+gently upon it, removing her hand and smoothing back from her cold brow
+the thick, clustering curls which his mother had designated as “coiling
+serpents.”
+
+“Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants,” said he, to
+his mother, who had seized the bell-rope. “Bring some water from your
+bedroom, and we will take charge of her ourselves.”
+
+There was something commanding in the tones of his voice, and Mrs.
+Graham, now really alarmed at the deathly appearance of ’Lena, hastened
+to obey. When he was alone, Durward bent down, imprinting upon the
+white lips a burning kiss—the first he had ever given her. In his heart
+he believed her unworthy of his love, and yet she had never seemed
+one-half so dear to him as at that moment, when she lay there before
+him helpless as an infant, and all unmindful of the caresses which he
+lavished upon her. “If it were indeed death;” he thought, “and it had
+come upon her while yet she was innocent, I could have borne it, but
+now I would I had never seen her;” and the tears which fell like rain
+upon her cheek, were not unworthy of the strong man who shed them. The
+cold water with which they profusely bathed her face and neck, restored
+her, and then Durward, who could bear the scene no longer, glided
+silently into the next room.
+
+When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting ’Lena,
+asked “what she thought about it now?”
+
+“Please don’t speak to me again, for I am very, very wretched,” said
+’Lena softly, while Mrs. Graham continued: “Have you nothing to offer
+in explanation?”
+
+“Nothing, nothing—it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was
+dead,” answered ’Lena, sobbing passionately.
+
+“Better wish to live and repent,” said Mrs. Graham, beginning to read
+her a long sermon on her duty, to which ’Lena paid no attention, and
+the moment she felt that she could walk, she arose to go.
+
+The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass lived not far away,
+Mrs. Graham did not deem an escort necessary. But Durward thought
+differently. He could not walk with her side by side, as he had often
+done before, but he would follow at a distance, to see that no harm
+came near her. There was no danger of his being discovered, for ’Lena
+was too much absorbed in her own wretchedness to heed aught about her,
+and in silence he walked behind her until he saw the door of Mr.
+Douglass’s house close upon her. Then feeling that there was an
+inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, where he
+found his mother exulting over the downfall of one whom, for some
+reason, she had always disliked.
+
+“Didn’t she look confounded, though, when I showed her the picture?”
+said she; to which Durward replied, by asking “when and why she sent
+the letter.”
+
+“I did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it, either,”
+was Mrs. Graham’s crusty answer, whereupon the conversation was
+dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the subject was not again
+resumed during their stay in Louisville.
+
+
+It would be impossible to describe ’Lena’s emotion as she returned to
+the house. Twice in the hall was she obliged to grasp at the banister
+to keep from falling, and knowing that such excessive agitation would
+be remarked, she seated herself upon the stairs until she felt composed
+enough to enter the parlor. Fortunately, Mabel was alone, and so
+absorbed in the fortunes of “Uncle True and little Gerty,” as scarcely
+to notice ’Lena at all. Once, indeed, as she sat before the grate so
+motionless and still, Mabel looked up, and observing how white she was,
+asked what was the matter.
+
+“A bad headache,” answered ’Lena, at the same time announcing her
+intention of retiring.
+
+“Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save those who like
+her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, as prostrate upon the
+floor she lay, her long silken curls falling about her white face,
+which looked ghastly and haggard by the moonlight that fell softly
+about her, as if to soothe her woe.
+
+“What is it,” she cried aloud—“this dark mystery, which I cannot
+explain.”
+
+The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham. He could explain it—he must
+explain it. She would go to him the next day, asking him what it meant.
+She felt sure that he could make it plain, for suspicious as matters
+looked, she exculpated him from any wrong intention toward her. Still
+she could not sleep, and when the gray morning light crept in, it found
+her too much exhausted to rise.
+
+For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by Mabel and her
+grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her illness, hastened down
+to nurse her. Every day did ’Lena ask of Mr. Douglass if Mr. Graham had
+been in the city, saying that the first time he came she wished to see
+him. Days, however, went by, and nothing was seen or heard from him,
+until at last John Jr.; who visited her daily, casually informed her
+that Mr. Graham had been unexpectedly called away to South Carolina. A
+distant relative of his had died, bequeathing him a large property,
+which made it necessary for him to go there immediately; so without
+waiting for the return of his wife, he had started off, leaving
+Woodlawn alone.
+
+“Gone to South Carolina!” exclaimed ’Lena. “When will he return?”
+
+“Nobody knows. He’s away from home more than half the time, just as I
+should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife,” answered John Jr., at the same
+time playfully remarking that ’Lena need not look so blank, as it was
+not Durward who had gone so far.
+
+For an instant ’Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask him what
+to do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at all excited, she
+finally decided to keep her own secret, determining, however, to write
+to Mr. Graham, as soon as she was able. Just before John Jr. left her,
+she called him to her side, asking him if he would do her the favor of
+seeing that Vesta was sent back to Woodlawn, as she did not wish for
+her any longer.
+
+“What the plague is that for—has mother been raising a row?” asked John
+Jr., and ’Lena replied, “No, no, your mother has nothing to do with it.
+I only want Vesta taken home. I cannot at present tell you why, but I
+have a good reason, and some time, perhaps, I’ll explain. You’ll do it,
+won’t you?”
+
+With the determination of questioning Durward as to what had happened,
+John Jr. promised, and when Mrs. Graham and her son returned from
+Louisville, they found Vesta safely stabled with their other horses,
+while the saddle with its tiny slipper hung upon a beam, and seemingly
+looked down with reproach upon Durward, who turned away with a bitter
+pang as he thought of the morning when he first took it to Maple Grove.
+
+The next day was dark and rainy, precluding all outdoor exercise, and
+weary, sad, and spiritless, Durward repaired to the library, where, for
+an hour or more, he sat musing dreamily of the past—of the morning,
+years ago, when first he met the little girl who had since grown so
+strongly into his love, and over whom so dark a shadow had fallen. A
+heavy knock at the door, and in a moment John Jr. appeared, with
+dripping garments and a slightly scowling face. There was a faint
+resemblance between him and ’Lena, manifest in the soft, curling hair
+and dark, lustrous eyes. Durward had observed it before—he thought of
+it now—and glad to see any one who bore the least resemblance to her,
+he started up, exclaiming, “Why, Livingstone, the very one of all the
+world I am glad to see.”
+
+John made no reply, but shaking the rain-drops from his overcoat, which
+he carelessly threw upon the floor, he took a chair opposite the grate,
+and looking Durward fully in the face, said, “I’ve come over, Bellmont,
+to ask you a few plain, unvarnished questions, which I believe you will
+answer truthfully. Am I right?”
+
+“Certainly, sir—go on,” was Durward’s reply.
+
+“Well, then, to begin, are you and ’Lena engaged?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Have you been engaged?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Do you ever expect to be engaged?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Have you quarreled?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home?”
+
+“I suppose I do.”
+
+“Will you tell me?”
+
+“No, sir,” said Durward, determined, for ’Lena’s sake, that no one
+should wring from him the secret.
+
+John Jr. arose, jammed both hands into his pockets—walked to the
+window—made faces at the weather—walked back to the grate—made faces at
+that—kicked it—and then turning to Durward, said, “There’s the old Nick
+to pay, somewhere.”
+
+Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct questions.
+
+“I tell you, there’s the old Nick to pay, somewhere,” continued John,
+raising his voice. “I knew it all the while ’Lena was sick. I read it
+in her face when I told her Mr. Graham had gone south——”
+
+A faint sickness gathered around Durward’s heart, and John Jr.
+proceeded: “She wouldn’t tell me, and I’ve come to you for information.
+Will you give it to me?”
+
+“No, sir,” said Durward. “The nature of our trouble is known only to
+ourselves and one other individual, and I shall never divulge the
+secret.”
+
+“Is that other individual my mother?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Is it Cad?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Had they any agency in the matter?”
+
+“None, whatever, that I know of.”
+
+“Then I’m on the wrong track, and may as well go home,” said John Jr.,
+starting for the door, where he stopped, while he added, “If, Bellmont,
+I ever do hear of your having misled me in this matter——” He did not
+finish the sentence in words, but playfully producing a revolver, he
+departed. The next moment he was dashing across the lawn, the mud
+flying in every direction, and himself thinking how useless it was to
+try to unravel a love quarrel.
+
+In the meantime, ’Lena waited impatiently for an answer to the letter
+which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day glided by, and
+still no tidings came. At last, as if everything had conspired against
+her, she heard that he was lying dangerously ill of a fever at Havana,
+whither he had gone in quest of an individual whose presence was
+necessary in the settlement of the estate.
+
+The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, also
+contained a request that she would come to him immediately, and within
+a few days after its receipt, she started for Cuba, together with
+Durward, who went without again seeing ’Lena.
+
+They found him better than they expected. The danger was past, but he
+was still too weak to move himself, and the physician said it would be
+many weeks ere he was able to travel. This rather pleased Mrs. Graham
+than otherwise. She was fond of change, and had often desired to visit
+Havana, so now that she was there, she made the best of it, and for
+once in her life enacted the part of a faithful, affectionate wife.
+
+Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham spoke of
+“Helena,” imploring her forgiveness for his leaving her so long, and
+promising to return. Sometimes he spoke of her as being dead, and in
+piteous accents he would ask of Durward to bring him back his
+“beautiful ’Lena,” who was sleeping far away among the New England
+mountains.
+
+One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, he
+brought one directed to Mr. Graham, which had been forwarded from
+Charleston, and which bore the post-marks of several places, it having
+been sent hither and thither, ere it reached its place of destination.
+It was mailed at Frankfort, Kentucky, and in the superscription Durward
+readily recognized the handwriting of ’Lena.
+
+“Worse and worse,” thought he, now fully assured of her worthlessness.
+
+For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this act he
+instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might contain, it was
+not for him to read it. But what should he do with it? Must he give it
+to his mother who already had as much as she could bear? No, ’twas not
+best for her to know aught about it, and as the surest means of
+preventing its doing further trouble, he destroyed it—burned it to
+ashes—repenting the next moment of the deed, wishing he had read it,
+and feeling not that he had wronged the dead, as his mother did when
+she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had done a wrong to ’Lena.
+
+In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, leaving his
+father and mother to travel leisurely from place to place, as the still
+feeble state of the former would admit. ’Lena, who had returned from
+Frankfort, trembled lest he should come to Maple Grove, but he seemed
+equally desirous of avoiding a meeting, and after lingering about
+Woodlawn for several days, he suddenly departed for Louisville, where,
+for a time, we leave him, while we follow the fortunes of others
+connected with our story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+JOHN JR. AND MABEL.
+
+
+Time and absence had gradually softened John Jr.’s feelings toward
+Nellie. She was not married to Mr. Wilbur—possibly she never would
+be—and if on her return to America he found her the same, he would lose
+no time in seeing her, and, if possible, secure her to himself. Such
+was the tenor of his thoughts, as on one bright morning in June he took
+his way to Lexington, whither he was going on business for his father.
+Before leaving the city, he rode down to the depot, as was his usual
+custom, reaching there just as the cars bound for Frankfort were
+rolling away. Upon the platform of the rear car stood an acquaintance
+of his, who called out, “Halloo, Livingstone, have you heard the news?”
+
+“News, no. What news?” asked John Jr., following after the fast moving
+train.
+
+“Bob Wilbur and Nellie Douglass are married,” screamed the young man,
+who, having really heard of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage, supposed it must of
+course be with Nellie.
+
+John Jr. had no doubt of it, and for a moment his heart fainted beneath
+the sudden blow. But he was not one to yield long to despair, and soon
+recovering from the first shock, he raved in uncontrollable fury,
+denouncing Nellie as worthless, fickle, and good for nothing, mentally
+wishing her much joy with her husband, who in the same breath he hoped
+“would break his confounded neck,” and ending his tirade by solemnly
+vowing to offer himself to the first girl he met, whether black or
+white!
+
+Full of this resolution he put spurs to Firelock and sped away over the
+turnpike, looking neither to the right nor the left, lest a chance
+should offer for the fulfillment of his vow. It was the dusk of evening
+when he reached home, and giving his horse into the care of a servant,
+he walked with rapid strides into the parlor, starting back as he saw
+_Mabel Ross_, who, for a few days past, had been visiting at Maple
+Grove.
+
+“There’s no backing out,” thought he. “It’s my destiny, and I’ll meet
+it like a man. Nellie spited me, and I’ll let her know how good it
+feels.”
+
+“Mabel,” said he, advancing toward her, “will you marry me? Say yes or
+no quick.”
+
+This was not quite the kind of wooing which Mabel had expected. ’Twas
+not what she read of in novels, but then it was in keeping with the
+rest of John Jr.’s conduct, and very frankly and naturally she answered
+“Yes.”
+
+“Very well,” said he, beginning to feel better already, and turning to
+leave the room—“Very well, you fix the day, and arrange it all
+yourself, only let it be very soon, for now I’ve made up my mind, I’m
+in a mighty hurry.”
+
+Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in earnest or not,
+asked “if she should speak to the minister, too.”
+
+“Yes, no,” said he. “Just tell mother, and she’ll fix it all right.
+Will you?”
+
+And he walked away, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, except that he
+was engaged. Engaged! The very idea seemed to add new dignity to _him_,
+while it invested Mabel with a charm she had not hitherto possessed.
+John Jr. liked everything that belonged to him exclusively, and Mabel
+now was his—his wife she would be—and when next he met her in the
+drawing-room, his manner toward her was unusually kind, attracting the
+attention of his mother, who wondered at the change. One after another
+the family retired, until there was no one left in the parlor except
+Mabel and Mrs. Livingstone, who, as her husband chanced to be absent,
+had invited her young visitor to share her room. When they were alone,
+Mabel, with many blushes and a few tears, told of all that had
+occurred, except, indeed, of John’s manner of proposing, which she
+thought best not to confide to a third person.
+
+Eagerly Mrs. Livingstone listened, mentally congratulating herself upon
+the completion of her plan without her further interference, wondering
+the while how it had been so suddenly brought about, and half trembling
+lest it should prove a failure after all. So when Mabel spoke of John
+Jr.’s wish that the marriage should be consummated immediately, she
+replied, “Certainly—by all means. There is no necessity for delay. You
+can marry at once, and get ready afterwards. It is now the last of
+June. I had thought of going to Saratoga in July, and a bride is just
+the thing to give eclat to our party.”
+
+“But,” answered Mabel, who hardly fancied a wedding without all the
+usual preparations, which she felt she should enjoy so much, “I cannot
+think of being married until October, when Nellie perhaps will be
+here.”
+
+Nellie’s return was what Mrs. Livingstone dreaded, and very ingeniously
+she set herself at work to put aside Mabel’s objections, succeeding so
+far that the young girl promised compliance with whatever she should
+think proper. The next morning, as John Jr. was passing through the
+hall, she called him into her room, delicately broaching the subject of
+his engagement, saying she knew he could not help loving a girl
+possessed of so many excellent qualities as Mabel Ross. Very patiently
+John Jr. heard her until she came to speak of love. Then, in much
+louder tones than newly engaged men are apt to speak of their
+betrothed, he exclaimed, “Love! Fudge! If you think I’m marrying Mabel
+for love, you are greatly mistaken, I like her, but love is out of the
+question.”
+
+“Pray what are you marrying her for? Her property?”
+
+“Property!” repeated John, with a sneer, “I’ve seen the effect of
+marrying for property, and I trust I’m not despicable enough to try it
+for myself. No, madam, I’m not marrying her for money—but to spite
+Nellie Douglass, if you must know the reason. I’ve loved her as I shall
+never again love womankind, but she cheated me. She’s married to Robert
+Wilbur, and now I’ve too much spirit to have her think _I_ care. If she
+can marry, so can I—she isn’t the only girl in the world—and when I
+heard what she had done, I vowed I’d offer myself to the first female I
+saw. As good or bad luck would have it, ’twas Mabel, who you know said
+yes, of course, for I verily believe she likes me far better than I
+deserve. What kind of a husband I shall make, the Lord only knows, but
+I’m in for it. My word is passed, and the sooner you get us tied
+together the better, but for heaven’s sake, don’t go to making a great
+parade. Mabel has no particular home. She’s here now, and why not let
+the ceremony take place here. But fix it to suit yourselves, only don’t
+let me hear you talking about it, for fear I’ll get sick of the whole
+thing.”
+
+This was exactly what Mrs. Livingstone desired. She had the day before
+been to Frankfort herself, learning from Mrs. Atkins of Mr. Wilbur’s
+marriage with the English girl. She knew her son was deceived, and it
+was highly necessary that he should continue so. She felt sure that
+neither her daughters, Mabel, nor ’Lena knew of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage,
+and she resolved they should not. It was summer, and as many of their
+city friends had left Frankfort for places of fashionable resort, they
+received but few calls; and by keeping them at home until the wedding
+was over, she trusted that all would be safe in that quarter. Durward,
+too, was fortunately absent, so she only had to deal with Mabel and
+John Jr. The first of these she approached very carefully, casually
+telling her of Mr. Wilbur’s marriage, and then hastily adding, “But
+pray don’t speak of it to any one, as there are special reasons why it
+should not at present be discussed. Sometime I may tell you the
+reason.”
+
+Mabel wondered why so small a matter should be a secret, but Mrs.
+Livingstone had requested her to keep silence and that was a sufficient
+reason why she should do so. The next step was to win her consent for
+the ceremony to take place there, and in the course of three weeks,
+saying that it was her son’s wish. But on this point she found more
+difficulty than she had anticipated, for Mabel shrank from being
+married at the house of his father.
+
+“It didn’t look right,” said she, “and she knew Mr. Douglass would not
+object to having it there.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone knew so, too, but there was too much danger in such an
+arrangement, and she replied, “Of course not, if you request it, but
+will it be quite proper for you to ask him to be at all that trouble
+when Nellie is gone, and there is no one at home to superintend?”
+
+So after a time Mabel was convinced, thinking, though, how differently
+everything was turning out from what she expected. Three weeks from
+that night was fixed upon for the bridal, to which but few were to be
+invited, for Mrs. Livingstone did not wish to call forth remark.
+
+“Everything should be done quietly and in order,” she said, “and then,
+when autumn came, she would give a splendid party in honor of the
+bride.”
+
+Mr. Douglass, when told of the coming event by Mrs. Livingstone, who
+would trust no one else, expressed much surprise, saying he greatly
+preferred that the ceremony should take place at his own house.
+
+“Of course,” returned the oily-tongued woman, “of course you had, but
+even a small wedding party is a vast amount of trouble, and in Nellie’s
+absence you would be disturbed. Were she here I would not say a word,
+but now I insist upon having it my own way, and indeed, I think my
+claim upon Mabel is the strongest.”
+
+Silenced, but not quite convinced, Mr. Douglass said no more, thinking,
+meanwhile, that if he only _could_ afford it, Mabel should have a
+wedding worthy of her. But he could not; he was poor, and hence Mrs.
+Livingstone’s arguments prevailed the more easily. Fortunately for her,
+John Jr. manifested no inclination to go out at all. A kind of torpor
+seemed to have settled upon him, and day after day he remained at home,
+sometimes in a deep study in his own room, and sometimes sitting in the
+parlor, where his very unlover-like deportment frequently brought tears
+to Mabel’s eyes, while Carrie loudly denounced him as the most clownish
+fellow she ever saw.
+
+“I hope you’ll train him, Mabel,” said she, “for he needs it. He ought
+to have had Nellie Douglass. She’s a match for him. Why didn’t you have
+her, John?”
+
+With a face dark as night, he angrily requested Carrie “to mind her own
+business,” saying “he was fully competent to take charge of himself,
+without the interference of either wife or sister.”
+
+“Oh, what if he should look and talk so to me!” thought Mabel,
+shuddering as a dim foreboding of her sad future came over her.
+
+’Lena who understood John Jr. better than any one else, saw that all
+was not right. She knew how much he had loved Nellie; she believed he
+loved her still; and why should he marry another? She could not tell,
+and as he withheld his confidence from her, appearing unusually moody
+and cross, she dared not approach him. At last, having an idea of what
+she wanted, and willing to give her a chance, he one day, when they
+were alone, abruptly asked her what she thought of his choice.
+
+“If you ask me what I think of Mabel,” said she, “I answer that I
+esteem her very highly, and the more I know her the better I love her.
+Still, I never thought she would be your wife.”
+
+“Ah—indeed!—never thought she would, hey?” answered John, beginning to
+grow crusty, and elevating his feet to the top of the mantel. “You see
+now what _thought_ did; but what is your objection to her?”
+
+“Nothing, nothing,” returned ’Lena. “Mabel is amiable, gentle, and
+confiding, and will try to be a good wife.”
+
+“What the deuce are you grumbling for, then?” interrupted John Jr. “Do
+you want me yourself? If you do, just say the word, and it shall be
+done! I’m bound to be married, and I’d sooner have you than anybody
+else. Come, what do you say?”
+
+’Lena smiled, while she disclaimed any intention toward her cousin,
+who, resuming the position which in his excitement he had slightly
+changed, continued: “I have always dealt fairly with you, ’Lena, and
+now I tell you truly, I have no particular love for Mabel, although I
+intend making her my wife, and heartily wish she was so now.”
+
+’Lena started, and clasping John’s arm, exclaimed, “Marry Mabel and not
+love her! You cannot be in earnest. You will not do her so great a
+wrong—you shall not.”
+
+“I don’t know how you’ll help it, unless you meddle with what does not
+concern you,” said John. “I am doing her no wrong, I never told her I
+loved her—never acted as though I did, and if she is content to have me
+on such terms, it’s nobody’s business. She loves me half to death, and
+if the old adage be true that love begets love, I shall learn to love
+her, and when I do I’ll let you know.”
+
+So saying, the young man shook down his pants, which had become
+disarranged, and walked away, leaving ’Lena to wonder what course she
+had better pursue. Once she resolved on telling Mabel all that had
+passed between them, but the next moment convinced her that, as he had
+said, she would be meddling, so she decided to say nothing, silently
+hoping that affairs would turn out better than she feared.
+
+It was Mabel’s wish that ’Lena and Anna should be her bridesmaids,
+Durward and Malcolm officiating as groomsmen, and as Mr. Bellmont was
+away, she wrote to him requesting his attendance, but saying she had
+not yet mentioned the subject to ’Lena. Painful as was the task of
+being thus associated with ’Lena, Durward felt that to refuse might
+occasion much remark, so he wrote to Mabel that “he would comply with
+her request, provided Miss Rivers were willing.”
+
+“Of course she’s willing,” said Mabel to herself, at the same time
+running with the letter to ’Lena, who, to her utter astonishment, not
+only refused outright, but also declined giving any particular reason
+for her doing so. “Carrie will suit him much better than I,” said she,
+but unfortunately, Carrie, who chanced to be present, half hidden in
+the recess of a window, indignantly declined “going Jack-at-a-pinch”
+with any one, so Mabel was obliged to content herself with Anna and Mr.
+Everett.
+
+But here a new difficulty arose, for Mrs. Livingstone declared that the
+latter should not be invited, and Anna, in a fit of anger, insisted
+that if _he_ were not good enough to be present, neither was she, and
+she should accordingly remain in her own room. Poor Mabel burst into
+tears, and when, a few moments afterward, John Jr. appeared, asking
+what ailed her, she hid her face in his bosom and sobbed like a child.
+Then, frightened at her own temerity, for he gave her no answering
+caress, she lifted up her head, while with a quizzical expression John
+Jr. said, “So-ho, Meb, seems to me you’ve taken to crying on my jacket
+a little in advance. But what’s the matter?”
+
+In a few words Mabel told him how everything went wrong, how neither
+’Lena, Carrie, nor Anna would be her bridesmaids, and how Anna wouldn’t
+see her married because Malcolm was not invited.
+
+“I can manage that,” said John Jr. “Mr. Everett _shall_ be invited, so
+just shut up crying, for if there’s anything I detest, it’s a woman’s
+sniveling;” and he walked off thinking he had begun just as he meant to
+hold out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+THE BRIDAL.
+
+
+’Twas Mabel’s wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms of Mr.
+Livingstone’s house she stood awaiting the summons to the parlor. They
+had arrayed her for the bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, ’Lena, Anna,
+and the seamstress, all had had something to do with her toilet, and
+now they had left her for a time with him who was so soon to be her
+husband. She knew—for they had told her—she was looking uncommonly
+well. Her dress, of pure white satin, was singularly becoming; pearls
+were interwoven in the heavy braids of her raven hair; the fleecy folds
+of the rich veil, which fell like a cloud around her, swept the floor.
+In her eye there was an unusual sparkle and on her cheek an unwonted
+bloom.
+
+Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain at her heart—a
+foreboding of coming evil—and many an anxious glance she cast toward
+the stern, silent man, who, with careless tread, walked up and down the
+room, utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed in
+bitter reflections. Once only had she ventured to speak, and then, in
+childlike simplicity, she had asked him “how she looked.”
+
+“Well enough,” was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he
+continued his walk.
+
+The tears gathered in Mabel’s eyes—she could not help it; drop after
+drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until John Jr., who saw
+more than he pretended, came to her side, asking “why she wept.”
+
+Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a moment she
+hesitated, but at length, summoning all her courage, she wound her arms
+about his neck, and in low, earnest tones said, “Tell me truly, do you
+wish to marry me?”
+
+“And suppose I do not?” he asked, with the same stony composure.
+
+Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, and answered,
+“Then would I die rather than wed you!”
+
+There was something in her appearance and attitude peculiarly
+attractive to John Jr. Never in his life had he felt so much interested
+in her, and drawing her toward him and placing his arm around her, he
+said, gently, “Be calm, little Meb, you are nervous to-night. Of course
+I wish you to be my wife, else I had not asked you. Are you satisfied?”
+
+The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly to his, was a
+sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the injustice he was about to
+do her, John Jr. bent for an instant over her slight figure, mentally
+resolving, that so far as in him lay he would be true to his trust.
+There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Livingstone herself looked in,
+pale, anxious, and expectant. Mr. Douglass, who was among the invited
+guests, had arrived, and _must_ have an interview with John Jr. ere the
+ceremony. ’Twas in vain she attempted politely to waive his request. He
+_would_ see him, and distracted with fear, she had at last conducted
+him into the upper hall, and out upon an open veranda, where in the
+moonlight he awaited the coming of the bridegroom, who, with some
+curiosity, approached him, asking what he wanted.
+
+“It may seem strange to you,” said Mr. Douglass, “that I insist upon
+seeing you now, when another time might do as well, but I believe in
+having a fair understanding all round.”
+
+“Meddling old rascal!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, of course, was
+within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose a word.
+
+But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., Mr.
+Douglass said, so low as to prevent her catching anything further, save
+the sound of his voice:
+
+“I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such things have
+been, and there has something come to my knowledge to-day, which I deem
+it my duty to tell you, so that hereafter you can neither blame me nor
+Mabel.”
+
+“What is it?” asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, “To be brief,
+then, Mabel’s large fortune is, with the exception of a few thousands,
+of which I have charge, all swept away by the recent failure of the
+Planters’ Bank, in which it was invested. I heard of it this morning,
+and determined on telling you, knowing that if you loved her for
+herself, it would make no difference, while if you loved her for her
+money, it were far better to stop here.”
+
+Nothing could have been further from John’s thoughts than a desire for
+Mabel’s wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his mother’s eyes, was
+valueless to him, and after a moment’s silence, in which he was
+thinking what a rich disappointment it would be to his mother, who, he
+knew, prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed, “Good, I’m glad of
+it. I never sought Mabel’s hand for what there was in it, and I’m more
+ready to marry her now than ever. But,” he added, as a sudden impulse
+of good came over him, “She need not know it; it would trouble her
+uselessly, and for the present we’ll keep it from her.”
+
+John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by turns
+censured and admired him, but now there was but one feeling in his
+bosom toward him, and that was one of unbounded respect. With a warm
+pressure of the hand he turned away, thinking, perchance, of his fair
+young daughter, who, far away o’er the Atlantic waves, little dreamed
+of the scene on which that summer moon was shining. As the conference
+ended; Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing, glided, from her
+hiding-place, eagerly scanning her son’s face to see if there was aught
+to justify her fears. But there was nothing, and with her heart beating
+at its accustomed pace, she descended the stairs in time to meet
+Durward, who, having reached Woodlawn that day, had not heard of
+’Lena’s decision.
+
+“This way, Marster Bellmont—upstars is the gentleman’s room,” said the
+servant in attendance, and ascending the stairs, Durward met with Anna,
+asking her for her cousin.
+
+“In there—go in,” said Anna, pointing to a half-open door, and then
+hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose coming she had seen from the
+window.
+
+Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated, and as his
+knock met with no response, he ventured at last to enter unannounced
+into the presence of ’Lena, whom he had not met since that
+well-remembered night. Tastefully attired for the wedding in a simple
+white muslin, she sat upon a little stool with her face buried in the
+cushions of the sofa. She had heard his voice in the lower hall, and
+knowing she must soon meet him, she had for a moment abandoned herself
+to the tumult of bitter thoughts, which came sweeping over her in that
+trying hour. She was weeping—he knew that by the trembling of her
+body—and for an instant everything was forgotten.
+
+Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his hand upon those
+clustering curls which fell unheeded around her, when the thought that
+from among them had been cut the hated tress which his mother had cast
+into the flames, arrested his hand, and he was himself again. Forcing
+down his emotion, he said, calmly, “Miss Rivers,” and starting quickly
+to her feet, ’Lena demanded proudly what he would have, and why he was
+there.
+
+“Pardon me,” said he, as he marked her haughty bearing and glanced at
+her dress, which was hardly in accordance with that of a bridesmaid; “I
+supposed I was to be groomsman—am I mistaken?”
+
+“So far as I am concerned you are, sir. I knew nothing of Mabel’s
+writing to you, or I should have prevented it, for after what has
+occurred, you cannot deem me weak enough to lend myself to such an
+arrangement.”
+
+And ’Lena walked out of the room, while Durward looked after her in
+amazement, one moment admiring her spirit, and the next blaming Mabel
+for not informing him how matters stood. “But there’s no help for it
+now,” thought he, as he descended the stairs and made his way into the
+parlor, whither ’Lena had preceded him.
+
+And thus ended an interview of which ’Lena had thought so much, hoping
+and praying that it might result in a reconciliation. But it was all
+over now—the breach was wider than ever—with half-benumbed faculties
+she leaned on the window, unconscious of the earnest desire he felt to
+approach her, for there was about her a strange fascination which it
+required all his power to resist.
+
+When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched to John
+Jr., who, without a word, offered his arm to Mabel, and descending the
+broad staircase, they stood within the parlor in the spot which had
+been assigned them. Once during the ceremony he raised his eyes,
+encountering those of ’Lena, fixed upon him so reproachfully that with
+a scowl he turned away. Mechanically he went through with his part of
+the service, betraying no emotion whatever, until the solemn words
+which made them one were uttered. Then, when it was over—when he was
+bound to her forever—he seemed suddenly to awake from his apathy and
+think of what he had done. Crowding around him, they came with words of
+congratulation—all but ’Lena, who tarried behind, for she had none to
+give. Wretched as she was herself, she pitied the frail young bride,
+whose half-joyous, half-timid glances toward the frigid bridegroom,
+showed that already was she sipping from the bitter cup whose very
+dregs she was destined to drain.
+
+In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr. Douglass and Durward
+stood, speaking together of Nellie, and though John shrank from the
+sound of her name, his hearing faculties seemed unusually sharpened,
+and he lost not a word of what they were saying.
+
+“So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told,” said Durward, “and
+I am glad of it, for I miss her much. But what is it about Mr. Wilbur’s
+marriage. Wasn’t it rather unexpected?”
+
+“No, not very. Nellie knew before she went that he was engaged to Miss
+Allen, but at his sister’s request she kept it still. He found her at a
+boarding-school in Montreal, several years ago.”
+
+“Will they remain in Europe?”
+
+“For a time, at least, until Mary is better—but Nellie comes home with
+some friends from New Haven, whom she met in Paris;” then in a low tone
+Mr. Douglass added, “I almost dread the effect of this marriage upon
+her, for I am positive she liked him better than anyone else.”
+
+The little white, blue-veined hand which rested on that of John Jr.,
+was suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that Mabel looked up inquiringly
+in the face which had no thought for her, for Mr. Douglass’s words had
+fallen upon him like a thunderbolt, crushing him to the earth, and for
+a moment rendering him powerless. Instantly he comprehended it all. He
+had deceived himself, and by his impetuous haste lost all that he held
+most dear on earth. There was a cry of faintness, a grasping at empty
+space to keep from falling, and then forth into the open air they led
+the half-fainting man, followed by his frightened bride, who tenderly
+bathed his damp, cold brow, unmindful how he shrank from her,
+shuddering as he felt the touch of her soft hand, and motioning her
+aside when she stooped to part from his forehead the heavy locks of his
+hair.
+
+That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere kept watch over a
+gentle girl, who ’neath the blue skies of sunny France, dreamed of her
+distant home across the ocean wave; of the gray-haired man, who, with
+every morning light and evening shade, blessed her as his child; of
+another, whose image was ever present with her, whom from her childhood
+she had loved, and whom neither time nor distance could efface from her
+memory.
+
+Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down upon the white,
+haggard face and heavy bloodshot eye of him who counted each long,
+dreary hour as it passed by, cursing the fate which had made him what
+he was, and unjustly hardening his heart against his innocent
+unsuspecting wife.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+MARRIED LIFE.
+
+
+For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabel with at
+least a show of attention, but he was not one to act long as he did not
+feel. Had Nellie been, indeed, the wife of another, he might in time
+have learned to love Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence only
+served to remind him of what he had lost, and at last he began to shun
+her society, never seeming willing to be left with her alone, and
+either repulsing or treating with indifference the many little acts of
+kindness which her affectionate nature prompted. To all this Mabel was
+not blind, and when once she began to suspect her true position, it was
+easy for her to fancy slights where none were intended.
+
+Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one of constant
+unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, which had been
+much improved, began to fail. Her old racking headaches returned with
+renewed force, confining her for whole days to her room, where she lay
+listening in vain for the footsteps which never came, and tended only
+by ’Lena, who in proportion as the others neglected her, clung to her
+more and more. The trip to Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the
+bitterness of his disappointment bitterly refusing to go, and saying
+there was nothing sillier than for a newly-married couple to go riding
+around the country, disgusting sensible people with their fooleries. So
+with a burst of tears Mabel yielded and her bridal tour extended no
+further than Frankfort, whither her husband _did_ once accompany her,
+dining out even then with an old schoolmate whom he chanced to meet,
+and almost forgetting to call at Mr. Douglass’s for Mabel when it was
+time to return home.
+
+Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which shipwrecked
+entirely the poor bride’s happiness. By some means or other it at last
+came to Mrs. Livingstone’s knowledge that Mabel’s fortune was not only
+all gone, but that her son had known it in time to prevent his marrying
+her. Owing to various losses her own property had for a few years past
+been gradually diminishing, and when she found that Mabel’s fortune,
+which she leaned upon as an all-powerful prop, was swept away, it was
+more than she could bear peaceably; and in a fit of disappointed rage
+she assailed her son, reproaching him with bringing disgrace upon the
+family by marrying a poor, homely, sickly girl, who would be forever
+incurring expense without any means of paying it! For once, however,
+she found her match, for in good round terms John Jr. bade her “go to
+thunder,” his favorite point of destination for his particular friends,
+at the same time saying, “he didn’t care a dime for Mabel’s money. It
+was you,” said he, “who kept your eye on that, aiding and abetting the
+match, and now that you are disappointed, I’m heartily glad of it.”
+
+“But who is going to pay for her board,” asked Mrs. Livingstone.
+“You’ve no means of earning it, and I hope you don’t intend to sponge
+out of me, for I think I’ve enough paupers on my hands already!”
+
+“_Board_!” roared John Jr. in a towering passion. “While you thought
+her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything else; and since she has
+become poor, I do not think her appetite greatly increased. You taunt
+me, too, with having no means of earning my own living. Whose fault is
+it?—tell me that. Haven’t you always opposed my having a profession?
+Didn’t you _pet_ and _baby_ ‘Johnny’ when a boy, keeping him always at
+your apron strings, and now that he’s a man, he’s not to be turned
+adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel, too, just as long as I
+please.”
+
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned her battery
+upon poor Mabel, treating her with shameful neglect, intimating that
+she was in the way; that the house was full, and that she never
+supposed John was going to settle down at home for her to support; he
+was big enough to look after himself, and if he chose to marry a wife
+who had nothing, why let them go to work, as other folks did.
+
+Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what was meant, for
+John Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowledge of her loss,
+requesting his mother to do the same in such decided terms, that, hint
+as strongly as she pleased, she dared not tell the whole, for fear of
+the storm which was sure to follow. All this was not, of course,
+calculated to add to Mabel’s comfort, and day by day she grew more and
+more unhappy, generously keeping to herself, however, the treatment
+which she received from Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of his mother,”
+thought she, so the secret was kept, though she could not always
+repress the tears which would start when she thought how wretched she
+was.
+
+We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was anything
+particularly annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying woman, and
+now, when he so often found Mabel indisposed or weeping, he grew more
+morose and fault-finding, sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying to
+provoke him, when, in fact, she had used every means in her power to
+conciliate him. Again, conscience-smitten, he would lay her aching head
+upon his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing temples, would
+soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always awoke refreshed,
+and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her suffer. At such
+times, John would resolve never again to treat her unkindly, but alas!
+his resolutions were too easily broken. Had he married Nellie, a more
+faithful, affectionate husband there could not have been. But now it
+was different. A withering blight had fallen upon his earthly
+prospects, and forgetting that he alone was to blame, he unjustly laid
+the fault upon his innocent wife, who, as far as she was able, loved
+him as deeply as Nellie herself could have done.
+
+One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received a note,
+informing him that several of his young associates were going on a
+three days’ hunting excursion, in which they wished him to join. In the
+large easy-chair, just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported by
+pillows and saturated with camphor, while around her eyes were the dark
+rings which usually accompanied her headaches. Involuntarily John Jr.
+glanced toward her. Had it been Nellie, all the pleasures of the world
+could not have induced him to leave her, but Mabel was altogether
+another person, and more for the sake of seeing what she would say,
+than from any real intention of going, he read the note aloud; then
+carelessly throwing it aside, he said, “Ah, yes, I’ll go. It’ll be rare
+fun camping out these moonlight nights.”
+
+Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him out of her
+sight, and now, at the first intimation of his leaving her, her lip
+began to tremble, while tears filled her eyes and dropped upon her
+cheeks. This was enough, and mentally styling her “a perfect cry baby,”
+he resolved to go at all hazards.
+
+“I don’t think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly,” said
+Anna, who was present.
+
+“I want to know if little Anna’s got so she can dictate me, too,”
+answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that “he reckoned Mabel
+would get over her bad feelings quite as well without him as with him.”
+
+More for the sake of opposition than because she really cared, Carrie,
+too, chimed in, saying that “he was a pretty specimen of a three
+months’ husband,” and asking “how he ever expected to answer for all of
+Mabel’s tears and headaches.”
+
+“Hang her tears and headaches,” said he, beginning to grow angry. “She
+can get one up to order any time, and for my part, I am getting
+heartily tired of the sound of aches and pains.”
+
+“Please _don’t_ talk so,” said Mabel, pressing her hands upon her
+aching head, while ’Lena sternly exclaimed, “Shame on you, John
+Livingstone. I am surprised at you, for I did suppose you had some
+little feeling left.”
+
+“Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but I am happy to
+say it is entirely lost on me,” said John, leaving the room and
+shutting the door with a bang, which made every one of Mabel’s nerves
+quiver anew.
+
+“What a perfect brute,” said Carrie, while ’Lena and Anna drew nearer
+to Mabel, the one telling her “she would not care,” and the other
+silently pressing the little hand which instinctively sought hers, as
+if sure of finding sympathy.
+
+At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately Carrie gave a
+detailed account of her brother’s conduct, at the same time referring
+her mother for proof to Mabel’s red eyes and swollen face.
+
+“I never interfere between husband and wife,” said Mrs. Livingstone
+coolly, “but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of advice. Without
+being at all personal, I would say that few women have beauty enough to
+afford to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have patience
+enough to bear with a woman who is forever whining and complaining,
+first of this and then of that. I don’t suppose that John is so much
+worse than other people, and I think he bears up wonderfully,
+considering his disappointment.”
+
+Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to stare at
+each other in silence, wondering what she meant. Since her marriage,
+Mabel had occupied the parlor chamber, which connected with a cozy
+little bedroom and dressing-room adjoining. These had at the time been
+fitted up and furnished in a style which Mrs. Livingstone thought
+worthy of Mabel’s wealth, but now that she was poor, the case was
+altered, and she had long contemplated removing her to more inferior
+quarters. “She wasn’t going to give her the very best room in the
+house. No, indeed, she wasn’t—wearing out the carpets, soiling the
+furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.”
+
+She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would not do to
+approach him on the subject, so she waited, determining to carry out
+her plans the very first time he should be absent, thinking when it was
+once done, he would submit quietly. On hearing that he had gone off on
+a hunting excursion, she thought, “Now is my time,” and summoning to
+her assistance three or four servants, she removed everything belonging
+to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small and not remarkably convenient room
+which the former had occupied previous to his marriage.
+
+“What are you about?” asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked in.
+
+“About my business,” answered Mrs. Livingstone. I’m not going to have
+my best things all worn out, and if this was once good enough for John
+to sleep in, it is now.”
+
+“But will Mabel like it?” asked Anna, a little suspicious that her
+sister-in-laww’s rights were being infringed.
+
+“Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,” said Mrs. Livingstone.
+“If she don’t like it, all she has to do is to go away.”
+
+“Lasted jest about as long as I thought ’twood,” said Aunt Milly, when
+she heard what was going on. “Ile and crab-apple vinegar won’t mix,
+nohow, and if before the year’s up old miss don’t worry the life out of
+that poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a picked chicken,
+my name ain’t Milly Livingstone.”
+
+The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated with the
+family, they saw things as they were, and while Mrs. Livingstone’s
+conduct was universally condemned, Mabel was a general favorite. After
+Mrs. Livingstone had left the room, Milly, with one or two others,
+stole up to reconnoiter.
+
+“Now I ’clar’ for’t,” said Milly, “if here ain’t Marster John’s
+bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right out in far sight, and
+Miss Mabel comin’ in here to sleep. ’Pears like some white folks hain’t
+no idee of what ’longs to good manners. Here, Corind, put the jack in
+thar, the fish-line thar, the backy thar, and heave that ar other
+thrash out o’door,” pointing to some geological specimens which from
+time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which his mother had not
+thought proper to molest.
+
+Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed good taste,
+began to make some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, and
+under her supervision the room began to present a more cheerful and
+inviting aspect.
+
+“Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,” said she, turning up her
+broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand. “What’s
+them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if ’tain’t to use.
+Go, Corind, and fetch ’em.”
+
+But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the
+precaution to bring them in the tongs, so that in the _denouement_ she
+could stoutly deny having even “tached ’em, or even had ’em in her
+hands!” (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)
+
+When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied. Had
+she been consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for
+wishing her to take another room, she would have consented willingly,
+but to be thus summarily removed without a shadow of warning, hardly
+came up to her ideas of justice. Still, there was no help for it, and
+that night the bride of three months watered her lone pillow with
+tears, never once closing her heavy eyelids in sleep until the dim
+morning light came in through the open window, and the tread of the
+negroes’ feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for many hours, the
+weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the ill-natured remarks which
+her non-appearance was eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said “it
+was strange what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress Mabel
+fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her
+until such time as she chose to appear, but she’d find herself
+mistaken, for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon her,
+and if she couldn’t come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until
+dinner time.”
+
+’Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly had the latter
+stolen up to her cousin’s room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn
+face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had come
+all too soon.
+
+“Let her sleep; it will do her good,” said ’Lena, adjusting the
+bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not
+disturb her, she left the chamber.
+
+An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly preparing
+a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black tea, were to be
+slyly conveyed to Mabel, who was now awake.
+
+“Reckon thar don’t nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the
+roost,” said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner
+of her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who,
+not having seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking
+the world was not, after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet a
+few left who cared for her.
+
+Her headache of the day before still remained, and ’Lena suggested that
+she should stay in her room, saying that she would herself see that
+every necessary attention was paid her. This she could the more readily
+do, as Mrs. Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her husband. That
+afternoon, as Mabel lay watching the drifting clouds as they passed and
+repassed before the window, her ear suddenly caught the sound of
+horses’ feet. Nearer and nearer they came, until with a cry of delight
+she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for very joy—for John Jr. had
+come home! She could not be mistaken, and if there was any lingering
+doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for she heard his voice in the
+hall below, his footsteps on the stairs. He was coming, an unusual
+thing, to see her first.
+
+But how did he know she was there, in his old room? He did not know it;
+he was only coming to put his rifle in its accustomed place, and on
+seeing the chamber filled with the various paraphernalia of a woman’s
+toilet, he started, with the exclamation, “What the deuce! I reckon
+I’ve got into the wrong pew,” and was going away, when Mabel called him
+back. “Meb, you here?” said he. “_You_ in this little tucked-up hole,
+that I always thought too small for me and my traps! What does it
+mean?”
+
+Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband’s voice, and
+knowing from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with
+her, the sense of injustice done her by his mother burst out, and
+throwing her arms around his neck, she told him everything connected
+with her removal, asking what his mother meant by saying, “she should
+never get anything for their board,” and begging him “to take her away
+where they could live alone and be happy.”
+
+Since he had left her, John Jr. had _thought_ a great deal, the result
+of which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner than he
+at first intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently, and if
+possible win back the respect of ’Lena, which he knew he had lost. To
+his companions, who urged him to remain, he replied that “he had left
+his wife sick, and he could not stay longer.”
+
+It cost him a great effort to say “my wife,” for never before had he so
+called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and bidding
+his young friends adieu, he started for home with the same impetuous
+speed which usually characterized his riding. He had fully expected to
+meet Mabel in the parlor, and was even revolving in his own mind the
+prospect of kissing her, provided ’Lena were present. “That’ll prove to
+her,” thought he, “that I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I am;
+so I’ll do it, if Meb doesn’t happen to be all bound up in camphor and
+aromatic vinegar, which I can’t endure, anyway.”
+
+Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old
+room, where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment he
+scarcely knew what to say. By the time, however, that she had finished
+her story, his mind was pretty well made up.
+
+“And so it’s mother’s doings, hey?” said he, violently pulling the
+bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda appeared
+in answer to his summons.
+
+“How many blacks are there in the kitchen?” he asked.
+
+“Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,” answered Corinda.
+
+“Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.”
+
+Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and adding
+that “Marster John looked mighty black in the face”, and she reckoned
+some on ’em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of what might
+happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in
+her mistress’ absence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly’s first thought was
+of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Corinda a
+sense of what she might expect if in any way she implicated her, she
+gave her a cuff in advance, bidding her “be keerful how she blabbed”,
+then heading the sable group, she repaired to the chamber, where John
+Jr. was awaiting them.
+
+Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said, “Take
+hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where they came
+from.”
+
+“Don’t, oh don’t,” entreated Mabel, but laying his hand over her mouth,
+John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the negroes “to
+be quick.”
+
+At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt
+Milly, comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her
+mistress had her match in her son, set to work with a right good will,
+and when about dusk Mrs. Livingstone came home, she was astonished at
+seeing a light in the parlor chamber, while occasionally she could
+discern the outline of a form moving before the window. What could it
+mean? Perhaps they had company, and springing from the carriage she
+hastened into the house, meeting ’Lena in the hall, and eagerly asking
+who was in the front chamber.
+
+“I believe,” said ’Lena, “that my cousin is not pleased with the
+change, and has gone back to the front room.”
+
+“The impudent thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her son’s
+return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to Mabel.
+
+Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing open
+the door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands crammed in
+his pockets and legs crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting
+and ready for whatever might occur.
+
+“John Livingstone!” she gasped in her surprise.
+
+“That’s my name,” he returned, quietly enjoying her look of amazement.
+
+“What do you mean?” she continued.
+
+“Mean what I say,” was his provoking answer.
+
+“What have you been about?” was her next question, to which he replied,
+“Your eyesight is not deficient—you can see for yourself.”
+
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon
+Mabel, abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist,
+bidding her “confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as
+she was not in the least to blame.”
+
+“Your wife!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone—“very affectionate you’ve grown,
+all at once. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you married her to spite
+Nellie, who you then believed was the bride of Mr. Wilbur, but you
+surely remember how you fainted when you accidentally learned your
+mistake.”
+
+A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pillows, prevented
+Mrs. Livingstone from any further remarks, and satisfied with the
+result of her visit, she walked away, while John Jr., springing to the
+bedside, bore his young wife to the open window, hoping the cool night
+air would revive her. But she lay so pale and motionless in his arms,
+her head resting so heavily upon his shoulder, that with a terrible
+foreboding he laid her back upon the bed, and rushing to the door,
+shouted loudly, “Help—somebody—come quick—Mabel is dead, I know she
+is.”
+
+’Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when she
+saw the marble whiteness of Mabel’s face.
+
+“I didn’t kill her, ’Lena. God knows I didn’t. Poor little Meb,” said
+John Jr., quailing beneath ’Lena’s rebuking glance, and bending
+anxiously over the slight form which looked so much like death.
+
+But Mabel was not dead. ’Lena knew it by the faint fluttering of her
+heart, and an application of the usual remedies sufficed, at last, to
+restore her to consciousness. With a long-drawn sigh her eyes unclosed,
+and looking earnestly in ’Lena’s face, she said, “Was it a dream,
+’Lena? Tell me, was it all a dream?”—then, as she observed her husband,
+she added, shudderingly, “No, no, not a dream. I remember it all now.
+And I wish I was dead.”
+
+Again ’Lena’s rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, advancing
+nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her white brow, saying,
+softly, “Poor, poor Meb.”
+
+There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while the hot
+tears gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, “Forgive me, John, I
+couldn’t help it. I didn’t know it, and now, if you say so, I’ll go
+away, alone—where you’ll never see me again.”
+
+She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely torn away the
+veil, and she saw why she was there—knew why he had sought her for his
+wife—understood all his coldness and neglect; but she had no word of
+reproach for him, her husband, and from the depths of her crushed heart
+she forgave him, commiserating him as the greater sufferer.
+
+“May be I shall die,” she whispered, “and then——”
+
+She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John Jr.
+understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as it
+did, he felt half inclined to declare, with his usual impulsiveness,
+that it should never be; but the rash promise was not made, and it was
+far better that it should not be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+THE SHADOW.
+
+
+Mabel’s nerves had received too great a shock to rally immediately, and
+as day after day went by, she still kept her room, notwithstanding the
+very pointed hints of her mother-in-law that “she was making believe
+for the sake of sympathy.” Why didn’t she get up and go out
+doors—anybody would be sick to be flat on their back day in and day
+out; or did she think she was spiting her by showing what muss she
+could keep the “best chamber” in if she chose?
+
+This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Livingstone’s
+dissatisfaction. Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, she would not
+yield without an attempt at making Mabel, at least, as uncomfortable in
+mind as possible. Accordingly, almost every day when her son was not
+present, she conveyed from the room some nice article of furniture,
+substituting in its place one of inferior quality, which was quite good
+enough, she thought, for a penniless bride.
+
+“’Pears like ole miss goin’ to make a clean finish of her dis time,”
+said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress’ daily depredations. “Ole Sam
+done got title deed of her, sure enough. Ki! won’t she ketch it in
+t’other world, when he done show her his cloven foot, and won’t she
+holler for old Milly to fotch her a drink of water? not particular
+then—drink out of the bucket, gourd-shell, or anything; but dis
+nigger’ll sign her post in de parlor afore she’ll go.”
+
+“Why, Milly,” said ’Lena, who overheard this colloquy, “don’t you know
+it’s wrong to indulge in such wicked thoughts?”
+
+“Bless you, child,” returned the old negress, “she ’sarves ’em all for
+treatin’ that poor, dear lamb so. I’d ’nihilate her if I’s Miss Mabel.”
+
+“No, no, Milly,” said Aunt Polly, who was present. “You must heap coals
+of fire on her head.”
+
+“Yes, yes, that’s it—she orto have ’em,” quickly responded Milly,
+thinking Polly’s method of revenge the very best in the world, provided
+the coals were “bilin’ hot,” and with this reflection she started
+upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel she had been preparing for
+the invalid.
+
+Several times each day Grandma Nichols visited Mabel’s room, always
+prescribing some new tea of herbs, whose healing qualities were
+wonderful, having effected cures in every member of Nancy Scovandyke’s
+family, that lady herself, as a matter of course, being first included.
+And Aunt Milly, with the faithfulness characteristic of her race, would
+seek out each new herb, uniting with it her own simple prayer that it
+might have the desired effect. But all in vain, for every day Mabel
+became weaker, while her dark eyes grew larger and brighter, anon
+lighting up with joy as she heard her husband’s footsteps in the hall,
+and again filling with tears as she glanced timidly into his face, and
+thought of the dread reality.
+
+“Maybe I shall die,” was more than once murmured in her sleep, and John
+Jr., as often as he heard those words, would press her burning hands,
+and mentally reply, “Poor little Meb.”
+
+And all this time no one thought to call a physician, until Mr.
+Livingstone himself at last suggested it. At first he had felt no
+interest whatever in his daughter-in-law, but with him force of habit
+was everything, and when she no longer came among them, he missed
+her—missed her languid steps upon the stairs and her childish voice in
+the parlor. At last it one day occurred to him to visit her. She was
+sleeping when he entered the room, but he could see there had been a
+fearful change since last he looked upon her, and without a word
+concerning his intentions, he walked to the kitchen, ordering one of
+his servants to start forthwith for the physician, whose residence was
+a few miles distant.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was in the front parlor when he returned, in company
+with Doctor Gordon, and immediately her avaricious spirit asked who
+would pay the bill, and why was he sent for. Mabel did not need him—she
+was only babyish and spleeny—and so she told the physician, who,
+however, did not agree with her. He did not say that Mabel would die,
+but he thought so, for his experienced eye saw in her infallible signs
+of the disease which had stricken down both her parents, and to which,
+from her birth, she had been a prey. Mabel guessed as much from his
+manner, and when again he visited her, she asked him plainly what he
+thought.
+
+She was young—a bride—surrounded apparently by everything which could
+make her happy, and the physician hesitated, answering her evasively,
+until she said, “Do not fear to tell me truly, for I want to die. Oh, I
+long to die,” she continued, passionately clasping her thin white hands
+together.
+
+“That is an unusual wish in one so young,” answered the physician, “but
+to be plain with you, Mrs. Livingstone, I think consumption too deeply
+seated to admit of your recovery. You may be better, but never well.
+Your disease is hereditary, and has been coming on too long.”
+
+“It is well,” was Mabel’s only answer, as she turned wearily upon her
+side and hid her face in the pillows.
+
+For a long time she lay there, thinking, weeping, and thinking again,
+of the noisome grave through which she must pass, and from which she
+instinctively shrank, it was so dark, so cold, and dreary. But Mabel
+had trusted in One who she knew would go with her down into the lone
+valley—whose arm she felt would uphold her as she crossed the dark,
+rolling stream of death; and as if her frail bark were already safely
+moored upon the shores of the eternal river, she looked back dreamily
+upon the world she had left, and as she saw what she felt would surely
+be, she again murmured through her tears, “It is well.”
+
+That night, when John Jr. came up to his room, he appeared somewhat
+moody and cross, barely speaking to Mabel, and then walking up and down
+the room with the heavy tread which always indicated a storm within. He
+had that day been to Frankfort, hearing that Nellie was really coming
+home very soon—very possibly she was now on her way. Of course she
+would visit Mabel, when she heard she was sick, and of course he must
+meet her face to face, must stand with her at the bedside of _his wife_
+and that wife Mabel. In his heart he did not accuse the latter of
+feigning her illness, but he wished she would get well faster, so that
+Nellie need not feel obliged to visit her. She could at least make an
+effort—a great deal depended upon that—and she had now been confined to
+her room three or four weeks.
+
+Thus he reflected as he walked, and at last his thoughts formed
+themselves into words. Stopping short at the foot of the bed, he said
+abruptly and without looking her in the face, “How do you feel
+tonight?”
+
+The stifled cough which Mabel tried to suppress because it was
+offensive to him, brought a scowl to his forehead, and in imagination
+he anticipated her answer, “I do not think I am any better.”
+
+“And I don’t believe you try to be,” sprang to his lips, but its
+utterance was prevented by a glance at her face, which by the
+flickering lamplight looked whiter than ever.
+
+“Nellie is coming home in a few weeks,” he said at length, with his
+usual precipitancy.
+
+’Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the night when her
+mother-in-law had rang it in her ears, and now she started so quickly,
+that the offending cough could not be forced back, and the coughing fit
+which followed was so violent that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her
+quivering lips, saw that what she had raised was streaked with blood.
+But he was unused to sickness, and he gave it no farther thought,
+resuming the conversation as soon as she became quiet.
+
+“To be plain, Meb,” said he, “I want you to hurry and get well before
+Nellie comes—for if you are sick she’ll feel in duty bound to visit
+you, and I’d rather face a loaded cannon than her.”
+
+Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and she lay so long
+with her eyes closed that John Jr., growing impatient, said, “Are you
+asleep, Meb?”
+
+“No, no,” said she, at the same time requesting him to take the vacant
+chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him.
+
+John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt that
+she had much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and as she
+proceeded, his heart melted toward her in a manner which he had never
+thought possible. Very gently she spoke of her approaching end as sure.
+
+“You ask me to make haste and be well,” said she, “but it cannot be. I
+shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, never join you in
+the parlor below, and before the cold winds of winter are blowing, I
+shall be dead. I hope I shall live until Nellie comes, for I must see
+her, I must make it right between her and you. I must tell her to
+forgive you for marrying me when you loved only her; and she will
+listen—she won’t refuse me, and when I am gone you’ll be happy
+together.”
+
+John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously moved
+toward him was met more than half-way, and thus strengthened, Mabel
+continued: “You must sometimes think and speak of Mabel when she is
+dead. I do not ask you to call me wife. I do not wish it, but you must
+forget how wretched I have made you, for oh, I did not mean it, and had
+I sooner known what I do now, I would have died ere I had caused you
+one pang of sorrow.”
+
+Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given worlds to
+recall that moment, that he might tell the broken-hearted girl how
+bitterly he, too, repented of all the wrong he had done her; but he did
+not say so then—he could only listen, while he mentally resolved that
+if Mabel were indeed about to die, he would make the remainder of her
+short life happy, and thus atone, as far as possible, for the past. But
+alas for John Jr., his resolutions were easily broken, and as days and
+weeks went by, and there was no perceptible change in her, he grew
+weary of well-doing, absenting himself whole days from the sick-room,
+and at night rather unwillingly resuming his post as watcher, for Mabel
+would have no one else.
+
+Since Mabel’s illness he had occupied the little room adjoining hers,
+and often when in the still night he lay awake, watching the shadow
+which the lamp cast upon the wall, and thinking of her for whom the
+light was constantly kept burning, his conscience would smite him
+terribly, and rising up, he would steal softly to her bedside to see if
+she were sleeping quietly. But anon he grew weary of this, too; the
+shadow on the wall troubled him, it kept him awake; it was a continual
+reproach, and he must be rid of it, somehow. He tried the experiment of
+closing his door, but Mabel knew the moment he attempted it, and he
+could not refuse her when she asked him to leave it open.
+
+John Jr. grew restless, fidgety, and nervous. Why need the lamp be kept
+burning? He could light it when necessary; or why need he sleep there,
+when some one else would do as well? He thought of ’Lena—she was just
+the one, and the next day he would speak to her. To his great joy she
+consented to relieve him awhile, provided Mabel were willing; but she
+was not, and John Jr. was forced to submit. He was not accustomed to
+restraint, and every night matters grew worse and worse. The shadow
+annoyed him exceedingly. If he slept, he dreamed that it kept a
+glimmering watch over him, and when he awoke, he, in turn, watched over
+that, until the misty day-light came to dissipate the phantom.
+
+About this time several families from Frankfort started for New
+Orleans, where they were wont to spend the winter, and irresistibly,
+John Jr. became possessed of a desire to visit that city, too. Mabel
+would undoubtedly live until spring, now that the trying part of autumn
+was past and there could be no harm in his leaving her for awhile, when
+he so much needed rest. Accordingly, ’Lena was one day surprised by his
+announcing his intended trip.
+
+“But you cannot be in earnest,” she said; “you surely will not leave
+Mabel now.”
+
+“And why not?” he asked. “She doesn’t grow any worse, and won’t until
+spring, and this close confinement is absolutely killing me! Why, I’ve
+lost six pounds in six months, and you’ll see to her, I know you will.
+You’re a good girl, and I like you, if I did get angry with you, weeks
+ago when I went a hunting.”
+
+’Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to convince him of
+the fact, telling him how much pleasure she had felt in observing his
+improved manner toward Mabel, and that he must not spoil it now.
+
+“It’s no use talking,” said he, “I’m bent on going somewhere. I’ve
+tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I can’t stay _put_. It isn’t
+my nature. I shan’t tell Meb till just before I start, for I hate
+scenes.”
+
+“And suppose she dies while you are gone?” asked ’Lena.
+
+John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was wrong, and
+rather tartly he answered, as he left the room, “Give her a decent
+burial, and present the bill to mother!”
+
+“The next morning, as ’Lena sat alone with Mabel, John Jr. entered,
+dressed and ready for his journey. But he found it harder telling his
+wife than he had anticipated. She looked unusually pale this morning.
+The sallowness of her complexion was all gone, and on either cheek
+there burned a round, bright spot. ’Lena had just been arranging her
+thick, glossy hair, and now, wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her
+pillows, while her large black eyes, unnaturally bright, sparkled with
+joy at the sight of her husband. But they quickly filled with tears
+when told that he was going away, and had come to say good-bye.
+
+“It’s only to New Orleans and back,” he said, as he saw her changing
+face. “I shan’t be gone long, and ’Lena will take care of you a heap
+better than I can.”
+
+“It isn’t that,” answered Mabel, wiping her tears away. “Don’t go,
+John. Wait a little while. I’m sure it won’t be long.”
+
+“You are nervous,” said he, playfully lapping her white cheek. “You’re
+not going to die. You’ll live to be grandmother yet, who knows? But I
+must be off or lose the train. Good bye, little Meb,” grasping her
+hand, “Good-bye, ’Lena. I’ll bring you both something nice—good-bye.”
+
+When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked him to come back to her
+bedside just for one moment. He could not refuse, and winding her long,
+emaciated arms around his neck, she whispered, “Kiss me once before you
+go. I shall never ask it again, and ’twill make me happier when you are
+gone.”
+
+“A dozen times, if you like,” said he, giving her the only husband’s
+kiss she had ever received.
+
+For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed silently for
+heaven’s blessing on his wayward head, and then releasing him, she bade
+him go. Had he known of all that was to follow, he would not have left
+her, but he believed as he said, that she would survive the winter, and
+with one more kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing
+thickly, he departed. The window of Mabel’s room commanded a view of
+the turnpike, and when the sound of horses’ feet was heard on the lawn,
+she requested ’Lena to lead her to the window, where she stood watching
+him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight.
+
+“’Tis the last time,” said she, “and he will never know how much this
+parting cost me.”
+
+That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, Mabel said,
+“If I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell her how it all
+happened, and that she must forgive him, for he was not to blame.”
+
+“I do not understand you,” said ’Lena, and then, in broken sentences,
+Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and how terribly John was
+deceived. “Of course he couldn’t love me after that,” said she, “and
+it’s right that I should die. He and Nellie were made for each other,
+and if the inhabitants of heaven are allowed to watch over those they
+loved on earth, I will ask to be always near them. You will tell her,
+won’t you?”
+
+’Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see Nellie herself
+as she was to sail from Liverpool the 20th, and a few days proved her
+conjecture correct. Entering Mabel’s room one morning about a week
+after John’s departure, she brought the glad news that Nellie had
+returned, and would be with them to-morrow.
+
+The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed. The roundness of
+her form and face was gone; the rose had faded from her cheek, and her
+footsteps were no longer light and bounding as of old. She knew of John
+Jr.’s absence or she would not have come, for she could not meet him
+face to face. She had heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and while
+she felt indignant toward him, she freely forgave his innocent wife,
+who she felt had been more sinned against than sinning.
+
+With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying her face on
+Nellie’s neck, wept like a child. “You do not hate me,” she said at
+last, “or you would not have come so soon.”
+
+“Hate you?—no,” answered Nellie. “I have no cause for hating _you_.”
+
+“And you will stay with me until I die—until he comes home—and forgive
+him, too,” Mabel continued.
+
+“I can promise the first, but the latter is harder,” said Nellie, her
+cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the wreck before her.
+
+“But you must, you will,” exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling all she
+knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, “You’ll forgive him
+Nellie?”
+
+As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging closer to
+Nellie as she felt the dark shadow of death creeping gradually over
+her.
+
+“If he’d only come,” she would say, “and I could place your hand in his
+before I died.”
+
+But it was not to be. Day after day John Jr. lingered, dreading to
+return, for he knew Nellie was there, and he could not meet her, he
+thought, at the bedside of Mabel. So he tarried until a letter from
+’Lena, which said that Mabel would die, decided him, and rather
+reluctantly he started homeward. Meantime Mabel, who knew nothing of
+her loss, conceived the generous idea of willing all her possessions to
+her recreant husband.
+
+“Perhaps he’ll think more kindly of me,” said she to his father, to
+whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Livingstone felt that he
+could not undeceive her.
+
+Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and the will duly
+drawn up, signed, sealed, and delivered into the hands of Mr.
+Livingstone, whose wife, with a mocking laugh, bade him “guard it
+carefully, it was so valuable.”
+
+“It shows her goodness of heart, at least,” said he, and possibly Mrs.
+Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her manner softened
+greatly toward her daughter-in-law.
+
+
+It was midnight at Maple Grove. On the table, in its accustomed place,
+the lamp was burning dimly, casting the shadow upon the wall, whilst
+over the whole room a darker shadow was brooding. The window was open,
+and the cool night air came softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair
+from off the pale brow of the dying. Tenderly above her Nellie and
+’Lena were bending. They had watched by her many a night, and now she
+asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a single one—she would
+rather die alone.
+
+The sound of horses’ hoofs rang out on the still air, but she did not
+heed it. Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up the graveled
+walk, through the yard, and Nellie’s face blanched to an unnatural
+whiteness as she thought who that midnight-rider was. Arrived in
+Frankfort only an hour before, he had hastened forward, impelled by a
+something he could not resist. From afar he had caught the glimmering
+light, and he felt he was not too late. He knew how to enter the house,
+and on through the wide hall and up the broad staircase he came, until
+he stood in the chamber, where before him another guest had entered,
+whose name was Death!
+
+Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay _his_
+wife—_her_ rival—the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom, and the
+pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him.
+
+“Mabel! She is dead!” was all he uttered, and falling upon his knees,
+he buried his face in the pillow, while half scornfully, half
+pityingly, Nellie gazed upon him.
+
+There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not for the wrong
+he had done her, but for the sake of the young girl, now passed forever
+away. ’Lena felt differently. His silent grief conquered all
+resentment, and going to his side, she told him how peacefully Mabel
+had died—how to the last she had loved and remembered him, praying that
+he might be happy when she was gone,
+
+“Poor little Meb, she deserved a better fate,” was all he said, as he
+continued his kneeling posture, until the family and servants, whom
+Nellie had summoned, came crowding round, the cries of the latter
+grating on the ear, and seeming sadly out of place for her whose short
+life had been so dreary, and who had welcomed death as a release from
+all her pain.
+
+It was Mrs. Livingstone’s wish that Mabel should be arrayed in her
+bridal robes, but with a shudder at the idle mockery, John Jr.
+answered, “No,” and in a plain white muslin, her shining hair arrayed
+as she was wont to wear it, they placed her in her coffin, and on a
+sunny slope where the golden sunlight and the pale moonbeams latest
+fell, and where in spring the bright green grass and the sweet wild
+flowers are earliest seen, laid her down to sleep.
+
+That night, when all around was still, John Jr. lay musing sadly of the
+past. His affection for Mabel had been slight and variable, but now
+that she was gone, he missed her. The large easy-chair, with its
+cushions and pillows, was empty, and as he thought of the pale, dark
+face and aching head he had so often seen reclining there, and which he
+would never see again, he groaned in bitterness of spirit, for well he
+knew that he had helped to break the heart now lying cold and still
+beneath the coffin-lid. There was no shadow on the wall, for the lamp
+had gone out with the young life for whom it had been kept burning, but
+many a shadow lay dark and heavy across his heart.
+
+With the sun-setting a driving rain had come on, and as the November
+wind went howling past the window, and the large drops beat against the
+casement, he thought of the lonesome little grave on which that rain
+was falling; and shuddering, he hid his face in the pillows, asking to
+be forgiven, for he knew that all too soon that grave was made, and he
+had helped to make it. At last, long after the clock had told the hour
+of midnight, he arose, and lighting the lamp which many a weary night
+had burned for _her_, he placed it where the shadow would fall upon the
+wall as it had done of old. It was no longer a phantom to annoy him,
+and soothed by its presence, he fell asleep, dreaming that Mabel had
+come back to bring him her forgiveness, but when he essayed to touch
+her, she vanished from his sight, and there was nothing left save that
+shadow on the wall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+MRS. GRAHAM’S RETURN.
+
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn, the former remaining but
+a day and night, and then, without once seeing ’Lena, departing for
+Europe, where business, either fancied or real, called him. Often, when
+lying weary and sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing to his
+wife the secret which he felt was wearing his life away, but the
+cowardice of his nature seemed increased by physical weakness, and from
+time to time was the disclosure postponed, while the chain of evidence
+was fearfully lengthening around poor ’Lena, to whom Mrs. Graham had
+transferred the entire weight of her displeasure.
+
+Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she was ever
+ready to forgive when she saw any indications of reform on his part,
+and as during all their journey he had never once given her cause for
+offense, she began to attribute his former delinquencies wholly to
+’Lena; and when he proposed a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned it,
+hoping that time and absence would remove from his mind all thoughts of
+the beautiful girl, who she thought was her rival. Still, though she
+would not confess it, in her heart she did not believe ’Lena guilty
+except so far as a desire to attract Mr. Graham’s attention would make
+her so.
+
+For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The daguerreotype
+which had caused so much trouble was still in her possession, guarded
+carefully from her husband, who never suspecting the truth, supposed he
+had lost it. Frequently had Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each time
+discovering some point of difference between it and its supposed
+original. Still she never for a moment doubted that it was ’Lena, until
+an event occurred which convinced her of the contrary, leaving her,
+meantime, more mystified than ever.
+
+On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day
+in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first
+individual whom they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel
+Slocum. Not finding his business as profitable in Lexington as he could
+wish, he had recently removed to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had
+prompted him to board at the Burnet House, until he’d seen the “Ohio
+elephant,” when he intended retiring to one of the cheaper
+boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a grin of recognition
+became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very long and
+very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either water
+or brush.
+
+“Who is that loafer who seems to know you?” asked Mrs. Graham,
+directing her husband’s attention toward Joel.
+
+Mr. Graham replied that “he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he
+took daguerreotypes.”
+
+The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one
+of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang,
+“Now you don’t say this is you. And this is your old woman, I s’pose.
+Miss Graham, how-dy-du? Darned if you don’t look like Aunt Nancy, only
+she’s lean and you are squatty. S’posin’ you give me a call and get
+your picters taken. I didn’t get an all-killin’ sight of practice in
+Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn’t know enough to patternize
+me, and ’taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,” turning to Mr.
+Graham, “employed me once, and pretended to be suited.”
+
+Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to
+Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made
+an excuse for leaving her awhile. Looking from the window a moment
+after, Mrs. Graham saw him walking down the street in close
+conversation with Joel, who, by the way of showing his importance,
+lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met. Instantly her
+curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion of
+his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction
+that there was something in his possession which he did not wish her to
+see. Once, when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust
+something into his pocket, appearing so much confused that she resolved
+to ferret out the secret.
+
+Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he
+was asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his pockets,
+found a daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw was a
+_fac-simile_ of the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of
+the hair—everything—was the same, and utterly confounded, she stood
+gazing first at one and then at the other, wondering what it meant.
+Could ’Lena be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the
+last daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the first.
+At all events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done its
+companion, and stealthily returning it to its place, she crept back to
+bed.
+
+The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel was
+buried that day. Of course ’Lena could not have been absent from home.
+Mrs. Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came
+upon her that another than ’Lena was the original of the
+daguerreotypes. And yet she was not generous enough to tell Durward so.
+She knew he was deceived—she wished him to remain so—and to effect it,
+she refrained from seeking an explanation from her husband, fearing
+lest ’Lena should be proved innocent. Her husband knew there was a
+misunderstanding between Durward and ’Lena, and if she were to ask him
+about the pictures, he would, she thought, at once suspect the cause of
+that misunderstanding, and as a matter of course, exonerate ’Lena from
+all blame. The consequence of this she foresaw, and therefore she
+resolved upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if in the end she
+prevented Durward from making ’Lena his wife.
+
+To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter
+almost constantly before Durward’s mind, frequently referring to
+’Lena’s agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had started
+for Europe. She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day
+of her husband’s departure. ’Lena had not met the lady before, since
+that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned
+her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near
+the window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated with
+Carrie.
+
+She did not know before of Mrs. Graham’s return, and when her aunt
+casually asked, “Did your husband come back with you?” she
+involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came, sent
+the blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled
+with joy. She should see him—he would explain everything—and she should
+be guiltless in Durward’s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which
+was quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham’s adding,
+
+“But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three
+months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.”
+
+The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, which did
+not escape the observation or either mother or son, the latter of whom
+had watched her from the first, noting each change, and interpreting it
+according to his fears.
+
+“’Lena, ’Lena, how have I been deceived!” was his mental cry as she
+precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who asked what was the
+matter, that she was faint and dizzy. Death had been but yesterday
+within their walls, and as if softened by its presence, Mrs.
+Livingstone actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that “constant
+watching with poor, dear Mabel had impaired her health.”
+
+“Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,” returned Mrs.
+Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost on Mrs. Livingstone,
+was noticed by Durward, who soon proposed leaving.
+
+On their way home, his mother asked if he observed ’Lena when Mr.
+Graham was mentioned.
+
+Without saying that he did, Durward replied, “I noticed your remark to
+Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to say a
+word which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon ’Lena. Her
+reputation as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught
+against it.”
+
+“I won’t, I won’t,” answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to conciliate her
+son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had first
+supposed.
+
+’Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of
+Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to
+expressions which would have operated unfavorably against the young
+girl, and when at last circumstances occurred which gave her, as she
+thought, liberty to free her mind, she was only too willing to do so.
+Of those circumstances, in which others besides ’Lena were concerned,
+we will speak in another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.
+
+
+Malcolm Everett’s engagement with General Fontaine had expired, and as
+was his original intention, he started for New York, first seeking an
+interview with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, of whom he asked their
+daughter Anna in marriage, at the same time announcing the startling
+fact that they had been engaged for more than a year. “I do not ask you
+for her now,” said he, “for I am not in a situation to support her as I
+would wish to, but that time will come ere long, I trust, and I can
+assure you that her happiness shall be the first object of my life.”
+
+There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett. He was unused to
+that, and as an equal meets an equal, he met them, made known his
+request, and then in silence awaited their answer. Had Mrs. Livingstone
+been less indignant, there would undoubtedly have ensued a clamorous
+call for hartshorn and vinaigrette, but as it was, she started up, and
+confronting the young man, she exclaimed, “How dare you ask such a
+thing? _My_ daughter marry _you_!”
+
+“And why not, madam?” he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone
+continued: “_You_, a low-born Yankee, who have been, as it were, an
+hireling. _You_ presume to ask for _my_ daughter!”
+
+“I do,” he answered calmly, with a quiet smile, ten-fold more
+tantalizing than harsh words would have been, “I do. Can I have her
+with your consent?”
+
+“Never, so long as I live. I’d sooner see her dead than wedded to
+vulgar poverty.”
+
+“That is your answer. Very well,” said Malcolm, bowing stiffly. “And
+now I will hear yours,” turning to Mr. Livingstone, who replied, that
+“he would leave the matter entirely with his wife—it was nothing to
+him—he had nothing personal against Mr. Everett—he rather liked him
+than otherwise, but he hardly thought Anna suited to him, she had been
+brought up so differently;” and thus evasively answering, he walked
+away.
+
+“Cowardly fool!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, as the door closed upon
+him. “If I pretended to be a man, I’d be one;” then turning to Malcolm,
+she said, “Is there anything further you wish to say?”
+
+“Nothing,” he replied. “I have honorably asked you for your daughter.
+You have refused her, and must abide the consequence.”
+
+“And pray what may that be?” she asked, and he answered: “She will soon
+be of an age to act for herself, and though I would far rather take her
+with your consent, I shall not then hesitate to take her without, if
+you still persist in opposing her.”
+
+“There is the door,” said Mrs. Livingstone rising.
+
+“I see it, madam,” answered Malcolm, without deigning to move.
+
+“Oblige me by passing out,” continued Mrs. Livingstone. “Insolent
+creature, to stand here threatening to elope with my daughter, who has
+been destined for another since her infancy.”
+
+“But she shall never become the bride of that old man,” answered
+Malcolm. “I know your schemes. I’ve seen them all along, and I will
+frustrate them, too.”
+
+“You cannot,” fiercely answered Mrs. Livingstone. “It shall be ere
+another year comes round, and when you hear that it is so, know that
+you hastened it forward;” and the indignant lady, finding that her
+opponent was not inclined to move, left the room herself, going in
+quest of Anna, whom she determined to watch for fear of what might
+happen.
+
+But Anna was nowhere to be found, and in a paroxysm of rage she alarmed
+the household, instituting a strict search, which resulted in the
+discovery of Anna beneath the same sycamore where Malcolm had first
+breathed his vows, and whither she had repaired to await the decision
+of her parents.
+
+“I expected as much,” said she, when told of the result, “but it
+matters not. I am yours, and I’ll never marry another.”
+
+The approach of the servants prevented any further conversation, and
+with a hurried adieu they parted. A few days afterward, as Mrs.
+Livingstone, sat in her large easy-chair before the glowing grate,
+Captain Atherton was announced, and shown at once into her room. To do
+Mrs. Livingstone justice, we must say that she had long debated the
+propriety of giving Anna, in all the freshness of her girlhood, to a
+man old as her father, but any hesitancy she had heretofore felt, had
+now vanished. The crisis had come, and when the captain, as he had two
+or three times before done, broached the subject, urging her to a
+decision, she replied that she was willing, provided Anna’s consent
+could be gained.
+
+“Pho! that’s easy enough,” said the captain, complacently rubbing
+together his fat hands and smoothing his colored whiskers—“Bring her in
+here, and I’ll coax her in five minutes.”
+
+Anna was sitting with her grandmother and ’Lena, when word came that
+her mother wished to see her, the servant adding, with a titter, that
+“Mas’r Atherton thar too.”
+
+Instinctively she knew why she was sent for, and turning white as
+marble, she begged her cousin to go with her. But ’Lena refused,
+soothing the agitated girl, and begging her to be calm. “You’ve only to
+be decided,” said she, “and it will soon be over. Captain Atherton, I
+am sure, will not insist when he sees how repugnant to your feelings it
+is.”
+
+But Anna knew her own weakness—she could never say, in her mother’s
+presence, what she felt—and trembling like an aspen, she descended the
+stairs, meeting in the lower hall her brother, who asked what was the
+matter.
+
+“Oh, John, John,” she cried, “Captain Atherton is in there with mother,
+and they have sent for me. What shall I do?”
+
+“Be a woman,” answered John Jr. “Tell him _no_ in good broad English,
+and if the old fellow insists, I’ll blow his brains out!”
+
+But the Captain did not insist. He was too cunning for that, and when,
+with a burst of tears, Anna told him she could not be his wife because
+she loved another, he said, good-humoredly, “Well, well, never mind
+spoiling those pretty blue eyes. I’m not such an old savage as you
+think me. So we’ll compromise the matter this way. If you really love
+Malcolm, why, marry him, and on your bridal day I’ll make you a present
+of a nice little place I have in Frankfort; but if, on the other hand,
+Malcolm proves untrue, you must promise to have me. Come, that’s a fair
+bargain. What do you say?”
+
+“Malcolm will never prove untrue,” answered Anna.
+
+“Of course not,” returned the captain. “So you are safe in promising.’
+
+“But what good will it do you?” queried Anna.
+
+“No good, in particular,” said the captain. “It’s only a whim of mine,
+to which I thought you might perhaps agree, in consideration of my
+offer.”
+
+“I do—I will,” said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad after all.
+
+“There’s mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch,” said John Jr.,
+when he learned from Anna the result of the interview.
+
+But week after week glided by. Mrs. Livingstone’s persecutions ceased,
+and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Malcolm’s letters, which came
+regularly, and when about the first of March Captain Atherton himself
+went off to Washington, Anna gave her fears to the wind, and all the
+day long went singing about the house, unmindful of the snare laid for
+her unsuspecting footsteps. At length Malcolm’s letters suddenly
+ceased, and though Anna wrote again and again, there came no answer.
+Old Cæsar, who always carried and brought the mail for Maple Grove, was
+questioned, but he declared he “done got none from Mas’r Everett,” and
+suspicion in that quarter was lulled. Unfortunately for Anna, both her
+father and John Jr. were now away, and she had no counselor save ’Lena,
+who once, on her own responsibility, wrote to Malcolm, but with a like
+success, and Anna’s heart grew weary with hope deferred. Smilingly Mrs.
+Livingstone looked on, one moment laughing at Anna for what she termed
+love-sickness, and the next advising her to be a woman, and marry
+Captain Atherton. “He was not very old—only forty-three—and it was
+better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave!”
+
+Thus the days wore on, until one evening just as the family were
+sitting down to tea they were surprised by a call from the captain, who
+had returned that afternoon, and who, with the freedom of an old
+friend, unceremoniously entered the supper-room, appropriating to
+himself the extra plate which Mrs. Livingstone always had upon the
+table. Simultaneously with him came Cæsar, who having been to the
+post-office, had just returned, bringing, besides other things, a paper
+for Carrie, from her old admirer, Tom Lakin, who lived in Rockford, at
+which place the paper was printed. Several times had Tom remembered
+Carrie in this way, and now carelessly glancing at the first page, she
+threw it upon the floor, whence it was taken by Anna, who examined it
+more minutely glancing, as a matter of course, to the marriage notices.
+
+Meantime the captain, who was sitting by ’Lena, casually remarked, “Oh,
+I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in Washington.”
+
+“Mr. Everett—Malcolm Everett?” said ’Lena, quickly.
+
+“Yes, Malcolm Everett,” answered the captain.
+
+“He is there spending the honeymoon with his bride!”
+
+’Lena’s exclamation of astonishment was prevented by a shriek from
+Anna, who had that moment read the announcement of Mr. Everett’s
+marriage, which was the first in the list. It was Malcolm H.
+Everett—there could be no mistake—and when ’Lena reached her cousin’s
+side, she found that she had fainted. All was now in confusion, in the
+midst of which the Captain took his leave, having first managed to
+speak a few words in private with Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“Fortune favors us,” was her reply, as she went back to her daughter,
+whose long, death-like swoon almost wrung from her the secret.
+
+But Anna revived, and with the first indication of returning
+consciousness, the cold, hard woman stifled all her better feelings,
+and then tried to think she was acting only for the good of her child.
+For a long time Anna appeared to be in a kind of benumbed torpor,
+requesting to be left alone, and shuddering if Mr. Everett’s name were
+mentioned in her presence. It was in vain that ’Lena strove to comfort
+her, telling her there might be some mistake. Anna refused to listen,
+angrily bidding ’Lena desist, and saying frequently that she cared but
+little what became of herself now. A species of recklessness seemed to
+have taken possession of her, and when her mother one day carelessly
+remarked that possibly Captain Atherton would claim the fulfillment of
+her promise, she answered, in the cold, indifferent tone which now
+marked her manner of speaking, “Let him. I am ready and willing for the
+sacrifice.”
+
+“Are you in earnest?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly.
+
+“In earnest? Yes—try me and see,” was Anna’s brief answer, which
+somewhat puzzled her mother, who would in reality have preferred
+opposition to this unnatural passiveness.
+
+But anything to gain her purpose, she thought, and drawing Anna closely
+to her side, she very gently and affectionately told her how happy it
+would make her could she see her the wife of Captain Atherton, who had
+loved and waited for her so long, and who would leave no wish, however
+slight, ungratified. And Anna, with no shadow of emotion on her calm,
+white face, consented to all that her mother asked, and when next the
+captain came, she laid her feverish hand in his, and with a strange,
+wild light beaming from her dark blue eyes, promised to share his
+fortunes as his wife.
+
+“’Twill be winter and spring,” said she, with a bitter, mocking laugh,
+“’Twill be winter and spring, but it matters not.”
+
+Many years before, when a boy of eighteen, Captain Atherton had loved,
+or fancied he loved, a young girl, whose very name afterward became
+hateful to him, and now, as he thought of Anna’s affection for Malcolm,
+he likened it to his own boyish fancy, believing she would soon get
+over it, and thank him for what he had done.
+
+That night Anna saw the moon and stars go down, bending far out from
+her window, that the damp air might cool her burning brow, and when the
+morning sun came up the eastern horizon, its first beams fell on the
+golden curls which streamed across the window-sill, her only pillow the
+livelong night. On ’Lena’s mind a terrible conviction was fastening
+itself—Anna was crazed. She saw it in the wildness of her eye, in the
+tones of her voice, and more than all, in the readiness with which she
+yielded herself to her mother’s schemes, “But it shall not be,” she
+thought, “I will save her,” and then she knelt before her aunt,
+imploring her to spare her daughter—not to sacrifice her on the altar
+of mammon.
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to mind her own
+affairs. Then ’Lena sought her cousin, and winding her arms around her
+neck, besought of her to resist—to burst the chain which bound her, and
+be free. But with a shake other head, Anna bade her go away. “Leave me,
+’Lena Rivers,” she said, “leave me to work out my destiny. It is
+decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not struggle against it.
+Each night I read it in the stars, and the wind, as it sighs through
+the maple trees, whispers it to my ear.”
+
+“Oh, if my aunt could see her now,” thought ’Lena but as if her
+mother’s presence had a paralyzing power, Anna, when with her, was
+quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Livingstone sometimes missed her
+merry laugh and playful ways, she thought the air of dignity which
+seemed to have taken their place quite an improvement, and far more in
+keeping with the bride-elect of Captain Atherton.
+
+About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly surprised
+at the phase which affairs had assumed in his absence, but when ’Lena
+whispered to him her fears, he smilingly answered, “I reckon you’re
+mistaken. Her mother would have found it out—where is she?”
+
+In her chamber at the old place by the open window they found her, and
+though she did not as usual spring eagerly forward to meet her father,
+her greeting was wholly natural; but when Mr. Livingstone, taking her
+upon his knee, said gently, “They tell me you are to be married soon,”
+the wildness came back to her eye, and ’Lena wondered he could not see
+it. But he did not, and smoothing her disordered tresses, he said,
+“Tell me, my daughter, does this marriage please you? Do you enter into
+it willingly?”
+
+For a moment there was a wavering, and ’Lena held her breath to catch
+the answer, which came at last, while the eyes shone brighter than
+ever—“Willing? yes, or I should not do it; no one compels me, else I
+would resist.”
+
+“Woman’s nature,” said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while ’Lena turned
+away to hide her tears.
+
+Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone would have the
+ceremony a grand and imposing one. In the neighborhood, the fast
+approaching event was discussed, some pronouncing it a most fortunate
+thing for Anna, who could not, of course, expect to make so eligible a
+match as her more brilliant sister, while others—the sensible
+portion—wondered, pitied, and blamed, attributing the whole to the
+ambitious mother, whose agency in her son’s marriage was now generally
+known. At Maple Grove closets, chairs, tables, and sofas were loaded
+down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna stood up while they
+fitted to her the rich white satin, scarcely whiter than her own face,
+and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw her daughter’s indifference, would
+pinch her bloodless cheeks, wondering how she could care so little for
+her good fortune.
+
+Unnatural mother!—from the little grave on the sunny slope, now
+grass-grown and green, came there no warning voice to stay her in her
+purpose? No; she scarcely thought of Mabel now, and with unflinching
+determination she kept on her way.
+
+But there was one who, night and day, pondered in her mind the best way
+of saving Anna from the living death to which she would surely awake,
+when it was too late. At last she resolved on going herself to Captain
+Atherton, telling him just how it was, and if there was a spark of
+generosity in his nature, she thought he would release her cousin. But
+this plan required much caution, for she would not have her uncle’s
+family know of it, and if she failed, she preferred that it should be
+kept a secret from the world. There was then no alternative but to go
+in the night, and alone. She did not now often sit with the family, and
+she knew they would not miss her. So, one evening when they were as
+usual assembled in the parlor, she stole softly from the house, and
+managing to pass the negro quarters unobserved, she went down to the
+lower stable, where she saddled the pony she was now accustomed to
+ride, and leading him by a circuitous path out upon the turnpike,
+mounted and rode away.
+
+The night was moonless, and the starlight obscured by heavy clouds, but
+the pale face and golden curls of Anna, for whose sake she was there
+alone, gleamed on her in the darkness, and ’Lena was not afraid.
+Once—twice—she thought she caught the sound of another horse’s hoofs,
+but when she stopped to listen, all was still, and again she pressed
+forward, while her pursuer (for ’Lena was followed) kept at a greater
+distance. Durward had been to Frankfort, and on his way home had
+stopped at Maple Grove to deliver a package. Stopping only a moment, he
+reached the turnpike just after ’Lena struck into it. Thinking it was a
+servant, he was about to pass her, when her horse sheered at something
+on the road-side, and involuntarily she exclaimed, “Courage, Dido,
+there’s nothing to fear.”
+
+Instantly he recognized her voice, and was about to overtake and speak
+to her, but thinking that her mission was a secret one, or she would
+not be there alone, he desisted. Still he could not leave her thus. Her
+safety might be endangered, and reining in his steed, and accommodating
+his pace to hers, he followed without her knowledge. On she went until
+she reached the avenue leading to “Sunnyside,” as Captain Atherton
+termed his residence, and there she stopped, going on foot to the
+house, while, hidden by the deep darkness Durward waited and watched.
+
+Half timidly ’Lena rang the door-bell, dropping her veil over her face
+that she might not be recognized. “I want to see your master,” she said
+to the woman who answered her ring, and who in some astonishment
+replied, “Bless you, miss, Mas’r Atherton done gone to Lexington and
+won’t be home till to-morry.”
+
+“Gone!” repeated ’Lena in a disappointed tone. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
+
+“Is you the new miss what’s comin’ here to live?” asked the negro, who
+was Captain Atherton’s house keeper.
+
+Instantly the awkwardness of her position flashed upon ’Lena, but
+resolving to put a bold face on the matter, she removed her veil,
+saying, playfully, “You know me now, Aunt Martha.”
+
+“In course I do,” answered the negro, holding up both hands in
+amazement, “but what sent you here this dark, unairthly night?”
+
+“Business with your master,” and then suddenly remembering that among
+her own race Aunt Martha was accounted an intolerable gossip, she began
+to wish she had not come.
+
+But it could not now be helped, and turning away, she walked slowly
+down the avenue, wondering what the result would be. Again they were in
+motion, she and Durward, who followed until he saw her safe home, and
+then, glad that no one had seen her but himself, he retraced his steps,
+pondering on the mystery which he could not fathom. After ’Lena left
+Sunnyside, a misty rain came on, and by the time she reached her home,
+her long riding-dress was wet and drizzled, the feathers on her cap
+were drooping, and to crown all, as she was crossing the hall with
+stealthy step, she came suddenly upon her aunt, who, surprised at her
+appearance, demanded of her where she had been. But ’Lena refused to
+tell, and in quite a passion Mrs. Livingstone laid the case before her
+husband.
+
+“Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding somewhere with
+somebody, she wouldn’t tell who, but she (Mrs. Livingstone) most knew
+if was Durward, and something must be done.”
+
+Accordingly, next day; when they chanced to be alone, Mr. Livingstone
+took the opportunity of questioning ’Lena, who dared not disobey him,
+and with many tears she confessed the whole, saying that “if it were
+wrong she was very sorry.”
+
+“You acted foolishly, to say the least of it,” answered her uncle,
+adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself altogether too much
+about Anna, who seemed happy and contented.
+
+Still he was ill at ease. ’Lena’s fears disturbed him, and for many
+days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to himself that there
+was something strange about her. But possibly all engaged girls acted
+so; his wife said they did; and hating anything like a scene, he
+concluded to let matters take their course, half hoping, and half
+believing, too, that something would occur to prevent the marriage.
+What it would be, or by what agency it would be brought about, he
+didn’t know, but he resolved to let ’Lena alone, and when his wife
+insisted upon his “lecturing her soundly for meddling,” he refused,
+venturing even to say, that, “she hadn’t meddled.”
+
+Meantime a new idea had entered ’Lena’s mind. She would write to Mr.
+Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such things
+in stories, and it could do no harm. Gradually as she wrote, hope grew
+strong within her, and it became impressed upon her that there had been
+some deep-laid, fiendish plot. If so, she dared not trust her letter
+with old Cæsar, who might be bribed by his mistress. And how to convey
+it to the office was now the grand difficulty. As if fortune favored
+her plan, Durward, that very afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as
+he said, on his way to Frankfort.
+
+’Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but
+to save Anna she could do almost any thing. Hastily securing the
+letter, and throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn and
+out upon the turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming.
+
+“’Lena—excuse me—Miss Rivers, is it you?” asked Durward, touching his
+hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if she could
+trust him.
+
+“Trust me? Yes, with anything,” answered Durward, quickly dismounting,
+and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful face which looked
+up to him so eagerly.
+
+“Then,” answered ’Lena, “take this letter and see it deposited safely,
+will you?”
+
+Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while he
+instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said concerning
+’Lena’s attachment to Mr. Everett.
+
+“Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,” said ’Lena, observing the
+expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness,
+“I assure you there is no harm in it.”
+
+“Of course not,” answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and riding
+away more puzzled than ever, while ’Lena returned to the house, which
+everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials.
+
+Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a
+box from the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs.
+Livingstone placed in her daughter’s waving hair, bidding her mark
+their effect. But not a muscle of Anna’s face changed; nothing moved
+her; and with the utmost indifference she gazed on the preparations
+around her. A stranger would have said ’Lena was the bride, for, with
+flushed cheeks and nervously anxious manner, she watched each sun as it
+rose and set, wondering what the result would be. Once, when asked whom
+she would have for her bridesmaid and groomsman, Anna had answered,
+“Nellie and John!” but that could not be, for the latter had imposed
+upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year ere he spoke to Nellie
+of that which lay nearest his heart, and in order the better to keep
+his vow, he had gone from home, first winning from her the promise that
+she would not become engaged until his return. And now, when he learned
+of his sister’s request, he refused to come, saying, “if she would make
+such a consummate fool of herself, he did not wish to see her.”
+
+So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrangement brought
+the latter occasionally to the house, ’Lena had opportunities of asking
+him if there had yet come any answer to her letter; and much oftener
+than he would otherwise have done, Durward went down to Frankfort, for
+he felt that it was no unimportant matter which thus deeply interested
+’Lena. At last, the day before the bridal came, Durward had gone to the
+city, and in a state of great excitement ’Lena awaited his return,
+watching with a trembling heart as the sun went down behind the western
+hills. Slowly the hours dragged on, and many a time she stole out in
+the deep darkness to listen, but there was nothing to be heard save the
+distant cry of the night-owl, and she was about retracing her steps for
+the fifth time, when from behind a clump of rose-bushes started a
+little dusky form, which whispered softly, “Is you Miss ’Leny?”
+
+Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, ’Lena
+answered, “Yes; what do you want?” while at the same moment she
+recognized a little hunch back belonging to General Fontaine.
+
+“Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the answer,”
+said the boy, passing her a tiny note.
+
+“Master Everett! Is he here?” she exclaimed, catching the note and
+re-entering the house, where by the light of the hall lamp she read
+what he had written.
+
+It was very short, but it told all—how he had written again and again,
+receiving no answer, and was about coming himself when a severe illness
+prevented. The marriage, he said, was that of his uncle, for whom he
+was named, and who had in truth gone on to Washington, the home of his
+second wife. It closed by asking her to meet him, with Anna, on one of
+the arbor bridges at midnight. Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a book
+which chanced to be lying in the hall, ’Lena wrote, “We will be there,”
+and giving it to the negro, bade him hasten back.
+
+There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he got no letter,
+was not to call, and trembling in every nerve, ’Lena sought her
+chamber, there to consider what she was next to do. For some time past
+Carrie had occupied a separate room from Anna, who, she said disturbed
+her with her late hours and restless turnings, so ’Lena’s part seemed
+comparatively easy. Waiting until the house was still, she entered
+Anna’s room, finding her, as she had expected, at her old place by the
+open window, her head resting upon the sill, and when she approached
+nearer, she saw that she was asleep.
+
+“Let her sleep yet awhile,” said she; “it will do her good.”
+
+In the room adjoining lay the bridal dress, and ’Lena’s first impulse
+was to trample it under her feet, but passing it with a shudder, she
+hastily collected whatever she thought Anna would most need. These she
+placed in a small-sized trunk, and then knowing it was done, she
+approached her cousin, who seemed to be dreaming, for she murmured the
+name of “Malcolm.”
+
+“He is here, love—he has come to save you,” she whispered, while Anna,
+only partially aroused, gazed at her so vacantly, that ’Lena’s heart
+stood still with fear lest the poor girl’s reason were wholly gone.
+“Anna, Anna,” she said, “awake; Malcolm is here—in the garden, where
+you must meet him—come.”
+
+“Malcolm is married,” said Anna, in a whisper—married—and my bridal
+dress is in there, all looped with flowers; would you like to see it?”
+
+“Our Father in heaven help me,” cried ’Lena, clasping her hands in
+anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna’s upturned face.
+
+This seemed to arouse her, for in a natural tone she asked why ’Lena
+wept. Again and again ’Lena repeated to her that Malcolm had come—that
+he was not married—that he had come for her; and as Anna listened, the
+torpor slowly passed away—the wild light in her eyes grew less bright,
+for it was quenched by the first tears she had shed since the shadow
+fell upon her; and when ’Lena produced the note, and she saw it was
+indeed true, the ice about her heart was melted, and in choking,
+long-drawn sobs, her pent-up feelings gave way, as she saw the gulf
+whose verge she had been treading. Crouching at ’Lena’s feet, she
+kissed the very hem of her garments, blessing her as her preserver, and
+praying heaven to bless her, also. It was the work of a few moments to
+array her in her traveling dress, and then very cautiously ’Lena led
+her down the stairs, and out into the open air.
+
+“If I could see father once,” said Anna; but such an act involved too
+much danger, and with one lingering, tearful look at her old home, she
+moved away, supported by ’Lena, who rather dragged than led her over
+the graveled walk.
+
+As they approached the arbor bridge, they saw the glimmering light of a
+lantern, for the night was intensely dark, and in a moment Anna was
+clasped in the arms which henceforth were to shelter her from the
+storms of life. Helpless as an infant she lay, while ’Lena, motioning
+the negro who was in attendance to follow her, returned to the house
+for the trunk, which was soon safely deposited in the carriage at the
+gate.
+
+“Words cannot express what I owe you,” said Malcolm, when he gave her
+his hand at parting, “but of this be assured, so long as I live you
+have in me a friend and brother.” Turning back for a moment, he added,
+“This flight is, I know, unnecessary, for I could prevent to-morrow’s
+expected event in other ways than this, but revenge is sweet, and I
+trust I am excusable for taking it in my own way.”
+
+Anna could not speak, but the look of deep gratitude which beamed from
+her eyes was far more eloquent than words. Upon the broad piazza ’Lena
+stood until the last faint sound of the carriage wheels died away;
+then, weary and worn, she sought her room, locking Anna’s door as she
+passed it, and placing the key in her pocket. Softly she crept to bed
+by the side of her slumbering grandmother, and with a fervent prayer
+for the safety of the fugitives, fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+THE RESULT.
+
+
+The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused ’Lena from her heavy
+slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the
+night previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing it
+were not morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and after a
+hasty toilet, descended to the breakfast-room, where another chair was
+vacant, another face was missing. Without any suspicion of the truth,
+Mrs. Livingstone spoke of Anna’s absence, saying she presumed the poor
+girl was tired and sleepy, and this was admitted as an excuse for her
+tardiness. But when breakfast was over and she still did not appear,
+Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon with the information that
+“she’d knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna would not answer, and when
+she tried the door she found it locked.”
+
+Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at ’Lena; whose face wore a
+scarlet hue as she hastily quitted the table. With a presentiment of
+something, he himself started for Anna’s room; followed by his wife and
+Carrie, while ’Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened breathlessly for
+the result. It was useless knocking for admittance, for there was no
+one within to bid them enter, and with a powerful effort Mr.
+Livingstone burst the lock. The window was open, the lamp was still
+burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed was undisturbed, the
+room in confusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs. Livingstone’s eye took in
+all this at a glance, but her husband saw only the latter, and ere he
+was aware of what he did, a fervent “Thank heaven,” escaped him.
+
+“She’s gone—run away—dead, maybe,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, wringing
+her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively drawing nearer to
+her husband for comfort.
+
+By this time ’Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward her,
+Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, “’Lena, where is our child?”
+
+“In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at
+Midway for Cincinnati,” said ’Lena, thinking she might as well tell the
+whole at once.
+
+“In Ohio!” shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping ’Lena’s arm.
+“What has she gone to Ohio for? Speak, ingrate, for you have done the
+deed—I am sure of that!”
+
+“It was Mr. Everett’s wish to return home that way I believe,” coolly
+answered ’Lena, without quailing in the least from the eyes bent so
+angrily upon her.
+
+Instantly Mrs. Livingstone’s fingers loosened their grasp, while her
+face grew livid with mingled passion and fear. Her fraud was
+discovered—her stratagem had failed—and she was foiled in this, her
+second darling scheme. But she was yet to learn what agency ’Lena had
+in the matter, and this information her husband obtained for her. There
+was no anger in the tones of his voice when he asked his niece to
+explain the mystery, else she might not have answered, for ’Lena could
+not be driven. Now, however, she felt that he had a right to know, and
+she told him all she knew; what she had done herself and why she had
+done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Malcolm had gone in his
+trouble, had kindly assisted him by lending both servants and carriage;
+but upon the intercepted letters she could throw no light.
+
+“’Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is unworthy the name
+of either man or woman,” said Mr. Livingstone, while his eye rested
+sternly upon his wife.
+
+She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and resolving to
+make the best of the matter, she, too, united with him in denouncing
+the deed, wondering who could have done it, and meanly suggesting Maria
+Fontaine, a pupil of Mr. Everett’s, who had, at one time, felt a slight
+preference for him. But this did not deceive her husband—neither did it
+help her at all in the present emergency. The bride was gone, and
+already she felt the tide of scandal and gossip which she knew would be
+the theme of the entire neighborhood. Still, if her own shameful act
+was kept a secret she could bear it, and it must be. No one knew of it
+except Captain Atherton and Cæsar, the former of whom would keep his
+own counsel, while fear of a passport down the river, the negroes’
+dread, would prevent the latter from telling.
+
+Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to treat the
+whole matter as a capital joke, worthy of being immortalized in
+romance, she returned to her room, and hastily writing a few lines,
+rang the bell for Cæsar who soon appeared, declaring that “as true as
+he lived and breathed and drew the breath of life, he’d done gin miss
+every single letter afore handin’ ’em to anybody else.”
+
+“Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you’ll find yourself in
+New Orleans,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s very lady-like response, as she
+handed him the note, bidding him take it to Captain Atherton.
+
+For some reason or other the captain this morning was exceedingly
+restless, walking from room to room, watching the clock, then the sun,
+and finally, in order to pass the time away, trying on his wedding
+suit, to see how he was going to look! Perfectly satisfied with his
+appearance, he was in imagination going through the ceremony, and had
+just inclined his head in token that he would take Anna for his wife,
+when Mrs. Livingstone’s note was handed him. At first he could hardly
+believe the evidence of his own eyes.
+
+Anna gone!—run away with Mr. Everett! It could not be, and sinking into
+a chair, he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, “mighty queer and
+shaky.”
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on it, and
+this, upon second thought, he determined to do. Hastily changing his
+dress, now useless, he mounted his steed, and was soon on his way
+toward Maple Grove, a new idea dawning upon his mind, and ere his
+arrival, settling itself into a fixed purpose. From Aunt Martha he had
+heard of ’Lena’s strange visit, and he now remembered the many times
+she had tried to withdraw him from Anna, appropriating him to herself
+for hours. The captain’s vanity was wonderful. Sunnyside needed a
+mistress—he needed a wife, ’Lena was poor—perhaps she liked him—and if
+so there might be a wedding, after all. She was beautiful, and would
+sustain the honors of his house with a better grace, he verily
+believed, than Anna! Full of these thoughts, he reached Maple Grove,
+where he found Durward, to whom Mrs. Livingstone had detailed the whole
+circumstance, dwelling long upon ’Lena’s meddling propensities, and
+charging the whole affair upon her.
+
+“But she knew what she was about—she had an object in view,
+undoubtedly,” she added, glad of an opportunity to give vent to her
+feelings against ’Lena.
+
+“Pray, what was her object?” asked Durward, and Mrs. Livingstone
+replied, “I told you once that ’Lena was ambitious, and I have every
+reason to believe she would willingly marry Captain Atherton,
+notwithstanding he is so much older.”
+
+She forgot that there was the same disparity between the captain and
+Anna as between him and ’Lena, but Durward did not, and with a derisive
+smile he listened, while she proceeded to give her reasons for thinking
+that a desire to supplant Anna was the sole object which ’Lena had in
+view, for what else could have prompted that midnight ride to
+Sunnyside. Again Durward smiled, but before he could answer, the
+bride-groom elect stood before them, looking rather crestfallen, but
+evidently making a great effort to appear as usual.
+
+“And so the bird has flown?” said he, “Well, it takes a Yankee, after
+all, to manage a case, but how did he find it out?”
+
+Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him Lena’s agency in the matter,
+omitting, this time, to impute to her the same motive which she had
+done when stating the case to Durward.
+
+“So ’Lena is at the bottom of it?” said he, rubbing his little fat, red
+hands. “Well, well, where is she? I’d like to see her.”
+
+“Corinda, tell ’Lena she is wanted in the parlor,” said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the interview, arose
+to go, but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to stay, that he at last
+resumed his seat on the sofa by the side of Carrie.
+
+“Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the part you have
+taken in this elopement,” said Mrs. Livingstone, sternly, as ’Lena
+appeared in the doorway.
+
+“No, I don’t,” said the captain, gallantly offering ’Lena a chair. “My
+business with Miss Rivers concerns herself.”
+
+“I am here, sir, to answer any proper question,” said ’Lena, proudly,
+at the same time declining the proffered seat.
+
+“There’s an air worthy of a queen,” thought the captain, and
+determining to make his business known at once, he arose, and turning
+toward Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, whom he considered his
+audience, he commenced: “What I am about to say may seem strange, but
+the fact is, I want a wife. I’ve lived alone long enough. I waited for
+Anna eighteen years, and now’s she gone. Everything is in readiness for
+the bridal; the guests are invited; nothing wanting but the bride. Now
+if I _could_ find a substitute.”
+
+“Not in me,” muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, while with a
+sarcastic leer the captain continued: “Don’t refuse before you are
+asked, Miss Livingstone. I do not aspire to the honor of your hand, but
+I do ask Miss Rivers to be my wife—here before you all. She shall live
+like a princess—she and her grandmother both. Come, what do you say?
+Many a poor girl would jump at the chance.”
+
+The rich blood which usually dyed ’Lena’s cheek was gone, and pale as
+the marble mantel against which she leaned, she answered, proudly, “I
+would sooner die than link my destiny with one who could so basely
+deceive my cousin, making her believe it was her betrothed husband whom
+he saw in Washington instead of his uncle! Marry you? Never, if I beg
+my bread from door to door!”
+
+“Noble girl!” came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, who had held
+his breath for her answer, and who now glanced triumphantly at Mrs.
+Livingstone, whose surmises were thus proved incorrect.
+
+The captain’s self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble girl should
+refuse him with his half million. A sense of the ridiculous position in
+which he was placed maddened him, and in a violent rage he replied,
+“You won’t, hey? What under heavens have you hung around me so for,
+sticking yourself in between me and Anna when you knew you were not
+wanted?”
+
+“I did it, sir, at Anna’s request, to relieve her—and for nothing
+else.”
+
+“And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that
+dark, rainy night?” chimed in Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+“No, madam,” said ’Lena, turning toward her aunt. “I had in vain
+implored of you to save her from a marriage every way irksome to her,
+when in her right mind, but you would not listen, and I resolved to
+appeal to the captain’s better nature. In this I failed, and then I
+wrote to Mr. Everett, with the result which you see.”
+
+In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask who was
+the bearer of ’Lena’s letter, but remembering it now, she put the
+question. ’Lena would not implicate Durward without his permission, but
+while she hesitated, he answered for her, “_I_ carried that letter,
+Mrs. Livingstone, though I did not then know its nature. Still if I
+had, I should have done the same, and the event has proved that I was
+right in so doing.”
+
+“Ah, indeed!” said the captain growing more and more nettled and
+disagreeable. “Ah, indeed! Mr. Bellmont leagued with Miss Rivers
+against me. Perhaps she would not so bluntly refuse an offer coming
+from you, but I can tell you it won’t sound very well that the Hon.
+Mrs. Bellmont once rode four miles alone in the night to visit a
+bachelor. Ha! ha! Miss ’Lena; better have submitted to my terms at
+once, for don’t you see I have you in my power?”
+
+“And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you answer for it
+to me; do you understand?” exclaimed Durward, starting up and
+confronting Captain Atherton, who, the veriest coward in the world,
+shrank from the flashing of Durward’s eye, and meekly answered, “Yes,
+yes—yes, yes, I won’t, I won’t. I don’t want to fight. I like ’Lena. I
+don’t blame Anna for running away if she didn’t want me—but it’s left
+me in a deuced mean scrape, which I wish you’d help me out of.”
+
+Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his proffered
+hand, promised to render him any assistance in his power, and advising
+him to be present himself in the evening, as the first meeting with his
+acquaintances would thus be over. Upon reflection, the captain
+concluded to follow this advice, and when evening arrived and with it
+those who had not heard the news, he was in attendance, together with
+Durward, who managed the whole affair so skillfully that the party
+passed off quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests playfully
+condoling with the deserted bridegroom, who received their jokes with a
+good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but there.
+
+That night, when the company were gone and all around was silent, Mrs.
+Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears she had shed for
+her youngest born, whom she well knew _she_ had driven from home, and
+when her husband asked what they should do, she answered with a fresh
+burst of tears, “Send for Anna to come back.”
+
+“And Malcolm, too?” queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless to
+send for one without the other.
+
+“Yes, Malcolm too. There’s room for both,” said the weeping mother,
+feeling how every hour she should miss the little girl, whose presence
+had in it so much of sunlight and joy.
+
+But Anna would not return. Away to the northward, in a fairy cottage
+overhung with the wreathing honeysuckle and the twining grape-vine,
+where the first summer flowers were blooming and the song-birds were
+caroling all the day long, her home was henceforth to be, and though
+the letter which contained her answer to her father’s earnest appeal
+was stained and blotted, it told of perfect happiness with Malcolm, who
+kissed away her tears as she wrote, “Tell mother I cannot come.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+MORE CLOUDS.
+
+
+Since the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed himself ’Lena’s
+champion, her health and spirits began to improve. That she was not
+wholly indifferent to him she had every reason to believe, and
+notwithstanding the strong barrier between them, hope sometimes
+whispered to her of a future, when all that was now so dark and
+mysterious should be made plain. But while she was thus securely
+dreaming, a cloud, darker and deeper than any which had yet
+overshadowed her, was gathering around her pathway. Gradually had the
+story of her ride to Captain Atherton’s gained circulation, magnifying
+itself as it went, until at last it was currently reported that at
+several different times had she been seen riding away from Sunnyside at
+unseasonable hours of the night, the time varying from nine in the
+evening to three in the morning according to the exaggerating powers of
+the informer.
+
+But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that each and every
+one repeated it to his or her neighbor, until at last it reached Mrs.
+Graham, who, forgetting the caution of her son, said, with a very wise
+look, that “she was not at all surprised—she had from the first
+suspected ’Lena, and she had the best of reasons for so doing!”
+
+Of course Mrs. Graham’s friend was exceedingly anxious to know what she
+meant, and by dint of quizzing, questioning and promising never to
+tell, she at last drew out just enough of the story to know that Mr.
+Graham had a daguerreotype which looked just like ’Lena, and that Mrs.
+Graham had no doubt whatever that she was in the habit of writing to
+him. This of course was repeated, notwithstanding the promise of
+secrecy, and many of the neighbors suddenly remembered some little
+circumstance trivial in itself, but all going to swell the amount of
+evidence against poor ’Lena, who, unconscious of the gathering storm,
+did not for a time observe the sidelong glances cast toward her
+whenever she appeared in public.
+
+Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of her
+acquaintances began to attract her attention, causing her to wonder
+what it all meant. But there was no one of whom she would ask an
+explanation. John Jr. was gone—Anna was gone—and to crown all, Durward,
+too, left the neighborhood just as the first breath of scandal was
+beginning to set the waves of gossip in motion. In his absence, Mrs.
+Graham felt no restraint, whatever, and all that she knew, together
+with many things she didn’t know, she told, until it became a matter of
+serious debate whether ’Lena ought not to be _cut_ entirely. Mrs.
+Graham and her clique decided in the affirmative, and when Mrs.
+Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed by public opinion, gave
+a small party for her daughter Maria, ’Lena was purposely omitted.
+Hitherto she had been greatly petted and admired by both Maria and her
+mother, and she felt the slight sensibly, the more so, as Carrie darkly
+hinted that girls who could not behave themselves must not associate
+with respectable people. “’Leny not invited!” said Mrs. Nichols,
+espousing the cause of her granddaughter. “What’s to pay, I wonder?
+Miss Fontaine and the gineral, too, allus appeared to think a sight on
+her.”
+
+“I presume the _general_ does now,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, “but
+it’s natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particular about the
+reputation of her daughter’s associates.”
+
+“And ain’t ’Leny’s reputation as good as the best on ’em,” asked Mrs.
+Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with insulted pride.
+
+“It’s the general opinion that it might be improved,” was Mrs.
+Livingstone’s haughty answer, as she left her mother-in-law to her own
+reflections.
+
+“It’ll kill her stone dead,” thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving in her own
+mind the propriety of telling ’Lena what her aunt had said. “It’ll kill
+her stone dead, and I can’t tell her. Mebby it’ll blow over pretty
+soon.”
+
+That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of calling upon
+’Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one asked for her, and with her
+eyes and ears now sharpened, she fancied that once, as she was passing
+the parlor door, she heard her own name coupled with that of Mr.
+Graham. A startling light burst upon her, and staggering to her room,
+she threw herself, half fainting, upon the bed, where an hour
+afterwards she was found by Aunt Milly.
+
+The old negress had also heard the story in its most aggravated form,
+and readily divining the cause of ’Lena’s grief, attempted to console
+her, telling her “not to mind what the good-for-nothin’ critters said;
+they war only mad ’cause she’s so much handsomer and trimmer built.”
+
+“You know, then,” said ’Lena, lifting her head from the pillow. “You
+know what it is; so tell me, for I shall die if I remain longer in
+suspense.”
+
+“Lor’ bless the child,” exclaimed old Milly, “to think she’s the very
+last one to know, when it’s been common talk more than a month!”
+
+“What’s been common talk? What is it?” demanded ’Lena; and old Milly,
+seating herself upon a trunk, commenced: “Why, honey, hain’t you hearn
+how you done got Mr. Graham’s pictur and gin him yourn ’long of one of
+them curls—how he’s writ and you’ve writ, and how he’s gone off to the
+eends of the airth to get rid on you—and how you try to cotch young
+Mas’r Durward, who hate the sight on you—how you waylay him one day,
+settin’ on a rock out by the big gate—and how you been seen mighty nigh
+fifty times comin’ home afoot from Captain Atherton’s in the night,
+rainin’ thunder and lightnin’ hard as it could pour—how after you done
+got Miss Anna to ’lope, you ax Captain Atherton to have you, and git
+mad as fury ’cause he ’fuses—and how your mother warn’t none too
+likely, and a heap more that I can’t remember—hain’t you heard of none
+on’t?”
+
+“None, none,” answered ’Lena, while Milly continued, “It’s a sin and
+shame for quality folks that belong to the meetin’ to pitch into a poor
+’fenseless girl and pick her all to pieces. Reckon they done forgot
+what our Heabenly Marster told ’em when he lived here in old Kentuck,
+how they must dig the truck out of thar own eyes afore they go to
+meddlin’ with others; but they never think of him these days, ’cept
+Sundays, and then as soon as meetin’ is out they done git together and
+talk about you and Mas’r Graham orfully. I hearn ’em last Sunday, I and
+Miss Fontaine’s cook, Cilly, and if they don’t quit it, thar’s a heap
+on us goin’ to leave the church!”
+
+’Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who arose to leave
+the room, again told her not to care, as all the blacks were for her,
+she felt that she was not utterly alone in her wretchedness. Still, the
+sympathy of the colored people alone could not help her, and dally
+matters grew worse, until at last even Nellie Douglass’s faith was
+shaken, and ’Lena’s heart died within her as she saw in her signs of
+neglect. Never had Mr. Livingstone exchanged a word with her upon the
+subject, but the reserve with which he treated her plainly indicated
+that he, too, was prejudiced, while her aunt and Carrie let no
+opportunity pass of slighting her, the latter invariably leaving the
+room if she entered it. On one such occasion, in a state bordering
+almost on distraction ’Lena flew back to her own chamber, where to her
+great surprise, she found her uncle in close conversation with her
+grandmother, whose face told the pain his words were inflicting.
+’Lena’s first impulse was to fall at his feet and implore his
+protection, but he prevented her by immediately leaving the room.
+
+“Oh, grandmother, grandmother,” she cried, “help me, or I shall die.”
+
+In her heart Mrs. Nichols believed her guilty, for John had said so—he
+would not lie; and to ’Lena’s touching appeal for sympathy, she
+replied, as she rocked to and fro, “I wish you _had_ died, ’Leny, years
+and years ago.”
+
+’Twas the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with the wailing cry,
+“God help me now—no one else can,” the heart-broken girl fell fainting
+to the floor, while in silent agony Mrs. Nichols hung over her,
+shouting for help.
+
+Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but at the first call
+Aunt Milly hastened to the room. “Poor sheared lamb,” said she,
+gathering back the thick, clustering curls which shaded ’Lena’s marble
+face, “she’s innocent as the new-born baby.”
+
+“Oh, if I could think so,” said grandma; but she could not, and when
+the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and eagerly sought hers, they read
+distrust and doubt, and motioning her grandmother away, ’Lena said she
+would rather be alone.
+
+Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded upon her as she lay
+there watching the daylight fade from the distant hills, and musing of
+the stern realities around her. Gradually her thoughts assumed a
+definite purpose; she would go away from a place where she was never
+wanted, and where she now no longer wished to stay. Mr. Everett had
+promised to be her friend, and to him she would go. At different
+intervals her uncle and cousin had given her money to the amount of
+twenty dollars, which was still in her possession, and which she knew
+would take her far on her road.
+
+With ’Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when sure her
+grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly made the needful
+preparations for her flight. Unlike most aged people, Mrs. Nichols
+slept soundly, and ’Lena had no fears of waking her. Very stealthily
+she moved around the room, placing in a satchel, which she could carry
+upon her arm, the few things she would need. Then, sitting down by the
+table, she wrote:
+
+“DEAR GRANDMA: When you read this I shall be gone, for I cannot longer
+stay where all look upon me as a wretched, guilty thing. I am innocent,
+grandma, as innocent as my angel mother when they dared to slander her,
+but you do not believe it, and that is the hardest of all. I could have
+borne the rest, but when you, too, doubted me, it broke my heart, and
+now I am going away. Nobody will care—nobody will miss me but you.
+
+“And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to write than it
+will you to read
+
+“’LENA’S LAST GOOD-BYE”
+
+
+All was at length ready, and then bending gently over the wrinkled face
+so calmly sleeping, ’Lena gazed through blinding tears upon each
+lineament, striving to imprint it upon her heart’s memory, and
+wondering if they would ever meet again. The hand which had so often
+rested caressingly upon her young head, was lying outside the
+counterpane, and with one burning kiss upon it she turned away, first
+placing the lamp by the window, where its light, shining upon her from
+afar, would be the last thing she could see of the home she was
+leaving.
+
+The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was well known to her,
+and without once pausing, lest her courage should fail her, she pressed
+forward. The distance which she had to travel was about three and a
+half miles, and as she did not dare trust herself in the highway, she
+struck into the fields, looking back as long as the glimmering light
+from the window could be seen, and then when that home star had
+disappeared from view, silently imploring aid from Him who alone could
+help her now. She was in time for the cars, and, though the depot agent
+looked curiously at her slight, shrinking figure, he asked no
+questions, and when the train moved rapidly away, ’Lena looked out upon
+the dark, still night, and felt that she was a wanderer in the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+REACTION.
+
+
+The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the window of
+Grandma Nichols’s room, and roused her from her slumber. On the pillow
+beside her rested no youthful head—there was no kind voice bidding her
+“good-morrow”—no gentle hand ministering to her comfort—for ’Lena was
+gone, and on the table lay the note, which at first escaped Mrs.
+Nichols’s attention. Thinking her granddaughter had arisen early and
+gone before her, she attempted to make her own toilet, which was nearly
+completed, when her eye caught the note. It was directed to her, and
+with a dim foreboding she: took it up, reading that her child was
+gone—gone from those who should have sustained her in her hour of
+trial, but who, instead, turned against her, crushing her down, until
+in a state of desperation she had fled. It was in vain that the
+breakfast-bell rang out its loud summons. Grandma did not heed it; and
+when Corinda came up to seek her, she started back in affright at the
+scene before her. Mrs. Nichols’s cap was not yet on, and her thin gray
+locks fell around her livid face as she swayed from side to side,
+moaning at intervals, “God forgive me that I broke her heart.”
+
+The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up she said,
+pointing toward the vacant bed, “’Leny’s gone; I’ve killed her.”
+
+Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and down the
+stairs, she rushed into the dining-room, announcing the startling news
+that “old miss had done murdered Miss ’Lena, and hid her under the
+bed!”
+
+“What _will_ come next!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following her
+husband to his mother’s room where a moment sufficed to explain the
+whole.
+
+’Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled the poor old
+lady’s reason. The sight of his mother’s distress aroused all the
+better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly soothing her, he told
+her that ’Lena should be found—he would go for her himself. Carrie,
+too, was touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up the
+scattered locks, and tying on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an
+instant on the wrinkled brow.
+
+“Keep it there; it feels soft, like ’Leny’s,” said Mrs. Nichols, the
+tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy.
+
+Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with his wife,
+hurried off to the neighbors, none of whom knew aught of the fugitive,
+and all of whom offered their assistance in searching. Never once did
+it occur to Mr. Livingstone that she might have taken the cars, for
+that he knew would need money, and he supposed she had none in her
+possession. By a strange coincidence, too, the depot agent who sold her
+the ticket, left the very next morning for Indiana, where he had been
+intending to go for some time, and where he remained for more than a
+week, thus preventing the information which he could otherwise have
+given concerning her flight. Consequently, Mr. Livingstone returned
+each night, weary and disheartened, to his home, where all the day long
+his mother moaned and wept, asking for her ’Lena.
+
+At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of the
+wanderer, she ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger came to
+the house, she would whisper softly to them, “’Leny’s dead. I killed
+her; did you know it?” at the same time passing to them the crumpled
+note, which she ever held in her hand.
+
+’Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had so recently
+denounced her, and when it became known that she was gone, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been the most bitter against her now
+changed their opinion, wondering how they could ever have thought her
+guilty. The stories concerning her visits to Captain Atherton’s were
+traced back to their source, resulting in exonerating her from all
+blame, while many things, hitherto kept secret, concerning Anna’s
+engagement, were brought to light, and ’Lena was universally commended
+for her efforts to save her cousin from a marriage so wholly unnatural.
+Severely was the captain censured for the part he had taken in
+deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly confessed, while he openly
+espoused the cause of the fugitive.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough to make a
+like confession. Public suspicion pointed to her as the interceptor of
+Anna’s letters, and though she did not deny it, she wondered what that
+had to do with ’Lena, at the same time asking “how they expected to
+clear up the Graham affair.”
+
+This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of feeling the
+neighborhood were willing to overlook many things which had before
+seemed dark and mysterious, while Mrs. Graham, for some most
+unaccountable reason, suddenly retracted almost everything she had
+said, acknowledging that she was too hasty in her conclusions, and
+evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest perfectly surprising
+to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in utter astonishment, wondering
+what the end would be. About this time Durward returned, greatly pained
+at the existing state of things. In Frankfort, where ’Lena’s flight was
+a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot agent, who was on his
+way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose rather singular manner
+had attracted his attention. This was undoubtedly ’Lena, and after a
+few moments’ conversation with his mother, Durward announced his
+intention of going after her, at least as far as Rockford, where he
+fancied she might have gone.
+
+To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her manner seemed so
+strange that he at last asked what was the matter.
+
+“Nothing—nothing in particular,” said she, “only I’ve been thinking it
+all over lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps ’Lena is
+innocent after all.”
+
+Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost
+before she had finished speaking, with, “_Do_ you know anything? Have
+you heard anything?”
+
+She _had_ heard—she _did_ know; but ere she could reply, the violent
+ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, prevented her
+answer. In a perfect fever of excitement Durward glanced at his watch.
+If he waited long, he would be too late for the cars, and with a hasty
+adieu he left the parlor, turning back ere he reached the outer door,
+and telling his mother he must speak with her alone. If Mrs. Graham had
+at first intended to divulge what she knew, the impulse was now gone,
+and to her son’s urgent request that she should disclose what she knew,
+she replied, “It isn’t much—only your father has another daguerreotype,
+the counterpart of the first one. He procured it in Cincinnati, and
+’Lena I know was not there.”
+
+“Is that all?” asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.
+
+“Why no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures closely, and I do
+not think they resemble ’Lena as much as we at first supposed. Possibly
+it might have been some one else, her mother, may be,” and Mrs. Graham
+looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently answered, “Her
+mother died years ago.”
+
+At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he had heard, and
+hoping, half believing, that ’Lena would yet be exonerated from all
+blame. For a moment Mrs. Graham gazed after him, regretting that she
+had not told him all, but thinking there was time enough yet, and
+remembering that her husband had said she might wait until his return,
+if she chose, she went back to the parlor while Durward kept on his
+way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+THE WANDERER.
+
+
+Fiercely the noontide blaze of a scorching July sun was falling upon
+the huge walls of the “Laurel Hill Sun,” where a group of idlers were
+lounging on the long, narrow piazza, some niching into still more
+grotesque carving the rude, unpainted railing, while others, half
+reclining on one elbow, shaded their eyes with their old slouch hats,
+as they gazed wistfully toward the long hill, eager to catch the first
+sight of the daily stage which was momentarily expected.
+
+“Jerry is late, to-day—but it’s so plaguy hot he’s favorin’ his hosses,
+I guess,” said the rosy-faced landlord, with that peculiar intonation
+which stamped him at once a genuine Yankee.
+
+“A watched pot never biles,” muttered one of the loungers, who
+regularly for fifteen years had been at his post, waiting for the
+stage, which during all that time had brought him neither letter,
+message, friend, nor foe.
+
+But force of habit is everything, and after the very wise saying
+recorded above, he resumed his whittling, never again looking up until
+the loud blast of the driver’s horn was heard on the distant hill-top,
+where the four weary, jaded horses were now visible. It was the
+driver’s usual custom to blow his horn from the moment he appeared on
+the hill, until with a grand flourish he reined his panting steeds
+before the door of the inn. But this time there was one sharp, shrill
+sound, and then all was still, the omission eliciting several remarks
+not very complimentary to the weather, which was probably the cause of
+“Jerry’s” unwonted silence. Very slowly the vehicle came on, the horses
+never leaving a walk, and the idler of fifteen years’ standing, who for
+a time had suspended his whittling, “wondered what was to pay.”
+
+A nearer approach revealed three or four male passengers, all occupied
+with a young lady, who, on the back seat, was carefully supported by
+one of her companions.
+
+“A sick gal, I guess. Wonder if the disease is catchin’?” said the
+whittler, standing back several paces and looking over the heads of the
+others, who crowded forward as the stage came up. The loud greeting of
+the noisy group was answered by Jerry with a low “sh—sh,” as he pointed
+significantly at the slight form which two of the gentlemen were
+lifting from the coach, asking at the same time if there were a
+physician near.
+
+“What’s the matter on her? Hain’t got the cholery, has she,” said the
+landlord, who, having hallooed to his wife to “fetch up her vittles,”
+now appeared on the piazza ready to welcome his guests.
+
+At the first mention of cholera, the fifteen years’ man vamosed,
+retreating across the road, and seating himself on the fence under the
+shadow of the locust trees.
+
+“Who is she, Jerry?” asked the younger of the set, gazing curiously
+upon the white, beautiful face of the stranger, who had been laid upon
+the lounge in the common sitting-room.
+
+“Lord only knows,” said Jerry, wiping the heavy drops of sweat from his
+good-humored face; “I found her at the hotel in Livony. She came there
+in the cars, and said she wanted to go over to ’tother railroad. She
+was so weak that I had to lift her into the stage as I would a baby,
+and she ain’t much heavier. You orto seen how sweet she smiled when she
+thanked me, and asked me not to drive very fast, it made her head ache
+so. Zounds, I wouldn’t of trotted the horses if I’d never got here.
+Jest after we started she fainted, and she’s been kinder talkin’
+strange like ever since. Some of the gentlemen thought I’d better leave
+her back a piece at Brown’s tavern, but I wanted to fetch her here,
+where Aunt Betsy could nuss her up, and then I can kinder tend to her
+myself, you know.”
+
+This last remark called forth no answering joke, for Jerry’s companions
+all knew his kindly nature, and it was no wonder to them that his
+sympathies were so strongly enlisted for the fair girl thus thrown upon
+his protection. It was a big, noble heart over which Jerry Langley
+buttoned his driver’s coat, and when the physician who had arrived
+pronounced the lady too ill to proceed any further, he called aside the
+fidgety landlord, whose peculiarities he well knew, and bade him “not
+to fret and stew, for if the gal hadn’t money, Jerry Langley was good
+for a longer time than she would live, poor critter;” and he wiped a
+tear away, glancing, the while, at the burying-ground which lay just
+across the garden, and thinking how if she died, her grave should be
+beneath the wide-spreading oak, where often in the summer nights he
+sat, counting the head-stones which marked the last resting place of
+the slumbering host, and wondering if death were, as some had said, a
+long, eternal sleep.
+
+Aunt Betsey, of whom he had spoken, was the landlady, a little dumpy,
+pleasant-faced, active woman, equally in her element bending over the
+steaming gridiron, or smoothing the pillows of the sick-bed, where her
+powers of nursing had won golden laurels from Others than Jerry
+Langley. When the news was brought to the kitchen that among the
+passengers was a sick girl, who was to be left, her first thought,
+natural to everybody, was, “What shall I do ?” while the second,
+natural to her, was, “Take care of her, of course.”
+
+Accordingly, when the dinner was upon the table, she laid aside her
+broad check apron, substituting in its place a half-worn silk, for
+Jerry had reported the invalid to be “every inch a lady;” then
+smoothing her soft, silvery hair with her fat, rosy hands, she repaired
+to the sitting-room, where she found the driver watching his charge,
+from whom he kept the buzzing flies by means of his bandana, which he
+waved to and fro with untiring patience.
+
+“Handsome as a London doll,” was her first exclamation, adding, “but I
+should think she’d be awful hot with them curls, dangling’ in her neck!
+If she’s goin’ to be sick they’d better be cut off!”
+
+If there was any one thing for which Aunt Betsey Aldergrass possessed a
+particular passion, it was for _hair-cutting_, she being barber general
+for Laurel Hill, which numbered about thirty houses, store and church
+inclusive, and now when she saw the shining tresses which lay in such
+profusion upon the pillow, her fingers tingled to their very tips,
+while she involuntarily felt for her scissors! Very reverentially, as
+if it were almost sacrilege, Jerry’s broad palm was laid protectingly
+upon the clustering ringlets, while he said, “No, Aunt Betsey, if she
+dies for’t, you shan’t touch one of them; ’twould spile her hair, she
+looks so pretty.”
+
+Slowly the long, fringed lids unclosed, and the brown eyes looked up so
+gratefully at Jerry, that he beat a precipitate retreat, muttering to
+himself that “he never could stand the gals, anyway, they made his
+heart thump so!”
+
+“Am I very sick, and can’t I go on?” asked the young lady, attempting
+to rise, but sinking back from extreme weakness.
+
+“Considerable sick, I guess,” answered the landlady, taking from a side
+cupboard an immense decanter of camphor, and passing it toward the
+stranger. “Considerable sick, and I wouldn’t wonder if you had to lay
+by a day or so. Will they be consarned about you to home, ’cause if
+they be, my old man’ll write.”
+
+“I have no home,” was the sad answer, to which Aunt Betsey responded in
+astonishment, “Hain’t no home! Where does your marm live?”
+
+“Mother is dead,” said the girl, her tears dropping fast upon the
+pillow.
+
+Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, “And your
+pa—where is he?”
+
+“I never saw him,” said the girl, while her interrogator continued:
+“Never saw your pa, and your marm is dead—poor child, what is your
+name, and where did you come from?”
+
+For a moment the stranger hesitated, and then thinking it better to
+tell the truth at once, she replied, “My name is ’Lena. I lived with my
+uncle a great many miles from here, but I wasn’t happy. They did not
+want me there, and I ran away. I am going to my cousin, but I’d rather
+not tell where, so you will please not ask me.”
+
+There was something in her manner which silenced Aunt Betsey, who,
+erelong, proposed that she should go upstairs and lie down on a nice
+little bed, where she would be more quiet. But ’Lena refused, saying
+she should feel better soon.
+
+“Mebby, then, you’d eat a mouffle or two. We’ve got some roasted pork,
+and Hetty’ll warm over the gravy;” but ’Lena’s stomach rebelled at the
+very thought, seeing which, the landlady went back to the kitchen,
+where she soon prepared a bowl of gruel, in spite of the discouraging
+remarks of her husband, who, being a little after the _Old Hunks_
+order, cautioned her “not to fuss too much, as gals that run away
+warn’t apt to be plagued with money”
+
+Fortunately, Aunt Betsey’s heart covered a broader sphere, and the
+moment the stage was gone she closed the door to shut out the dust,
+dropped the green curtains, and drawing from the spare-room a large,
+stuffed chair, bade ’Lena “see if she couldn’t set up a minit.” But
+this was impossible, and all that long, sultry afternoon she lay upon
+the lounge, holding her aching head, which seemed well-nigh bursting
+with its weight of pain and thought. “Was it right for her to run away?
+Ought she not to have stayed and bravely met the worst? Suppose she
+were to die there alone, among strangers and without money, for her
+scanty purse was well-nigh drained.” These and similar reflections
+crowded upon her, until her brain grew wild and dizzy, and when at
+sunset the physician came again he was surprised to find how much her
+fever had increased.
+
+“She ought not to lie here,” said he, as he saw how the loud shouts of
+the school-boys made her shudder. “Isn’t there some place where she can
+be more quiet?”
+
+At the head of the stairs was a small room, containing a single bed and
+a window, which last looked out upon the garden and the graveyard
+beyond. Its furniture was of the plainest kind, it being reserved for
+more common travelers, and here the landlord said ’Lena must be taken.
+His wife would far rather have given her the front chamber, which was
+large, airy and light, but Uncle Tim Aldergrass said “No,” squealing
+out through his little peaked nose that “’twarn’t an atom likely he’d
+ever more’n half git his pay, anyway, and he warn’t a goin’ to give up
+the hull house.”
+
+“How much more will it be if she has the best chamber,” asked Jerry,
+pulling at Uncle Tim’s coattail and leading him aside. “How much will
+it be, ’cause if ’taint too much, she shan’t stay in that eight by nine
+pen.”
+
+“A dollar a week, and cheap at that,” muttered Uncle Tim, while Jerry,
+going out behind the wood-house, counted over his funds, sighing as he
+found them quite too small to meet the extra, dollar per week, should
+she long continue ill.
+
+“If I hadn’t of fooled so much away for tobacker and things, I
+shouldn’t be so plaguy poor now,” thought he, forgetting the many
+hearts which his hard-earned gains had made glad, for no one ever
+appealed in vain for help from Jerry Langley, who represented one class
+of Yankees, while Timothy Aldergrass represented another.
+
+The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry
+knocked softly at Aunt Betsey’s door, telling her that for more than an
+hour he’d heard the young lady takin’ on, and he guessed she was worse.
+Hastily throwing on her loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to ’Lena’s
+room, where she found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and
+whispering, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a
+disordered brain.
+
+“The Lord help us! she’s crazy as a loon. Run for the doctor, quick!”
+exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot or shoe, Jerry ran off in
+his stocking-feet, alarming the physician, who immediately hastened to
+the inn, pronouncing ’Lena’s disease to be brain fever, as he had at
+first feared.
+
+Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was sometimes in
+Kentucky and sometimes in Massachusetts, where she said they had buried
+her mother. At other times she would ask Aunt Betsey to send for
+Durward when she was dead, and tell him how innocent she was.
+
+“Didn’t I tell you there was something wrong?” Uncle Timothy would
+squeak. “Nobody knows who we are harborin’ nor how much ’twill damage
+the house.”
+
+But as day after day went by, and ’Lena’s fever raged more fiercely,
+even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of them to take her
+home and bury her by the side of Mabel, where Durward could see her
+grave, he would sigh, “Poor critter, I wish you was to home,” but
+whether this wish was prompted by a sincere desire to please ’Lena, or
+from a more selfish motive, we are unable to state. One morning, the
+fifth of ’Lena’s illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly
+and tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild disorder
+over her pillow, or streaming down her shoulders. Hitherto Aunt Betsey
+had restrained her _barberic_ desire, each day arranging the heavy
+locks, and tucking them under the muslin cap, where they refused to
+stay. Once the doctor himself had suggested the propriety of cutting
+them away, adding, though, that they would wait awhile, as it was a
+pity to lose them.
+
+“Better be cut off than yanked off,” said Aunt Betsey, on the morning
+when ’Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear out handfulls of her
+shining hair and scatter it over the floor.
+
+Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached the
+bedside, and taking one of the curls in her hand, was about to sever
+it, when ’Lena, divining her intentions, sprang up, and gathering up
+her hair, exclaimed, “No, no, not these; take everything else, but
+leave me my curls. Durward thought they were beautiful, and I cannot
+lose them.”
+
+At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its passengers,
+and as the tones of their voices came in at the open window, ’Lena
+suddenly grew calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered,
+“Hark! He’s come. Don’t you hear him?”
+
+But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling her to come
+down, and leaving ’Lena, who had almost instantly become quiet, to the
+care of a neighbor, she started for the kitchen, meeting in the lower
+hall with Hetty, who was showing one of the passengers to a room where
+he could wash and refresh himself after his dusty ride. As they passed
+each other, Hetty asked, “Have you clipped her curls?”
+
+“No,” answered Mrs. Aldergrass, “she wouldn’t let me touch ’em, for she
+said that Durward, whom she talks so much about, liked ’em, and they
+mustn’t be cut off.”
+
+Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty and her
+mistress had been admiring, stopped, and turning to the latter, said,
+“Of whom are you speaking?”
+
+“Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days ago,”
+answered Mrs. Aldergrass.
+
+“What is her name, and where does she live?” continued the stranger.
+
+“She calls herself ’Lena, but the ’tother name I don’t know, and I
+guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts.”
+
+The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically followed Hetty
+to his room, starting and turning pale as a wild, unnatural laugh fell
+on his ear.
+
+“It is the young lady, sir,” said Hetty, observing his agitated manner.
+“She raves most all the time, and the doctor says she’ll die if she
+don’t stop.”
+
+The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he wished to be,
+alone. He had found her then—his lost ’Lena—sick, perhaps dying, and
+his heart gave one agonized throb as he thought, “What if she should
+die? Yet why should I wish her to live?” he asked, “when she is as
+surely lost to me as if she were indeed resting in her grave!”
+
+And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet
+be well, else, perhaps, he had never followed her. Believing she would
+stop at Mr. Everett’s, he had come on thus far, finding her where he
+least expected it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure
+mingled with his pain as he thought how he would protect and care for
+her, ministering to her comfort, and softening, as far as possible, the
+disagreeable things which he saw must necessarily surround her. Money,
+he knew, would purchase almost everything, and if ever Durward Bellmont
+felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found ’Lena Rivers sick and
+alone at the not very comfortable inn of Laurel Hill.
+
+As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry—whose long, lank
+figure and original manner had afforded him much amusement during his
+ride—handing a dozen or more oranges to Mrs. Aldergrass, saying, as he
+did so, “They are for Miss ’Lena. I thought mebby they’d taste good,
+this hot weather, and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest and
+best.”
+
+For a moment Durward’s cheek flushed at the idea of Lena’s being cared
+for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart grew warm toward
+the uncouth driver who, without any possible motive save the promptings
+of his own kindly nature, had thus thought of the stranger girl.
+Erelong the stage was announced as ready and waiting, but to the
+surprise and regret of his fellow-passengers, who had found him a most
+agreeable traveling companion, Durward said he was not going any
+further that day.
+
+“A new streak, ain’t it?” asked Jerry, who knew he was booked for the
+entire route; but the young man made no reply, and the fresh, spirited
+horses soon bore the lumbering vehicle far out of sight, leaving him to
+watch the cloud of dust which it carried in its train.
+
+Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that a guest of
+Durward’s appearance honored his house with more than a passing call,
+and with the familiarity so common to a country landlord, he slapped
+him on the shoulder, telling him “there was the tallest kind of fish in
+the Honeoye,” whose waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were
+just discernible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
+
+“I never fish, thank you, sir,” answered Durward, while the
+good-natured landlord continued: “Now you don’t say it! Hunt, then,
+mebby?”
+
+“Occasionally,” said Durward, adding, “But my reason for stopping here
+is of entirely a different nature. I hear there is with you a sick
+lady. She is a friend of mine, and I am staying to see that she is well
+attended to.”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his opinion of ’Lena,
+whose want of money had made him sadly suspicious of her. “Yes, yes, a
+fine gal; fell into good hands, too, for my old woman is the greatest
+kind of a nuss. Want to see her, don’t you?—the lady I mean.”
+
+“Not just yet; I would like a few moments’ conversation with your wife
+first,” answered Durward.
+
+Greatly frustrated when she learned that the stylish looking gentleman
+wished to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her shining face with
+flour, and donning another cap, repaired to the sitting-room, where she
+commenced making excuses about herself, the house, and everything else,
+saying, “’twant what he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he’d try
+to put up with it.”
+
+As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded to ask her
+every particular concerning ’Lena’s illness, and whether she would
+probably recognize him should he venture into her presence,
+
+“Bless your dear heart, no. She hain’t known a soul on us these three
+days. Sometimes she calls me ‘grandmother,’ and says when she’s dead
+I’ll know she’s innocent. ’Pears Like somebody has been slanderin’ her,
+for she begs and pleads with Durward, as she calls him, not to believe
+it. Ain’t you the one she means?”
+
+Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued:
+
+“I thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin’ straight in
+the bed, ravin’ and screechin’, but the minit she heard your voice she
+dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since. Will you go up now?”
+
+Durward signified his willingness, and following his landlady, he soon
+stood in the close, pent-up room where, in an uneasy slumber, ’Lena lay
+panting for breath, and at intervals faintly moaning in her sleep. She
+had fearfully changed since last he saw her, and with a groan, he bent
+over her, murmuring, “My poor ’Lena,” while he gently laid his cool,
+moist hand upon her burning brow. As if there were something soothing
+in its touch, she quickly placed her little hot, parched hand on his,
+whispering, “Keep it there. It will make me well.”
+
+For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and carefully removing
+from her face and neck the thick curls which Mrs. Aldergrass had
+thought to cut away. At last she awoke, but Durward shrank almost in
+fear from the wild, bright eyes which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in
+them was no ray of reason. She called him “John” blessing him for
+coming, and saying, “Did you tell Durward. Does _he_ know?”
+
+“I am Durward,” said he. “Don’t you recognize me? Look again.”
+
+“No, no,” she answered, with a mocking laugh, which made him shudder,
+it was so unlike the merry, ringing tones he had once loved to hear.
+“No, no, you are not Durward. He would not look at me as you do. He
+thinks me guilty.”
+
+It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his identity. She
+would only answer with a laugh, which grated so harshly on his ear that
+he finally desisted, and suffered her to think he was her cousin. The
+smallness of her chamber troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up
+he asked if there was no other apartment where ’Lena would be more
+comfortable.
+
+“Of course there is,” said Aunt Betsy. “There’s the best chamber I was
+goin’ to give to you.”
+
+“Never mind me,” said he. “Let her have every comfort the house
+affords, and you shall be amply paid.”
+
+Uncle Timothy had now no objection to the offer, and the large, airy
+room with its snowy, draped bed was soon in readiness for the sufferer,
+who, in one of her wayward moods, absolutely refused to be moved. It
+was in vain that Aunt Betsey plead, persuaded, and threatened, and at
+last in despair Durward was called in to try his powers of persuasion.
+
+“That’s something more like it,” said ’Lena, and when he urged upon her
+the necessity of her removal, she asked, “Will you go with me?”
+
+“Certainly,” said he.
+
+“And stay with me?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Then I’ll go,” she continued, stretching her arms toward him as a
+child toward its mother.
+
+A moment more and she was reclining on the soft downy pillows, the
+special pride of Mrs. Aldergrass, who bustled in and out, while her
+husband, ashamed of his stinginess, said “they should of moved her
+afore, only ’twas a bad sign.”
+
+During the remainder of the day she seemed more quiet, talking
+incessantly, it is true, but never raving if Durward were near. It is
+strange what power he had over her, a word from him sufficing at any
+time to subdue her when in her most violent fits of frenzy. For two
+days and nights he watched by her side, never giving himself a moment’s
+rest, while the neighbors looked on, surmising and commenting as people
+always will. Every delicacy of the season, however costly, was
+purchased for her comfort, while each morning the flowers which he knew
+she loved the best were freshly gathered from the different gardens of
+Laurel Hill, and in broken pitchers, cracked tumblers, and nicked
+saucers, adorned the room.
+
+At the close of the third day she fell into a heavy slumber, and
+Durward, worn out and weary, retired to take the rest he so much
+needed. For a long time ’Lena slept, watched by the physician, who,
+knowing that the crisis had arrived, waited anxiously for her waking,
+which came at last, bringing with it the light of returning reason.
+Dreamily she gazed about the room, and in a voice no longer strong with
+the excitement of delirium, asked, “Where am I, and how came I here?”
+
+In a few words the physician explained all that was necessary for her
+to know, and then going for Mrs. Aldergrass, told her of the favorable
+change in his patient, adding that a sudden shock might still prove
+fatal. “Therefore,” said he, “though I know not in what relation this
+Mr. Bellmont stands to her, I think it advisable for her to remain
+awhile in ignorance of his presence. It is of the utmost consequence
+that she be kept quiet for a few days, at the end of which time she can
+see him.”
+
+All this Aunt Betsey communicated to Durward, who unwilling to do
+anything which would endanger ’Lena’s safety, kept himself aloof,
+treading softly and speaking low, for as if her hearing were sharpened
+by disease she more than once, when he was talking in the hall below,
+started up, listening eagerly; then, as if satisfied that she had been
+deceived, she would resume her position, while the flush on her cheek
+deepened as she thought, “Oh, what if it had indeed been he!”
+
+Nearly all the day long he sat just without the door, holding his
+breath as he caught the faint tones of her voice, and longing for the
+hour when he could see her, and obtain, if possible, some clue to the
+mystery attending her and his father. His mother’s words, together with
+what he had heard ’Lena say in her ravings, had tended to convince him
+that _she_, at least, might be innocent, and once assured of this, he
+felt that he would gladly fold her to his bosom, and cherish her there
+as the choicest of heaven’s blessings. All this time ’Lena had no
+suspicion of his presence, but she wondered at the many luxuries which
+surrounded her, and once, when Mrs. Aldergrass offered her some choice
+wine, she asked who it was that supplied her with so many comforts.
+Aunt Betsey’s, forte did not lay in keeping a secret, and rather
+evasively she replied, “You mustn’t ask me too many questions just
+yet!”
+
+’Lena’s suspicions were at once aroused, and for more than an hour she
+lay thinking—trying to recall something which seamed to her like a
+dream. At last calling Aunt Betsey to her, she said, “There was
+somebody here while I was so sick—somebody besides strangers—somebody
+that stayed with me all the time—who was it?”
+
+“Nobody, nobody—I mustn’t tell,” said Mrs. Aldergrass, hurriedly, while
+’Lena continued, “Was it Cousin John?”
+
+“No, no; don’t guess any more,” was Mrs. Aldergrass’s reply, and ’Lena,
+clasping her hands together, exclaimed, “Oh, could it he be?”
+
+The words reached Durward’s ear, and nothing but a sense of the harm it
+might do prevented him from going at once to her bedside. That night,
+at his earnest request, the physician gave him permission to see her in
+the morning, and Mrs. Aldergrass was commissioned to prepare her for
+the interview. ’Lena did not ask who it was; she felt that she knew;
+and the knowledge that he was there—that he had cared for her—operated
+upon her like a spell, soothing her into the most refreshing slumber
+she had experienced for many a weary week. With the sun-rising she was
+awake, but Mrs. Aldergrass, who came in soon after, told her that the
+visitor was not to be admitted until about ten, as she would by that
+time have become more composed, and be the better able to endure the
+excitement of the interview. A natural delicacy prevented ’Lena from
+objecting to the delay, and, as calmly as possible, she watched Mrs.
+Aldergrass while she put the room to rights, and then patiently
+submitted to the arranging of her curls, which during her illness had
+become matted and tangled. Before eight everything was in readiness,
+and soon after, worn out by her own exertions, ’Lena again fell asleep.
+
+“How lovely she looks,” thought Mrs. Aldergrass. “He shall just have a
+peep at her,” and stepping to the door she beckoned Durward to her
+side.
+
+Never before had ’Lena, seemed so beautiful to him, and as he looked
+upon her, he felt his doubts removing, one by one. She was innocent—it
+could not be otherwise—and very impatiently he awaited the lapse of the
+two hours which must pass ere he could see her, face to face. At
+length, as the surest way of killing time, he started out for a walk in
+a pleasant wood, which skirted the foot of Laurel Hill.
+
+Here for a time we leave him, while in another chapter we speak of an
+event which, in the natural order of things, should here be narrated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+’LENA’S FATHER.
+
+
+Two or three days before the morning of which we have spoken, Uncle
+Timothy, who like many of his profession had been guilty of a slight
+infringement of the “Maine” liquor law, had been called to answer for
+the same at the court then in session in the village of Canandaigua,
+the terminus of the stage route. Altogether too stingy to pay the coach
+fare, his own horse had carried him out, going for him on the night
+preceding Durward’s projected meeting with ’Lena. On the afternoon of
+that day the cars from New York brought up several passengers, who
+being bound for Buffalo, were obliged to wait some hours for the
+arrival of the Albany train.
+
+Among those who stopped at the same house with Uncle Timothy, was our
+old acquaintance, Mr. Graham, who had returned from Europe, and was now
+homeward bound, firmly fixed in his intention to do right at last. Many
+and many a time, during his travels had the image of a pale, sad face
+arisen before him, accusing him of so long neglecting to own his child,
+for ’Lena was his daughter, and she, who in all her bright beauty had
+years ago gone down to an early grave, was his wife, the wife of his
+first, and in bitterness of heart he sometimes thought, of his only
+love. His childhood’s home, which was at the sunny south, was not a
+happy one, for ere he had learned to lisp his mother’s name, she had
+died, leaving him to the guardianship of his father, who was cold,
+exacting, and tyrannical, ruling his son with a rod of iron, and by his
+stern, unbending manner increasing the natural cowardice of his
+disposition. From his mother Harry had inherited a generous, impulsive
+nature, frequently leading him into errors which his father condemned
+with so much severity that he early learned the art of concealment, as
+far, at least, as his father was concerned.
+
+At the age of eighteen he left home for Yale, where he spent four happy
+years, for the restraints of college life, though sometimes irksome,
+were preferable far to the dull monotony of his southern home; and when
+at last he was graduated, and there was no longer an excuse for
+tarrying, he lingered by the way, stopping at the then village of
+Springfield, where, actuated by some sudden freak, he registered
+himself as Harry _Rivers_, the latter being his middle name. For doing
+this he had no particular reason, except that it suited his fancy, and
+Rivers, he thought, was a better name than Graham. Here he met with
+Helena Nichols, whose uncommon beauty first attracted his attention,
+and whose fresh, unstudied manners afterward won his love to such an
+extent, that in an unguarded moment, and without a thought of the
+result, he married her, neglecting to tell her his real name before
+their marriage, because he feared she would cease to respect him if she
+knew he had deceived her, and then afterward finding it harder than
+ever to confess his fault.
+
+As time wore on, his father’s letters, commanding him to return, grew
+more and more peremptory, until at last he wrote, “I am sick—dying—and
+if you do not come, I’ll cast you off forever.”
+
+Harry knew this was no unmeaning threat, and he now began to reap the
+fruit of his folly. He could not give up Helena, who daily grew dearer
+to him, neither could he brave the displeasure of his father by
+acknowledging his marriage, for disinheritance was sure to follow. In
+this dilemma he resolved to compromise the matter. He would leave
+Helena awhile; he would visit his father, and if a favorable
+opportunity occurred, he would confess all; if not, he would return to
+his wife and do the best he could. But she must be provided for during
+his absence, and to effect this, he wrote to his father, saying he
+stood greatly in need of five hundred dollars, and that immediately on
+its receipt he would start for home. Inconsistent as it seemed with his
+general character, the elder Mr. Graham was generous with his money,
+lavishing upon his son all that he asked for, and the money was
+accordingly sent without a moment’s hesitation.
+
+And now Harry’s besetting sin, _secrecy_, came again in action, and
+instead of manfully telling Helena the truth, he left her privately,
+stealing away at night, and quieting his conscience by promising
+himself to reveal all in a letter, which was actually written, but as
+at the time of its arrival Helena was at home, and the postmaster knew
+of no such person, it was at last sent to Washington with thousands of
+its companions. The reader already knows how ’Lena’s young mother
+watched for her recreant husband’s coming until life and hope died out
+together, and it is only necessary to repeat that part of the story
+which relates to Harry, who on his return home found his father much
+worse than he expected. At his bedside, ministering to his wants, was a
+young, dashing widow, who prided herself upon being Lady Bellmont. On
+his death-bed her father had committed her to the guardianship of Mr.
+Graham, who, strictly honorable in all his dealings, had held his trust
+until the time of her marriage with a young Englishman.
+
+Unfortunately, as it proved for Harry, and fortunately for Sir Arthur,
+who had nothing in common with his wife, the latter died within two
+years after his marriage, leaving his widow and infant son again to the
+care of Mr. Graham, with whom Lady Bellmont, as she was pleased to call
+herself, lived at intervals, swaying him whichever way she listed, and
+influencing him as he had never been influenced before. The secret of
+this was, that the old man had his eye upon her vast possessions, which
+he destined for his son, who, ignorant of the honor intended him, had
+presumed to marry according to the promptings of his heart.
+
+Scarcely was the first greeting over, ere his father at once made known
+his plans, to which Harry listened with mingled pain and amazement.
+“Lucy—Lady Bellmont!” said he, “why, she’s a mother—a widow—beside
+being ten years my senior.”
+
+“Three years,” interrupted his father. “She is twenty-five, you
+twenty-two, and then as to her being a widow and a mother, the
+immensity of her wealth atones for that. She is much sought after, but
+I think she prefers you. She will make you a good wife, and I am
+resolved to see the union consummated ere I die.”
+
+“Never sir, never,” answered Harry, in a more decided manner than he
+had before assumed toward his father. “It is utterly impossible.”
+
+Mr. Graham was too much exhausted to urge the matter at that time, but
+he continued at intervals to harass Harry, until the very sight of Lucy
+Bellmont became hateful to him. It was not so, however, with the son,
+the Durward of our story. He was a fine little fellow, whom every one
+loved, and for hours would Harry amuse himself with him, while his
+thoughts were with his own wife and child, the latter of whom was to be
+so strangely connected with the fortunes of the boy at his side. For
+weeks his father lingered, each day seeming an age to Harry, who,
+though he did not wish to hasten his father’s death, still longed to be
+away. Twice had he written without obtaining an answer, and he was
+about making up his mind to start, at all events, when his father
+suddenly died, leaving him the sole heir of all his princely fortune,
+and with his latest breath enjoining it upon him to marry Lucy
+Bellmont, who, after the funeral was over, adverted to it, saying, in
+her softest tones, “I hope you don’t feel obliged to fulfill your
+father’s request.”
+
+“Of course not,” was Harry’s short answer, as he went on with his
+preparations for his journey, anticipating the happiness he should
+experience in making Helena the mistress of his luxurious home.
+
+But alas for human hopes. The very morning on which he was intending to
+start, he was seized with a fever, which kept him confined to his bed
+until the spring was far advanced. Sooner than he was able he started
+for Springfield in quest of Helena, learning from the woman whom he had
+left in charge, that she was dead, and her baby too! The shock was too
+much for him in his weak state, and for two weeks he was again confined
+to a sick-bed, sincerely mourning the untimely end of one whom he had
+truly loved, and whose death his own foolish conduct had hastened.
+
+Soon after their marriage her portrait had been taken by the best
+artist in the town, and this he determined to procure as a memento of
+the few happy days he had spent with Helena. But the cottage where he
+left her was now occupied by strangers, and after many inquiries, he
+learned that the portrait, together with some of the furniture, had
+been sold to pay the rent, which became due soon after his departure.
+His next thought was to visit her parents, but from this his natural
+timidity shrank. They would reproach him, he thought, with the death of
+their daughter, whom he had so deeply wronged, and not possessing
+sufficient courage to meet them face to face, he again started for
+home, bearing a sad heart, which scarcely again felt a thrill of joy
+until the morning when he first met with ’Lena, whose exact resemblance
+to her mother so startled him as to arouse the jealousy of his wife.
+
+It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the many ways and
+means by which Lucy Bellmont sought to ensnare him. Suffice it to say,
+that she at last succeeded, and he married her, finding in the
+companionship of her son more real pleasure than he ever experienced in
+her society. After a time Mrs. Graham, growing weary of Charleston,
+where her haughty, overbearing manner made her unpopular, besought her
+husband to remove, which he finally did, going to Louisville, where he
+remained until the time of his removal to Woodlawn. Fully believing
+what the old nurse had told him of the death of his wife and child, he
+had no idea of the existence of the latter, though often in the
+stillness of night the remembrance of the little girl whom Durward had
+pointed out to him in the cars, arose before him, haunting him with
+visions of the past, but it was not until he met her at Maple Grove
+that he entertained a thought of her being his daughter.
+
+From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there was now an
+object for which to live. Carefully had he guarded from his wife a
+knowledge of his first marriage, for he dreaded her sneering
+reproaches, and he could not hear his beloved Helena’s name breathed
+lightly by one so greatly her inferior. When he saw ’Lena, however, his
+first impulse was to clasp her in his arms and compel his wife to own
+her, but day after day went by, and he still delayed, hoping for a more
+favorable opportunity, which never came. Had he found her in less
+favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but seeing
+only the brightest side of her life, he believed her comparatively
+happy. She was well educated, accomplished, and beautiful, and so he
+waited, secure in the fact that he was near to see that no harm should
+befall her. Once it occurred to him that possibly he might die
+suddenly, thus leaving his relationship to her a secret forever, and
+acting upon this thought, he immediately made his will, bequeathing all
+to ’Lena, whom he acknowledged to be his daughter, adding an
+explanation of the whole affair, together with a most touching letter
+to his child, who would never see it until he was dead.
+
+This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some good
+excuse for still keeping it from his wife, who worried him incessantly
+concerning his evident preference for ’Lena. Many and many a time he
+resolved to tell her all, but as often postponed the matter, until,
+with the broad Atlantic between them, he ventured to write what he
+could not tell her verbally and, strange to say, the effect upon his
+wife was far different from what he had expected. She did not faint,
+for there was no one by to see her, neither did she rave, for there was
+no one to hear her, but with her usual inconsistency, she blamed her
+husband for not telling her before. Then came other thoughts of a
+different nature. _She_ had helped to impair ’Lena’s reputation, and if
+disgrace attached to her, it would also fall upon her own family.
+Consequently, as we have seen, she set herself at work to atone, as far
+as possible, for her conduct. Her husband had given her permission to
+wait, if she chose, until his return, ere she made the affair public,
+and as she dreaded the remarks it would necessarily call forth, she
+resolved to do so. He had advised her to tell ’Lena, but she was
+gone—no one knew whither, and nervously she waited for some tidings of
+the wanderer. She was willing to receive ’Lena, but not the
+grandmother, _she_ was voted an intolerable nuisance, who should never
+darken the doors of Woodlawn—never!
+
+Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, landing in New York,
+from whence he started for home, meeting, as we have seen, with a
+detention in Canandaigua, where he accidentally fell in with Uncle
+Timothy, who, being minus quite a little sum of money on account of his
+transgression, was lamenting his ill fortune to one of his
+acquaintances, and threatening to give up tavern keeping if the Maine
+law wasn’t repealed.
+
+“Here,” said he, “it has cost me up’ards of fifty dollars, and I’ll bet
+I hain’t sold mor’n a barrel, besides what wine that Kentucky chap has
+bought for his gal, and I suppose they call that nothin’, bein’ it’s
+for sickness. Why, good Lord, the hull on’t was for medicine, or
+chimistry, or mechanics!”
+
+This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name he
+did not remember.
+
+“It’s ’Lena,” answered Uncle Timothy, “’Lena Rivers that dandified chap
+calls her, and it’s plaguy curis to me what she’s a runnin’ away for,
+and he a streakin’ it through the country arter her; there’s mischief
+summers, so I tell ’em, but that’s no consarn of mine so long as he
+pays down regular.”
+
+Mr. Graham’s curiosity was instantly aroused, and the moment he could
+speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he meant by the sick lady.
+
+In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, “A
+relation of yourn, mebby?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Graham. “Is it far to Laurel Hill?”
+
+“Better’n a dozen miles! Was you goin’ out there?”
+
+Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time asking if he
+could procure a horse and carriage there.
+
+Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a penny, and
+now nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, “Them liv’ry scamps’ll
+charge you tew dollars, at the lowest calkerlation. I’m going right
+out, and will take you for six shillin’. What do you think?”
+
+Mr. Graham’s thoughts were not very complimentary to the shrewd Yankee,
+but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied that he would go,
+suggesting that they should start immediately.
+
+“In less than five minits. You jest set down while I go to the store
+arter some jimcracks for the old woman,” said Uncle Timothy, starting
+up the street, which was the last Mr. Graham saw of him for three long
+hours.
+
+At the end of that time, the little man came stubbing down the walk,
+making many apologies, and saying “he got so engaged about the darned
+‘liquor law,’ and the putty-heads that made it, that he’d no idee ’twas
+so late.”
+
+On their way home he still continued to discourse on his favorite
+topic, lamenting that he had voted for the present governor, announcing
+his intention of “jinin’ the _Hindews_ the fust time they met at
+Suckerport,” a village at the foot of Honeoye lake, and stopping every
+man whom he knew to belong to that order, to ask if they took a _fee_,
+and if “there was any bedivelment of _gridirons_ and _goats_, such as
+the Masons and Odd Fellers had!” Being repeatedly assured that the fee
+was only a dollar, and that the initiatory process was not very
+painful, he concluded “to go it, provided they’d promise to run him for
+constable. Office is the hull any of the scallywags jine ’em for, and I
+may as well go in for a sheer,” said he, thinking if he could not have
+the privilege of selling liquor, he would at least secure the right of
+arresting those who drank it!
+
+In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and the clock had
+struck ten long ere they reached the inn, which they found still and
+dark, save the light which was kept burning in ’Lena’s room.
+
+“That’s her chamber—the young gal’s—where you see the candle,” said
+Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge walls of the tavern. “I
+guess you won’t want to disturb her to-night.”
+
+“Certainly not,” answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt a twinge of
+his inveterate habit of secrecy, “If you’d just as lief, you need not
+speak of me to the young gentleman; I wish to take him by
+surprise”—meaning Durward.
+
+There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle Timothy
+was too much absorbed in his loss to think of anything else, and when
+his wife asked “who it was that he lighted up to bed,” he replied, “A
+chap that wanted to come out this way, and so rid with me.”
+
+Mr. Graham was very tired, and now scarcely had his head pressed the
+pillow ere he was asleep, dreaming of ’Lena, whose presence was to shed
+such a halo of sunlight over his hitherto cheerless home. The ringing
+of the bell next morning failed to arouse him, but when Mrs.
+Aldergrass, noticing his absence from the table, inquired for him,
+Uncle Timothy answered, “Never mind, let him sleep—tuckered out,
+mebby—and you know we allus have a sixpence more for an extra meal!”
+
+About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usually careful
+toilet, he sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, for now that the
+interview was so near, his ideas seemed suddenly to forsake him. From
+the window he saw Durward depart for his walk, watching him until he
+disappeared in the dim shadow of the woods.
+
+“I will wait until his return, and let him tell her,” thought he, but
+when a half hour or more went by and Durward did not come, he concluded
+to go down and ask to see her by himself.
+
+In order to do this, it was necessary for him to pass ’Lena’s room, the
+door of which was ajar. She was awake, and hearing his step, thought it
+was Mrs. Aldergrass, and called to her. A thrill of exquisite delight
+ran through his frame at the sound of her voice, and for an instant he
+debated the propriety of going to her at once. A second call decided
+him, and in a moment he was at her bedside, clasping her in his arms,
+and exclaiming, “My precious ’Lena! My _daughter_! Has nothing ever
+told you that I am your father, the husband of your angel mother, who
+lives again in her child—_my_ child—my ’Lena?”
+
+For a moment ’Lena’s brain grew dizzy, and she had well-nigh fainted,
+when the sound of Mr. Graham’s voice brought her back to consciousness.
+Pressing his lips to her white brow, he said, “Speak to me my daughter.
+Say that you receive me as your father for such I am.”
+
+With lightning rapidity ’Lena’s thoughts traversed the past, whose dark
+mystery was now made plain, and as the thought that it might be so—that
+it was so—flashed upon her, she clasped her hands together, exclaiming,
+“My father! Is it true? You are not deceiving me?”
+
+“Deceive you, darling?—no,” said he. “I am your father, and Helena
+Nichols was my wife.”
+
+“Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left me
+unacknowledged?” asked ’Lena.
+
+Mr. Graham groaned bitterly. The hardest part was yet to come, but he
+met it manfully, telling her the whole story, sparing not himself in
+the least, and ending by asking if, after all this, she could forgive
+and love him as her father.
+
+Raising herself in bed, ’Lena wound her arms around his neck, and
+laying her face against his, wept like a little child. He felt that he
+was sufficiently answered, and holding her closer to his bosom, he
+pushed back the clustering curls, kissing her again and again, while he
+said aloud, “I have your answer, dearest one; we will never be parted
+again.”
+
+So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he did not
+observe the fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched fist of
+Durward Bellmont, who had returned from his walk, and who, in coming up
+to his, room, had recognized the tones of his father’s voice. Recoiling
+backward a step or two, he was just in time to see ’Lena as she threw
+herself into Mr. Graham’s, arms—in time to hear the tender words of
+endearment lavished upon her by his father. Staggering backward, he
+caught at the banister to keep from falling, while a moan of anguish
+came from his ashen lips. Alone in his room, he grew calmer, though his
+heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he strode up and down
+the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before, “I would far rather
+see her dead than thus—my lost, lost ’Lena!”
+
+Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his father, whom
+he believed to be far more guilty than she. “I cannot meet him,”
+thought he; “there is murder at my heart, and I must away ere he knows
+of my presence.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stairs, glancing
+back once, and seeing ’Lena reclining upon his father’s arm, while her
+eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding smile, which told of
+perfect happiness.
+
+“Thank God that I am unarmed, else he could not live,” thought he,
+hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in Uncle Timothy’s hands
+double the sum due for himself and ’Lena, and then, without a word of
+explanation, he walked away.
+
+He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in his present state
+of feeling, he determined to go on foot to Canandaigua, a distance of
+little more than a dozen miles. Meantime, Mr. Graham was learning from
+’Lena the cause of her being there, and though she, as far as possible,
+softened the fact of his having been accessory to her misfortunes, he
+felt it none the less keenly, and would frequently interrupt her with
+the exclamation that it was the result of his cowardice—his despicable
+habit of secrecy. When she spoke of the curl which his wife had burned,
+he seemed deeply affected, groaning aloud as he hid his face in his
+hands,
+
+“And _she_ found it—she burned it,” said he; “and it was all I had left
+of my Helena. I cut it from her head on the morning of my departure,
+when she lay sleeping, little dreaming of my cruel desertion. But,” he
+added, “I can bear it better now that I have you, her living image, for
+what she was when last I saw her, you are now.”
+
+Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the tact he so
+well knew how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from his blushing daughter a
+confession of the love she bore him.
+
+“He is worthy of you,” said he, while ’Lena, without seeming to heed
+the remark, said, “I have not seen him yet, but I am expecting him
+every moment, for he was to visit me this morning.”
+
+At this juncture Mrs. Aldergrass, who had been at one of her
+neighbors’, came in, appearing greatly surprised at the sight of the
+stranger, whom ’Lena quietly introduced as “her father,” while Mr.
+Graham colored painfully as Mrs. Aldergrass, curtsying very low, hoped
+_Mr. Rivers_ was well!
+
+“Let it go so,” whispered ’Lena, as she saw her father about to speak.
+
+Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his daughter’s
+eyes sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was heard, he asked Mrs.
+Aldergrass for Mr. Bellmont, saying they would like to see him, if he
+had returned.
+
+Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, announcing
+that “he’d paid his bill and gone off.”
+
+“Gone!” said Mr. Graham. “There must be some mistake. I will go down
+and inquire.”
+
+With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing the gold,
+Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, that “’twan’t noways likely but
+he’d come back agin, for he’d left things in his room to the vally of
+five or six dollars.”
+
+Upon reflection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and returning to ’Lena,
+he sat by her all day, soothing her with assurances that Durward would
+surely come back, as there was no possible reason for his leaving them
+so abruptly. As the day wore away and the night came on he seemed less
+sure, while even Uncle Timothy began to fidget, and when in the evening
+a young pettifogger, who had recently hung out his shingle on Laurel
+Hill, came in, he asked him, in a low tone, “if, under the present
+governor, they _hung_ folks on circumstantial evidence alone.”
+
+“Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evidence,”
+answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little ivory tablets and
+making a charge against Uncle Timothy for professional advice!
+
+“But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off in broad
+daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any sign he was
+murdered—by the landlord?” continued Uncle Timothy, beginning to think
+there might be a worse law than the Maine liquor law.
+
+“That depends upon the previous character of the landlord,” answered
+the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Timothy, brightening up,
+exclaimed, “I shall stand the racket, then, for my character is
+tip-top.”
+
+In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of going in quest of
+Durward, and with a magnanimity quite praiseworthy, Uncle Timothy
+offered his _hoss_ and wagon “for nothin’, provided Mr. Graham would
+leave his watch as a guaranty against _his_ runnin’ off!”
+
+Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, saying he
+had come from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. Bellmont, who wished
+him to bring letters for Mr. Graham and Miss Rivers.
+
+“And where is Mr. Bellmont?” asked Mr. Graham, to which the man
+replied, that he took the six o’clock train the night before, saying,
+further, that his manner was so strange as to induce a suspicion of
+insanity on the part of those who saw him.
+
+Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to ’Lena’s room, giving her her
+letter, and then reading his, which was full of bitterness, denouncing
+him as a villain and cautioning him, as he valued his life, never again
+to cross the track of his outraged step-son.
+
+“You have robbed me,” he wrote, “of all I hold most dear, and while I
+do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, for you are older in
+experience, older in years, and ten-fold older in sin, and I know you
+must have used every art your foul nature could suggest, ere you won my
+lost ’Lena from the path of rectitude.”
+
+In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at ’Lena, who had
+fainted. It was long ere she returned to consciousness, and then her
+fainting fit was followed by another more severe, if possible, than the
+first, while in speechless agony Mr. Graham hung over her.
+
+“I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child,” thought he.
+
+But at last ’Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow the
+crumpled note, she passed it toward her father, bidding him read it. It
+was as follows;
+
+“MY LOST ’LENA: By this title it seems appropriate for me to call you,
+for you are more surely lost to me than you would be were this summer
+sun shining upon your grave. And, ’Lena, believe me when I say I would
+rather, far rather, see you dead than the guilty thing you are, for
+then your memory would be to me as a holy, blessed influence, leading
+me on to a better world, where I could hope to greet you as my spirit
+bride. But now, alas! how dark the cloud which shrouds you from my
+sight.
+
+“Oh, ’Lena, ’Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I thought you so
+pure and innocent, when even now, I would willingly lay down my life
+could that save you from ruin.
+
+“Do you ask what I mean? I have only to refer you to what this morning
+took place between you and the vile man I once called father, and whom
+I believed to be the soul of truth and honor. With a heart full of
+tenderness toward you, I was hastening to your side, when a scene met
+my view which stilled the beatings of my pulse and curdled the very
+blood in my veins, I saw you throw your arms around _his_ neck—the
+husband of _my_ mother. I saw you lay your head upon his bosom. I heard
+him as he called you _dearest_, and said you would never be parted
+again!
+
+“You know all that has passed heretofore, and can you wonder that my
+worst fears are now confirmed? God knows how I struggled against those
+doubts, which were nearly removed, when, by the evidence of my own
+eyesight, uncertainty was made sure.
+
+“And now, my once loved, but erring ’Lena, farewell. I am going
+away—whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear your name
+coupled with disgrace. Another reason why I go, is that the hot blood
+of the south burns too fiercely in my veins to suffer me to meet your
+destroyer and not raise my hand against him. When this reaches you, I
+shall be far away. But what matters it to you? And yet, ’Lena, there
+will come a time when you’ll remember one who, had you remained true to
+yourself, would have devoted his life to make you happy, for I know I
+am not indifferent to you. I have read it in your speaking eye, and in
+the childlike confidence with which you would yield to _me_ when no one
+else could control your wild ravings.
+
+“But enough of this. Time hastens, and I must say farewell—farewell
+forever—my _lost, lost_ ’Lena!
+
+“DURWARD.”
+
+
+Gradually as Mr. Graham read, he felt a glow of indignation at
+Durward’s hastiness. “Rash boy! he might at least have spoken with me,”
+said he, as he finished the letter, but ’Lena would hear no word of
+censure against him. She did not blame him. She saw it all, understood
+it all, and as she recalled the contents of his letter, her own heart
+sadly echoed, “_lost forever_.”
+
+As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but in spite
+of his endeavors, there was still at her heart the same dull, heavy
+pain, and most anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, waiting impatiently
+for the time when she would be able to start for home, as he hoped a
+change of place and scene would do much toward restoring both her
+health and spirits. Soon after his arrival at Laurel Hill, Mr. Graham
+had written to Mr. Livingstone, telling him what he had before told his
+wife, and adding, “Of course, my _daughter’s_ home will in future be
+with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see yourself and family
+at any time.”
+
+This part of the letter he showed to ’Lena, who, after reading it,
+seemed for a long time absorbed in thought.
+
+“What is it, darling? Of what are you thinking?” Mr. Graham asked, at
+length, and ’Lena, taking the hand which he had laid gently upon her
+forehead, replied, “I am thinking of poor grandmother. She is not
+happy, now, at Maple Grove. She will be more unhappy should I leave
+her, and if you please, I would rather stay there with her. I can see
+you every day.”
+
+“Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from your grandmother?”
+interrupted Mr. Graham. “No, no, I am not quite so bad as that.
+Woodlawn is large—there are rooms enough—and grandma shall have her
+choice, provided it is a reasonable one.”
+
+“And your wife—Mrs. Graham? What will she say?” timidly inquired ’Lena,
+involuntarily shrinking from the very thought of coming in contact with
+the little lady who had so recently come up before her in the new and
+formidable aspect of _stepmother_!
+
+Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, neither did he
+care. The fault of his youth once confessed, he felt himself a new man,
+able to cope with almost anything, and if in the future his wife
+objected to what he knew to be right, it would do her no good, for
+henceforth he was to rule his own house. Some such thoughts passed
+through his mind, but it would not be proper, he knew, to express
+himself thus to ’Lena, so he laughingly replied, “Oh, we’ll fix that,
+easily enough.”
+
+At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a letter to
+his wife, announcing his safe return from Europe, and saying that he
+should be at home as soon as ’Lena’s health would admit of her
+traveling. Not wishing to alarm her unnecessarily, he merely said of
+Durward, that he had found him at Laurel Hill. To this letter Mrs.
+Graham replied immediately, and with a far better grace than her
+husband had expected. Very frankly she confessed the unkind part she
+had acted toward ’Lena, and while she said she was sorry, she also
+spoke of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of Lena’s
+friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back,
+
+The continued absence of Durward was now the only drawback to ’Lena’s
+happiness, and with a comparatively light heart, she began to
+anticipate her journey home. Most liberally did Mr. Graham pay for both
+himself and ’Lena, and Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining coin,
+dropping it upon the table to make sure it was not _bogus_, felt quite
+reconciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars. Jerry, the driver, was
+also generously rewarded for his kindness to the stranger-girl, and
+just before he left, Mr. Graham offered to make him his chief overseer,
+if he would accompany him to Kentucky.
+
+“You are just the man I want,” said he, “and I know you’ll like it.
+What do you say?”
+
+For the sake of occasionally seeing ’Lena, whom he considered as
+something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly have gone, but he was a
+staunch abolitionist, dyed in the wool, and scratching his head, he
+replied, “I’m obleeged to you, but I b’lieve I’d rather drive _hosses_
+than _niggers_!”
+
+“Mebby you could run one on ’em off, and so make a little sumthin’,”
+slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on the main chance, but
+it was no part of Jerry’s creed to make anything, and as ’Lena at that
+moment appeared, he beat a precipitate retreat, going out behind the
+church, where he watched the departure of his southern friends, saying
+afterward, to Mrs. Aldergrass, who chided him for his conduct, that “he
+never could bid nobody good-bye, he was so darned tender-hearted!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.
+
+
+“’Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after her!
+That is smart, I must say. Why didn’t you let me know it before!”
+exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his appearance
+at Maple grove.
+
+During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for some
+reason or other she delayed telling him of ’Lena’s flight until quite
+recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning for a
+year, he came home with headlong haste, determining to start
+immediately after his cousin.
+
+“I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you wouldn’t
+feel quite so anxious to get her back,” said Carrie. “For my part, I
+feel quite relieved at her absence.”
+
+“Shut up your head,” roared John Jr. “’Lena is no more guilty than
+_you_. By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she worked to
+save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious Peter! I
+sometimes wish there wasn’t a woman in the world!”
+
+“If they’d all marry you, there wouldn’t be long!” retorted Carrie.
+
+“You’ve said it now, haven’t you?” answered John Jr., while his father
+suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for his own
+neglect, that Durward had gone after ’Lena, who was probably at Mr.
+Everett’s, and that he himself had advertised in all the principal
+papers.
+
+“Just like Bellmont! He’s a fine fellow and deserves ’Lena, if anybody
+does,” exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, “Pshaw! I’ve no idea
+he’s gone for her. Why, they’ve hardly spoken for several months, and
+besides that, Mrs. Graham will never suffer him to marry one of so low
+origin.”
+
+“The deary me!” said John Jr., mimicking his sister’s manner, “how much
+lower is her origin than yours?”
+
+Carrie’s reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother, who,
+hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him. Perfectly
+rational on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying
+of ’Lena, that she had killed her, and now, when her first greeting
+with John Jr. was over, she whispered in his ear, “Have they told you
+’Lena was dead? She is—I killed her—it says so here,” and she handed
+him the almost worn-out note which she constantly carried with her.
+Rough as he seemed at times, there was in John Jr.’s nature many a
+tender spot, and when he saw the look of childish imbecility on his
+grandmother’s face, he pressed his strong arm around her, and a tear
+actually dropped upon her gray hair as he told her ’Lena was not
+dead—he was going to find her and bring her home. At that moment old
+Cæsar, who had been to the post-office, returned, bringing Mr. Graham’s
+letter, which had just arrived.
+
+“That’s Mr. Graham’s handwriting,” said Carrie; glancing at the
+superscription. “Perhaps _he_ knows something of ’Lena!” and she looked
+meaningly at her mother, who, with a peculiar twist of her mouth,
+replied, “Very likely.”
+
+“You are right. He _does_ know something of her,” said Mr. Livingstone,
+as he finished reading the letter. “She is with him at a little village
+called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York.”
+
+“There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must go
+and see her immediately,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself
+back quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her
+brother, asked “what he thought of ’Lena now.”
+
+“Just what I always did,” he replied. “There’s fraud somewhere. Will
+you let me see that, sir?” advancing toward his father, who, placing
+the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied
+emotions of his face.
+
+Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was
+finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted,
+“Hurrah! Hurrah for _Miss ’Lena Rivers Graham_, daughter of the
+Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life. Hurrah!”
+and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly vase, the
+fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young
+man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
+
+“Is the boy crazy?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the coat as
+he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from his
+hand.
+
+“Crazy?—yes,” said he. “Who do you think ’Lena’s father is? No less a
+person than Mr. Graham himself. Now taunt her again, Cad, with her low
+origin, if you like. She isn’t coming here to live any more. She’s
+going to Woodlawn. She’ll marry Durward, while you’ll be a cross,
+dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?” and he chucked her under the chin, while
+she began to cry, bidding him let her alone.
+
+“What do you mean?” interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it
+might be true.
+
+“I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,” replied John.
+
+Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a
+syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue.
+Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up
+as she occasionally caught the meaning of what she heard; but she could
+not understand it at once, and turning to her son, she said, “What is
+it, John? what does it mean?”
+
+As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to
+her, and when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way
+she exclaimed, “Thank God that ’Leny is a lady, at last—as good as the
+biggest on ’em. Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her husband
+was. Poor critter! Mebby he’ll give me money to go back and see the old
+place, once more, afore I die.”
+
+“If he don’t I will,” said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his wife, who
+had not spoken before, wondered “where he’d get it.”
+
+By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance that as
+’Lena was now Durward’s sister, he would not, of course, marry her, and
+determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother, who
+rallied her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly mistaken, for
+“she was as pleased as any one at ’Lena’s good fortune, but it did not
+follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some others did.”
+
+The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left the
+room. In the first excitement, he had thought “how glad Nellie will
+be,” and acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now ordered his
+horse, and dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised Nellie,
+first, with his sudden appearance, second, with his announcement of
+’Lena’s parentage, and third, by an offer of himself!
+
+“It’s your destiny,” said he, “and it’s of no use to resist. What did
+poor little Meb die for, if it wasn’t to make room for you. So you may
+as well say yes first as last. I’m odd, I know, but you can fix me
+over. I’ll do exactly what you wish me to. Say yes, Nellie, won’t you
+?”
+
+And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, if ever before woman had
+such wooing. We think not, for never was there another John Jr.
+
+“I have had happiness enough for one day,” said he, kissing her
+blushing cheek and hurrying away.
+
+As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he
+went straight from Mr. Douglass’s to the marble factory, where he
+ordered a costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as yet
+unmarked save by the tall grass and rank weeds which grew above it.
+
+“What inscription will you have?” asked the engraver. John Jr. thought
+for a moment, and then replied; “Simply ‘Mabel.’ Nothing more or less;
+that tells the whole story,” and involuntarily murmuring to himself,
+“Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I am,” he started for home,
+where he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs. Graham.
+
+She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy no
+longer advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her great
+satisfaction, she found that the news had preceded her. Feeling sure
+that Mrs. Graham must feel greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother
+began, at first, to act the part of consolers, telling her it might not
+be true, after all, for perhaps it was a ruse of Mr. Graham’s to cover
+some deep-laid, scheme. But for once in her life Mrs. Graham did well,
+and to their astonishment, replied, “Oh, I hope not, for you do not
+know how I long for the society of a daughter, and as Mr. Graham’s
+child I shall gladly welcome ’Lena home, trying, if possible, to
+overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!”
+
+Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter were
+to be outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her tactics, so
+could they, and for the next half hour they lauded ’Lena to the skies.
+They had always liked her—particularly Mrs. Livingstone—who said, “If
+allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a
+good deal pained by those reports which you put in circulation.”
+
+“_I_ put reports in circulation!” retorted Mrs. Graham. “What do you
+mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole
+neighborhood!”
+
+The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John Jr.’s
+appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they might as
+well be friends as enemies, introduced another topic of conversation,
+soon after which Mrs. Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway,
+she said, “Would it afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn when
+’Lena arrives?”
+
+Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, Mrs.
+Livingstone said “yes,” while Carrie, thinking Durward would be there,
+made a similar reply, saying “she was exceedingly anxious to see her
+cousin.”
+
+“Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,” said Mrs. Graham,
+curtsying herself from the room.
+
+“Spell _Toady_, Cad,” whispered John Jr., and with more than her usual
+quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.
+
+“That’ll do,” said he, as he walked off to the back yard, where he
+found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel
+employment for them.
+
+The news of ’Lena’s good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing much
+excitement, for she was a favorite there.
+
+“’Clar for’t,” said Aunt Milly, “we orto have a bonfire. It won’t hurt
+nothin’ on the brick pavement.”
+
+Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work
+gathering blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the
+time John Jr. appeared, they had collected quite a pile. Not knowing
+how he would like it, they all took to their heels, except Thomas
+Jefferson, who, having some of his mother’s spirit, stood his ground,
+replying, when asked what they were about, that they were “gwine to
+celebrate Miss ’Lena.” Taking in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called
+out, “Good! come back here, you scapegraces.”
+
+Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach,
+the smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes
+and ivories shining with the expected frolic. Taught by John Jr., they
+hurrahed at the top of their voices when the flames burst up, and one
+little fellow, not yet able to talk plain, made his bare, shining legs
+fly like drumsticks as he shouted, “Huyah for Miss ’Leny Yivers
+Gayum——”
+
+“Bellmont, too, say,” whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the back
+piazza.
+
+“_Bellmont, too, say_,” yelled the youngster, leaping so high as to
+lose his balance.
+
+Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of
+Carrie, who, spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the parlor,
+where for more than an hour she cried from pure vexation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
+
+
+It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The windows were open, and
+through the richly-wrought curtains the balmy air of evening was
+stealing, mingling its delicious perfume of flowers without with the
+odor of those which drooped from the many costly vases which adorned
+the handsome parlors. Lamps were burning, casting a mellow light over
+the gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy white the mistress of
+the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous, a little
+fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross. For more than
+two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the supper, which
+the cook, quite as anxious as herself, pronounced spoiled by the delay.
+
+According to promise the party from Maple Grove had arrived, with the
+exception of John Jr., who had generously remained with his
+grandmother, she having been purposely omitted in the invitation. From
+the first, Mrs. Graham had decided that Mrs. Nichols should never live
+at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to have it understood at once.
+Accordingly, as she was conducting Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie to
+’Lena’s room, she casually remarked, “I’ve made no provision for Mrs.
+Nichols, except as an occasional visitor, for of course she will remain
+with her son. She is undoubtedly much attached to your family, and will
+be happier there!”
+
+“_This_ ’Lena’s!” interrupted Carrie, ere her mother had time to reply.
+“It’s the very best chamber in the house—Brussels carpets, marble and
+rosewood furniture, damask curtains. Why, she’ll hardly know how to
+act,” she continued, half unconsciously, as she gazed around the
+elegant apartment, which, with one of her unaccountable freaks, Mrs.
+Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
+
+“Yes, this is Lena’s,” said Mrs. Graham, complacently. “Will it compare
+at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I do not wish it to seem
+inferior!”
+
+Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, “Ye-es, on
+the whole _quite_ as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is
+new!”
+
+“Have I told you,” continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting
+them,—“have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New Orleans,
+where ’Lena will of course be the reigning belle? You ought to be
+there, dear,” laying her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “It would be so
+gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!”
+
+“Spiteful old thing—she tries to insult us,” thought Carrie, her heart
+swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated ’Lena, whose future life
+seemed so bright and joyous.
+
+The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower
+hall just as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at
+Midway, drove up at a side door. Carrie’s first thought was for
+Durward, and shading her eyes with her hand, she looked anxiously out.
+But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently lifting out his daughter, who was
+still an invalid.
+
+“Mighty careful of her,” thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms he
+bore her up the marble steps.
+
+Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he said,
+turning to his wife, “Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and
+love her as such, for my sake?”
+
+In a moment ’Lena’s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of Mrs.
+Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her “’Lena,” and saying “she
+was welcome to Woodlawn.”
+
+Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her with
+caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence, chiding
+her for running away, calling her a _naughty puss_, and perfectly
+bewildering her with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone’s turn
+came next, but he neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in
+keeping with his nature, but very, very tenderly he looked into her
+eyes, as he said, “You know, ’Lena, that _I_ am glad—most glad for
+you.”
+
+Unostentatious as was this greeting, ’Lena felt that there was more
+sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed
+forth involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one “a baby,” and the
+other “a fool,” Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor,
+while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show ’Lena to her room.
+
+“Hadn’t you better go up and assist your cousin,” whispered Mrs.
+Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking at the door, an
+act of politeness she had never before thought it necessary to offer
+’Lena. But she was an _heiress_, now, fully, yes, more than equal, and
+that made a vast difference.
+
+“I came to see if I could render you any service,” she said in answer
+to ’Lena’s look of inquiry.
+
+“No I thank you,” returned ’Lena, beginning to get an inkling of the
+truth. “You know I’m accustomed to waiting upon myself, and if I want
+anything, Drusa can assist me. I’ve only to change my soiled dress and
+smooth my hair,” she continued, as she shook out her long and now
+rather rough tresses.
+
+“What handsome hair you’ve got,” said Carrie, taking one of the curls
+in her hand. “I’d forgotten it was so beautiful. Hasn’t it improved
+during your absence?”
+
+“A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one’s hair, I
+believe,” answered ’Lena, as she proceeded to brush and arrange her
+wavy locks, which really had lost some of their luster.
+
+Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack. Looking
+’Lena in the face, she said, “What is it? I can’t make it out, but—but
+somehow you’ve changed, you don’t look so—so——”
+
+“So _well_ you would say, I suppose,” returned ’Lena, laughingly, “I’ve
+grown thin, but I hope to improve by and by.”
+
+Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, and her
+large eyes sparkled as she thought her young mistress “a heap the best
+lookin’ _now_.”
+
+By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward. Instantly ’Lena
+turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, and in an unsteady
+voice she replied, that “she did not know.”
+
+“Not know!” repeated Carrie, her own countenance brightening visibly.
+“Haven’t you seen him? Wasn’t he at that funny, out-of-the-way place,
+where you were?”
+
+“Yes, but he left before I saw him,” returned ’Lena, her manner plainly
+indicating that there was something wrong.
+
+Carrie’s spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and on their way
+downstairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly, that ’Lena wondered
+if it could be the same haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her
+except to repulse or command her. The supper-bell rang just as they
+reached the parlor, and Mr. Graham, taking ’Lena on his arm, led the
+way to the dining-room, where the entire silver tea-set had been
+brought out, in honor of the occasion.
+
+“Hasn’t ’Lena changed, mother?” said Carrie, feeling hateful, and
+knowing no better way of showing it “Hasn’t her sickness changed her?”
+
+“It has made her grow _old_; that’s all the difference I perceive,”
+returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she’d said the thing which
+she knew would most annoy herself.
+
+“How old are you, dear?” asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the table.
+
+“Eighteen,” was ’Lena’s answer, to which Mrs. Graham replied, “I
+thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, I believe.”
+
+“Two, only two,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie exclaimed,
+“Horrors! How old do you take me to be?”
+
+Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and soon
+after they rose from the table. Scarcely had they returned to the
+parlor, when John Jr. was announced. “He had,” he said, “got his
+grandmother to sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his
+respects to _Miss Graham_!”
+
+Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, “Little girl! I’m as much
+delighted with your good fortune as I should be had it happened to
+myself. But where is Bellmont?” he continued, looking about the room.
+
+Mr. Graham replied that he was not there.
+
+“Not here?” repeated John Jr. “What have you done with him, ’Lena?”
+
+Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin’s face, ’Lena said,
+softly, “Please don’t talk about it now.”
+
+“There’s something wrong,” thought John Jr. “I’ll bet I’ll have to
+shoot that dog yet.”
+
+’Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she
+could confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of whispering
+to him, “Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it.”
+
+Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and
+Carrie taking a most affectionate leave of ’Lena, urging her not to
+fail of coming over the next day, as they should be expecting her. The
+ludicrous expression of John Jr.’s face was a sufficient interpretation
+of his thoughts, as whispering aside to ’Lena, he said, “I can’t do it
+justice if I try!”
+
+The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry ’Lena to
+Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. But she excused
+herself, on the plea of a headache, and they set off without her. The
+meeting between ’Lena and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in
+order to sustain the character she had assumed, walked to the window,
+to hide her emotions, probably—at least John Jr. thought so, for with
+the utmost gravity he passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the
+first transports of her interview with ’Lena were over, Mrs. Nichols
+fastened herself upon Mr. Graham, while John Jr. invited ’Lena to the
+garden, where he claimed from her the promised story, which she told
+him unreservedly.
+
+“Oh, that’s nothing, compared with my experience,” said John Jr.,
+plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters above
+his head. “That’s easily settled. I’ll go after Durward myself, and
+bring him back, either dead or alive—the latter if possible, the former
+if necessary. So cheer up. I’ve faith to believe that you and Durward
+will be married about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are
+engaged—did I tell you?”
+
+Involuntarily ’Lena’s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny slope
+and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.
+
+“I know what you think,” said John Jr. rather testily, “but hang me if
+I can help it. Meb was never intended for me, except by mother. I
+suppose there is in the world somebody for whom she was made, but it
+wasn’t I, and that’s the reason she died. I am sorry as anybody, and
+every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well, and
+who met with so poor a return. I’ve bought her some gravestones,
+though,” he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for the past.
+
+While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs.
+Nichols the propriety of her removing to Woodlawn.
+
+“I shan’t live long to trouble anybody,” said she when asked if she
+would like to go, “and I’m nothin’ without ’Leny.”
+
+So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when ’Lena returned
+to the house, she found her grandmother in her chamber, packing up,
+preparatory to her departure.
+
+“We’ll have to come agin,” said she, “for I’ve as much as two loads.”
+
+“Don’t take them,” interposed ’Lena. “You won’t need them, and nothing
+will harm them here.”
+
+After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to Mrs.
+Livingstone and Carrie was, “that they keep the dum niggers from her
+things.”
+
+Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had lived at Maple Grove
+for years, and every niche and corner of her room she understood. She
+knew the blacks and they knew her, and ere she was half-way to
+Woodlawn, she began to wish she had not started. Politely, but coldly,
+Mrs. Graham received her, saying “I thought, perhaps, you would return
+with them to _spend the day_!” laying great emphasis on the last words,
+as if that, of course, was to be the limit of her visit Grandma
+understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of not remaining
+long.
+
+“Miss Graham don’t want to be pestered with me,” said she to ’Lena, the
+first time they were alone, “and I don’t mean that she shall be. ’Tilda
+is used to me, and she don’t mind it now, so I shall go back afore
+long. You can come to see me every day, and once in a while I’ll come
+here.”
+
+That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham remarked to Mrs.
+Nichols that “she hoped she was not homesick, as there was every
+probability of her being obliged to _stay over night_!” adding, by way
+of comfort, that “she was going to Frankfort the next day to make
+purchases for ’Lena, and would take her home.”
+
+Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not very agreeably
+surprised by the return of her mother-in-law, who, Mrs. Graham said,
+“was so home-sick they couldn’t keep her.”
+
+That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, returned from
+the city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle for grandma,
+consisting of dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, which she had
+purchased as a sort or peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her
+having decamped so quietly from Woodlawn. But the poor old lady did not
+live to wear them. Both her mind and body were greatly impaired, and
+for two or three years she had been failing gradually. There was no
+particular disease, but a general breaking up of the springs of life,
+and a few weeks after ’Lena’s arrival at Woodlawn,, they made another
+grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer slept alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+DURWARD.
+
+
+From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had hurried, caring
+nothing except to forget, if possible, the past, and knowing not where
+he was going, until he at last found himself in Richmond, Virginia.
+This was his mother’s birthplace, and as several of her more distant
+relatives were still living here, he determined to stop for awhile,
+hoping that new objects and new scenes would have some power to rouse
+him from the lethargy into which he had fallen. Constantly in terror
+lest he should hear of ’Lena’s disgrace, which he felt sure would be
+published to the world, he had, since his departure from Laurel Hill,
+resolutely refrained from looking in a newspaper, until one morning
+some weeks after his arrival at Richmond.
+
+Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Gazette, and after
+assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did not contain what he so
+much dreaded to see, he sat down to read it, paying no attention to the
+date, which was three or four weeks back. Accidentally he cast his eye
+over the list of arrivals at the Burnet House, seeing among them the
+names of “Mr. H. R. Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford county,
+Kentucky!”
+
+“_Audacious_! How dare they be so bold!” he exclaimed, springing to his
+feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered upon the
+floor.
+
+“Considerable kind of uppish, ’pears to me,” said a strange voice,
+having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain class of
+Yankees.
+
+Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose style of dress
+and freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slocum. Wearying of
+Cincinnati, as he had before done with Lexington, he had traveled at
+last to Virginia. Remembering to have heard that his grandmother’s aunt
+had married, died, and left a daughter in Richmond, he determined, if
+possible, to find some trace of her. Accordingly, he had come on to
+that city, making it the theater of his daguerrean operations. These
+alone not being sufficient to support him, he had latterly turned his
+attention to _literary pursuits_, being at present engaged in
+manufacturing a book after the Sam Slick order, which, to use his own
+expression, “he expected would have a thunderin’ sale.”
+
+In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, he came
+every day to the reading-room, tumbling over books and papers,
+generally carrying one of the former in his hand, affecting an utter
+disregard of his personal appearance, daubing his fingers with ink,
+wiping them on the pocket of his coat, and doing numerous other things
+which he fancied would stamp him a distinguished person.
+
+On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel’s attention was attracted
+toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he had seen at Maple Grove, and
+though he did not recognize the original, he fancied he might have met
+him before, and was about making his acquaintance, when Durward’s
+action drew from him the remark we have mentioned. Thinking him to be
+some impertinent fellow, Durward paid him no attention, and was about
+leaving, when, hitching his chair a little nearer, Joel said, “Be you
+from Virginny?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“From York state?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“From Pennsylvany?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?”
+
+No answer.
+
+“Be you from Kentucky?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do you know Mr. Graham’s folks?”
+
+“Yes,” said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something
+concerning his stepfather—but it was not.
+
+Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel continued:
+“Wall, I calkerlate that I’m some relation to Miss Graham. Be you
+’quainted with her?”
+
+Durward knew that a relationship with _Mrs_. Graham also implied a
+relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious as well as
+somewhat amused, he replied, “Related to Mrs. Graham! Pray how?”
+
+“Why, you see,” said Joel, “that my grandmarm’s aunt—she was younger
+than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew. Wall, she went off to Virginia to
+teach music, and so married a nabob—know what that is, I s’pose; she
+had one gal and died, and this gal was never heard from until I took it
+into my head to look her up, and I’ve found out that she was _Lucy
+Temple_. She married an Englishman, first—then a man from South
+Carolina, who is now livin’ in Kentucky, between Versailles and
+Frankfort.”
+
+“What was your grandmother’s aunt’s name?” asked Durward.
+
+“Susan Howard,” returned Joel. “The Howards were a stuck-up set,
+grandmarm and all—not a bit like t’other side of the family. My
+mother’s name was Scovandyke——”
+
+“And yours?” interrupted Durward.
+
+“Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,” said
+the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow, which
+he always used on great occasions.
+
+In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said, “Can
+you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your
+great-great-aunt’s daughter, would be to you?”
+
+“My third cousin, of course,” answered Joel. “I figgered that out with
+a slate and pencil.”
+
+“And her son, if she had one?”
+
+“Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure—but enough
+to brag on, if they happened to be smart!”
+
+“Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple’s son?” said Durward, to
+which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, “Wall, s’posin’ you du,
+’twon’t make it so.”
+
+“But I _am_, really and truly,” continued Durward. “Her first husband
+was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it
+seems.”
+
+“_Jehosiphat_! If this ain’t curis,” exclaimed Joel, grasping Durward’s
+hand. “How _do_ you du, and how is your marm. And do you know Helleny
+Rivers?”
+
+Durward’s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel
+continued: “We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of
+each other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she’d got to be
+mighty toppin’. Mebby, though, ’twas only my notion.”
+
+Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, “I
+suppose you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin’. I’m goin’ to
+my office now, and if you’ll come with me I’ll take yourn for nothin’,
+bein’ you’re related.”
+
+Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed
+the young man to his “office,” which was a dingy, cheerless apartment
+in the fourth story of a crazy old building. On the table in the center
+of the room were several likenesses, which he carelessly examined.
+Coming at last to a larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly
+it dropped from his hand, while an exclamation of surprise escaped his
+lips.
+
+“What’s the row, old feller,” asked Joel, coming forward and picking up
+the picture which Durward had recognized as ’Lena Rivers.
+
+“How came you by it?” said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing wink,
+Joel replied, “I know, and that’s enough.”
+
+“But I must know, too. It is of the utmost importance that I know,”
+said Durward, and after a moment’s reflection, Joel answered “Wall, I
+don’t s’pose it’ll do any hurt if I tell you. When I was a boy I had a
+hankerin’ for ’Leny, and I didn’t get over it after I was grown,
+either, so a year or two ago I thought I’d go to Kentuck and see her.
+Knowin’ how tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be with a picter of
+their old home in the mountains, I took it for ’em and started. In
+Albany I went to see a family that used to live in Slocumville. The
+woman was a gal with ’Leny’s mother, and thought a sight of her. Wall,
+in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was an old portrait, which
+looked so much like ’Leny that in the mornin’ I asked whose it was, and
+if you b’lieve me, ’twas ’Leny’s mother! You know she married, or
+thought she married, a southern rascal, who got her portrait taken and
+then run off, and the picter, which in its day was an expensive one,
+was sold to pay up. A few years afterward, Miss Rice, the woman I was
+tellin’ you about, came acrost it, and bought it for a little or
+nothin’ to remember Helleny Nichols by. Thinks to me, nothin’ can
+please ’Leny better than a daguerreotype of her mother, so I out with
+my apparatus and took it. But when I come to see that they were as nigh
+alike as two peas, I hated to give it up, for I thought it would be
+almost as good as lookin’ at ’Leny. So I kept it myself, but I don’t
+want her to know it, for she’d be mad.”
+
+“Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?” asked Durward, a faint
+light beginning to dawn upon him.
+
+“What a feller to hang on,” answered Joel, “but bein’ I’ve started,
+I’ll go it and tell the hull. One morning when I was in Lexington, a
+gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Graham, and saying he wanted a
+copy of an old mountain house which he had seen at Mr. Livingstone’s.
+Whilst I was gettin’ it ready, he happened to come acrost this one, and
+what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away. I had to throw
+water in his face and everything. Bimeby he cum to, and says he, ‘Where
+did you get that?’ I told him all about it, and then, layin’ his head
+on the table, he groaned orfully, wipin’ off the thumpinest great drops
+of sweat and kissin’ the picter as if he was crazy.
+
+“‘Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?’ says I.
+
+“‘Knew her, yes,’ says he, jumpin’ up and walkin’ the room as fast.
+
+“All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin’ had happened, and
+says he, ‘I must have that or one jest like it.’
+
+“At first I hesitated, for I felt kinder mean always about keepin’ it,
+and I didn’t want ’Leny to know I’d got it. I told him so, and he said
+nobody but himself should ever see it. So I took a smaller one, leavin’
+off the lower part of the body, as the dress is old-fashioned, you see.
+He was as tickled as a boy with a new top, and actually forgot to take
+the other one of the mountain house. Some months after, I came across
+him in Cincinnati. His wife was with him, and I thought then that she
+looked like Aunt Nancy. Wall, he went with me to my office, and said he
+wanted another daguerreotype, as he’d lost the first one. Now I’m,
+pretty good at figgerin’, and I’ve thought that matter over until I’ve
+come to this conclusion—_that man_—was—’Lena’s father—the husband or
+something of Helleny Nichols! But what ails you? Are you faintin’,
+too,” he exclaimed, as he saw the death-like whiteness which had
+settled upon Durward’s face and around his mouth.
+
+“Tell me more, everything you know,” gasped Durward.
+
+“I have told you all I know for certain,” said Joel. “The rest is only
+guess-work, but it looks plaguy reasonable. ’Leny’s father, I’ve heard
+was from South Car’lina——”
+
+“So was Mr. Graham,” said Durward, more to himself than to Joel, who
+continued, “And he’s your step-father, ain’t he—the husband of Lucy
+Temple, my cousin?”
+
+Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, he arose to go,
+telling Joel he would see him again. Alone in his room, he sat down to
+think of the strange story he had heard. Gradually as he thought, his
+mind went back to the time when Mr. Graham first came home from
+Springfield. He was a little boy, then, five or six years of age, but
+he now remembered many things calculated to prove what he scarcely yet
+dared to hope. He recalled Mr. Graham’s preparations to return, when he
+was taken suddenly ill. He knew that immediately atter his recovery he
+had gone northward. He remembered how sad he had seemed after his
+return, neglecting to play with him as had been his wont, and when to
+this he added Joel’s story, together with the singularity of his
+father’s conduct towards ’Lena, he could not fail to be convinced.
+
+“She _is_ innocent, thank heaven! I see it all now. Fool that I was to
+be so hasty,” he exclaimed, his whole being seemed to undergo a sudden
+change as the joyous conviction flashed upon him.
+
+In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel Slocum,
+and ere the sun-setting he was far on his road home. Occasionally he
+felt a lingering doubt, as he wondered what possible motive his father
+could have had for concealment, but these wore away as the distance
+between himself and Kentucky diminished. As the train paused at one of
+the stations, he was greatly surprised at seeing John Jr. among the
+crowd gathered at the depot.
+
+“Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?” shouted Durward, leaning
+from the open window.
+
+The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life John Jr.
+bounded upon the platform, and was soon seated by the side of Durward.
+
+“You are a great one, ain’t you?” said he. “Here I’ve been looking for
+you all over Christendom, to tell you the news. You’ve got a new
+sister. Did you know it?”
+
+“’_Lena_! Is it true? _Is_ it ’Lena?” said Durward, and John replied by
+relating the particulars as far as he knew them, and ending by asking
+Durward if “he didn’t think he was sold!”
+
+“Don’t talk,” answered Durward. “I want to think, for I was never so
+happy in my life.”
+
+“Nor I either,” returned John Jr. “So if you please you needn’t speak
+to _me_, as I wish to think, too.”
+
+But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his companion of
+his engagement with Nellie—and he did, falling asleep soon after, and
+leaving Durward to his own reflections.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+We hope the reader does not expect us to describe the meeting between
+Durward and ’Lena, for we have not the least, or, at the most, only a
+faint idea of what took place. We only know that it occurred in the
+summer-house at the foot of the garden, whither ’Lena had fled at the
+first intimation of his arrival, and that on her return to the house,
+after an interview of two whole hours, there were on her cheeks traces
+of tears, which the expression of her face said were not tears of
+grief.
+
+“How do you like my daughter?” asked Mr. Graham, mischievously, at the
+same time laying his arm proudly about her neck.
+
+“So well that I have asked her to become my wife, and she has promised
+to do so, provided we obtain your consent,” answered Durward, himself
+throwing an arm around the blushing girl, who tried to escape, but he
+would not let her, holding her fast until his father’s answer was
+given.
+
+Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, “Now, mother, we will hear you.”
+
+Kind and affectionate as she tried to be toward ’Lena, Mrs. Graham had
+not yet fully conquered her olden prejudice, and had the matter been
+left wholly with herself, she would, perhaps, have chosen for her son a
+bride in whose veins _no plebeian blood_ was flowing; but she well knew
+that her objections would have no weight, and she answered, that “she
+should not oppose him.”
+
+“Then it is settled,” said he, “and four weeks from to-night I shall
+claim ’Lena for my own.”
+
+“No, not so soon after grandma’s death,” ’Lena said, and Durward
+replied:
+
+“If grandma could speak, she would tell you not to wait!” but ’Lena was
+decided, and the most she would promise was, that in the spring she
+would think about it!
+
+“Six months,” said Durward, “I’ll never wait so long!” but he forbore
+pressing her further on the subject, knowing that he should have her in
+the house with him, which would in a great measure relieve the tedium
+of waiting.
+
+During the autumn, his devotion to ’Lena furnished Carrie with a
+subject for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly-engaged people.
+
+“I declare,” said she, one evening after the departure of Durward,
+’Lena, and Nellie, who had been spending the day at Maple Grove, “I’m
+perfectly disgusted, and if this is a specimen, I hope I shall never be
+engaged.”
+
+“Don’t give yourself a moment’s uneasiness,” retorted John Jr., “I’ve
+not the least idea that such a calamity will ever befall you, and years
+hence my grandchildren will read on some gravestone, ‘Sacred to the
+memory of Miss Caroline Livingstone, aged 70. In single blessedness she
+lived—and in the same did die!’”
+
+“You think you are cunning, don’t you,” returned Carrie, more angry
+than she was willing to admit.
+
+She had received the news of Durward’s engagement much better than
+could have been expected, and after a little she took to quoting and
+cousining ’Lena, while John Jr. seldom let an opportunity pass of
+hinting at the very recent date Of her admiration for Miss Graham.
+
+Almost every day for several weeks after Durward’s return, he looked
+for a visit from Joel Slocum, who did not make his appearance until
+some time toward the last of November. Then he came, claiming, and
+_proving_, his relationship with Mrs. Graham, who was terribly annoyed,
+and who, it was rumored, _hired_ him to leave!
+
+During the winter, nothing of importance occurred, if we except the
+fact that a part of Mabel’s fortune, which was supposed to have been
+lost, was found to be good, and that John Jr. one day unexpectedly
+found himself to be the lawful heir of fifty thousand dollars. Upon
+Mrs. Livingstone this circumstance produced a rather novel effect,
+renewing, in its original force, all her old affection for Mabel, who
+was now “our dear little Meb.” Many were the comparisons drawn between
+Mrs. John Jr. No. 1, and Mrs. John Jr. No. 2, that was to be, the
+former being pronounced far more lady-like and accomplished than the
+latter, who, during her frequent visits at Maple Grove, continually
+startled her mother-in-law elect by her loud, ringing laugh, for Nellie
+was very happy. Her influence, too, over John Jr. became ere long,
+perceptible in his quiet, gentle manner, and his abstinence from the
+rude speeches which heretofore had seemed a part of his nature.
+
+Mrs. Graham had proposed spending the winter in New Orleans, but to
+this Durward objected. He wanted ’Lena all to himself, he said, and as
+she seemed perfectly satisfied to remain where she was, the project was
+given up, Mrs. Graham contenting herself with anticipating the splendid
+entertainment she would give at the wedding, which was to take place
+about the last of March. Toward the first of January the preparations
+began, and if Carrie had never before felt a pang of envy, she did now,
+when she saw the elegant trousseau which Mr. Graham ordered for his
+daughter. But all such feelings must be concealed, and almost every day
+she rode over to Woodlawn, admiring this, going into ecstasies over
+that, and patronizingly giving her advice on all subjects, while all
+the time her heart was swelling with bitter disappointment. Having
+always felt so sure of securing Durward, she had invariably treated
+other gentlemen with such cool indifference that she was a favorite
+with but few, and as she considered these few her inferiors, she had
+more than once feared lest John Jr.’s prediction concerning the
+_lettering_ on her tombstone should prove true!
+
+“Anything but that,” said she, dashing away her tears, as she thought
+how ’Lena had supplanted her in the affections of the only person she
+could ever love,
+
+“Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the parlor,” said
+Corinda, putting her head in at the door.
+
+Since his unfortunate affair with Anna, the captain had avoided Maple
+Grove, but feeling lonely at Sunnyside, he had come over this morning
+to call. Finding Mrs. Livingstone absent, he had asked for Carrie, who
+was so unusually gracious that he wondered he had never before
+discovered how greatly superior to her sister she was! All his favorite
+pieces were sung to him, and then, with the patience of a martyr, the
+young lady seated herself at the backgammon board, playing game after
+game, until she could scarcely tell her men from his. On his way home
+the captain fell into a curious train of reflections, while Carrie,
+when asked by Corinda, if “old marster was done gone,” sharply
+reprimanded the girl, telling her “it was very impolite to call anybody
+_old_, particularly one so young as Captain Atherton!”
+
+The next day the captain came again, and the next, and the next, until
+at last his former intimacy at Maple Grove seemed to be re-established.
+And all this time no one had an inkling of the true state of things,
+not even John Jr., who never dreamed it possible for his haughty
+sister, to grace Sunnyside as its mistress. “But stranger things than
+that had happened and were happening every day,” Carrie reasoned, as
+she sat alone in her room, revolving the propriety of answering “Yes”
+to a note which the captain had that morning placed in her hand at
+parting. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was very fair,
+and as yet untouched by a single mark or line. She thought of him,
+_bald_, _wrinkled_, _fat_ and _forty-six_!
+
+“I’ll never do it,” she exclaimed. “Better live single all my days.”
+
+At this moment, the carriage of Mrs. Graham drew up, and from it
+alighted ’Lena, richly clad. The sight of her produced a reaction, and
+Carrie thought again. Captain Atherton was generous to a fault. He was
+able and willing to grant her slightest wish, and as his wife, she
+could compete with, if not outdo, ’Lena in the splendor of her
+surroundings. The pen was resumed, and Carrie wrote the words which
+sealed her destiny for life. This done, nothing could move her, and
+though her father entreated, her mother scolded, and John Jr. _swore_,
+it made no difference. “She was old enough to choose for herself,” she
+said, “and she had done so.”
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone became convinced that her daughter was in
+earnest, she gave up the contest, taking sides with her. Like Durward,
+Captain Atherton was in a hurry, and it was decided that the wedding
+should take place a week before the time appointed for that of her
+cousin. Determining not to be outdone by Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Livingstone
+launched forth on a large scale, and there commenced between the two
+houses a species of rivalry extremely amusing to a looker on. Did Mrs.
+Graham purchase for ’Lena a costly silk, Mrs. Livingstone forthwith
+secured a piece of similar quality, but different pattern, for Carrie.
+Did Mrs. Graham order forty dollars’ worth of confectionery, Mrs.
+Livingstone immediately increased her order to fifty dollars. And when
+it was known that Mrs. Graham had engaged a Louisville French cook at
+two dollars per day, Mrs. Livingstone sent to Cincinnati, offering
+three for one!
+
+Carrie had decided upon a tour to Europe, and the captain had given his
+consent, when it was reported that Durward and ’Lena were also
+intending to sail for Liverpool. In this dilemma there was no
+alternative save a trip to California or the Sandwich Islands! The
+former was chosen, Captain Atherton offering to defray Mrs.
+Livingstone’s expenses if she would accompany them. This plan Carrie
+warmly seconded, for she knew her mother’s presence would greatly
+relieve her from the society of her husband, which was _not_ as
+agreeable to her as it ought to have been. But Mr. Livingstone refused
+to let his wife go, unless Anna came home and stayed with him while she
+was gone.
+
+He accordingly wrote to Anna, inviting her and Malcolm to be present at
+Carrie’s wedding, purposely omitting the name of the bridegroom; and
+three days before the appointed time they came. It was dark when they
+arrived, and as they were not expected that night, they entered the
+house before any one was aware of their presence. John Jr. chanced to
+be in the hall, and the moment he saw Anna, he caught her in his arms,
+shouting so uproariously that his father and mother at once hastened to
+the spot.
+
+“Will you forgive me, father ?” Anna said, and Mr. Livingstone replied
+by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended his hand to Malcolm.
+
+“Where’s Carrie?” Anna said, and John Jr. replied, “In the parlor, with
+her future spouse. Shall I introduce you?”
+
+So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then recoiled in
+terror as she saw Captain Atherton.
+
+“Oh, Carrie!” she exclaimed. “It cannot be——that I see you again!” she
+added, as she met her sister’s warning look.
+
+Another moment and they were in each other’s arms weeping bitterly, the
+one that her sister should thus throw herself away, and the other,
+because she was wretched. It was but for an instant, however, and then
+Carrie was herself again. Playfully presenting Anna to the Captain, she
+said, “Ain’t I good to take up with what you left!”
+
+But no one smiled at this joke—the captain, least of all, and as Carrie
+glanced from him to Malcolm, she felt that her sister had made a happy
+choice. The next day ’Lena came, overjoyed to meet Anna, who more than
+any one else, rejoiced in her good fortune.
+
+“You deserve it all,” she said, when they were alone, “and if Carrie
+had one tithe of your happiness in store I should be satisfied.”
+
+But Carrie asked for no sympathy. “It was no one’s business whom she
+married,” she said; and so one pleasant night in the early spring, they
+decked her in her bridal robes, and then, white, cold, and feelingless
+as a marble statue, she laid her hand in Captain Atherton’s, and took
+upon her the vows which made her his forever. A few days after the
+ceremony, Carrie began to urge their immediate departure for
+California.
+
+“There was no need of further delay,” she said. “No one cared to see
+’Lena married. Weddings were stupid things, anyway, and her mother
+could just as well go one time as another.”
+
+At first Mrs. Livingstone hesitated, but when Carrie burst into a
+passionate fit of weeping, declaring “she’d kill herself if she had to
+stay much longer at Sunnyside and be petted by _that old fool_,” she
+consented, and one week from the day of the marriage they started. In
+Carrie’s eyes there was already a look of weary sadness, which said
+that the bitter tears were constantly welling up, while on her brow a
+shadow was resting, as if Sunnyside were a greater burden than she
+could bear. Alas, for a union without love! It seldom fails to end in
+misery, and thus poor Carrie found it. Her husband was proud of her,
+and, had she permitted, would have loved her after his fashion, but his
+affectionate advances were invariably repulsed, until at last he
+treated her with a cold politeness, far more endurable than his fawning
+attentions had been. She was welcome to go her own way, and he went
+his, each having in San Francisco their own suite of rooms, and setting
+up, as it were, a separate establishment. In this way they got on quite
+comfortably for a few weeks, at the end of which time Carrie took it
+into her capricious head to return to Maple Grove. She would never go
+back to Sunnyside, she said. And without a word of opposition the
+captain paid his bills, and started for Kentucky, where he left his
+wife at Maple Grove, she giving as a reason that “ma could not spare
+her yet.”
+
+Far different from this were the future prospects of Durward and ’Lena,
+who with perfect love in their hearts were married, a week after the
+departure of Captain Atherton for California. Very proudly Durward
+looked down upon her as he placed the first husband’s kiss on her brow,
+and in the soft brown eyes, brimming with tears, which she raised to
+his face, there was a world of tenderness, telling that theirs was a
+union of hearts as well as hands.
+
+The next night a small party assembled at the house of Mr. Douglass, in
+Frankfort, where Nellie was transformed into Nellie Livingstone.
+Perhaps it was the remembrance of the young girl to whom his vows had
+once before been plighted, that made John Jr. appear for a time as if
+he were in a dream. But the moment they rallied him upon the
+strangeness of his manner, he brightened up, saying that he was trying
+to get used to thinking that Nellie was really his. It had been decided
+that he should accompany Durward and ’Lena to Europe, and a day or two
+after his marriage he asked Mr. Everett to go too. Anna’s eyes fairly
+danced with joy, as she awaited Malcolm’s reply. But much as he would
+like to go, he could not afford it, and so he frankly said, kissing
+away the big tear which rolled down Anna’s cheek.
+
+With a smile John Jr. placed a sealed package in his sister’s hand,
+saying to Malcolm, “I have anticipated this and provided for it. I
+suppose you are aware that Mabel willed me all her property, which
+contrary to our expectations, has proved to be considerable. I know I
+do not deserve a cent of it, but as she had no nearer relative than Mr.
+Douglass, I have concluded to use it for the comfort of his daughter
+and for the good of others. I want you and Anna to join us, and I’ve
+given her such a sum as will bear your expenses, and leave you more
+than you can earn dickering at law for three or four years. So, puss,”
+turning to Anna, “it’s all settled. Now hurrah for the sunny skies of
+France and Italy, I’ve talked with father about it, and he’s willing to
+stay alone for the sake of having you go. Oh, don’t thank me,” he
+continued, as he saw them about to speak. “It’s poor little Meb to whom
+you are indebted. She loved Anna, and would willingly have her money
+used for this purpose.”
+
+After a little reflection Malcolm concluded to accept John’s offer, and
+a happier party never stepped on board a steamer than that which, on
+the 15th of April, sailed for Europe, which they reached in safety,
+being at the last accounts in Paris, where they were enjoying
+themselves immensely.
+
+A few words more, and our story is told. Just as Mr. Livingstone was
+getting tolerably well suited with his bachelor life, he was one
+morning surprised by the return of his wife and daughter, the latter of
+whom, as we have before stated, took up her abode at Maple Grove.
+Almost every day the old captain rides over to see her, but he
+generally carries back a longer face than he brings. The bald spot on
+his head is growing larger, and to her dismay Carrie has discovered a
+“crow track” in the corner of her eye. Frequently, after a war of words
+with her mother, she announces her intention of returning to Sunnyside,
+but a sight of the captain is sufficient to banish all such thoughts.
+And thus she lives, that most wretched of all beings, an unloving and
+unloved wife.
+
+During the absence of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Graham remain at
+Woodlawn, which, as it is the property of Durward, will be his own and
+’Lena’s home.
+
+Jerry Langley has changed his occupation of driver for that of a
+brakeman on the railroad between Canandaigua and Niagara Falls.
+
+In conclusion we will say of our old friend, Uncle Timothy, that he
+joined “the _Hindews_” as proposed, was nominated for constable, and,
+sure of success, bought an old gig for the better transportation of
+himself over the town. But alas for human hopes—if funded upon
+politics—the whole American ticket was defeated at Laurel Hill, since
+which time he has gone over to the Republicans, to whom he has sworn
+eternal allegiance.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ’LENA RIVERS ***
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
+be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
+law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
+so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the
+United States without permission and without paying copyright
+royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
+of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
+and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
+the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
+of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
+copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
+easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
+of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
+Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
+do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
+by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
+license, especially commercial redistribution.
+
+START: FULL LICENSE
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
+Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
+www.gutenberg.org/license.
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
+destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
+possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
+Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
+by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
+person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
+1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
+agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
+Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
+of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
+works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
+States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
+United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
+claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
+displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
+all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
+that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
+free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
+works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
+Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
+comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
+same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
+you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
+in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
+check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
+agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
+distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
+other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
+representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
+country other than the United States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
+immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
+prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
+on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
+performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
+
+  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
+  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
+  United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
+  you are located before using this eBook.
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
+derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
+contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
+copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
+the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
+redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
+either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
+obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
+trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
+additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
+will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
+posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
+beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
+any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
+to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
+other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
+version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website
+(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
+to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
+of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
+Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
+full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+provided that:
+
+* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
+  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
+  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
+  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
+  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
+  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
+  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
+  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
+  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
+  Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
+  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
+  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
+  works.
+
+* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
+  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
+  receipt of the work.
+
+* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
+are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
+from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
+the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
+forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
+Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
+contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
+or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
+other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
+cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
+with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
+with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
+lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
+or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
+opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
+the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
+without further opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
+OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
+damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
+violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
+agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
+limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
+unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
+remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
+accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
+production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
+including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
+the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
+or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
+additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
+Defect you cause.
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
+computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
+exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
+from people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
+generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
+Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
+www.gutenberg.org
+
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
+U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
+Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
+to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website
+and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without
+widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
+DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
+state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
+donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
+freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
+distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
+volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
+the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
+necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
+edition.
+
+Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
+facility: www.gutenberg.org
+
+This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+
diff --git a/old/12835-0.zip b/old/12835-0.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..32cb283
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/12835-0.zip
diff --git a/old/12835-h.zip b/old/12835-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0c010be
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/12835-h.zip
diff --git a/old/12835-h/12835-h.htm b/old/12835-h/12835-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9028329
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/12835-h/12835-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,18194 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" />
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of ’Lena Rivers, by Mary J. Holmes</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+
+body { margin-left: 20%;
+       margin-right: 20%;
+       text-align: justify; }
+
+h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight:
+normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;}
+
+h1 {font-size: 300%;
+    margin-top: 0.6em;
+    margin-bottom: 0.6em;
+    letter-spacing: 0.12em;
+    word-spacing: 0.2em;
+    text-indent: 0em;}
+h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;}
+h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;}
+h4 {font-size: 120%;}
+h5 {font-size: 110%;}
+
+.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */
+
+div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;}
+
+hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+
+p {text-indent: 1em;
+   margin-top: 0.25em;
+   margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+
+p.letter {text-indent: 0%;
+          margin-left: 10%;
+          margin-right: 10%;
+          margin-top: 1em;
+          margin-bottom: 1em; }
+
+p.center  {text-align: center;
+           text-indent: 0em;
+           margin-top: 1em;
+           margin-bottom: 1em; }
+
+p.right {text-align: right;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+         margin-top: 1em;
+         margin-bottom: 1em; }
+
+a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none}
+a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none}
+a:hover {color:red}
+
+</style>
+
+</head>
+
+<body>
+
+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of ’Lena Rivers, by Mary J. Holmes</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: ’Lena Rivers</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary J. Holmes</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 7, 2004 [eBook #12835]<br />
+[Most recently updated: November 23, 2021]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Al Haines</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ’LENA RIVERS ***</div>
+
+<h1>&rsquo;LENA RIVERS</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by MRS. MARY J. HOLMES</h2>
+
+
+<h3>AUTHOR OF</h3>
+
+<h5>&ldquo;TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,&rdquo; &ldquo;ENGLISH ORPHANS,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT,&rdquo; &ldquo;MARIAN GRAY,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;ETHELYN&rsquo;S MISTAKE,&rdquo; &ldquo;CAMERON PRIDE,&rdquo; &ldquo;EDNA
+BROWNING,&rdquo; &ldquo;WEST LAWN,&rdquo; &ldquo;EDITH LYLE,&rdquo; ETC.,
+ETC.</h5>
+
+<h3>MDCCCXCVII.</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#pref01">PREFACE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. &rsquo;LENA.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. JOHN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. PACKING UP.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. ON THE ROAD.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. MAPLE GROVE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE ARRIVAL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. MALCOLM EVERETT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. SCHEMING.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. FIVE YEARS LATER.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. WOODLAWN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. MABEL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. NELLIE AND MABEL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. MRS. LIVINGSTONE&rsquo;S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. CHRISTMAS GIFTS.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. FRANKFORT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEPARTURE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE VISIT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. A FATHER&rsquo;S LOVE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. JOEL SLOCUM.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. THE DAGUERREOTYPE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. JOHN JR. AND MABEL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. THE BRIDAL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI MARRIED LIFE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. THE SHADOW.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. MRS. GRAHAM&rsquo;S RETURN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. THE RESULT.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. MORE CLOUDS.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. REACTION.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. THE WANDERER.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV &rsquo;LENA&rsquo;S FATHER.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV. EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI. ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII. DURWARD.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="pref01"></a>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+If it be true, as some have said, that a <i>secret</i> is safer in a
+<i>preface</i> than elsewhere, it would be worse than folly for me to waste the
+&ldquo;midnight oil,&rdquo; in the manufacture of an article which no one would
+read, and which would serve no purpose, save the adding of a page or so to a
+volume perhaps already too large. But I do not think so. I wot of a few who,
+with a horror of anything savoring of <i>humbug</i>, wade industriously through
+a preface, be it never so lengthy, hoping therein to find the <i>moral</i>,
+without which the story would, of course, be valueless. To such I would say,
+seek no further, for though I claim for &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers,&rdquo; a
+moral&mdash;yes, half a dozen morals, if you please&mdash;I shall not put them
+in the preface, as I prefer having them sought after, for what I have written I
+wish to have read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Reared among the rugged hills of the Bay State, and for a time constantly
+associated with a class of people known the wide world over as <i>Yankees</i>,
+it is no more than natural that I should often write of the places and scenes
+with which I have been the most familiar. In my delineations of New England
+character I have aimed to copy from memory, and in no one instance, I believe,
+have I overdrawn the pictures; for among the New England mountains there lives
+many a &ldquo;Grandma Nichols,&rdquo; a &ldquo;Joel Slocum,&rdquo; or a
+&ldquo;Nancy Scovandyke,&rdquo; while the wide world holds more than one
+&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>, with her high temper, extreme beauty, and rare combination
+of those qualities which make the female character so lovely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nearly the same remarks will also apply to my portraitures of Kentucky life and
+character, for it has been my good fortune to spend a year and a half in that
+state, and in my descriptions of country lanes and country life, I have with a
+few exceptions copied from what I saw. <i>Mrs. Livingstone</i> and <i>Mrs.
+Graham</i> are characters found everywhere, while the impulsive <i>John
+Jr</i>., and the generous-hearted <i>Durward</i>, represent a class of
+individuals who belong more exclusively to the &ldquo;sunny south.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have endeavored to make this book both a good and an interesting one, and if
+I have failed in my attempt, it is too late to remedy it now; and, such as it
+is, I give it to the world, trusting that the same favor and forbearance which
+have been awarded to my other works, will also be extended to this.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+M. J. H.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+B<small>ROCKPORT</small>, N. Y., <i>October</i>, 1856.
+</p>
+
+<h2>LENA RIVERS.</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/>
+&rsquo;LENA.</h2>
+
+<p>
+For many days the storm continued. Highways were blocked up, while roads less
+frequented were rendered wholly impassable. The oldest inhabitants of Oakland
+had &ldquo;never seen the like before,&rdquo; and they shook their gray heads
+ominously as over and adown the New England mountains the howling wind swept
+furiously, now shrieking exultingly as one by one the huge forest trees bent
+before its power, and again dying away in a low, sad wail, as it shook the
+casement of some low-roofed cottage, where the blazing fire, &ldquo;high piled
+upon the hearth,&rdquo; danced merrily to the sound of the storm-wind, and
+then, whirling in fantastic circles, disappeared up the broad-mouthed chimney.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For nearly a week there was scarcely a sign of life in the streets of Oakland,
+but at the end of that time the storm abated, and the December sun, emerging
+from its dark hiding-place, once more looked smilingly down upon the white,
+untrodden snow, which covered the earth for miles and miles around. Rapidly the
+roads were broken; paths were made on the narrow sidewalk, and then the
+villagers bethought themselves of their mountain neighbors, who might perchance
+have suffered from the severity of the storm. Far up the mountain side in an
+old yellow farmhouse, which had withstood the blasts of many a winter, lived
+Grandfather and Grandmother Nichols, as they were familiarly called, and ere
+the sun-setting, arrangements were made for paying them a visit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oakland was a small rural village, nestled among rocky hills, where the word
+fashion was seldom heard, and where many of the primitive customs of our
+forefathers still prevailed. Consequently, neither the buxom maidens, nor the
+hale old matrons, felt in the least disgraced as they piled promiscuously upon
+the four-ox sled, which erelong was moving slowly through the mammoth drifts
+which lay upon the mountain road. As they drew near the farmhouse, they noticed
+that the blue paper curtains which shaded the windows of Grandma Nichols&rsquo;
+&ldquo;spare room,&rdquo; were rolled up, while the faint glimmer of a tallow
+candle within, indicated that the room possessed an occupant. Who could it be?
+Possibly it was <i>John</i>, the proud man, who lived in Kentucky, and who, to
+please his wealthy bride exchanged the plebeian name of Nichols, for that of
+<i>Livingstone</i>, which his high-born lady fancied was more aristocratic in
+its sounding!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if it be John,&rdquo; said the passengers of the ox sled, with whom
+that gentleman was no great favorite, &ldquo;if it be John, we&rsquo;ll take
+ourselves home as fast as ever we can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Satisfied with this resolution, they kept on their way until they reached the
+wide gateway, where they were met by Mr. Nichols, whose greeting they fancied
+was less cordial than usual. With a simple &ldquo;how d&rsquo;ye do,&rdquo; he
+led the way into the spacious kitchen, which answered the treble purpose of
+dining-room, sitting-room, and cook-room. Grandma Nichols, too, appeared
+somewhat disturbed, but she met her visitors with an air which seemed to say,
+she was determined to make the best of her trouble, whatever it might be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door of the &ldquo;spare room&rdquo; was slightly ajar, and while the
+visitors were disrobing, one young girl, more curious than the rest, peered
+cautiously in, exclaiming as she did so, &ldquo;Mother! mother! Helena is in
+there on the bed, pale as a ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Heleny is in there,&rdquo; interrupted Grandma Nichols, who
+overheard the girl&rsquo;s remark. &ldquo;She got hum the fust night of the
+storm, and what&rsquo;s queerer than all, she&rsquo;s been married better than
+a year.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Married! Married! Helena married! Who to? Where&rsquo;s her
+husband?&rdquo; asked a dozen voices in the same breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grandfather Nichols groaned as if in pain, and his wife, glancing anxiously
+toward the door of her daughter&rsquo;s room, said in reply to the last
+question, &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the worst on&rsquo;t. He was some grand rascal,
+who lived at the suthard, and come up here to see what he could do. He thought
+Heleny was handsome, I s&rsquo;pose, and married her, making her keep it still
+because his folks in Car&rsquo;lina wouldn&rsquo;t like it. Of course he got
+sick of her, and jest afore the baby was born he gin her five hundred dollars
+and left her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A murmur of surprise ran round the room, accompanied with a look of
+incredulity, which Grandma Nichols quickly divined, and while her withered
+cheek crimsoned at the implied disgrace, she added in an elevated tone of
+voice, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s true as the Bible. Old Father Blanchard&rsquo;s son,
+that used to preach here, married them, and Heleny brought us a letter from
+him, saying it was true. Here &rsquo;tis,&mdash;read it yourselves, if you
+don&rsquo;t b&rsquo;lieve me;&rdquo; and she drew from a side drawer a letter,
+on the back of which, the villagers recognized the well remembered handwriting
+of their former pastor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This proof of Helena&rsquo;s innocence was hardly relished by the clever
+gossips of Oakland, for the young girl, though kind-hearted and gentle, was far
+too beautiful to be a general favorite. Mothers saw in her a rival for their
+daughters, while the daughters looked enviously upon her clear white brow, and
+shining chestnut hair; which fell in wavy curls about her neck and shoulders.
+Two years before our story opens, she had left her mountain home to try the
+mysteries of millinery in the city, where a distant relative of her mother was
+living. Here her uncommon beauty attracted much attention, drawing erelong to
+her side a wealthy young southerner, who, just freed from the restraints of
+college life, found it vastly agreeable making love to the fair Helena.
+Simple-minded, and wholly unused to the ways of the world, she believed each
+word he said, and when at last he proposed marriage, she not only consented,
+but also promised to keep it a secret for a time, until he could in a measure
+reconcile his father, who he feared might disinherit him for wedding a
+penniless bride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait, darling, until he knows you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and then he
+will gladly welcome you as his daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, one dark, wintry night, when neither moon nor stars were visible,
+Helena stole softly from her quiet room at Mrs. Warren&rsquo;s, and in less
+than an hour was the lawful bride of Harry Rivers, the wife of the clergyman
+alone witnessing the ceremony.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I could take you home at once,&rdquo; said young Rivers, who was
+less a rascal than a coward; &ldquo;I wish I could take you home at once, but
+it cannot be. We must wait awhile.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Helena went back to Mrs. Warren&rsquo;s, where for a few weeks she stayed,
+and then saying she was going home, she left and became the mistress of a neat
+little cottage which stood a mile or two from the city. Here for several months
+young Rivers devoted himself entirely to her happiness, seeming to forget that
+there was aught else in the world save his &ldquo;beautiful &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo;
+as he was wont to call her. But at last there came a change. Harry seemed sad,
+and absent-minded, though ever kind to Helena, who strove in vain to learn the
+cause of his uneasiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning when, later than usual, she awoke, she missed him from her side;
+and on the table near her lay a letter containing the following:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Forgive me, darling, that I leave you so abruptly. Circumstances render
+it neccessary, but be assured, I shall come back again. In the mean time, you
+had better return to your parents, where I will seek you. Enclosed are five
+hundred dollars, enough for your present need. Farewell.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;H. R<small>IVERS</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was one bitter cry of hopeless anguish, and when Helena Rivers again
+awoke to perfect consciousness, she lay in a darkened room, soft footsteps
+passed in and out, kind faces, in which were mingled pity and reproach, bent
+anxiously over her, while at her side lay a little tender thing, her infant
+daughter, three weeks old. And now there arose within her a strong desire to
+see once more her childhood&rsquo;s home, to lay her aching head upon her
+mother&rsquo;s lap, and pour out the tale of grief which was crushing the life
+from out her young heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started for Oakland, taking
+the precaution to procure from the clergyman, who had married her, a letter
+confirming the fact. Wretched and weary she reached her home at the dusk of
+evening, and with a bitter cry fell fainting in the arms of her mother, who
+having heard regularly from her, never dreamed that she was elsewhere than in
+the employ of Mrs. Warren. With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man
+and his wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer more than once blessing
+the fearful storm which for a time, at least, would keep away the prying eyes
+of those who, they feared, would hardly credit their daughter&rsquo;s story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And their fears were right, for many of those who visited them on the night of
+which we have spoken, disbelieved the tale, mentally pronouncing the
+clergyman&rsquo;s letter a forgery, got up by Helena to deceive her parents.
+Consequently, of the few who from time to time came to the old farmhouse,
+nearly all were actuated by motives of curiosity, rather than by feelings of
+pity for the young girl-mother, who, though feeling their neglect, scarcely
+heeded it. Strong in the knowledge of her own innocence, she lay day after day,
+watching and waiting for one who never came. But at last, as days glided into
+weeks, and weeks into months, hope died away, and turning wearily upon her
+pillow, she prayed that she might die; and when the days grew bright and
+gladsome in the warm spring sun, when the snow was melted from off the mountain
+tops, and the first robin&rsquo;s note was heard by the farmhouse door, Helena
+laid her baby on her mother&rsquo;s bosom, and without a murmur glided down the
+dark, broad river, whose deep waters move onward and onward, but never return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there came a reaction, and
+those who had been loudest in their condemnation, were now the first to hasten
+forward with offers of kindness and words of sympathy. But neither tears nor
+regrets could recall to life the fair young girl, who, wondrously beautiful
+even in death, slept calmly in her narrow coffin, a smile of sadness wreathing
+her lips, as if her last prayer had been for one who had robbed her thus early
+of happiness and life. In the bright green valley at the foot of the mountain,
+they buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp earth fall upon her
+grave, asked that he too might die. But his wife, younger by several years,
+prayed to live&mdash;live that she might protect and care for the little
+orphan, who first by its young mother&rsquo;s tears, and again by the waters of
+the baptismal fountain, was christened HELENA RIVERS;&mdash;the
+&rsquo;<i>Lena</i> of our story.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/>
+JOHN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Ten years of sunlight and shadow have passed away, and the little grave at the
+foot of the mountain is now grass-grown and sunken. Ten times have the snows of
+winter fallen upon the hoary head of Grandfather Nichols, bleaching his thin
+locks to their own whiteness and bending his sturdy frame, until now, the old
+man lay dying&mdash;dying in the same blue-curtained room, where years agone
+his only daughter was born, and where ten years before she had died. Carefully
+did Mrs. Nichols nurse him, watching, weeping, and praying that he might live,
+while little &rsquo;Lena gladly shared her grandmother&rsquo;s vigils, hovering
+ever by the bedside of her grandfather, who seemed more quiet when her soft
+hand smoothed his tangled hair or wiped the cold moisture from his brow. The
+villagers, too, remembering their neglect, when once before death had brooded
+over the mountain farmhouse, now daily came with offers of assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But one thing still was wanting. John, their only remaining child, was absent,
+and the sick man&rsquo;s heart grew sad and his eyes dim with tears, as day by
+day went by, and still he did not come. Several times had &rsquo;Lena written
+to her uncle, apprising him of his father&rsquo;s danger, and once only had he
+answered. It was a brief, formal letter, written, evidently, under some
+constraint, but it said that he was coming, and with childish joy the old man
+had placed it beneath his pillow, withdrawing it occasionally for &rsquo;Lena
+to read again, particularly the passage, &ldquo;Dear father, I am sorry you are
+sick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Heaven bless him! I know he&rsquo;s sorry,&rdquo; Mr. Nichols would say.
+&ldquo;He was always a good boy&mdash;is a good boy now. Ain&rsquo;t he,
+Martha?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And mother-like, Mrs. Nichols would answer, &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; forcing back the
+while the tears which would start when she thought how long the &ldquo;good
+boy&rdquo; had neglected them, eighteen years having elapsed since he had
+crossed the threshold of his home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With his hand plighted to one of the village maidens, he had left Oakland to
+seek his fortune, going first to New York, then to Ohio, and finally wending
+his way southward, to Kentucky. Here he remained, readily falling into the
+luxurious habits of those around him, and gradually forgetting the low-roofed
+farmhouse far away to the northward, where dwelt a gray-haired pair and a
+beautiful young girl, his parents and his sister. She to whom his vows were
+plighted was neither graceful nor cultivated, and when, occasionally, her tall,
+spare figure and uncouth manners arose before him, in contrast with the fair
+forms around him, he smiled derisively at the thoughts of making her his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About this time there came from New Orleans a wealthy invalid, with his only
+daughter Matilda. She was a proud haughty girl, whose disposition, naturally
+unamiable, was rendered still worse by a disappointment from which she was
+suffering. Accidentally Mr. Richards, her father, made the acquaintance of John
+Nichols, conceiving for him a violent fancy, and finally securing him as a
+constant companion. For several weeks John appeared utterly oblivious to the
+presence of Matilda who, accustomed to adulation, began at last to feel piqued
+at his neglect, and to strive in many ways to attract his attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, who was ambitious, met her advances more than half way, and finally,
+encouraged by her father, offered her his heart and hand. Under other
+circumstances, Matilda would undoubtedly have spurned him with contempt; but
+having heard that her recreant lover was about taking to himself a bride, she
+felt a desire, as she expressed it, &ldquo;to let him know she could marry
+too.&rdquo; Accordingly, John was accepted, on condition that he changed the
+name of Nichols, which Miss Richards particularly disliked, to that of
+Livingstone. This was easily done, and the next letter which went to Oakland
+carried the news of John&rsquo;s marriage with the proud Matilda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few months later and Mr. Richards died, leaving his entire property to his
+daughter and her husband. John was now richer far than even in his wildest
+dreams he had ever hoped to be, and yet like many others, he found that riches
+alone could not insure happiness. And, indeed, to be happy with Matilda
+Richards, seemed impossible. Proud, avaricious, and overbearing, she
+continually taunted her husband with his entire dependence upon her, carefully
+watching him, lest any of her hoarded wealth should find its way to the scanty
+purse of his parents, of whom she always spoke with contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never but once had they asked for aid, and that to help them rear the little
+&rsquo;Lena. Influenced by his wife, John replied sneeringly, scouting the idea
+of Helena&rsquo;s marriage, denouncing her as his sister, and saying of her
+child, that the poor-house stood ready for such as she! This letter &rsquo;Lena
+had accidentally found among her grandfather&rsquo;s papers, and though its
+contents gave her no definite impression concerning her mother, it inspired her
+with a dislike for her uncle, whose coming she greatly dreaded, for it was
+confidently expected that she, together with her grandmother, would return with
+him to Kentucky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be better off there than here,&rdquo; said her grandfather
+one day, when speaking of the subject. &ldquo;Your Uncle John is rich, and
+you&rsquo;ll grow up a fine lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be a lady&mdash;I won&rsquo;t be a lady,&rdquo;
+said &rsquo;Lena passionately. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like Uncle John. He called
+my mother a bad woman and me a little brat! I hate him!&rdquo; and the
+beautiful brown eyes glittering with tears flashed forth their anger quite as
+eloquently as language could express it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment &rsquo;Lena was bending over her grandfather, asking to be
+forgiven for the hasty words which she knew had caused him pain.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to like him,&rdquo; said she, as the palsied hand stroked
+her disordered curls in token of forgiveness, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to like
+him,&rdquo; adding mentally, &ldquo;but I do hope he won&rsquo;t come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would seem that &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s wish was to be granted, for weeks glided
+by and there came no tidings of the absent one. Daily Mr. Nichols grew weaker,
+and when there was no longer hope of life, his heart yearned more and more to
+once more behold his son; to hear again, ere he died, the blessed name of
+father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols one afternoon when her husband
+seemed worse, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, it&rsquo;s time for the stage, and do you run
+down to the &lsquo;turn&rsquo; and see if your uncle&rsquo;s come; something
+tells me he&rsquo;ll be here to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena obeyed, and throwing on her faded calico sunbonnet, she was soon at
+the &ldquo;turn,&rdquo; a point in the road from which the village hotel was
+plainly discernible. The stage had just arrived, and &rsquo;Lena saw that one
+of the passengers evidently intended stopping, for he seemed to be giving
+directions concerning his baggage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s Uncle John, I most know,&rdquo; thought she, and seating
+herself on a rock beneath some white birches, so common in New England, she
+awaited his approach. She was right in her conjecture, for the stranger was
+John Livingstone, returned after many years, but so changed that the jolly
+landlord, who had known him when a boy, and with whom he had cracked many a
+joke, now hardly dared to address him, he seemed so cold and haughty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will leave my trunk here for a few days,&rdquo; said John, &ldquo;and
+perhaps I shall wish for a room. Got any decent accommodations?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wonder if he don&rsquo;t calculate to sleep to hum,&rdquo; thought the
+landlord, replying at the same instant, &ldquo;Yes, sir, tip-top
+accommodations. Hain&rsquo;t more&rsquo;n tew beds in any room, and nowadays we
+allers has a wash-bowl and pitcher; don&rsquo;t go to the sink as we used to
+when you lived round here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house and started up the
+mountain road, where &rsquo;Lena still kept her watch. Oh, how that walk
+recalled to him the memories of other days, which came thronging about him as
+one by one familiar way-marks appeared, reminding him of his childhood, when he
+roamed over that mountain-side with those who were now scattered far and wide,
+some on the deep, blue sea, some at the distant west, and others far away
+across the dark river of death. He had mingled much with the world since last
+he had traversed that road, and his heart had grown callous and indifferent,
+but he was not entirely hardened, and when at the &ldquo;turn&rdquo; in the
+road, he came suddenly upon the tall walnut tree, on whose shaggy bark his name
+was carved, together with that of another&mdash;a maiden&mdash;he started as if
+smitten with a heavy blow, and dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed
+&ldquo;Oh that I were a boy again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From her seat on the mossy rock &rsquo;Lena had been watching him. She was very
+ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but quite ready to
+change the latter if she saw any indications of improvement in the person
+disliked. For her uncle she had conceived a great aversion, and when she saw
+him approaching, thrusting aside the thistles and dandelions with his
+gold-headed cane, she mimicked his motions, wondering &ldquo;if he didn&rsquo;t
+feel big because he wore a large gold chain dangling from his jacket
+pocket.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion suddenly
+changed. &ldquo;A very bad man wouldn&rsquo;t cry,&rdquo; she thought, and
+springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, &ldquo;I know you are
+my Uncle John, and I&rsquo;m real glad you&rsquo;ve come. Granny thought you
+never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone would hardly have been
+more startled, for in form and feature &rsquo;Lena was exactly what her mother
+had been at her age. The same clear complexion, large brown eyes, and wavy
+hair; and the tones of her voice, too, how they thrilled the heart of the
+strong man, making him a boy again, guiding the steps of his baby sister, or
+bearing her gently in his arms when the path was steep and stony. It was but a
+moment, however, and then the vision faded. His sister was dead, and the little
+girl before him was her child&mdash;the child of shame he believed, or rather,
+his wife had said it so often that he began to believe it. Glancing at the
+old-womanish garb in which Mrs. Nichols always arrayed her, a smile of mingled
+scorn and pity curled his lips, as he thought of presenting her to his
+fastidious wife and elegant daughters; then withdrawing the hand which she had
+taken, he said, &ldquo;And you are &rsquo;Lena&mdash;&rsquo;Lena Nichols they
+call you, I suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s old dislike began to return, and placing both hands upon
+her hips in imitation of her grandmother she replied, &ldquo;No
+&rsquo;tain&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena Nichols, neither. It&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena
+Rivers. Granny says so, and the town clark has got it so on his book. How are
+my cousins? Are they pretty well? And how is <i>Ant</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at this little specimen
+of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of his mother. Poor little &rsquo;Lena!
+how should she know any better, living as she always had with two old people,
+whose language savored so much of the days before the flood! Some such thought
+passed through Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s mind, and very civilly he answered her
+concerning the health of her cousins and aunt; proceeding next to question her
+of his father, who, she said, &ldquo;had never seen a well day since her mother
+died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there any one with him except your grandmother?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Livingstone; and Lena replied, &ldquo;Aunt Nancy Scovandyke has been with us a
+few days, and is there now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that &rsquo;Lena
+observed it, and asked &ldquo;if he knew Miss Scovandyke?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I used to,&rdquo; said he, while &rsquo;Lena continued:
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a nice woman, and though she ain&rsquo;t any connection, I
+call her aunt. Granny thinks a sight of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr. Livingstone, and
+changing the subject, he said, &ldquo;What makes you say <i>Granny</i>,
+child?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena blushed painfully. &rsquo;Twas the first word she had ever uttered,
+her grandmother having taught it to her, and encouraged her in its use. Besides
+that, &rsquo;Lena had a great horror of anything which she fancied was at all
+&ldquo;stuck up,&rdquo; and thinking an entire change from <i>Granny</i> to
+<i>Grandmother</i> would be altogether too much, she still persisted in
+occasionally using her favorite word, in spite of the ridicule it frequently
+called forth from her school companions. Thinking to herself that it was none
+of her uncle&rsquo;s business what she called her grandmother, she made no
+reply, and in a few moments they came in sight of the yellow farmhouse, which
+looked to Mr. Livingstone just as it did when he left it, eighteen years
+before. There was the tall poplar, with its green leaves rustling in the
+breeze, just as they had done years ago, when from a distant hill-top he looked
+back to catch the last glimpse of his home. The well in the rear was the
+same&mdash;the lilac bushes in front&mdash;the tansy patch on the right and the
+gable-roofed barn on the left; all were there; nothing was changed but himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mechanically he followed &rsquo;Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
+bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he remembered
+had lain there when he went away. One thing alone seemed strange. The blue
+paper curtains were rolled away from the &ldquo;spare room&rdquo; windows,
+which were open as if to admit as much air as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if grandpa was worse,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena,
+hurrying him along and ushering him at once into the sick-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bending tenderly over
+the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the small, scanty pillow. John thought
+&ldquo;how small and scanty they were,&rdquo; while he almost shuddered at the
+sound of his footsteps upon the uncarpeted floor. Everything was dreary and
+comfortless, and his conscience reproached him that his old father should die
+so poor, when he counted his money by thousands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading daylight, causing
+his mother to raise her head, and in a moment her long, bony arms were twined
+around his neck. The cruel letter, his long neglect, were all forgotten in the
+joy of once more beholding her &ldquo;darling boy,&rdquo; whose bearded cheek
+she kissed again and again. John was unused to such demonstrations of
+affection, except, indeed, from his little golden-haired Anna, who was
+<i>refined</i> and <i>polished</i>, and all that, which made a vast difference,
+as he thought. Still, he returned his mother&rsquo;s greeting with a tolerably
+good grace, managing, however, to tear himself from her as soon as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is my father?&rdquo; he asked; and his mother replied, &ldquo;He
+grew worse right away after &rsquo;Leny went out, and he seemed so put
+to&rsquo;t for breath, that Nancy went for the doctor&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here a movement from the invalid arrested her attention and going to the
+bedside she saw that he was awake. Bending over him she whispered softly,
+&ldquo;John has come. Would you like to see him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly the feeble arms were outstretched, as if to feel what could not be
+seen, for the old man&rsquo;s eyesight was dim with the shadows of death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking both his father&rsquo;s hands in his, John said, &ldquo;Here I am,
+father; can&rsquo;t you see me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, John, no; I can&rsquo;t see you.&rdquo; And the poor man wept like a
+little child. Soon growing more calm, he continued: &ldquo;Your voice is the
+same that it was years ago, when you lived with us at home. That hasn&rsquo;t
+changed, though they say your name has. Oh, John, my boy, how could you do so?
+&rsquo;Twas a good name&mdash;my name&mdash;and you the only one left to bear
+it. What made you do so, oh John, John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone did not reply, and after a moment his father again spoke;
+&ldquo;John, lay your hand on my forehead. It&rsquo;s cold as ice. I am dying,
+and your mother will be left alone. We are poor, my son; poorer than you think.
+The homestead is mortgaged for all it&rsquo;s worth and there are only a few
+dollars in the purse. Oh, I worked so hard to earn them for her and the
+girl&mdash;Helena&rsquo;s child. Now, John, promise me that when I am gone they
+shall go with you to your home in the west. Promise, and I shall die
+happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a new idea to John, and for a time he hesitated. He glanced at his
+mother; she was ignorant and peculiar, but she was his mother still. He looked
+at &rsquo;Lena, she was beautiful&mdash;he knew that, but she was odd and
+old-fashioned. He thought of his haughty wife, his headstrong son and his
+imperious daughter. What would they say if he made that promise, for if he made
+it he would keep it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke again:
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you give your old mother a home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice was weaker than when it spoke before, and John knew that life was
+fast ebbing away, for the brow on which his hand was resting was cold and damp
+with the moisture of death. He could no longer refuse, and the promise was
+given.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning, the deep-toned bell of Oakland told that another soul was
+gone, and the villagers as they counted the three score strokes and ten knew
+that Grandfather Nichols was numbered with the dead.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/>
+PACKING UP.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The funeral was over, and in the quiet valley by the side of his only daughter,
+Grandfather Nichols was laid to rest. As far as possible his father&rsquo;s
+business was settled, and then John began to speak of his returning. More than
+once had he repented of the promise made to his father, and as the time passed
+on he shrank more and more from introducing his &ldquo;plebeian&rdquo; mother
+to his &ldquo;lady&rdquo; wife, who, he knew, was meditating an open rebellion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Immediately after his father&rsquo;s death he had written to his wife, telling
+her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth matters over, so that his
+mother might at least have a decent reception. In a violent passion, his wife
+had answered, that &ldquo;she never would submit to it&mdash;never. When I
+married you,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t suppose I was marrying the
+&lsquo;old woman,&rsquo; young one, and all; and as for my having them to
+maintain, I will not, so <i>Mr. John Nichols</i>, you understand it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called her husband <i>Mr.
+John Nichols</i>, and when Mr. John Nichols was particularly angry, he did as
+he pleased, so in this case he replied that &ldquo;he should bring home as many
+&lsquo;old women&rsquo; and &lsquo;young ones&rsquo; as he liked, and she might
+help herself if she could!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This state of things was hardly favorable to the future happiness of Grandma
+Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and deeming herself as good as anybody, never
+dreamed that her presence would be unwelcome to her daughter-in-law, whom she
+thought to assist in various ways, &ldquo;taking perhaps the whole heft of the
+housework upon herself&mdash;though,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;I mean to begin
+just as I can hold out. I&rsquo;ve hearn of such things as son&rsquo;s wives
+shirkin&rsquo; the whole on to their old mothers, and the minit &rsquo;Tilda
+shows any signs of that, I shall back out, I tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, and then burst into
+a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s dismay at hearing
+herself called &rsquo;<i>Tilda</i>. Had John chosen, he could have given his
+mother a few useful hints with regard to her treatment of his wife, but such an
+idea never entered his brain. He was a man of few words, and generally allowed
+himself to be controlled by circumstances, thinking that the easiest way of
+getting through the world. He was very proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it
+would be to present his mother to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was
+in the future&mdash;many miles away&mdash;he wouldn&rsquo;t trouble himself
+about it now; so he passed his time mostly in rambling through the woods and
+over the hills, while his mother, good soul, busied herself with the
+preparations for her journey, inviting each and every one of her neighbors to
+&ldquo;be sure and visit her if they ever came that way,&rdquo; and urging some
+of them to come on purpose and &ldquo;spend the winter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among those who promised compliance with this last request, was Miss Nancy
+Scovandyke, whom we have once before mentioned, and who, as the reader will
+have inferred, was the first love of John Livingstone. On the night of his
+arrival, she had been sent in quest of the physician, and when on her return
+she learned from &rsquo;Lena that he had come, she kept out of sight, thinking
+she would wait awhile before she met him. &ldquo;Not that she cared the snap of
+her finger for him,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;only &rsquo;twas natural that she
+should hate to see him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when the time did come, she met it bravely, shaking his hand and speaking
+to him as if nothing had ever happened, and while he was wondering how he ever
+could have fancied <i>her</i>, she, too, was mentally styling herself &ldquo;a
+fool,&rdquo; for having liked &ldquo;such a <i>pussy</i>, overgrown
+thing!&rdquo; Dearly did Miss Nancy love excitement, and during the days that
+Mrs. Nichols was packing up, she was busy helping her to stow away the
+&ldquo;crockery,&rdquo; which the old lady declared should go, particularly the
+&ldquo;blue set, which she&rsquo;d had ever since the day but one before John
+was born, and which she intended as a part of &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s settin&rsquo;
+out. Then, too, John&rsquo;s wife could use &rsquo;em when she had a good deal
+of company; &rsquo;twould save buyin&rsquo; new, and every little
+helped!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder, now, if &rsquo;Tilda takes snuff,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols,
+one day, seating herself upon an empty drygoods box which stood in the middle
+of the floor, and helping herself to an enormous pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy; &ldquo;I wonder if she takes snuff, &rsquo;cause if she does, we
+shall take a sight of comfort together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t much b&rsquo;lieve she does,&rdquo; answered Miss Nancy,
+whose face was very red with trying to cram a pair of cracked bellows into the
+already crowded top of John&rsquo;s leathern trunk, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+b&rsquo;lieve she does, for somehow it seems to me she&rsquo;s a mighty
+nipped-up thing, not an atom like you nor me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Like enough,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols, finishing her snuff, and
+wiping her fingers upon the corner of her checked apron; &ldquo;but, Nancy, can
+you tell me how in the world I&rsquo;m ever going to carry this <i>mop</i>?
+It&rsquo;s bran new, never been used above a dozen times, and I can&rsquo;t
+afford to give it away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this point, John, who was sitting in the adjoining room, came forward.
+Hitherto he had not interfered in the least in his mother&rsquo;s arrangements,
+but had looked silently on while she packed away article after article which
+she would never need, and which undoubtedly would be consigned to the flames
+the moment her back was turned. The <i>mop</i> business, however, was too much
+for him, and before Miss Nancy had time to reply, he said, &ldquo;For
+heaven&rsquo;s sake, mother, how many traps do you propose taking, and what do
+you imagine we can do with a mop? Why, I dare say not one of my servants would
+know how to use it, and it&rsquo;s a wonder if some of the little chaps
+didn&rsquo;t take it for a horse before night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A <i>nigger</i> ride my mop! <i>my new mop</i>!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs.
+Nichols, rolling up her eyes in astonishment, while Miss Nancy, turning to
+John, said, &ldquo;In the name of the people, how do you live without mops? I
+should s&rsquo;pose you&rsquo;d rot alive!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not much versed in the mysteries of housekeeping,&rdquo; returned
+John, with a smile; &ldquo;but it&rsquo;s my impression that what little
+cleaning our floors get is done with a cloth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, if I won&rsquo;t give it up now,&rdquo; said Miss Nancy. &ldquo;As
+good an abolutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored folks wash the
+floor with a rag, on their hands and knees! It can&rsquo;t be that you indulge
+a hope, if you&rsquo;ll do such things!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, he said,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many useless
+things. <i>We</i> don&rsquo;t want them. Our house is full now, and besides
+that, Mrs. Livingstone is very particular about the style of her furniture, and
+I am afraid yours would hardly come up to her ideas of elegance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That chist of drawers,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an
+old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, &ldquo;cost an ocean of money when
+&rsquo;twas new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, &rsquo;Tilda
+couldn&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;em from gold, unless she&rsquo;s seen more
+on&rsquo;t than I have, which ain&rsquo;t much likely, bein&rsquo; I&rsquo;m
+double her age.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The chest does very well for you, I admit,&rdquo; said John; &ldquo;but
+we have neither use nor room for it, so if you can&rsquo;t sell it, why, give
+it away, or burn it, one or the other.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith &rsquo;Lena was dispatched to
+Widow Fisher&rsquo;s, to see if she would take it at half price. The widow had
+no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy was told &ldquo;to
+keep it, and maybe she&rsquo;d sometime have a chance to send it to Kentucky.
+It won&rsquo;t come amiss, I know, s&rsquo;posin&rsquo; they be well
+on&rsquo;t. I b&rsquo;lieve in lookin&rsquo; out for a rainy day. I can teach
+&rsquo;Tilda economy yet,&rdquo; whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the
+room where John sat, whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the
+best way if reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the cause
+of her uncle&rsquo;s moodiness. The more she saw of him the better she liked
+him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to cure herself of the
+peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he would only notice her a
+little, which he was not likely to do. He seldom noticed any child, much less
+little &rsquo;Lena, who he fancied was ignorant as well as awkward; but he did
+not know her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, &rsquo;Lena approached
+him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather timidly,
+&ldquo;Uncle, I wish you&rsquo;d tell me something about my cousins.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about them,&rdquo; he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon
+his feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the
+best,&rdquo; continued &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll like Anna the best,&rdquo; said her uncle, and &rsquo;Lena
+asked, &ldquo;Why! What sort of a girl is she? Does she love to go to school
+and study?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None too well, I reckon,&rdquo; returned her uncle, adding that
+&ldquo;there were not many little girls who did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why <i>I</i> do,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a
+moment his whittling, replied rather scornfully, &ldquo;<i>You</i>! I should
+like to know what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she bore
+the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her age, and now she
+rather tartly answered, &ldquo;I study geography, arithmetic, grammar,
+and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; history, she was going to add, but her uncle stopped
+her, saying, &ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do, that&rsquo;ll do. You study all these?
+Now I don&rsquo;t suppose you know what one of &rsquo;em is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I do,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, with a good deal of spirit.
+&ldquo;Olney&rsquo;s geography is a description of the earth; Colburn&rsquo;s
+arithmetic is the science of numbers: Smith&rsquo;s grammar teaches us how to
+speak correctly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you do it then,&rdquo; asked her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do what?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and her uncle continued, &ldquo;Why
+don&rsquo;t you make some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar? Why, my
+Anna has never seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don&rsquo;t
+<i>talk like you do</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t <i>what</i>, sir?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t <i>talk like you do</i>,&rdquo; repeated her uncle, while
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eyes fairly danced with mischief as she asked, &ldquo;if
+that were good grammar.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself might
+sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so harshly chided
+&rsquo;Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more favorably. It could
+hardly be said that he treated her with any more attention, and still there was
+a difference which she felt, and which made her very happy.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/>
+ON THE ROAD.</h2>
+
+<p>
+At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to sell, and
+too good to give away, had found a place&mdash;some here, some there, and some
+in John&rsquo;s trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars, dickeys, and so
+forth. Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was made the receiver of sundry
+cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and iron spoons, which could not be
+disposed of elsewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now every box and trunk was ready. Farmer Truesdale&rsquo;s red wagon stood
+at the door, waiting to convey them to the depot, and nothing remained for
+Grandma Nichols, but to bid adieu to the old spot, endeared to her by so many
+associations. Again and again she went from room to room, weeping always, and
+lingering longest in the one where her children were born, and where her
+husband and daughter had died. In the corner stood the old low-post bedstead,
+the first she had ever owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long
+years before, when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, blushing deeply
+at the sly allusion which the cabinet maker made to her approaching marriage.
+<i>He</i>, too, was with her, strong and healthy. Now, he was gone from her
+side forever. <i>His</i> couch was a narrow coffin, and the old bedstead stood
+there, naked&mdash;empty. Seating herself upon it, the poor old lady rocked to
+and fro, moaning in her grief, and wishing that she were not going to Kentucky,
+or that it were possible now to remain at her mountain home. Summoning all her
+courage, she gave one glance at the familiar objects around her, at the flowers
+she had planted, and then taking &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s hand, went down to the
+gate, where her son waited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not appreciate the cause of
+her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and his voice and manner were unusually
+kind as he helped her to the best seat in the wagon, and asked if she were
+comfortable. Then his eye fell upon her dress, and his pity changed to anger as
+he wondered if she was wholly devoid of taste. At the time of his
+father&rsquo;s death, he purchased decent mourning for both his mother and
+&rsquo;Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols pronounced &ldquo;altogether too good for
+the nasty cars; nobody&rsquo;d think any better of them for being rigged out in
+their best meetin&rsquo; gowns.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore a dark blue and
+white spotted calico, which John could have sworn she had twenty years before,
+and which was not unlikely, as she never wore out a garment. She was an enemy
+to long skirts, hence hers came just to her ankles, and as her black stockings
+had been footed with white, there was visible a dark rim. Altogether she
+presented a rather grotesque appearance, with her oblong work-bag, in which
+were her snuff-box, brass spectacles and half a dozen &ldquo;nutcakes,&rdquo;
+which would &ldquo;save John&rsquo;s buying dinner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unlike her grandmother&rsquo;s, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress was a great deal too
+long, and as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of a premature old
+woman, instead of a child ten summers old, as she was. Still the uncommon
+beauty of her face, and the natural gracefulness of her form, atoned in a
+measure for the singularity of her appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her nephew, Joel Slocum, a
+freckle-faced boy, who had frequently shown a preference for &rsquo;Lena, by
+going with her for her grandmother&rsquo;s cow, bringing her harvest apples,
+and letting her ride on his sled oftener than the other girls at school.
+Strange to say, his affection was not returned, and now, notwithstanding he
+several times wiped both eyes and nose, on the end of which there was an
+enormous freck, &rsquo;Lena did not relent at all, but with a simple
+&ldquo;Good-bye, Jo,&rdquo; she sprang into the wagon, which moved rapidly
+away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and when half that
+distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols suddenly seized the reins, ordering
+the driver to stop, and saying, &ldquo;she must go straight back, for on the
+shelf of the north room cupboard she had left a whole paper of tea, which she
+couldn&rsquo;t afford to lose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Drive on</i>,&rdquo; said Johny rather angrily, at the same time
+telling his mother that he could buy her a ton of tea if she wanted it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But that was already bought, and &rsquo;twould have saved so
+much,&rdquo; said she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occasioned partly
+by her son&rsquo;s manner, and partly by the great loss she felt she sustained
+in leaving behind her favorite &ldquo;old hyson.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This <i>saving</i> was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so much, that
+John, who was himself slightly avaricious, began to regret that he ever knew
+the definition of the word <i>save</i>. Lest our readers get a wrong impression
+of Mrs. Nichols, we must say that she possessed very many sterling qualities,
+and her habits of extreme economy resulted more from the manner in which she
+had been compelled to live, than from natural stinginess. For this John hardly
+made allowance enough, and his mother&rsquo;s remarks, instead of restraining
+him, only made him more lavish of his money than he would otherwise have been.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Nichols and &rsquo;Lena entered the cars, they of course attracted
+universal attention, which annoyed John excessively. In Oakland, where his
+mother was known and appreciated, he could bear it, but among strangers, and
+with those of his own caste, it was different, so motioning them into the first
+unoccupied seat, he sauntered on with an air which seemed to say, &ldquo;they
+were nothing to him,&rdquo; and finding a vacant seat at the other end of the
+car, he took possession of it. Scarcely, however, had he entered into
+conversation with a gentleman near him, when some one grasped his arm, and
+looking up, he saw his mother, her box in one hand; and an enormous pinch of
+snuff in the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John,&rdquo; said she, elevating her voice so as to drown the noise of
+the cars, &ldquo;I never thought on&rsquo;t till this minit, but I&rsquo;d just
+as lief ride in the second-class cars as not, and it only costs half as
+much!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone colored crimson, and bade her go back, saying that if he paid
+the fare she needn&rsquo;t feel troubled about the cost. Just as she was
+turning to leave, the loud ring and whistle, as the train neared a crossing,
+startled her, and in great alarm she asked if &ldquo;somethin&rsquo;
+hadn&rsquo;t bust!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John made no answer, but the gentleman near him very politely explained to her
+the cause of the disturbance, after which, she returned to her seat. When the
+conductor appeared, he fortunately came in at the door nearest John, who
+pointed out the two, for whom he had tickets, and then turned again to converse
+with the gentleman, who, though a stranger, was from Louisville, Kentucky, and
+whose acquaintance was easily made. The sight of the conductor awoke in Mrs.
+Nichols&rsquo;s brain a new idea, and after peering out upon the platform, she
+went rushing up to her son, telling him that: &ldquo;the trunks, box, feather
+bed, and all, were every one on &rsquo;em left!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, they are not,&rdquo; said John; &ldquo;I saw them aboard
+myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, then, they&rsquo;re lost off, for as sure as you&rsquo;re born,
+there ain&rsquo;t one on &rsquo;em in here; and there&rsquo;s as much as twenty
+weight of new feathers, besides all the crockery! Holler to &rsquo;em to stop
+quick!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stranger, pitying Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s chagrin, kindly explained to her
+that there was a baggage car on purpose for trunks and the like, and that her
+feather bed was undoubtedly safe. This quieted her, and mentally styling him
+&ldquo;a proper nice man,&rdquo; she again returned to her seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A rare specimen of the raw Yankee,&rdquo; said the stranger to John,
+never dreaming in what relation she stood to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered John, not thinking it at all necessary to make any
+further explanations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Mrs. Nichols had attracted the attention of all the passengers,
+who watched her movements with great interest. Among these was a fine-looking
+youth, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who sat directly in front of
+&rsquo;Lena. He had a remarkably open, pleasing countenance, while there was
+that in his eyes which showed him to be a lover of fun. Thinking he had now
+found it in a rich form, he turned partly round, and would undoubtedly have
+quizzed Mrs. Nichols unmercifully, had not something in the appearance of
+&rsquo;Lena prevented him. This was also her first ride in the cars, but she
+possessed a tact of concealing the fact, and if she sometimes felt frightened,
+she looked in the faces of those around her, gathering from them that there was
+no danger. She knew that her grandmother was making herself ridiculous, and her
+eyes filled with tears as she whispered, &ldquo;Do sit still, granny; everybody
+is looking at you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young lad noticed this, and while it quelled in him the spirit of ridicule,
+it awoke a strange interest in &rsquo;Lena, who he saw was beautiful, spite of
+her unseemly guise. She was a dear lover of nature, and as the cars sped on
+through the wild mountain scenery, between Pittsfield and Albany, she stood at
+the open window, her hands closely locked together, her lips slightly parted,
+and her eyes wide with wonder at the country through which they were passing.
+At her grandmother&rsquo;s suggestion she had removed her bonnet, and the brown
+curls which clustered around her white forehead and neck were moved up and down
+by the fresh breeze which was blowing. The youth was a passionate admirer of
+beauty, come in what garb it might, and now as he watched, he felt a strong
+desire to touch one of the glossy ringlets which floated within his reach.
+There would be no harm in it, he thought&mdash;&ldquo;she was only a little
+girl, and he was <i>almost a man</i>&mdash;had tried to shave, and was going to
+enter college in the fall.&rdquo; Still he felt some doubts as to the propriety
+of the act, and was about making up his mind that he had better not, when the
+train shot into the &ldquo;tunnel,&rdquo; and for an instant they were in total
+darkness. Quick as thought his hand sought the brown curls, but they were gone,
+and when the cars again emerged into daylight, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s arms were
+around her grandmother&rsquo;s neck, trying to hold her down, for the old lady,
+sure of a <i>smash-up</i> this time, had attempted to rise, screaming loudly
+for &ldquo;<i>John</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy laughed aloud&mdash;he could not help it; but when &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+eyes turned reprovingly upon him, he felt sorry; and anxious to make amends,
+addressed himself very politely to Mrs. Nichols, explaining to her that it was
+a &ldquo;tunnel&rdquo; through which they had passed, and assuring her there
+was no danger whatever. Then turning to &rsquo;Lena, he said, &ldquo;I reckon
+your grandmother is not much accustomed to traveling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek at
+being addressed by a stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the first time any one had ever said &ldquo;<i>sir</i>&rdquo; to the
+boy, and now feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he continued:
+&ldquo;I believe old people generally are timid when they enter the cars for
+the first time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing from &rsquo;Lena except a slight straightening up of her body, and a
+smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was broken, and erelong she and her
+companion were conversing as familiarly as if they had known each other for
+years. Still the boy was not inquisitive&mdash;he did not ask her name, or
+where she was going, though he told her that his home was in Louisville, and
+that at Albany he was to take the boat for New York, where his mother was
+stopping with some friends. He also told her that the gentleman near the door,
+with dark eyes and whiskers, was his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing toward the person indicated, &rsquo;Lena saw that it was the same
+gentleman who, all the afternoon, had been talking with her uncle. He was noble
+looking, and she felt glad that he was the father of the boy&mdash;he was just
+such a man, she fancied, as ought to be his father&mdash;just such a man as she
+could wish her father to be&mdash;and then &rsquo;Lena felt glad that the youth
+had asked her nothing concerning her parentage, for, though her grandmother had
+seldom mentioned her father in her presence, there were others ready and
+willing to inform her that he was a villain, who broke her mother&rsquo;s
+heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his hand to &rsquo;Lena,
+said &ldquo;I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but I&rsquo;d like right well to
+go farther with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on seeing how his son was
+occupied, said smilingly, &ldquo;So-ho! Durward, you always manage to make some
+lady acquaintance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, father,&rdquo; returned the boy called Durward, &ldquo;but not
+always one like this. Isn&rsquo;t she pretty,&rdquo; he added in a whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stranger&rsquo;s eyes fell upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face, and for a moment,
+as if by some strange fascination, seemed riveted there; but the crowd pressed
+him forward, and &rsquo;Lena only heard him reply to his son, &ldquo;Yes,
+Durward, very pretty; but hurry, or we shall lose the boat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment they were gone. Leaning from the window, &rsquo;Lena tried to
+catch another glimpse of him, but in vain. He was gone&mdash;she would never
+see him again, she thought; and then she fell into a reverie concerning his
+home, his mother, his sisters, if he had any, and finally ended by wishing that
+she were his sister, and the daughter of his father. While she was thus
+pondering, her grandmother, also, was busy, and when &rsquo;Lena looked round
+for her she was gone. Stepping from the car, &rsquo;Lena espied her in the
+distance, standing by her uncle and anxiously watching for the appearance of
+her &ldquo;great trunk, little trunk, band-box, and bag.&rdquo; Each of these
+articles was forthcoming, and in a few moments they were on the ferry-boat
+crossing the blue waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols declaring that &ldquo;if
+she&rsquo;d known it wasn&rsquo;t a bridge she was steppin&rsquo; onto,
+she&rsquo;d be bound they wouldn&rsquo;t have got her on in one while.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do sit down,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena; &ldquo;the other people
+don&rsquo;t seem to be afraid, and I&rsquo;m sure we needn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This Mrs. Nichols was more willing to do, as directly at her side was another
+old lady, traveling for the first time, frightened and anxious. To her Mrs.
+Nichols addressed herself, announcing her firm belief that &ldquo;she should be
+blew sky high before she reached Kentucky, where she was going to live with her
+son John, who she supposed was well off, worth twenty negroes or more;
+but,&rdquo; she added, lowering her voice, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t b&rsquo;lieve
+in no such, and I mean he shall set &rsquo;em free&mdash;poor critters,
+duddin&rsquo; from mornin&rsquo; till night without a cent of pay. He says they
+call him &lsquo;master,&rsquo; but I&rsquo;ll warrant he&rsquo;ll never catch
+me a&rsquo;callin&rsquo; him so to one on &rsquo;em. I promised Nancy
+Scovandyke that I wouldn&rsquo;t, and I won&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here a little <i>popcorn</i> boy came &rsquo;round, which reminded Mrs. Nichols
+of her money, and that she hadn&rsquo;t once looked after it since she started.
+Thinking this as favorable a time as she would have, she drew from her
+capacious pocket an old knit purse, and commenced counting out its contents,
+piece by piece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beware of pickpockets!&rdquo; said some one in her ear, and with the
+exclamation of &ldquo;Oh the Lord!&rdquo; the purse disappeared in her pocket,
+on which she kept her hand until the boat touched the opposite shore. Then in
+the confusion and excitement it was withdrawn, the purse was forgotten, and
+when on board the night express for Buffalo it was again looked for, <i>it was
+gone</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a wild outcry the horror-stricken matron sprang up, calling for John, who
+in some alarm came to her side, asking what she wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve lost my purse. Somebody&rsquo;s stole it. Lock the door
+quick, and search every man, woman, and child in the car!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conductor, who chanced to be present, now came up, demanding an
+explanation, and trying to convince Mrs. Nichols how improbable it was that any
+one present had her money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop the train then, and let me get off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Had you a large amount?&rdquo; asked the conductor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Every cent I had in the world. Ain&rsquo;t you going to let me get
+off?&rdquo; was the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conductor looked inquiringly at John, who shook his head, at the same time
+whispering to his mother not to feel so badly, as he would give her all the
+money she wanted. Then placing a ten dollar bill in her hand, he took a seat
+behind her. We doubt whether this would have quieted the old lady, had not a
+happy idea that moment entered her mind, causing her to exclaim loudly,
+&ldquo;There, now, I&rsquo;ve just this minute thought. I hadn&rsquo;t but
+<i>five</i> dollars in my purse; t&rsquo;other fifty I sewed up in an old
+night-gown sleeve, and tucked it away in that satchel up there,&rdquo; pointing
+to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s traveling bag, which hung over her head. She would
+undoubtedly have designated the very corner of said satchel in which her money
+could be found, had not her son touched her shoulder, bidding her be silent and
+not tell everybody where her money was, if she didn&rsquo;t want it stolen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols made no reply, but when she thought she was not observed, she
+arose, and slyly taking down the satchel, placed it under her. Then seating
+herself upon it, she gave a sigh of relief as she thought, &ldquo;they&rsquo;d
+have to work hard to get it now, without her knowing it!&rdquo; Dear old soul,
+when arrived at her journey&rsquo;s end, how much comfort she took in
+recounting over and over again the incidents of the robbery, wondering if it
+was, as John said, the very man who had so kindly cautioned her to beware of
+pickpockets, and who thus ascertained where she kept her purse. Nancy
+Scovandyke, too, was duly informed of her loss, and charged when she came to
+Kentucky, &ldquo;to look out on the ferry-boat for a youngish, good-looking
+man, with brown frock coat, blue cravat, and mouth full of white teeth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At Buffalo Mr. Livingstone had hard work to coax his mother on board the
+steamboat, but he finally succeeded, and as the weather chanced to be fine, she
+declared that ride on the lake to be the pleasantest part of her journey. At
+Cleveland they took the cars for Cincinnati, going thence to Lexington by
+stage. On ordinary occasions Mr. Livingstone would have preferred the river,
+but knowing that in all probability he should meet with some of his friends
+upon the boat, he chose the route via Lexington, where he stopped at the
+Phoenix, as was his usual custom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After seeing his mother and niece into the public parlor he left them for a
+time, saying he had some business to transact in the city. Scarcely was he gone
+when the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hall announced an arrival, and a
+moment after, a boy, apparently fifteen years of age, appeared in the door. He
+was richly though carelessly dressed, and notwithstanding the good-humored
+expression of his rather handsome face, there was in his whole appearance an
+indescribable something which at once pronounced him to be a &ldquo;fast&rdquo;
+boy. A rowdy hat was set on one side of his head, after the most approved
+fashion, while in his hand he held a lighted cigar, which he applied to his
+mouth when he saw the parlor was unoccupied, save by an &ldquo;old woman&rdquo;
+and a &ldquo;little girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively &rsquo;Lena shrank from him, and withdrawing herself as far as
+possible within the recess of the window, pretended to be busily watching the
+passers-by. But she did not escape his notice, and after coolly surveying her
+for a moment, he walked up to her, saying, &ldquo;How d&rsquo;ye, polywog?
+I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I know to what gender you belong&mdash;woman or
+<i>gal</i>&mdash;which is it, hey?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None of your business,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s ready answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spunky, ain&rsquo;t you,&rdquo; said he, unceremoniously pulling one of
+the brown curls which Durward had so longed to touch. &ldquo;Seems to me your
+hair don&rsquo;t match the rest of you; wonder if &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t somebody
+else&rsquo;s head set on your shoulders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it ain&rsquo;t. It&rsquo;s my own head, and you just let it
+alone,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, growing more and more indignant, and
+wondering if this were a specimen of Kentucky boys.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be saucy,&rdquo; continued her tormentor; &ldquo;I only want
+to see what sort of stuff you are made of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Made of <i>dirt</i>&rdquo; muttered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon you are,&rdquo; returned the boy; &ldquo;but say, where
+<i>did</i> you come from and who <i>do</i> you live with?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I came from Massachusetts, and I live with <i>granny</i>,&rdquo; said
+&rsquo;Lena, thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would perhaps let
+her alone. But she was mistaken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing at &ldquo;<i>granny</i>,&rdquo; he burst into a loud laugh, and then
+placing his hat a little more on one side, and assuming a nasal twang, he said,
+&ldquo;Neow dew tell, if you&rsquo;re from Massachusetts. How dew you dew,
+little Yankee, and how are all the folks to hum?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feeling sure that not only herself but all her relations were included in this
+insult, &rsquo;Lena darted forward hitting him a blow in the face, which he
+returned by puffing smoke into hers, whereupon she snatched the cigar from his
+mouth and hurled it into the street, bidding him &ldquo;touch her again if he
+dared.&rdquo; All this transpired so rapidly that Mrs. Nichols had hardly time
+to understand its meaning, but fully comprehending it now, she was about coming
+to the rescue, when her son reappeared, exclaiming, &ldquo;<i>John</i>, John
+Livingstone, Jr., how came you here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had a cannon exploded at the feet of John Jr., as he was called, he could not
+have been more startled. He was not expecting his father for two or three days,
+and was making the most of his absence by having what he called a regular
+&ldquo;spree.&rdquo; Taking him altogether, he was, without being naturally
+bad, a spoiled child, whom no one could manage except his father, and as his
+father seldom tried, he was of course seldom managed. Never yet had he remained
+at any school more than two quarters, for if he were not sent away, he
+generally ran away, sure of finding a champion in his mother, who had always
+petted him, calling him, &ldquo;Johnny darling,&rdquo; until he one day very
+coolly informed her that she was &ldquo;a silly old fool,&rdquo; and that
+&ldquo;he&rsquo;d thank her not to &lsquo;Johnny darling&rsquo; him any
+longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr. when &rsquo;Lena
+was presented to him as his <i>cousin</i>, and Mrs. Nichols as his
+<i>grandmother</i>. Something which sounded very much like an oath escaped his
+lips, as turning to his father he muttered, &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t mother go into
+fits?&rdquo; Then, as he began to realize the ludicrousness of the whole
+affair, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Rich, good, by gracious!&rdquo; and laughing
+loudly, he walked away to regale himself with another cigar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lena began to tremble for her future happiness, if this boy was to live in the
+same house with her. She did not know that she had already more than half won
+his good opinion, for he was far better pleased with her antagonistical
+demonstrations, than he would have been had she cried or ran from him, as his
+sister Anna generally did when he teased her. After a few moments here turned
+to the parlor, and walking up to Mrs. Nichols, commenced talking very sociably
+with her, calling her &ldquo;Granny,&rdquo; and winking slyly at &rsquo;Lena as
+he did so. Mr. Livingstone had too much good sense to sit quietly by and hear
+his mother ridiculed by his son, and in a loud, stern voice he bade the young
+gentleman &ldquo;behave himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Law, now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, &ldquo;let him talk if he wants to.
+I like to hear him. He&rsquo;s the only grandson I&rsquo;ve got.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This speech had the effect of silencing John Jr. quite as much as his
+father&rsquo;s command. If he could tease his grandmother by talking to her, he
+would take delight in doing so, but if she <i>wanted</i> him to talk&mdash;that
+was quite another thing. So moving away from her, he took a seat near
+&rsquo;Lena, telling her her dress was &ldquo;a heap too short,&rdquo; and
+occasionally pinching her, just to vary the sport! This last, however,
+&rsquo;Lena returned with so much force that he grew weary of the fun, and
+informing her that he was going to a <i>circus</i> which was in town that
+evening, he arose to leave the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone, who partially overheard what he had said, stopped him and
+asked &ldquo;where he was going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that &ldquo;he was
+confounded sleepy and was going to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, where did he say he was going?&rdquo; asked her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena trembled, for John Jr. had clinched his fist, and was shaking it
+threateningly at her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did he say he was going?&rdquo; repeated her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor &rsquo;Lena had never told a lie in her life, and now braving her
+cousin&rsquo;s anger, she said, &ldquo;To the circus, sir. Oh, I wish you had
+not asked me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get your pay for that,&rdquo; muttered John Jr. sullenly
+reseating himself by his father, who kept an eye on him until he saw him safely
+in his room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Much as John Jr. frightened &rsquo;Lena with his threats, in his heart he
+respected her for telling the truth, and if the next morning on their way home
+in the stage, in which his father compelled him to take a seat, he frequently
+found it convenient to step on her feet, it was more from a natural propensity
+to torment than from any lurking feeling of revenge. &rsquo;Lena was nowise
+backward in returning his cousinly attentions, and so between an interchange of
+kicks, wry faces, and so forth, they proceeded toward &ldquo;Maple
+Grove,&rdquo; a description of which will be given in another chapter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/>
+MAPLE GROVE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The residence of Mr. Livingstone, or rather of Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s wife,
+was a large, handsome building, such as one often finds in Kentucky,
+particularly in the country. Like most planters&rsquo; houses, it stood at some
+little distance from the street, from which its massive walls, wreathed with
+evergreen, were just discernible. The carriage road which led to it passed
+first through a heavy iron gate guarded by huge bronze lions, so natural and
+life-like, that Mrs. Nichols, when first she saw them, uttered a cry of fear.
+Next came a beautiful maple grove, followed by a long, green lawn, dotted here
+and there with forest trees and having on its right a deep running brook, whose
+waters, farther on at the rear of the garden, were formed into a miniature
+fish-pond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house itself was of brick&mdash;two storied, and surrounded on three sides
+with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined with climbing roses,
+honey-suckle, and running vines, so closely interwoven as to give it the
+appearance of an immense summer-house. In the spacious yard in front, tall
+shade trees and bright green grass were growing, while in the well-kept garden
+at the left, bloomed an endless variety of roses and flowering shrubs, which in
+their season filled the air with perfume, and made the spot brilliant with
+beauty. Directly through the center of this garden ran the stream of which we
+have spoken, and as its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented the
+appearance of a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the starry dandelion and
+the blue-eyed violet grew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both of which were
+latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grape-vines, whose dark, green foliage was
+now intermingled with clusters of the rich purple fruit. At the right, and
+somewhat in the rear of the building, was a group of linden trees,
+overshadowing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who, imitating as far as
+possible the taste of their master, beautified their dwellings with hop-vines,
+creepers, hollyhocks and the like. Altogether, it was as &rsquo;Lena said,
+&ldquo;just the kind of place which one reads of in stories,&rdquo; and which
+is often found at the &ldquo;sunny south.&rdquo; The interior of the building
+corresponded with the exterior, for with one exception, the residence of a
+wealthy Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone prided herself upon having the best
+furnished house in the county; consequently neither pains nor money had been
+spared in the selection of the furniture, which was of the most costly kind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie, the eldest of the daughters, was now about thirteen years of age.
+Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she was hated by the servants,
+and disliked by her equals. Some thought her pretty. <i>She</i> felt sure of
+it, and many an hour she spent before the mirror, admiring herself and
+anticipating the time when she would be a grown-up lady, and as a matter of
+course, a belle. Her mother unfortunately belonged to that class who seem to
+think that the chief aim in life is to secure a &ldquo;brilliant match,&rdquo;
+and thinking she could not commence too soon, she had early instilled into her
+favorite daughter&rsquo;s mind the necessity of appearing to the best possible
+advantage, when in the presence of wealth and distinction, pointing out her own
+marriage as a proof of the unhappiness resulting from unequal matches. In this
+way Carrie had early learned that her father owed his present position to her
+mother&rsquo;s condescension in marrying him&mdash;that he was once a poor boy
+living among the northern hills&mdash;that his parents were poor, ignorant and
+vulgar&mdash;and that there was with them a little girl, their daughter&rsquo;s
+child, who never had a father, and whom she must never on any occasion call her
+cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this had likewise been told to Anna, the youngest daughter, who was about
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s age, but upon her it made no impression. If her father was
+once poor, he was in her opinion none the worse for that&mdash;and if <i>he</i>
+liked his parents, that was a sufficient reason why she should like them too,
+and if little &rsquo;Lena was an orphan, she pitied her, and hoped she might
+sometime see her and tell her so! Thus Anna reasoned, while her mother,
+terribly shocked at her low-bred taste, strove to instill into her mind some of
+her own more aristocratic notions. But all in vain, for Anna was purely
+democratic, loving everybody and beloved by everybody in return. It is true she
+had no particular liking for books or study of any kind, but she was gentle and
+affectionate in her manner, and kindly considerate of other people&rsquo;s
+feelings. With her father she was a favorite, and to her he always looked for
+sympathy, which she seldom failed to give&mdash;not in words, it is true, but
+whenever he seemed to be in trouble, she would climb into his lap, wind her
+arms around his neck, and laying her golden head upon his shoulder, would sit
+thus until his brow and heart grew lighter as he felt there was yet something
+in the wide world which loved and cared for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For Carrie Mrs. Livingstone had great expectations, but Anna she feared would
+never make a &ldquo;brilliant match.&rdquo; For a long time Anna meditated upon
+this, wondering what a &ldquo;brilliant match&rdquo; could mean, and at last
+she determined to seek an explanation from Captain Atherton, a bachelor and a
+millionaire, who was in the habit of visiting them, and who always noticed and
+petted her more than he did Carrie. Accordingly, the next time he came, and
+they were alone in the parlor, she broached the subject, asking him what it
+meant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Laughing loudly, the Captain drew her toward him, saying, &ldquo;Why, marrying
+rich, you little novice. For instance, if one of these days you should be my
+little wife, I dare say your mother would think you had made a brilliant
+match!&rdquo; and the well-preserved gentleman of forty glanced complacently at
+himself in the mirror thinking how probable it was that his youthfulness would
+be unimpaired for at least ten years to come!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna laughed, for to her his words then conveyed no serious meaning, but with
+more than her usual quickness she replied, that &ldquo;she would as soon marry
+her grandfather.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With Mrs. Livingstone the reader is partially acquainted. In her youth she had
+been pretty, and now at thirty-eight she was not without pretensions to beauty,
+notwithstanding her sallow complexion and sunken eyes, Her hair, which was very
+abundant, was bright and glossy, and her mouth, in which the dentist had done
+his best, would have been handsome, had it not been for a certain draw at the
+corners, which gave it a scornful and rather disagreeable expression. In her
+disposition she was overbearing and tyrannical, fond of ruling, and deeming her
+husband a monster of ingratitude if ever in any way he manifested a spirit of
+rebellion. Didn&rsquo;t she marry him? and now they were married, didn&rsquo;t
+her money support him? And wasn&rsquo;t it exceedingly amiable in her always to
+speak of their children as <i>ours</i>! But as for the rest, &rsquo;twas
+<i>my</i> house, <i>my</i> servants, <i>my</i> carriage, and <i>my</i> horses.
+All <i>mine</i>&mdash;&ldquo;Mrs. John Livingstone&rsquo;s&mdash;Miss Matilda
+Richards that was!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Occasionally, however, her husband&rsquo;s spirit was roused, and then, after a
+series of tears, sick-headaches, and then spasms, &ldquo;Miss Matilda Richards
+that Was&rdquo; was compelled to yield her face for many days wearing the look
+of a much-injured, heart-broken woman. Still her influence over him was great,
+else she had never so effectually weakened every tie which bound him to his
+native home, making him ashamed of his parents and of everything pertaining to
+them. When her husband first wrote, to her that his father was dead and that he
+had promised to take charge of his mother and &rsquo;Lena, she flew into a
+violent rage, which was increased ten-fold when she received his second letter,
+wherein he announced his intention of bringing them home in spite of her.
+Bursting into tears she declared &ldquo;she&rsquo;d leave the house before
+she&rsquo;d have it filled up with a lot of paupers. Who did John Nichols think
+he was, and who did he think she was! Besides that, where was he going to put
+them? for there wasn&rsquo;t a place for them that she knew of!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, mother,&rdquo; said Anna who was pleased with the prospect of a new
+grandmother and cousin, &ldquo;Why, mother, what a story. There&rsquo;s the two
+big chambers and bedrooms, besides the one next to Carrie&rsquo;s and mine. Oh,
+do put them in there. It&rsquo;ll be so nice to have grandma and cousin
+&rsquo;Lena so near me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anna Livingstone!&rdquo; returned the indignant lady, &ldquo;Never let
+me hear you say grandma and cousin again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But they be grandma and cousin,&rdquo; persisted Anna, while her mother
+commenced lamenting the circumstance which had made them so, wishing, as she
+had often done before, that she had never married John Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so,&rdquo; slyly whispered
+John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother&rsquo;s last remark
+awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, causing her to wonder
+whose little girl she would have been, her father&rsquo;s or mother&rsquo;s, in
+case they had each married some one else! As there was no one whose opinion
+Anna dared to ask, the question is undoubtedly to this day, with her, unsolved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger of the day before was
+somewhat abated, and knowing from past experience that it was useless to resist
+her husband when once he was determined, she wisely concluded that as they were
+now probably on the road, it was best to try to endure, for a time, at least,
+what could not well be helped. And now arose the perplexing question,
+&ldquo;What should she do with them? where should she put them that they would
+be the most out of the way? for she could never suffer them to be round when
+she had company.&rdquo; The chamber of which Anna had spoken was out of the
+question, for it was too nice, and besides that, it was reserved for the
+children of her New Orleans friends, who nearly every summer came up to visit
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the rear of the building was a long, low room, containing a fireplace and
+two windows, which looked out upon the negro quarters and the hemp fields
+beyond. This room, which in the summer was used for storing feather-beds,
+blankets, and so forth, was plastered, but minus either paper or paint. Still
+it was quite comfortable, &ldquo;better than they were accustomed to at
+home,&rdquo; Mrs. Livingstone said, and this she decided to give them.
+Accordingly the negroes were set at work scrubbing the floor, washing the
+windows, and scouring the sills, until the room at least possessed the virtue
+of being clean. A faded carpet, discarded as good for nothing, and over which
+the rats had long held their nightly revels, was brought to light, shaken,
+mended, and nailed down&mdash;then came a bedstead, which Mrs. Livingstone had
+designed as a Christmas gift to one of the negroes, but which of course would
+do well enough for her mother-in-law. Next followed an old wooden
+rocking-chair, whose ancestry Anna had tried in vain to trace, and which Carrie
+had often proposed burning. This, with two or three more chairs of a later
+date, a small wardrobe, and a square table, completed the furniture of the
+room, if we except the plain muslin curtains which shaded the windows,
+destitute of blinds. Taking it by itself, the room looked tolerably well, but
+when compared with the richly furnished apartments around it, it seemed meager
+and poor indeed; &ldquo;but if they wanted anything better, they could get it
+themselves. They were welcome to make any alterations they chose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This mode of reasoning hardly satisfied Anna, and unknown to her mother she
+took from her own chamber a handsome hearth-rug, and carrying it to her
+grandmother&rsquo;s room, laid it before the fireplace. Coming accidentally
+upon a roll of green paper, she, with the help of Corinda, a black girl, made
+some shades for the windows, which faced the west, rendering the room
+intolerably hot during the summer season. Then, at the suggestion of Corinda,
+she looped back the muslin curtains with some green ribbons, which she had
+intended using for her &ldquo;dolly&rsquo;s dress.&rdquo; The bare appearance
+of the table troubled her, but by rummaging, she brought to light a cast-off
+spread, which, though soiled and worn, was on one side quite handsome.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, if we only had something for the mantel,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;it
+seems so empty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda thought a moment, then rolling up the whites of her eyes, replied,
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you mind them little pitchers&rdquo; (meaning vases)
+&ldquo;which Master Atherton done gin you? They&rsquo;d look mighty fine up
+thar, full of sprigs and posies.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without hesitating a moment Anna brought the vases, and as she did not know the
+exact time when her grandmother would arrive, she determined to fill them with
+fresh flowers every morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, it looks a heap better, don&rsquo;t it, Carrie?&rdquo; said she
+to her sister, who chanced to be passing the door and looked in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be smart,&rdquo; answered Carrie, &ldquo;taking so much pains
+just for them; and as I live, if you haven&rsquo;t got those elegant vases that
+Captain Atherton gave you for a birthday present! I know mother won&rsquo;t
+like it. I mean to tell her;&rdquo; and away she ran with the important news.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, I told you so,&rdquo; said she, quickly returning. &ldquo;She
+says you carry them straight back and let the room alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna began to cry, saying &ldquo;the vases were hers, and she should think she
+might do what she pleased with them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did you go and blab for, you great for shame, you?&rdquo; exclaimed
+John Jr., suddenly appearing in the doorway, at the same time giving Carrie a
+push, which set her to crying, and brought Mrs. Livingstone to the scene of
+action,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t my vases stay in here? Nobody&rsquo;ll hurt &rsquo;em, and
+they&rsquo;ll look so pretty,&rdquo; said Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t that hateful John behave, and let me alone?&rdquo; said
+Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And can&rsquo;t Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks&rsquo;
+business?&rdquo; chimed in John Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh Lordy, what a fuss,&rdquo; said Corinda, while poor Mrs. Livingstone,
+half distracted, took refuge under one of her dreadful headaches, and telling
+her children &ldquo;to fight their own battles and let her alone,&rdquo;
+returned to her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A body&rsquo;d s&rsquo;pose marster&rsquo;s kin warn&rsquo;t of no kind
+of count,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, the head cook, to a group of sables, who, in
+the kitchen, were discussing the furniture of the &ldquo;trump&rsquo;ry
+room,&rdquo; as they were in the habit of calling the chamber set apart for
+Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;Yes, they would s&rsquo;pose they warn&rsquo;t of no kind
+o&rsquo; count, the way miss goes on, ravin&rsquo; and tarin&rsquo; and
+puttin&rsquo; &rsquo;em off with low-lived truck that we black folks
+wouldn&rsquo;t begin to tache with the tongs. Massy knows ef my ole mother
+warn&rsquo;t dead and gone to kingdom come, I should never think o&rsquo;
+sarvin&rsquo; her so, and I don&rsquo;t set myself up to be nothin&rsquo; but
+an old nigger, and a black one at that. But Lor&rsquo; that&rsquo;s the way
+with more&rsquo;n half the white folks. They jine the church, and then they
+think they done got a title deed to one of them houses up in heaven (that
+nobody ever built) sure enough. Goin&rsquo; straight thar, as fast as a span of
+race-horses can carry &rsquo;em. Ki! Won&rsquo;t they be disappointed, some on
+&rsquo;em, and Miss Matilda &rsquo;long the rest, when she drives up, hosses
+all a reekin&rsquo; sweat, and spects to walk straight into the best room, but
+is told to go to the kitchen and turn hoe-cakes for us niggers, who are
+eatin&rsquo; at the fust table, with silver forks and
+napkins&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here old Milly stopped to breathe, and her daughter Vine, who had listened
+breathlessly to her mother&rsquo;s description of the &ldquo;good time
+coming,&rdquo; asked &ldquo;when these things come to pass, if Miss Carrie
+wouldn&rsquo;t have to swing the feathers over the table to keep off the flies,
+instead of herself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that she will, child,&rdquo; returned her mother; &ldquo;Things is
+all gwine to be changed in the wink of your eye. Miss Anna read that very
+tex&rsquo; to me last Sunday and I knew in a minit what it meant. Now
+thar&rsquo;s Miss Anna, blessed lamb. She&rsquo;s one of &rsquo;em
+that&rsquo;ll wear her white gowns and stay in t&rsquo;other room, with her
+face shinin&rsquo; like an ile lamp!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While this interesting conversation was going on in the kitchen, John Jr., in
+the parlor was teasing his mother for money, with which to go up to Lexington
+the next day. &ldquo;You may just as well give it to me without any
+fuss,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;for if you don&rsquo;t, I&rsquo;ll get my bills at
+the Phoenix charged. The old man is good, and they&rsquo;ll trust. But then a
+feller feels more independent when he can pay down, and treat a friend, if he
+likes; so hand over four or five Vs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Mrs. Livingstone refused, but her head ached so hard and her
+&ldquo;nerves trembled so,&rdquo; that she did not feel equal to the task of
+contending with John Jr., who was always sure in the end to have his own way.
+Yielding at last to his importunities, she gave him fifteen dollars, charging
+him to &ldquo;keep out of bad company and be a good boy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Trust me for that,&rdquo; said he, and pulling the tail of Anna&rsquo;s
+pet kitten, upsetting Carrie&rsquo;s work-box, poking a black baby&rsquo;s ribs
+with his walking cane, and knocking down a cob-house, which &ldquo;Thomas
+Jefferson&rdquo; had been all day building, he mounted his favorite
+&ldquo;Firelock,&rdquo; and together with a young negro, rode off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord send us a little peace now,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, tossing her
+squalling baby up in the air, and telling Thomas Jefferson not to cry,
+&ldquo;for his young master was done gone off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I hope to goodness he&rsquo;ll stay off a spell,&rdquo; she added,
+&ldquo;for thar&rsquo;s ole Sam to pay the whole time he&rsquo;s at home, and
+if ever thar was a tickled critter in this world it&rsquo;s me, when he
+clar&rsquo;s out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad, too,&rdquo; said Anna, who had been sent to the kitchen
+to stop the screaming, &ldquo;and I wish he&rsquo;d stay ever so long, for I
+don&rsquo;t take a bit of comfort when he&rsquo;s at home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Great hateful! I wish he didn&rsquo;t live here,&rdquo; said Carrie,
+gathering up her spools, thimble and scissors, while Mrs. Livingstone, feeling
+that his absence had taken a load from her shoulders, settled herself upon her
+silken lounge and tried to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Amid all this rejoicing at his departure, John Jr. put spurs to the fleet
+Firelock, who soon carried him to Lexington, where, as we have seen, he came
+unexpectedly upon his father, who, not daring to trust him on horseback, lest
+he should play the truant, took him into the stage with himself, leaving
+Firelock to the care of the negro.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/>
+THE ARRIVAL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, mother, get up quick&mdash;the stage has driven up at the gate, and
+I reckon pa has come,&rdquo; said Anna, bursting into the room where her
+mother, who was suffering from a headache, was still in bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Raising herself upon her elbow, and pushing aside the rich, heavy curtains,
+Mrs. Livingstone looked out upon the mud-bespattered vehicle, from which a leg,
+encased in a black and white stocking, was just making its egress. &ldquo;Oh,
+heavens!&rdquo; said she, burying her face again in the downy pillows.
+Woman&rsquo;s curiosity, however, soon prevailed over all other feelings, and
+again looking out she obtained a full view of her mother-in-law, who, having
+emerged from the coach, was picking out her boxes, trunks, and so forth. When
+they were all found, Mr. Livingstone ordered two negroes to carry them to the
+side piazza, where they were soon mounted by three or four little darkies,
+Thomas Jefferson among the rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John, <i>John</i>&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, &ldquo;them niggers
+won&rsquo;t scent my things, will they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk, granny,&rdquo; whispered &rsquo;Lena, painfully
+conscious of the curious eyes fixed upon them by the bevy of blacks, who had
+come out to greet their master, and who with sidelong glances at each other,
+were inspecting the new comers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk! why not?&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, rather sharply.
+&ldquo;This is a free country I suppose.&rdquo; Then bethinking herself, she
+added quickly, &ldquo;Oh, I forgot, &rsquo;taint free <i>here</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After examining the satchel and finding that the night gown sleeve was safe,
+Mrs. Nichols took up her line of march for the house, herself carrying her
+umbrella and band-box, which she would not intrust to the care of the negroes,
+&ldquo;as like enough they&rsquo;d break the umberell, or squash her
+caps.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The trumpery room is plenty good enough for &rsquo;em,&rdquo; thought
+Corinda, retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of
+her contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment &rsquo;Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, &ldquo;Oh,
+mercy, which is the oldest?&rdquo; and truly, poor &rsquo;Lena did present a
+sorry figure,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her bonnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had received an ugly crook in
+front, which neither her grandmother or uncle had noticed, and of which John
+Jr. would not tell her, thinking that the worse she looked the more fun he
+would have! Her skirts were not very full, and her dress hung straight around
+her, making her of the same bigness from her head to her feet. Her shoes, which
+had been given to her by one of the neighbors, were altogether too large, and
+it was with considerable difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as
+they were a present, Mrs. Nichols said &ldquo;it was a pity not to get all the
+good out of them she could.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Livingstone, moody, silent, and
+cross. Behind them was John Jr., mimicking first &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s gait and
+then his grandmother&rsquo;s. The negroes, convulsed with laughter, darted
+hither and thither, running against and over each other, and finally
+disappearing, some behind the house and some into the kitchen, and all
+retaining a position from which they could have a full view of the proceedings.
+On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie, the one with her handkerchief stuffed in
+her mouth, and the other with her mouth open, astounded at the unlooked-for
+spectacle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?&rdquo; groaned Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do? Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your new relations:
+that&rsquo;s what I should do,&rdquo; answered John Jr., who, tired of
+mimicking, had run forward, and now rushed unceremoniously into his
+mother&rsquo;s sleeping-room, leaving the door open behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John Livingstone, what do you mean?&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;shut that
+door this minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he reached
+just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Carrie, and this is Anna,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, pointing
+to each one as he pronounced her name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Now I want to know if this is Car&rsquo;line. I&rsquo;d no idee she was
+so big. You pretty well, Car&rsquo;line?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother&rsquo;s fingers, and
+with stately gravity replied that she was well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, &ldquo;And this is Anny. Looks
+weakly &rsquo;pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she was
+fitty. Never have fits, do you, dear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from
+laughing outright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that she was
+sick, started for her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sick? Is your marm sick?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols of John Jr.
+&ldquo;Wall, I guess I&rsquo;ll go right in and sea if I can&rsquo;t do
+somethin&rsquo; for her. I&rsquo;m tolerable good at nussin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered unannounced into the
+presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, who, with a little shriek, covered her
+head with the bed-clothes. Knowing that she meant well, and never dreaming that
+she was intruding, Mrs. Nichols walked up to the bedside, saying, &ldquo;How de
+do, &rsquo;Tilda? I suppose you know I&rsquo;m your mother&mdash;come all the
+way from Massachusetts to live with you. What is the matter? Do you take
+anything for your sickness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A groan was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s only answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Little hystericky, I guess,&rdquo; suggested Mrs. Nichols, adding that
+&ldquo;settin&rsquo; her feet in middlin&rsquo; hot water is good for
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is nervous, and the sight of strangers makes her worse. So I reckon
+you&rsquo;d better go out for the present,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, who
+really pitied his wife. Then calling Corinda, he bade her show his mother to
+her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda obeyed, and Mrs. Nichols followed her, asking her on the way
+&ldquo;what her surname was, how old she was, if she knew how to read, and if
+she hadn&rsquo;t a good deal rather be free than to be a slave!&rdquo; to which
+Corinda replied, that &ldquo;she didn&rsquo;t know what a surname meant, that
+she didn&rsquo;t know how old she was, that she didn&rsquo;t know how to read,
+and that she didn&rsquo;t know whether she&rsquo;d like to be free or not, but
+reckoned she shouldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A half-witted gal that,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols, &ldquo;and I guess
+&rsquo;Tilda don&rsquo;t set much store by her.&rdquo; Then dropping into the
+wooden rocking-chair and laying aside her bonnet, she for the first time
+noticed that &rsquo;Lena was not with her, and asked Corinda to go for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda complied, leaving the room just in time to stifle a laugh, as she saw
+Mrs. Nichols stoop down to examine the hearth-rug, wondering &ldquo;how much it
+cost when &rsquo;twas new.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We left &rsquo;Lena standing on the steps of the piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At a glance she had taken in the whole&mdash;had comprehended that there was no
+affinity whatever between herself and the objects around her, and a wild,
+intense longing filled her heart to be once more among her native hills. She
+had witnessed the merriment of the blacks, the scornful curl of Carrie&rsquo;s
+lip, the half-suppressed ridicule of Anna, when they met her grandmother, and
+now uncertain of her own reception, she stood before her cousins not knowing
+whether to advance or run away. For a moment there was an awkward silence, and
+then John Jr., bent on mischief, whispered to Carrie, &ldquo;Look at that pinch
+in her bonnet, and just see her shoes! Big as little sailboats!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was too much for Lena. She already disliked John Jr., and now, flying into
+a violent passion, she drew off her shoes, and hurling them at the young
+gentleman&rsquo;s head fled away, away, she knew not, cared not whither, so
+that she got out of sight and hearing. Coming at last to the arbor bridge
+across the brook in the garden, she paused for breath, and throwing herself
+upon a seat, burst into a flood of tears. For several minutes she sobbed so
+loudly that she did not hear the sound of footsteps upon the graveled walk.
+Anna had followed her, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of pity, the
+latter of which preponderated when she saw how bitterly her cousin was weeping.
+Going up to her she said, &ldquo;Don t cry so, &rsquo;Lena. Look up and talk.
+It&rsquo;s Anna, your cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena had not yet recovered from her angry fit, and thinking Anna only
+came to tease her, and perhaps again ridicule her bonnet, she tore the article,
+from her head, and bending it up double, threw it into the stream, which
+carried it down to the fish-pond, where for two or three hours it furnished
+amusement for some little negroes, who, calling it a crab, fished for it with
+hook and line! For a moment Anna stood watching the bonnet as it sailed along
+down the stream, thinking it looked better there than on its owner&rsquo;s
+head, but wondering why &rsquo;Lena had thrown it away. Then again addressing
+her cousin, she asked why she had done so?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a homely old thing, and I hate it,&rdquo; answered
+&rsquo;Lena, again bursting into tears. &ldquo;I hate everybody, and I wish I
+was dead, or back in Massachusetts, I don&rsquo;t care which!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With her impressions of the &ldquo;Bay State,&rdquo; where her mother said
+folks lived on &ldquo;cold beans and codfish,&rdquo; Anna thought she should
+prefer the first alternative, but she did not say so; and after a little she
+tried again to comfort &rsquo;Lena, telling her &ldquo;she liked her, or at
+least she was going to like her a heap.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you ain&rsquo;t,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;You laughed at
+me and granny both. I saw you do it, and you think I don&rsquo;t know anything,
+but I do. I&rsquo;ve been through Olney&rsquo;s geography, and Colburn&rsquo;s
+arithmetic twice!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was more than Anna could say. She had no scholarship of which to boast;
+but she had a heart brimful of love, and in reply to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+accusation of having laughed at her, she replied, &ldquo;I know I laughed, for
+grandma looked so funny I couldn&rsquo;t help it. But I won&rsquo;t any more. I
+pity you because your mother is dead, and you never had any father, ma
+says.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This made &rsquo;Lena cry again, while Anna continued, &ldquo;Pa&rsquo;ll buy
+you some new clothes I reckon, and if he don&rsquo;t, I&rsquo;ll give you some
+of mine, for I&rsquo;ve got heaps, and they&rsquo;ll fit you I most know.
+Here&rsquo;s my mark&mdash;&rdquo; pointing to a cut upon the door-post.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s mine, and Carrie&rsquo;s and brother&rsquo;s. Stand up and
+see if you don&rsquo;t measure like I do,&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena complied, and to Anna&rsquo;s great joy they were just of a height.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so glad,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Now, come to my room and
+Corinda will fix you up mighty nice before mother sees you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hand-in-hand the two girls started for the house, but had not gone far when
+they heard some one calling, &ldquo;Ho, Miss &rsquo;Lena, whar is you? Ole miss
+done want you.&rdquo; At the same time Corinda made her appearance round the
+corner of the piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, Cora,&rdquo; said Anna. &ldquo;Come with me to my room; I want
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a broad grin Corinda followed her young mistress, while &rsquo;Lena, never
+having been accustomed to any negro save the one with whom many New England
+children are threatened when they cry, clung closer to Anna&rsquo;s side,
+occasionally casting a timid glance toward the dark-browed girl who followed
+them. In the upper hall they met with Carrie, who in passing &rsquo;Lena held
+back her dress, as if fearing contamination from a contact with her
+cousin&rsquo;s plainer garments. Painfully alive to the slightest insult,
+&rsquo;Lena reddened, while Anna said, &ldquo;Never mind&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+just like Cad, but nobody cares for <i>her</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus reassured &rsquo;Lena followed on, until they reached Anna&rsquo;s room,
+which they were about to enter, when the shrill voice of Mrs. Nichols fell upon
+their ears, calling, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny, &rsquo;Leny, where upon airth is
+she?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go to her first,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and leading the
+way Anna soon ushered her into her grandmother&rsquo;s room which, child as she
+was, &rsquo;Lena readily saw was far different from the handsome apartments of
+which she had obtained a passing glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Nichols had not thought of this&mdash;and was doubtless better
+satisfied with her present quarters than she would have been with the best
+furnished chamber in the house. The moment her granddaughter appeared, she
+exclaimed, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny Rivers, where have you been? I was worried to
+death, for fear you might be runnin&rsquo; after some of them paltry niggers.
+And now whilst I think on&rsquo;t, I charge you never to go a nigh &rsquo;em;
+I&rsquo;d no idee they were such half-naked, nasty critters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This prohibition was a novelty to Anna, who spent many happy hours with her
+sable-hued companions, never deeming herself the worse for it. Her
+grandmother&rsquo;s first remark, however, struck her still more forcibly, and
+she immediately asked, &ldquo;Grandma, what did you call &rsquo;Lena, just now?
+&rsquo;Lena what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I called her by her name, &rsquo;Lena Rivers. What should I call
+her?&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, I thought her name was &rsquo;Lena Nichols; ma said
+&rsquo;twas,&rdquo; answered Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+birth, and she rather tartly informed Anna, that &ldquo;her mother didn&rsquo;t
+know everything,&rdquo; adding that &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s father was Mr.
+Rivers, and there wasn&rsquo;t half so much reason why she should be called
+Nichols as there was why Anna should, for that was her father&rsquo;s name, the
+one by which he was baptized, the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who&rsquo;s
+jest his age, only he was born about a quarter past four in the morning, and
+she not till some time in the afternoon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where is Mr. Rivers?&rdquo; asked Anna more interested in him than
+in the exact minute of her father&rsquo;s birth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord only knows,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;Little girls
+shouldn&rsquo;t ask too many questions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some mystery connected
+with &rsquo;Lena. The mention of Nancy Scovandyke reminded Mrs. Nichols of the
+dishes which that lady had packed away, and anxious to see if they were safe,
+she turned to &rsquo;Lena saying, &ldquo;I guess we&rsquo;ll have time before
+dinner to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how the crockery stood the
+racket. Anny, you run down and tell your pa to fetch &rsquo;em up here,
+that&rsquo;s a good girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes contained, Anna forgot
+her scheme of dressing &rsquo;Lena, and ran down, not to call her father, but
+the black boy, Adam. It took her a long time to find him, and Mrs. Nichols,
+growing impatient, determined to go herself, spite of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+entreaties that she would stay where she was. Passing down the long stairway,
+and out upon the piazza, she espied a negro girl on her hands and knees engaged
+in cleaning the steps with a cloth. Instantly remembering her mop, she greatly
+lamented that she had left it behind&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;twould come so handy
+now,&rdquo; thought she, but there was no help for it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said, &ldquo;Sissy,
+can you tell me where <i>John</i> is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly &ldquo;Sissy&rsquo;s&rdquo; ivories became visible, as she replied,
+&ldquo;We hain&rsquo;t got any such nigger as John.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one in particular,
+Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t ask for
+a <i>nigger</i>; I want your master, <i>John</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed herself for thus early
+breaking her promise to Nancy Scovandyke. As it was, she mentally asked
+forgiveness, and as the colored girl &ldquo;didn&rsquo;t know where marster
+was,&rdquo; but &ldquo;reckoned he had gone somewhar,&rdquo; she turned aside,
+and seeking her son&rsquo;s room, again entered unannounced. Mrs. Livingstone,
+who was up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor. But Mrs. Nichols did
+not heed it, and advancing forward, she said, &ldquo;Do you feel any better,
+&rsquo;Tilda? I&rsquo;d keep kinder still to-day, and not try to do much, for
+if you feel any consarned about the housework, I&rsquo;d just as lief see
+to&rsquo;t a little after dinner as not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have all confidence in Milly&rsquo;s management, and seldom trouble
+myself about the affairs of the kitchen,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, then,&rdquo; returned her mother-in-law, nothing daunted,
+&ldquo;Wall, then, mebby you&rsquo;d like to have me come in and set with you a
+while.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would be impossible for us to depict Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s look of
+surprise and anger at this proposition. Her face alternately flushed and then
+grew pale, until at last she found voice to say, &ldquo;I greatly prefer being
+alone, madam. It annoys me excessively to have any one round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Considerable kind o&rsquo; touchy,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols,
+&ldquo;but then the poor critter is sick, and I shan&rsquo;t lay it up agin
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking out her snuff-box, she offered it to her daughter, telling her that
+&ldquo;like enough &rsquo;twould cure her headache.&rdquo; Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s first impulse was to strike it from her mother&rsquo;s
+hand, but knowing how unladylike that would be, she restrained herself, and
+turning away her head, replied, &ldquo;Ugh! no! The very sight of it makes me
+sick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How you do talk! Wall, I&rsquo;ve seen folks that it sarved jest so; but
+you&rsquo;ll get over it. Now there was Nancy Scovandyke&mdash;did John ever
+say anything about her? Wall, she couldn&rsquo;t bear snuff till after her
+disappointment&mdash;John told you, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam, my husband has never told me anything concerning his eastern
+friends, neither do I wish to hear anything of them,&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, her patience on the point of giving out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never told you nothin&rsquo; about Nancy Scovandyke! If that don&rsquo;t
+beat all! Why, he was&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was prevented from finishing the sentence, which would undoubtedly have
+raised a domestic breeze, when Anna came to tell her that the trunks were
+carried to her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll come right up then,&rdquo; said she, adding, more to herself
+than any one else, &ldquo;If I ain&rsquo;t mistaken, I&rsquo;ve got a little
+paper of saffron somewhere, which I mean to steep for &rsquo;Tilda. Her skin
+looks desput jandissy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife&rsquo;s room, he found her in a
+collapsed state of anger and mortification.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>John</i> Nichols,&rdquo; said she, with a strong emphasis on the
+first word, which sounded very much like <i>Jarn</i>, &ldquo;do you mean to
+kill me by bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room
+without knocking&mdash;calling me &rsquo;<i>Tilda</i>, and prating about Nancy
+somebody&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John started. His wife knew nothing of his <i>affaire du cœur</i> with Miss
+Nancy, and for his own peace of mind &rsquo;twas desirable that she should
+not. Mentally resolving to give her a few hints, he endeavored to conciliate
+his wife, by saying that he knew &ldquo;his mother was troublesome, but she
+must try not to notice her oddities.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon me
+continually,&rdquo; returned his wife. &ldquo;I must either deep the doors
+locked, or live in constant terror.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad, I know,&rdquo; said he, smoothing her glossy hair,
+&ldquo;but then, she&rsquo;s old, you know. Have you seen &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, neither do I wish to, if she&rsquo;s at all like her
+grandmother,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s handsome,&rdquo; suggested Mr. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw! handsome!&rdquo; repeated his wife, scornfully, while he replied,
+&ldquo;Yes, handsomer than either of our daughters, and with the same
+advantages, I&rsquo;ve no doubt she&rsquo;d surpass them both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Those advantages, then, she shall never have,&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, already jealous of a child she had only seen at a distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone made no reply, but felt that he&rsquo;d made a mistake in
+praising &rsquo;Lena, in whom he began to feel a degree of interest for which
+he could not account. He did not know that way down in the depths of his heart,
+calloused over as it was by worldly selfishness, there was yet a tender spot, a
+lingering memory of his only sister whom &rsquo;Lena so strongly resembled. If
+left to himself, he would undoubtedly have taken pride in seeing his niece
+improve, and as it was, he determined that she should at home receive the same
+instruction that his daughters did. Perhaps he might not send her away to
+school. He didn&rsquo;t know how that would be&mdash;his wife held the purse,
+and taking refuge behind that excuse, he for the present dismissed the subject.
+(So much for marrying a <i>rich</i> wife and nothing else. This we throw in
+gratis!)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime grandma had returned to her room, at the door of which she found John
+Jr. and Carrie, both curious to know what was in those boxes, one of which had
+burst open and been tied up with a rope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, children,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t stay out
+there&mdash;come in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We prefer remaining here,&rdquo; said Carrie, in a tone and manner so
+nearly resembling her mother, that Mrs. Nichols could not refrain from saying,
+&ldquo;chip of the old block!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so, by cracky. You&rsquo;ve hit her this time,
+granny,&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., snapping his fingers under Carrie&rsquo;s
+nose, which being rather long, was frequently a subject of his ridicule.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me be, John Livingstone,&rdquo; said Carrie, while &rsquo;Lena
+resolved never again to use the word &ldquo;granny,&rdquo; which she knew her
+cousin had taken up on purpose to tease her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, &rsquo;Lena, catch hold and help me untie this rope, I
+b&rsquo;lieve the crockery&rsquo;s in here,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols to
+&rsquo;Lena, who soon opened the chest, disclosing to view as motley a variety
+of articles as is often seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among the rest was the &ldquo;blue set,&rdquo; a part of her &ldquo;setting
+out,&rdquo; as his grandmother told John Jr., at the same time dwelling at
+length upon their great value. Mistaking Carrie&rsquo;s look of contempt for
+envy, Mrs. Nichols chucked her under the chin, telling her &ldquo;May be there
+was something for her, if she was a good girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your head,&rdquo; said
+John Jr., vastly enjoying his sister&rsquo;s vexation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where does your marm keep her china? I want to put this with it,&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Nichols to Anna, who, uncertain what reply to make, looked at Carrie
+to answer for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon mother don&rsquo;t want that old stuff stuck into her
+china-closet,&rdquo; said Carrie, elevating her nose to a height wholly
+satisfactory to John Jr., who unbuttoned one of his waistband buttons to give
+himself room to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mortal sakes alive! I wonder if she don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Nichols, beginning to get an inkling of Carrie&rsquo;s character, and the
+estimation in which her valuables were held.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a nice little cupboard over the fireplace; I&rsquo;d put
+them here,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother and
+cousin; &ldquo;yes, granny, put &rsquo;em there; the niggers are <i>awful
+critters</i> to steal, and like enough you&rsquo;d &rsquo;lose &rsquo;em if
+they sot in with marm&rsquo;s!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This argument prevailed. The dishes were put away in the cupboard, &rsquo;Lena
+thinking that with all his badness John Jr., was of some use after all. At
+last, tired of looking on, Anna suggested to &rsquo;Lena, who did not seem to
+be helping matters forward much, that the should go and be dressed up as had
+been first proposed. Readily divining her sister&rsquo;s intention, Carrie ran
+with it to her mother, who sent back word that &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena must mind her
+own affairs, and let Anna&rsquo;s dresses alone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This undeserved thrust made &rsquo;Lena cry, while Anna declared &ldquo;her
+mother never said any such thing,&rdquo; which Carrie understood as an
+insinuation that she had told a falsehood. Accordingly a quarrel of words
+ensued between the two sisters, which was finally quelled by John Jr., who
+called to Carrie &ldquo;to come down, as she&rsquo;d got a letter from
+<i>Durward Bellmont</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward! How that name made &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s heart leap! Was it <i>her</i>
+Durward&mdash;the boy in the cars? She almost hoped not, for somehow the idea
+of his writing to Carrie was not a pleasant one. At last summoning courage, she
+asked Anna who he was, and was told that he lived in Louisville with his
+stepfather, Mr. Graham, and that Carrie about two months before had met him in
+Frankfort at Colonel Douglass&rsquo;s, where she was in the habit of visiting.
+&ldquo;Colonel Douglass,&rdquo; continued Anna, &ldquo;has got a right nice
+little girl whose name is Nellie. Then there&rsquo;s Mabel Ross, a sort of
+cousin, who lives with them part of the time. She&rsquo;s an orphan and a great
+heiress. You mustn&rsquo;t tell anybody for the world, but I overheard ma say
+that she wanted John to marry Mabel, she&rsquo;s so rich&mdash;but pshaw! he
+won&rsquo;t for she&rsquo;s awful babyish and ugly looking. Captain Atherton is
+related to Nellie, and during the holidays she and Mabel are coming up to spend
+a week, and I&rsquo;ll bet Durward is coming too. Cad teased him, and he said
+may be he would if he didn&rsquo;t go to college this fall. I&rsquo;ll run down
+and see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon returning, she brought the news that it was as she had conjectured.
+Durward, who was now travelling, was not going to college until the next fall
+and at Christmas he was coming to the country with his cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m so glad,&rdquo; said Anna. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have a time,
+for ma&rsquo;ll invite them here, of course. Cad thinks a heap of Durward, and
+I want so bad to see him. Don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena made no direct reply, for much as she would like to see her
+<i>compagnon du voyage</i>, she felt an unwillingness to meet him in the
+presence of Carrie, who she knew would spare no pains to mortify her. Soon
+forgetting Durward, Anna again alluded to her plan of dressing &rsquo;Lena,
+wishing &ldquo;Cad would mind her own business.&rdquo; Then, as a new idea
+entered her head, she brightened up, exclaiming, &ldquo;I know what I can do.
+I&rsquo;ll have Corinda curl your hair real pretty. You&rsquo;ve got beautiful
+hair. A heap nicer than my yellow flax.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena offered no remonstrance, and Corinda, who came at the call of her
+young mistress, immediately commenced brushing and curling the bright, wavy
+hair which Anna had rightly called beautiful. While this was going on, Grandma
+Nichols, who had always adhered to the good old puritanical custom of dining
+exactly at twelve o&rsquo;clock, began to wonder why dinner was not
+forthcoming. She had breakfasted in Versailles, but like many travelers, could
+not eat much at a hotel, and now her stomach clamored loudly for food. Three
+times had she walked back and forth before what she supposed was the kitchen,
+and from which a savory smell of something was issuing, and at last determining
+to stop and reconnoiter, she started for the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The northern reader at all acquainted with southern life, knows well that a
+kitchen there and a kitchen here are two widely different things&mdash;ours,
+particularly in the country, being frequently used as a dining-room, while a
+southern lady would almost as soon think of eating in the barn as in her
+cook-room. Like most other planters, Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s kitchen was
+separate and at some little distance from the main building, causing grandma to
+wonder &ldquo;how the poor critters managed to carry victuals back and to when
+it was cold and slippery.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Aunt Milly, who was up to her elbows in dough, saw her visitor
+approaching, she exclaimed, &ldquo;Lor&rsquo;-a-mighty, if thar ain&rsquo;t ole
+miss coming straight into this lookin&rsquo; hole! Jeff, you quit that
+ar&rsquo; pokin&rsquo; in dem ashes, and knock Lion out that kittle; does you
+har? And you, Polly,&rdquo; speaking to a superannuated negress who was sitting
+near the table, &ldquo;you just shove that ar&rsquo; piece of dough, I done
+save to bake for you and me, under your char, whar she won&rsquo;t see
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Polly complied, and by this time Mrs. Nichols was at the door, surveying the
+premises, and thinking how differently she&rsquo;d make things look after a
+little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does missus want anything?&rdquo; asked Aunt Milly, and grandma replied,
+&ldquo;Yes, I want to know if &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t nigh about
+<i>noon</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This is a term never used among the blacks, and rolling up her white eyes, Aunt
+Milly answered, &ldquo;You done got me now, sartin, for this chile know
+nothin&rsquo; what you mean more&rsquo;n the deadest critter
+livin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as she could, Mrs. Nichols explained her meaning, and Aunt Milly
+replied, &ldquo;Oh, yes, yes, I know now. &lsquo;Is it most _dinner
+time?&rsquo; Yes&mdash;dinner&rsquo;ll be done ready in an hour. We never has
+it till two no day, and when we has company not till three.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Confident that she should starve, Mrs. Nichols advanced a step or two into the
+kitchen, whereupon Aunt Milly commenced making excuses, saying, &ldquo;she was
+gwine to clar up one of these days, and then if Thomas Jefferson and Marquis De
+Lafayette didn&rsquo;t quit that litterin&rsquo; they&rsquo;d cotch it&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Attracted by the clean appearance of Aunt Polly, who, not having to work,
+prided herself upon always being neatly dressed, Mrs. Nichols walked up to her,
+and, to use a vulgar expression, the two old ladies were soon
+&ldquo;hand-in-glove,&rdquo; Mrs. Nichols informing her of her loss, and how
+sorry Nancy Scovandyke would feel when she heard of it, and ending by giving
+her the full particulars of her husband&rsquo;s sickness and death. In return
+Aunt Polly said that &ldquo;she was born and bred along with ole Marster
+Richards, Miss Matilda&rsquo;s father, and that she, too, had buried a
+husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a deep sigh, Mrs. Nichols was about, to commiserate her, when Aunt Polly
+cut her short by saying, &ldquo;&rsquo;Twant of no kind o&rsquo; count, as she
+never relished him much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some drunken critter, I warrant,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols, at the
+same time asking what his name was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jeems,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked for the surname,
+&ldquo;Jeems what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein&rsquo; he &rsquo;longed to ole Marster
+Atherton,&rdquo; said Polly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a time Mrs. Nichols had forgotten her hunger but the habit of sixty years
+was not so easily broken and she now hinted so strongly of the emptiness of her
+stomach that Aunt Polly, emboldened by her familiarity, said, &ldquo;I never
+wait for the rest, but have my cup of tea or coffee just when I feel like it,
+and if missus wouldn&rsquo;t mind takin&rsquo; a bite with a nigger,
+she&rsquo;s welcome.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say nothin&rsquo; about it. We shall all be white in heaven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dat am de trufe,&rdquo; muttered Milly, mentally assigning Mrs. Nichols
+a more exalted occupation than that of turning hoe-cakes!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two cups and saucers were forthwith produced, Milly acting as a waiter for fear
+Aunt Polly would leave her seat and so disclose to view the loaf of bread which
+had been hidden under the chair! Some coffee was poured from the pot, which
+still stood on the stove, and then the little negroes, amused with the novelty
+of the thing, ran shouting and yelling that, &ldquo;ole miss was eatin&rsquo;
+in the kitchen &rsquo;long with Lion, Aunt Polly and the other dogs!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, thinking
+&ldquo;what sights of comfort she should take with <i>Mrs. Atherton</i>,&rdquo;
+whom she pronounced to be &ldquo;a likely, clever woman as ever was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had she reached her room when the dinner-bell rang, every note falling
+like an ice-bolt on the heart of &rsquo;Lena, who, though hungry like her
+grandmother, still greatly dreaded the dinner, fearing her inability to acquit
+herself creditably. Corinda had finished her hair, and Anna, looking over her
+wardrobe and coming upon the black dress which her father had purchased for
+her, had insisted upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s wearing it. It was of rather more
+modern make than any of her other dresses, and when her toilet was completed,
+she looked uncommonly well. Still she trembled violently as Anna led her to the
+dining-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made their appearance, but
+the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped in a rose-colored shawl, which John
+Jr., said &ldquo;she wore to give a delicate tint to her yellow
+complexion.&rdquo; She was in the worst of humors, having just been opening her
+husband&rsquo;s trunk, where she found the numerous articles which had been
+stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke. Very angrily she had ordered them removed from
+her sight, and at this very moment the little negroes in the yard were playing
+with the cracked bellows, calling them a &ldquo;blubber,&rdquo; and filling
+them with water to see it run out!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen &rsquo;Lena, and
+now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna said,
+&ldquo;Mother, mother, this is &rsquo;Lena. Look at her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which she was
+prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for &rsquo;Lena was not a child
+to be looked upon and despised. Plain and humble as was her dress, there was
+something in her fine, open face, which at once interested and commanded
+respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father had felt it; and his mother felt it
+too, but it awoke in her a feeling of bitterness as she thought how the fair
+young girl before her might in time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw
+that &rsquo;Lena was beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of
+intellect as of feature and form.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; thought she, &ldquo;husband was right when he said that,
+with the same advantages, she&rsquo;d soon outstrip her cousins&mdash;but it
+shall never be&mdash;<i>never</i>,&rdquo; and the white teeth shut firmly
+together, as the cold, proud woman bowed a welcome.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared. Stimulated by the example of &rsquo;Lena,
+she, too, had changed her dress, and now in black bombazine, white muslin cap,
+and shining silk apron, she presented so respectable an appearance that her
+son&rsquo;s face instantly brightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, mother, we are waiting for you,&rdquo; said he, as she stopped on
+her way to ask Vine, the <i>fly girl</i>, &ldquo;how she did, and if it
+wasn&rsquo;t hard work to swing them feathers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, &ldquo;Dun know, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a plate of
+soup, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t often eat broth, besides that, I ain&rsquo;t much
+hungry, as I&rsquo;ve just been takin&rsquo; a bite with <i>Miss
+Atherton</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With whom?&rdquo; asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in
+the same breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the
+kitchen,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s face darkened visibly, while her husband,
+thinking it time to speak, said, &ldquo;It is my wish, mother, that you keep
+away from the kitchen. It does the negroes no good to be meddled with, and
+besides that, when you are hungry the servants will take you something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,&rdquo; muttered Carrie, with
+all the air of a young lady of twenty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold on to your nose, Cad,&rdquo; whispered John Jr., thereby attracting
+his sister&rsquo;s attention to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; asked Mrs.
+Nichols, touching the turkey with the knife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr., roared, and was ordered from the table by his father, while
+&rsquo;Lena, who stepped on her grandmother&rsquo;s toes to keep her from
+talking, was told by that lady &ldquo;to keep her feet still.&rdquo; Along with
+the desert came ice-cream, which Mrs. Nichols had never before tasted, and now
+fancying that she was dreadfully burned, she quickly deposited her first
+mouthful upon her plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, grandma? Can&rsquo;t you eat it?&rdquo; asked
+Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I kin eat it, but I don&rsquo;t hanker arter it,&rdquo; answered
+her grandmother, pushing the plate aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but soon growing weary,
+she started out to view the premises. Coming suddenly upon a group of young
+negroes, she discovered her bellows, the water dripping from the nose, while a
+little farther on she espied &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s bonnet, which the negroes had
+at last succeeded in catching, and which, wet as it was, now adorned the head
+of Thomas Jefferson! In a trice the old lady&rsquo;s principles were forgotten,
+and she cuffed the negroes with a right good will, hitting Jeff, the hardest,
+and, as a matter of course, making him yell the loudest. Out came Aunt Milly,
+scolding and muttering about &ldquo;white folks tendin&rsquo; to thar own
+business,&rdquo; and reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;
+position in the next world. Cuff, the watch-dog, whose kennell was close by,
+set up a tremendous howling, while John Jr., always on hand, danced a jig to
+the sound of the direful music.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake, husband, go out and see what&rsquo;s the
+matter,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual noise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch a glimpse of John
+Jr.&rsquo;s heels as he gave the finishing touch to his exploit, while Mrs.
+Nichols, highly incensed, marched from the field of battle with the bonnet and
+bellows, thinking &ldquo;if them niggers was only her&rsquo;n they&rsquo;d
+catch it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/>
+MALCOLM EVERETT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to enumerate
+the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone were compelled to
+endure from their mother, who gradually came to understand her true position in
+the family. One by one her ideas of teaching them economy were given up, as was
+also all hopes of ever being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her
+son&rsquo;s request, she had ceased to call &ldquo;&rsquo;Tilda.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I
+shan&rsquo;t. I&rsquo;ll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she
+chooses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every time she
+heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow a disclosure of his
+engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had requested his mother to keep it
+from his wife, and she, appreciating his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting
+the while the ill-fortune which had prevented Nancy from being her
+daughter-in-law, and dwelling frequently upon the comfort she should take were
+Nancy there in Matilda&rsquo;s place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably
+contented; the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last, like most
+northern people, she fell in with the habits of those around her. Still her
+Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and many a letter, wonderful for its
+composition and orthography, found its way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote in
+return that &ldquo;some time or other she should surely visit Kentucky,&rdquo;
+asking further if the &ldquo;big bugs&rdquo; didn&rsquo;t prefer eastern
+teachers for their children, and hinting at her desire to engage in that
+capacity when she came south!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, that&rsquo;s the very thing,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding
+the letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting.
+&ldquo;Nancy&rsquo;s larnin&rsquo; is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and
+Anny, and I mean to speak to John about it right away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t do any such thing,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, seeing at a
+glance how such a proposal would be received.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols, and &rsquo;Lena replied, &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t think Nancy would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and besides that,
+they&rsquo;ve engaged a teacher, a Mr. Everett, and expect him next
+week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say so?&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;I never
+hearn a word on&rsquo;t. Where &rsquo;bouts is he from, and how much do they
+give him a week?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The latter &rsquo;Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that &ldquo;she
+believed he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, New York.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s sister lives there. I wouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder if he knew her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely,&rdquo; returned Lena, catching her bonnet and hurrying off
+to ride with Captain Atherton and Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we have once before observed, Anna was a great favorite with the captain,
+who had petted her until John Jr. teased her unmercifully, calling him her
+gray-haired lover, and the like. This made Anna exceedingly sensitive, and now
+when the captain called for her to ride, as he frequently did, she refused to
+go unless the invitation was also extended to &rsquo;Lena, who in this way got
+many a pleasant ride around the country. She was fast learning to like
+Kentucky, and would have been very happy had her aunt and Carrie been a little
+more gracious. But the former seldom spoke to her, and the latter only to
+ridicule something which she said or did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many and amusing were the disputes between the two girls concerning their
+peculiarities of speech, Carrie bidding &rsquo;Lena &ldquo;quit her Yankee
+habit of eternally <i>guessing</i>,&rdquo; and &rsquo;Lena retorting that
+&ldquo;she would when Carrie stopped her everlasting <i>reckoning</i>.&rdquo;
+To avoid the remarks of the neighbors, who she knew were watching her narrowly,
+Mrs. Livingstone had purchased &rsquo;Lena two or three dresses, which, though
+greatly inferior to those worn by Carrie and Anna, were still fashionably made,
+and so much improved &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s looks, that her manners improved,
+also, for what child does not appear to better advantage when conscious of
+looking well? More than once had her uncle&rsquo;s hand rested for a moment on
+her brown curls, while his thoughts were traversing the past, and in fancy his
+fingers were again straying among the silken locks now resting in the grave. It
+would seem as if the mother from her coffin was pleading for her child, for all
+the better nature of Mr. Livingstone was aroused; and when he secured the
+services of Mr. Everett, who was highly recommended both as a scholar and
+gentleman, he determined that &rsquo;Lena should share the same advantages with
+his daughters. To this Mrs. Livingstone made no serious objection, for as Mr.
+Everett would teach in the house, it would not do to debar &rsquo;Lena from the
+privilege of attending his school; and as the highest position to which she
+could aspire was to be governess in some private family, she felt willing, she
+said, that she should have a chance of acquiring the common branches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now Mr. Everett was daily expected. Anna, who had no fondness for books,
+greatly dreaded his arrival, thinking within herself how many pranks
+she&rsquo;d play off upon him, provided &rsquo;Lena would lend a helping hand,
+which she much doubted. John Jr., too, who for a time, at least, was to be
+placed under Mr. Everett&rsquo;s instruction, felt in no wise eager for his
+arrival, fearing, as he told &rsquo;Lena that &ldquo;between the &lsquo;old
+man&rsquo; and the tutor, he would be kept a little too straight for a
+gentleman of his habits;&rdquo; and it was with no particular emotions of
+pleasure that he and Anna saw the stage stop before the gate one pleasant
+morning toward the middle of November. Running to one of the front windows,
+Carrie, &rsquo;Lena, and Anna watched their new teacher, each after her own
+fashion commenting upon his appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ugh,&rdquo; exclaimed Anna, &ldquo;what a green, boyish looking thing! I
+reckon nobody&rsquo;s going to be afraid of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say he&rsquo;s real handsome,&rdquo; said Carrie, who being thirteen
+years of age, had already, in her own mind, practiced many a little coquetry
+upon the stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like him,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s brief remark.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Everett was a pale, intellectual looking man, scarcely twenty years of age,
+and appearing still younger so that Anna was not wholly wrong when she called
+him boyish. Still there was in his large black eye a firmness and decision
+which bespoke the man strong within him, and which put to flight all of
+Anna&rsquo;s preconceived notions of rebellion. With the utmost composure he
+returned Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s greeting, and the proud lady half bit her lip
+with vexation as she saw how little he seemed awed by her presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Malcolm Everett was not one to acknowledge superiority where there was none,
+and though ever polite toward Mrs. Livingstone, there was something in his
+manner which forbade her treating him as aught save an equal. He was not to be
+trampled down, and for once in her life Mrs. Livingstone had found a person who
+would neither cringe to her nor flatter. The children were not presented to him
+until dinner time, when, with the air of a young desperado, John Jr. marched
+into the dining-room, eying, his teacher askance, calculating his strength, and
+returning his greeting with a simple nod. Mr. Everett scanned him from head to
+foot, and then turned to Carrie half smiling at the great dignity which she
+assumed. With &rsquo;Lena and Anna he seemed better pleased, holding their
+hands and smiling down upon them through rows of teeth which Anna pronounced
+the whitest she had ever seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone was not at home, and when his mother appeared, Mrs. Livingstone
+did not think proper to introduce her. But if by this omission she thought to
+keep the old lady silent, she was mistaken, for the moment Mrs. Nichols was
+seated, she commenced with, &ldquo;Your name is Everett, I
+b&rsquo;lieve?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; said he, bowing very gracefully toward her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any kin to the governor that was?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, ma&rsquo;am, none whatever,&rdquo; and the white teeth became
+slightly visible for a moment, but soon disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are from Rockford, &rsquo;Lena tells me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am. Have you friends there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;or that is, Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s sister, Betsy Scovandyke
+that used to be, lives there. May be you know her. Her name is
+Bacon&mdash;Betsy Bacon. She&rsquo;s a widder and keeps boarders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said he, the teeth this time becoming wholly visible,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard of Mrs. Bacon, but have not the honor of her
+acquaintance. You are from the east, I perceive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Law, now! how did you know that!&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols, while Mr.
+Everett answered, &ldquo;I <i>guessed</i> at it,&rdquo; with a peculiar
+emphasis on the word guessed, which led &rsquo;Lena to think he had used it
+purposely and not from habit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Everett possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of making those around
+him both respect and like him, and ere six weeks had passed, he had won the
+love of all his pupils. Even John Jr. was greatly improved, and Carrie seemed
+suddenly reawakened into a thirst for knowledge, deeming no task too long, and
+no amount of study too hard, if it won the commendation of her teacher.
+&rsquo;Lena, who committed to memory with great ease, and who consequently did
+not deserve so much credit for her always perfect lessons, seldom received a
+word of praise, while poor Anna, notoriously lazy when books were concerned,
+cried almost every day, because as she said, &ldquo;Mr. Everett didn&rsquo;t
+like her as he did the rest, else why did he look at her so much, watching her
+all the while, and keeping her after school to get her lessons over, when he
+knew how she hated them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once Mrs. Livingstone ventured to remonstrate, telling him that Anna was very
+sensitive, and required altogether different treatment from Carrie. &ldquo;She
+thinks you dislike her,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and while she retains this
+impression, she will do nothing as far as learning is concerned; so if you do
+not like her, try and make her think you do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Everett&rsquo;s dark eyes as he answered,
+&ldquo;You may think it strange, Mrs. Livingstone, but of all my pupils I love
+Anna the best! I know I find more fault with her, and am perhaps more severe
+with her than with the rest, but it&rsquo;s because I would make her what I
+wish her to be. Pardon me, madam, but Anna does not possess the same amount of
+intellect with her cousin or sister, but by proper culture she will make a
+fine, intelligent woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone hardly relished being told that one child was inferior to the
+other, but she could not well help herself&mdash;Mr. Everett would say what he
+pleased&mdash;and thus the conference ended. From that time Mr. Everett was
+exceedingly kind to Anna, wiping away the tears which invariably came when told
+that she must stay with him in the school-room after the rest were gone; then,
+instead of seating himself in rigid silence at a distance until her task was
+learned, he would sit by her side, occasionally smoothing her long curls and
+speaking encouragingly to her as she pored over some hard rule of grammar, or
+puzzled her brains with some difficult problem in Colburn. Erelong the result
+of all this became manifest. Anna grew fonder of her books, more ready to
+learn, and&mdash;more willing to be kept after school!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah, little did Mrs. Livingstone think what she was doing when she bade young
+Malcolm Everett make her warm-hearted, impulsive daughter <i>think</i> he liked
+her!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/>
+SCHEMING.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother, where&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress? Hasn&rsquo;t she got
+any?&rdquo; asked Anna, one morning, about two weeks before Christmas, as she
+bent over a promiscuous pile of merinoes, delaines, and plaid silks, her own
+and Carrie&rsquo;s dresses for the coming holidays. &ldquo;Say, mother,
+didn&rsquo;t you buy &rsquo;Lena any?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus interrogated, Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;I wonder if you think
+I&rsquo;m made of money! &rsquo;Lena is indebted to me now for more than she
+can ever pay. As long as I give her a home and am at so much expense in
+educating her, she of course can&rsquo;t expect me to dress her as I do you.
+There&rsquo;s Carrie&rsquo;s brown delaine and your blue one, which I intend to
+have made over for her, and she ought to be satisfied with that, for they are
+much better than anything she had when she came here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the lady glanced toward the spot where &rsquo;Lena sat, admiring the new
+things, in which she had no share, and longing to ask the question which Anna
+had asked for her, and which had now been answered. John Jr., who was present,
+and who knew that Mr. Everett had been engaged to teach in the family long
+before it was known that &rsquo;Lena was coming, now said to his cousin, who
+arose to leave, &ldquo;Yes, &rsquo;Lena, mother&rsquo;s a model of generosity,
+and you&rsquo;ll never be able to repay her for her kindness in allowing you to
+wear the girls&rsquo; old duds, which would otherwise be given to the blacks,
+and in permitting you to recite to Mr. Everett, who, of course, was hired on
+your account.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The slamming together of the door as &rsquo;Lena left the room brought the
+young gentleman&rsquo;s remarks to a close, and wishing to escape the lecture
+which he saw was preparing for him, he, too, made his exit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Christmas was coming, and with it Durward Bellmont, and about his coming Mrs.
+Livingstone felt some little anxiety. Always scheming, and always looking
+ahead, she was expecting great results from this visit. Durward was not only
+immensely wealthy, but was also descended on his father&rsquo;s side from one
+of England&rsquo;s noblemen. Altogether he was, she thought, a &ldquo;decided
+catch,&rdquo; and though he was now only sixteen, while Carrie was but
+thirteen, lifelong impressions had been made at even an earlier period, and
+Mrs. Livingstone resolved that her pretty daughter should at least have all the
+advantages of dress with which to set off her charms. Concerning Anna&rsquo;s
+appearance she cared less, for she had but little hope of her, unless,
+indeed&mdash;but &rsquo;twas too soon to think of that&mdash;she would wait,
+and perhaps in good time &rsquo;twould all come round naturally and as a
+matter of course. So she encouraged her daughter&rsquo;s intimacy with Captain
+Atherton, who, until Malcolm Everett appeared, was in Anna&rsquo;s estimation
+the best man living. Now, however, she made an exception in favor of her
+teacher, &ldquo;who,&rdquo; as she told the captain, &ldquo;neither wore false
+teeth, nor kept in his pocket a pair of specks, to be slyly used when he
+fancied no one saw him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Captain Atherton coughed, colored, laughed, and saying that &ldquo;Mr. Everett
+was a mash kind of a boy,&rdquo; swore eternal enmity toward him, and under the
+mask of friendship&mdash;watched! Eleven years before, when Anna was a baby,
+Mrs. Livingstone had playfully told the captain, who was one day deploring his
+want of a wife, that if he would wait he should have her daughter. To this he
+agreed, and the circumstance, trivial as it was, made a more than ordinary
+impression upon his mind; and though he as yet had no definite idea that the
+promise would ever be fulfilled, the little girl was to him an object of
+uncommon interest. Mrs. Livingstone knew this, and whenever Anna&rsquo;s future
+prospects were the subject of her meditations, she generally fell back upon
+that fact as an item not to be despised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, however, her thoughts were turned into another and widely different
+channel. Christmas week was to be spent by Durward Bellmont partly at Captain
+Atherton&rsquo;s and partly at her own house, and as Mrs. Livingstone was not
+ignorant of the effect a becoming dress has upon a pretty face, she determined
+that Carrie should, at least, have that advantage. Anna, too, was to fare like
+her sister, while no thought was bestowed upon poor &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+wardrobe, until her husband, who accompanied her to Frankfort, suggested that a
+certain pattern, which he fancied would be becoming to &rsquo;Lena should be
+purchased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With an angry scowl, Mrs. Livingstone muttered something about &ldquo;spending
+so much money for other folks&rsquo; young ones.&rdquo; Then remembering the
+old delaines, and knowing by the tone of her husband&rsquo;s voice that he was
+in earnest, she quickly rejoined, &ldquo;Why, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s got two new
+dresses at home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never doubting his wife&rsquo;s word, Mr. Livingstone was satisfied, and
+nothing more was said upon the subject. Business of importance made it
+necessary for him to go for a few weeks to New Orleans, and he was now on his
+way thither, his wife having accompanied him as far as Frankfort, where he took
+the boat, while she returned home. When &rsquo;Lena left the room after
+learning that she had no part in the mass of Christmas finery, she repaired to
+the arbor bridge, where she had wept so bitterly on the first day of her
+arrival, and which was now her favorite resort. For a time she sat watching the
+leaping waters, swollen by the winter rains, and wondering if it were not
+possible that they started at first from the pebbly spring which gushed so cool
+and clear from the mountain-side near her old New England home. This reminded
+her of where and what she was now&mdash;a dependent on the bounty of those who
+wished her away, and who almost every day of her life made her feel it so
+keenly, too. Not one among them loved her except Anna, and would not her
+affection change as they grew older? Then her thoughts took another direction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward Bellmont was coming&mdash;but did she wish to see him? Could she bear
+the sneering remarks which she knew Carrie would make concerning herself? And
+how would he be affected by them? Would he ask her of her father? and if so,
+what had she to say?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many a time had she tried to penetrate the dark mystery of her birth, but her
+grandmother was wholly non-committal. Once, too, when her uncle seemed kinder
+than usual, she had ventured to ask him of her father, and with a frown he had
+replied, that &ldquo;the least she knew of him the better!&rdquo; Still
+&rsquo;Lena felt sure that he was a good man, and that some time or other she
+would find him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All day long the clouds had been threatening rain, which began to fall soon
+after &rsquo;Lena entered the arbor, but so absorbed was she in her own
+thoughts, that she did not observe it until her clothes were perfectly
+dampened; then starting up, she repaired to the house. For several days she had
+not been well, and this exposure brought on a severe cold, which confined her
+to her room for nearly two weeks. Meantime the dress-making process went on,
+Anna keeping &rsquo;Lena constantly apprised of its progress, and occasionally
+wearing in some article for her inspection. This reminded &rsquo;Lena of her
+own wardrobe, and knowing that it would not be attended to while she was sick,
+she made such haste to be well, that on Thursday at tea-time she took her
+accustomed seat at the table. After supper she lingered awhile in the parlor,
+hoping something would be said, but she waited in vain, and was about leaving,
+when a few words spoken by Carrie in an adjoining room caught her ear and
+arrested her attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were&mdash;&ldquo;And so &rsquo;Lena came down to-night. I dare say she
+thinks you&rsquo;ll set Miss Simpson at work upon my old delaine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps so,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t
+see how Miss Simpson can do it, unless you put off having that silk apron
+embroidered.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t do any such thing,&rdquo; said Carrie, glad of an excuse
+to keep &rsquo;Lena out of the way. &ldquo;What matter is it if she don&rsquo;t
+come down when the company are here? I&rsquo;d rather she wouldn&rsquo;t, for
+she&rsquo;s so green and awkward, and Durward is so fastidious in such matters,
+that I&rsquo;d rather he wouldn&rsquo;t know she&rsquo;s a relative of ours! I
+know he&rsquo;d tell his mother, and they say she is very particular about his
+associates.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first impulse was to defy her cousin to her face&mdash;to
+tell her she had seen Durward Bellmont, and that he didn&rsquo;t laugh at her
+either. But her next thought was calmer and more rational. Possibly under
+Carrie&rsquo;s influence he might make fun of her, and resolving on no
+condition whatever to make herself visible while he was in the house, she
+returned to her room, and throwing herself upon the bed, wept until she fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When is Miss Simpson going to fix &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress?&rdquo;
+asked Anna, as day after day passed, and nothing was said of the brown delaine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an instant Miss Simpson&rsquo;s nimble fingers were still, as she awaited
+the answer to a question which had occurred to her several times. She was a
+kind-hearted, intelligent girl, find at a glance had seen how matters stood.
+She, too, was an orphan, and her sympathies were all enlisted in behalf of the
+neglected &rsquo;Lena. She had heard from Anna of the brown delaine, and in her
+own mind she had determined that it should be fitted with the utmost taste of
+which she was capable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her speculations, however, were brought to a close by Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s
+saying in reply to Anna, that &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena seemed so wholly uninterested,
+and cared so little about seeing the company, she had decided not to have the
+dress fixed until after Christmas week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fiery expression of two large, glittering eyes, which at that moment peered
+in at the door, convinced Miss Simpson that her employer had hardly told the
+truth, and she secretly determined that &rsquo;Lena should have the dress
+whether she would or not. Accordingly, the next time she and Anna were alone,
+she asked for the delaine, entrusting her secret to Anna, who, thinking no
+harm, promised to keep it from her mother. But to get &rsquo;Lena fitted was a
+more difficult matter. Her spirit was roused, and for a time she resisted their
+combined efforts. At last, however, she yielded, and by working late at night
+in her own room, Miss Simpson managed to finished the dress, in which
+&rsquo;Lena really looked better than did either of her cousins in their
+garments of far richer materials. Still she was resolved not to go down, and
+Anna, fearing what her mother might say, dared not urge her very strongly
+hoping, though, that &ldquo;something would turn up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Durward Bellmont, Nellie Douglass, and Mabel Ross had arrived at Captain
+Atherton&rsquo;s. Mrs. Livingstone and her daughters had called upon them,
+inviting them to spend a few days at Maple Grove, where they were to meet some
+other young people &ldquo;selected from the wealthiest families in the
+neighborhood,&rdquo; Mrs. Livingstone said, at the same time patting the sallow
+cheek of Mabel, whose reputed hundred thousand she intended should one day
+increase the importance of her own family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The invitation was accepted&mdash;the day had arrived, the guests were
+momentarily expected, and Carrie, before the long mirror, was admiring herself,
+alternately frowning upon John Jr., who was mimicking her &ldquo;airs,&rdquo;
+and scolding Anna for fretting because &rsquo;Lena could not be induced to join
+them. Finding that her niece was resolved not to appear, Mrs. Livingstone, for
+looks&rsquo; sake, had changed her tactics, saying, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena could
+come down if she chose&mdash;she was sure there was nothing to prevent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing this, Anna had exhausted all her powers of eloquence upon her cousin.
+But she still remained inexorable, greatly to the astonishment of her
+grandmother who for several days had been suffering from a rheumatic affection,
+notwithstanding which she &ldquo;meant to hobble down if possible, for&rdquo;
+said she, &ldquo;I want to see this Durward Bellmont. Matilda says he&rsquo;s
+got <i>Noble</i> blood in him. I used to know a family of Nobles in
+Massachusetts, and I think like as not he&rsquo;s some kin!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie, to whom this remark was made, communicated it to her mother, who
+forthwith repaired to Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; room, telling her &ldquo;that
+&rsquo;twas a child&rsquo;s party,&rdquo; and hinting pretty strongly that she
+was neither wanted nor expected in the parlor, and would confer a great favor
+by keeping aloof.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, wall,&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, who had learned to dread her
+daughter&rsquo;s displeasure, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d as lief stay up here as not, but
+I do want &rsquo;Lena to jine &rsquo;em. She&rsquo;s young and would enjoy
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without a word of answer Mrs. Livingstone walked away, leaving &rsquo;Lena more
+determined than ever not to go down. When the evening at last arrived, Anna
+insisted so strongly upon her wearing the delaine, for fear of what might
+happen, that &rsquo;Lena consented, curling her hair with great care, and
+feeling a momentary thrill of pride as she saw how well she looked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When we get nicely to enjoying ourselves,&rdquo; said Anna, &ldquo;you
+come down and look through the glass door, for I do want you to see Durward,
+he&rsquo;s so handsome&mdash;but there&rsquo;s the carriage&mdash;I must
+go;&rdquo; and away ran Anna down the stairs, while &rsquo;Lena flew to one of
+the front windows to see the company as they rode up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+First came Captain Atherton&rsquo;s carriage, and in it the captain and his
+maiden sister, together with a pale, sickly-looking girl, whom &rsquo;Lena knew
+to be Mabel Ross. Behind them rode Durward Bellmont, and at his side, on a
+spirited little pony was another girl, thirteen or fourteen years of age, but
+in her long riding-dress looking older, because taller. &rsquo;Lena readily
+guessed that this was Nellie Douglass, and at a glance she recognized the
+Durward of the cars&mdash;grown handsomer and taller since then, she thought.
+With a nimble bound he leaped from his saddle, kissing his hand to Carrie, who
+with her sunniest smile ran past him to welcome Nellie. A pang, not of
+jealousy, but of an undefined something, shot through &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+heart, and dropping the heavy curtain, she turned away, while the tears
+gathered thickly in her large brown eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo; asked Captain Atherton, of Anna,
+warming his red fingers before the blazing grate, and looking round upon the
+group of girls gathered near. Glancing at her mother, Anna replied, &ldquo;She
+says she don&rsquo;t want to come down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bashful,&rdquo; returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass asked,
+&ldquo;who &rsquo;Lena was,&rdquo; at the same time returning the <i>pinch</i>
+which John Jr. had slyly given her as a mode of showing his preference, for
+Nellie <i>was</i> his favorite.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fearful of Anna&rsquo;s reply, Mrs. Livingstone answered, carelessly,
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s the child of one of Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s poor relations,
+and we&rsquo;ve taken her awhile out of charity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any other time John Jr. would doubtless have questioned his mother&rsquo;s
+word, but now so engrossed was he with the merry, hoydenish Nellie, that he
+scarcely heard her remark, or noticed the absence of &rsquo;Lena. With the
+exception of his cousin, Nellie was the only girl whom John Jr. could
+endure&mdash;&ldquo;the rest,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;were so stuck up and
+affected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For Mabel Ross, he seemed to have a particular aversion. Not because she was so
+very disagreeable, but because his mother continually reminded him of what she
+hoped would one day be, &ldquo;and this,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;was enough to
+make a &lsquo;feller&rsquo; hate a girl.&rdquo; So without considering that
+Mabel was not to blame, he ridiculed her unmercifully, calling her &ldquo;a
+bundle of medicine,&rdquo; and making fun of her thin, sallow face, which
+really appeared to great disadvantage when contrasted with Nellie&rsquo;s
+bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the guests were all assembled, Carrie, not knowing whether Durward
+Bellmont would relish plays, seated herself demurely upon the sofa, prepared to
+act the dignified young lady, or any other character she might think necessary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up, Cad,&rdquo; said John Jr. &ldquo;Nobody&rsquo;s going to act
+like they were at a funeral; get up, and let&rsquo;s play something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and erelong the
+joyous shouts reached &rsquo;Lena, making her half wish that she, too, was
+there. Remembering Anna&rsquo;s suggestion of looking through the glass door
+she stole softly down the stairs, and stationing herself behind the door,
+looked in on the scene. Mr. Everett, usually so dignified, had joined in the
+game, claiming &ldquo;forfeits&rdquo; from Anna more frequently than was
+considered at all necessary by the captain, who for a time looked jealously on,
+and then declaring himself as young as any of them, joined them with a right
+good will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Blind man&rsquo;s buff,&rdquo; was next proposed, and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s heart leaped up, for that was her favorite game. John Jr.
+was first blinded, but he caught them so easily that all declared he could see,
+and loud were the calls for Durward to take his place. This he willingly did,
+and whether he could see or not, he suffered them to pass directly under his
+hands, thus giving entire satisfaction. On account of the heat of the rooms,
+Anna, on passing the glass door, threw it open, and the next time Durward came
+round he marched directly into the hall, seizing &rsquo;Lena, who was trying to
+hide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Anna, you are caught.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I ain&rsquo;t Anna; let me go,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, struggling
+to escape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This brought all the girls to the spot, while Durward, snatching the muffler
+from his eyes, looked down with astonishment upon the trembling &rsquo;Lena,
+who would have escaped had she not been so securely hemmed in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t you ashamed, &rsquo;Lena, to be peeking?&rdquo; asked
+Carrie, while Durward repeated&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>!
+&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>! I&rsquo;ve seen her before in the cars between Springfield
+and Albany; but how came she here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She lives here&mdash;she&rsquo;s our cousin,&rdquo; said Anna,
+notwithstanding the twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not care to
+have the relationship exposed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your cousin,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;and where&rsquo;s the old lady
+who was with her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The one she called <i>granny</i>?&rdquo; asked John Jr., on purpose to
+rouse up his fiery little cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t call her <i>granny</i>, neither&mdash;I&rsquo;ve quit
+it,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk,
+&ldquo;she&rsquo;s up <i>stars</i>, sick with the rheumatism.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;but why are you not down here with
+us?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t want to come,&rdquo; was her reply; and Durward, leading
+her into the parlor, continued, &ldquo;but now that you are here, you must
+stay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty, isn&rsquo;t she,&rdquo; said Nellie, as the full blaze of the
+chandelier fell upon &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rath-er,&rdquo; was Carrie&rsquo;s hesitating reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt annoyed that &rsquo;Lena should be in the parlor, and provoked that
+Durward should notice her in any way, and at the first opportunity she told him
+&ldquo;how much she both troubled and mortified them, by her vulgarity and
+obstinacy,&rdquo; adding that &ldquo;she had a most violent temper.&rdquo; From
+Nellie she had learned that Durward particularly disliked passionate girls, and
+for this reason she strove to give him the impression that &rsquo;Lena was such
+an one. Once or twice she fancied him half inclined to disbelieve her, as he
+saw how readily &rsquo;Lena joined in their amusements, and how good-humoredly
+she bore John Jr.&rsquo;s teasing, and then she hoped something would occur to
+prove her words true. Her wish was gratified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young people to the house.
+About ten o&rsquo;clock the negro who had been to the post-office returned,
+bringing letters for the family, among which was one for &rsquo;Lena, so
+curious in its shape and superscription, that even the negro grinned as he
+handed it out. &rsquo;Lena was not then present, and Carrie, taking the letter,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Now if this isn&rsquo;t the last specimen from Yankeedom.
+Just listen,&mdash;&rdquo; and she spelled out the direction&mdash;&ldquo;<i>To
+Mis HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey post offis,
+care of Mis nichals</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unobserved by any one, &rsquo;Lena had entered the parlor in time to hear every
+word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy her, held out the letter, saying,
+&ldquo;Here, <i>Helleny</i>, I <i>guess</i> this came from down east,&rdquo;
+she darted forward, and striking the letter from Carrie&rsquo;s hands stamped
+upon it with her foot, declaring &ldquo;she&rsquo;d never open it in the
+world,&rdquo; and saying &ldquo;they might do what they pleased with it for all
+of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Read it&mdash;may we read it?&rdquo; eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to
+see &rsquo;Lena doing such justice to her reputation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, read it!&rdquo; almost screamed &rsquo;Lena, and before any one
+could interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and commenced reading,
+announcing, first, that it came from &ldquo;Joel Slocum!&rdquo; It was as
+follows:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear Helleny, mebby you&rsquo;ll wonder when you see a letter from me,
+but I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I can help &rsquo;ritin&rsquo;, I am so confounded
+lonesome now you are gone, that I dun know nothing what to do with myself. So I
+set on the great rock where the saxefax grows; and think, and think till it
+seems &rsquo;s ef my head would bust open. Wall, how do you git along down
+amongst them heathenish Kentucks &amp; niggers? I s&rsquo;pose there
+ain&rsquo;t no great difference between &rsquo;em, is there? When I git a
+little more larnin&rsquo;, I b&rsquo;lieve I&rsquo;ll come down there to keep
+school. O, I forgot to tell you that our old line back cow has got a
+calf&mdash;the prettiest little critter&mdash;Dad has gin her to me, and I call
+her Helleny, I do, I swow! And when she capers round she makes me think of the
+way you danced &lsquo;High putty Martin&rsquo; the time you stuck a sliver in
+your heel&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Up to this point &rsquo;Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud shouts of her
+companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes burned within and flashed from
+her eyes. And now springing forward, she caught the letter from Carrie&rsquo;s
+hand, and inflicting a long scratch upon her forehead, fled from the room. Had
+not Durward Bellmont been present, Carrie would have flown after her cousin, to
+avenge the insult, and even now she was for a moment thrown off her guard, and
+starting forward, exclaimed, &ldquo;the tigress!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, Durward gently wiped the
+blood from her white brow, saying &ldquo;Never mind. It is not a deep
+scratch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish &rsquo;twas deeper,&rdquo; muttered John Jr. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d
+no business to serve her so mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An angry retort rose to Carrie&rsquo;s lips, but, just in time to prevent its
+utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, &ldquo;It was too bad to tease her so,
+but we were all more or less to blame, and I&rsquo;m not sure but we ought to
+apologize.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she&rsquo;d apologize to such as
+&rsquo;Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough to give Durward the
+impression that she was doing, her best to make amends for her fault.
+Accordingly, the next time her cousin appeared in the parlor she was all smiles
+and affability, talking a great deal to &rsquo;Lena, who returned very short
+but civil answers, while her face wore a look which Durward construed into
+defiance and hatred of everybody and everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Too passionate,&rdquo; thought he, turning from her to Carrie, whose
+voice, modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and musical, as she
+sported and laughed with her moody cousin, appearing the very essence of
+sweetness and amiability!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pity he could not have known how bitterly &rsquo;Lena had wept over her hasty
+action&mdash;not because <i>he</i> witnessed it, but because she knew it was
+wrong! Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which she laid on
+Carrie&rsquo;s work-box, and in which was written, &ldquo;I am sorry, Carrie,
+that I hurt you so. I didn&rsquo;t know what I was about, but I will try and
+not get so angry again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt with which Carrie perused
+this note; and when the two girls accidentally met in the upper hall, and
+&rsquo;Lena laid her hand gently on Carrie&rsquo;s arm, it is a thousand pities
+he was not present to see how fiercely she was repulsed, Carrie exclaiming,
+&ldquo;Get out of my sight! <i>I hate you</i>, and so do all of them
+downstairs, Durward in particular.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had he known all this he would have thought differently of &rsquo;Lena, who,
+feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept herself entirely aloof,
+never again appearing during the remainder of his stay. Once Durward asked for
+her, and half laughingly Carrie replied, that &ldquo;she had not yet recovered
+from her pouting fit.&rdquo; Could he have known her real occupation, he might
+have changed his mind again. The stormy weather had so increased Mrs.
+Nichols&rsquo; rheumatic complaint, that now, perfectly crippled, she lay as
+helpless as a child, carefully nursed by &rsquo;Lena and old Aunt Polly, who,
+spite of her own infirmities, had hobbled in to wait upon her friend. Never but
+once did Mrs. Livingstone go near her mother&rsquo;s sick-room&mdash;&ldquo;the
+smell of herbs made her faint,&rdquo; she said! But to do her justice, we must
+say that she gave Polly unqualified permission to order anything she pleased
+for the invalid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toward the close of the third day, the company left. Nellie Douglass, who
+really liked &rsquo;Lena, and wished to bid her good-bye, whispered to John
+Jr., asking him to show her the way to his cousin&rsquo;s room. No one except
+members of the family had ever been in Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; apartment, and for a
+moment John Jr. hesitated, knowing well that Nellie could not fail to observe
+the contrast it presented to the other richly-furnished chambers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They ought to be mortified&mdash;it&rsquo;ll serve &rsquo;em
+right,&rdquo; he thought, at last, and motioning Nellie to fallow him, he
+silently led the way to his grandmother&rsquo;s room, where their knock was
+answered by Aunt Polly&rsquo;s gruff voice, which bade them &ldquo;come
+in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how greatly inferior was this
+room to the others around it. In an instant her eye took in everything, and she
+readily comprehended the whole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t my doings, by a jug-full!&rdquo; whispered John Jr.,
+himself reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture which had
+never before seemed so meager and poor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. Nichols, white as the
+snowy cap-border which shaded her face. Behind her sat &rsquo;Lena, supporting
+her head, and when Nellie entered, she was carefully pushing back the few gray
+locks which had fallen over the invalid&rsquo;s forehead, her own bright curls
+mingling with them, and resting, some on her neck, and some on her
+grandmother&rsquo;s shoulder. A deep flush dyed her cheeks when she saw Nellie,
+who thought she had never looked upon a sight more beautiful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not know your grandmother was ill,&rdquo; said she, coming forward
+and gently touching the swollen hand which lay outside the counterpane.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she commenced a history of
+her malady, beginning at the time she first had it when &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+mother was a year and a day old, frequently quoting Nancy Scovandyke, and
+highly entertaining Nellie, who listened until warned by the sound of the
+carriage, as it came round to the door, that she must go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are going back to Uncle Atherton&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but
+I wanted to bid you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frankfort with your
+cousins. Will you do so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was wholly unexpected to &rsquo;Lena, who, without replying, burst into
+tears. Nellie hardly knew what to do. She seldom cried herself&mdash;she did
+not like to see others cry&mdash;and still she did not blame &rsquo;Lena, for
+she felt that she could not help it. At last, taking her hand, she bade her
+farewell, asking if she should not carry a good-bye to the others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, to Mabel,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And not Durward?&rdquo; asked Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With something of her old spirit &rsquo;Lena answered, &ldquo;No, he hates
+me&mdash;Carrie says so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cad&rsquo;s a fool,&rdquo; muttered John Jr., while Nellie rejoined,
+&ldquo;Durward never hated anybody, and even if he did, he would not say
+so&mdash;I mean to tell him;&rdquo; and with another good-bye she was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and asked where she had
+been.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To bid &rsquo;Lena good-bye; don&rsquo;t you want to go too?&rdquo; said
+Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes, if you are sure she won&rsquo;t scratch my eyes out,&rdquo; he
+returned, gayly, following his cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon I&rsquo;d better tell &rsquo;Lena to come out into the
+hall&mdash;she may not want you in there,&rdquo; said John Jr., and hastening
+forward he told his cousin what was wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how &rsquo;Lena longed to go, but pride, and the remembrance of
+Carrie&rsquo;s words, prevented her, and coldly answering, &ldquo;No, I
+don&rsquo;t wish to see him,&rdquo; she turned away to hide the tears and pain
+which those words had cost her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This visit to Grandma Nichols&rsquo; room was productive of some good, for John
+Jr., did not fail of repeating to his mother the impression which he saw was
+made on Nellie&rsquo;s mind, adding, that &ldquo;though Durward did not venture
+in, Nellie would of course tell him all about it. And then,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t give much for his opinion of your treatment of your
+mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs. Livingstone
+demanded &ldquo;what he&rsquo;d have her do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do?&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;give grandmother a decent room, or else
+fix that one up, so it won&rsquo;t look like the old scratch had been having a
+cotillon there. Paper and paint it, and make it look decent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon this last piece of advice Mrs. Livingstone resolved to act, for recently
+several vague rumors had reached her ear, touching her neglect of her
+mother-in-law, and she began herself to think it just possible that a little of
+her money would be well expended in adding to the comfort of her
+husband&rsquo;s mother. Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Nichols was able to sit
+up, her room underwent a thorough renovation, and though no great amount of
+money was expended upon it, it was fitted up with so much taste that the poor
+old lady, whom John Jr., &rsquo;Lena and Anna, had adroitly kept out of the way
+until her room was finished, actually burst into tears when first ushered into
+her light, airy apartment, in which everything looked so cheerful and pleasant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tilda has now and then a good streak,&rdquo; said she, while Aunt
+Milly, who had taken a great deal of interest in the repairing of the room,
+felt inclined to change her favorite theory with regard to her mistress&rsquo;
+future condition.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/>
+FIVE YEARS LATER.</h2>
+
+<p>
+And in the fair city of elms we again open the scene. It was commencement at
+Yale, and the crowd which filled the old Center church were listening
+breathlessly to the tide of eloquence poured forth by the young valedictorian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and first in the
+esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously chosen to that post of
+honor, and as the gathered multitude hung upon his words and gazed upon his
+manly beauty, they felt mat a better choice could not well have been made. At
+the right of the platform sat a group of ladies, friends, it would seem, of the
+speaker, for ever and anon his eyes turned in that direction, and as if each
+glance incited him to fresh efforts, his eloquence increased, until at last no
+sound save that of his deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the
+words of the young orator. But when his speech was ended, there arose deafening
+shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in perfect showers at his feet. Among
+them was one smaller and more elegant than the rest, and as if it were more
+precious, too, it was the first which Durward took from the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;See, Carrie, he gives you the preference,&rdquo; whispered one of the
+young ladies on the right, and Carrie Livingstone for she it was, felt a thrill
+of gratified pride, when she saw how carefully he guarded the bouquet, which
+during all the exercises she had made her especial care, calling attention to
+it in so many different ways that hardly any one who saw it in Durward&rsquo;s
+possession, could fail of knowing from what source it same.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But then everybody said they were engaged&mdash;so what did it matter?
+Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and who while openly denying
+the engagement, teasingly hinted &ldquo;that &rsquo;twas no fault of
+Cad&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had been inmates of
+the seminary in New Haven, and as they were now considered sufficiently
+accomplished to enter at once upon all the gayeties of fashionable life, John
+Jr. had come on &ldquo;to see the elephant,&rdquo; as he said, and to accompany
+them home. Carrie had fulfilled the promise of her girlhood, and even her
+brother acknowledged that she was handsome in spite of her <i>nose</i>, which
+like everybody&rsquo;s else, still continued to be the most prominent feature
+of her face. She was proud, too, as well as beautiful, and throughout the city
+she was known as the &ldquo;haughty southern belle,&rdquo; admired by some and
+disliked by many. Among the students she was not half so popular as her
+unpretending sister, whose laughing blue eyes and sunny brown hair were often
+toasted, together with the classical brow and dignified bearing of Nellie
+Douglass, who had lost some of the hoydenish propensities of her girlhood, and
+who was now a graceful, elegant creature just merging into nineteen&mdash;the
+pride of her widowed father, and the idol still of John Jr., whose boyish
+preference had ripened into a kind of love such as only he could feel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face and dumpy little figure
+never receiving the least attention except from Durward Bellmont, who pitying
+her lonely condition, frequently left more congenial society for the sake of
+entertaining her. Of any one else Carrie would have been jealous, but feeling
+sure that Mabel had no attraction save her wealth, and knowing that Durward did
+not care for that, she occasionally suffered him to leave her side, always
+feeling amply repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society
+for that of Mabel&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his preference for Carrie,
+Durward would sometimes laughingly refer them to the old worn-out story of the
+fox and the grapes, for to scarcely any one save himself did Carrie think it
+worth her while to be even gracious. This conduct was entirely at variance with
+her natural disposition, for she was fond of admiration, come from what source
+it might, and she would never have been so cold and distant to all save
+Durward, had she not once heard him say that &ldquo;he heartily despised a
+<i>flirt</i>; and that no young lady could at all interest him if he suspected
+her of being a coquette.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This, then, was the secret of her reserve. She was resolved upon winning
+Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too great if in the end it secured the
+prize. It is true there was one sophomore, a perfumed, brainless fop, from
+Rockford, N. Y., who, next to Durward, was apparently most in favor, but the
+idea of her entertaining even a shadow of a liking for Tom Lakin, was too
+ludicrous to be harbored for a moment, so his attentions went for naught,
+public opinion uniting in giving her to Mr. Bellmont.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the lapse of years, Anna, too, had greatly improved. The extreme delicacy
+of her figure was gone, and though her complexion was as white and pure as
+marble, it denoted perfect health. With John Jr. she was still the favorite
+sister, the one whom he loved the best. &ldquo;Carrie was too stiff and
+proud,&rdquo; he said, and though when he met her in New Haven, after a
+year&rsquo;s absence, his greeting was kind and brotherly, he soon turned from
+her to Anna and Nellie, utterly neglecting Mabel, who turned away to her
+chamber to cry, because no one cared for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance of securing a wealthy
+bride, always finishing her discourse by speaking of Mr. Douglass&rsquo; small
+income, and enlarging upon the immense wealth of Mabel Ross, whose very name
+had become disagreeable to John Jr. At one time his father had hoped he, too,
+would enter college, but the young man derided the idea of his ever making a
+scholar, saying, however, more in sport than in earnest, that &ldquo;he was
+willing to enter a store, or learn a <i>trade</i>, so that in case he was ever
+obliged to earn his own living, he would have some means of doing it;&rdquo;
+but to this his mother would not listen. He was her &ldquo;darling boy,&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;his hands, soft and white as those of a girl, should never become
+hardened and embrowned by labor!&rdquo; So, while his sisters were away at
+school, he was at home, hunting, fishing, riding, teasing his grandmother,
+tormenting the servants, and shocking his mother by threatening to make love to
+his cousin &rsquo;Lena, to whom he was at once a pest and a comfort, and who
+now claims a share of our attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New Haven, Mr. Livingstone
+proposed that &rsquo;Lena should also accompany them, but this plan Mrs.
+Livingstone opposed with all her force, declaring that <i>her</i> money should
+never be spent in educating the &ldquo;beggarly relatives&rdquo; of her
+husband, who in this, as in numerous other matters, was forced to yield the
+point. As Mr. Everett&rsquo;s services were now no longer needed, he accepted
+the offer of a situation in the family of General Fontaine, a high-bred,
+southern gentleman, whose plantation was distant but half a mile from
+&ldquo;Maple Grove;&rdquo; and as he there taught a regular school, having
+under his charge several of the daughters of the neighboring planters, it was
+decided that &rsquo;Lena also should continue under his instruction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily routine of a
+fashionable boarding-school, &rsquo;Lena was storing her mind with useful
+knowledge, and though her accomplishments were not quite so showy as those of
+her cousins, they had in them the ring of the pure metal. Although her charms
+were as yet but partially developed, she was a creature of rare loveliness, and
+many who saw her for the first time, marveled that aught so beautiful could be
+real. She had never seen Durward Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week,
+but many a time had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not
+define, as she read Anna&rsquo;s accounts of the flattering attentions which he
+paid to Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her with haughty contempt or
+cool indifference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But for this she did not care. She knew she was loved by Anna, and liked by
+John Jr., and she hoped&mdash;nay, half believed&mdash;that she was not wholly
+indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any show of his affection,
+still in his heart admired and felt proud of her. With his wife it was
+different. She hated &rsquo;Lena&mdash;hated her because she was beautiful and
+talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna were ever in the shade.
+Still her niece was too general a favorite in the neighborhood to allow of open
+hostility at home, and so the proud woman ground together her glittering
+teeth&mdash;<i>and waited</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among the many who admired &rsquo;Lena, there was no one who gave her such full
+and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple Grove had been
+one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine. Gradually had she learned the
+estimation in which she was held by her son&rsquo;s wife, and she felt how
+bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence. As far as she was able,
+&rsquo;Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, who thinking she had done
+all that was required of her when she fixed their room, would for days and even
+weeks appear utterly oblivious of their presence, or frown darkly whenever
+chance threw them in her way. She had raised no objection to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett, who, she hoped, would
+not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying that in this way she would sooner
+be rid of one whom she feared as a rival of her daughters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire &rsquo;Lena,
+another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most carefully guarded
+was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport from the head it once adorned,
+and, now treasured as a sacred memento of the past. Believing that it would be
+so because she wished it to be so, Mrs. Livingstone had more than once
+whispered to her female friends her surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry
+&rsquo;Lena, and at the time of which we are speaking, it was pretty generally
+understood that a strong liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed
+between them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat hands
+complacently, and while applying Twigg&rsquo;s Preparation to his hair,
+congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared was now out of his
+way. Thinking, too, that &rsquo;Lena had conferred a great favor upon himself
+by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became exceedingly polite to her,
+making her little presents and frequently asking her to ride. Whenever these
+invitations were accepted, they were sure to be followed by a ludicrous
+description to Anna, who laughed merrily over her cousin&rsquo;s letters,
+declaring herself half jealous of her &ldquo;gray-haired lover,&rdquo; as she
+termed the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and fully discussed in
+the presence of Durward, who gradually received the impression that &rsquo;Lena
+was a flirt, a species of womankind which he held in great abhorrence. Just
+before he left New Haven, he received a letter from his stepfather, requesting
+him to stop for a day or two at Captain Atherton&rsquo;s, where he would join
+him, as he wished to look at a country-seat near Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s, which
+was now for sale. This plan gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her
+brother proposed that Durward should stop at their father&rsquo;s instead of
+the captain&rsquo;s, she seconded the invitation so warmly, that Durward
+finally consented, and word was immediately sent to Mrs. Livingstone to hold
+herself in readiness to receive Mr. Bellmont.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn,&rdquo; said Carrie, as
+in the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they were discussing the
+projected purchase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John Jr., who was present,
+and who felt just like teasing his sister, replied, &ldquo;What do you care?
+Mrs. Graham has no daughters, and she won&rsquo;t fancy such a chit as you, so
+it must be Durward&rsquo;s society that you so much desire, but I can assure
+you that your <i>nose</i> will be broken when once he sees our
+&rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech, while Durward
+asked if &ldquo;Miss Rivers were so very handsome?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Handsome</i>!&rdquo; repeated John. &ldquo;That don&rsquo;t begin to
+express it. <i>Cad</i> is what I call <i>handsome</i>, but &rsquo;Lena is
+beautiful, more beautiful, most beautiful&mdash;now you have it superlatively.
+Such complexion&mdash;such eyes&mdash;such hair&mdash;I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I
+haven&rsquo;t been more than half in love with her myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really begin to tremble,&rdquo; said Durward, laughingly while Carrie
+rejoined, &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve only to make the slightest advance, and your love
+will be returned ten-fold, for &rsquo;Lena is very susceptible, and already
+encourages several admirers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken,&rdquo; interrupted
+John Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, when Durward asked if
+&ldquo;she ever left any <i>marks</i> of her affection,&rdquo; referring to the
+scratch she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to speak,
+replied that &ldquo;the <i>will</i> and the <i>claws</i> remained the same,
+though common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s downright slander,&rdquo; said John Jr., determined now
+upon defending his cousin, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena has a high temper, I acknowledge,
+but she tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two years I&rsquo;ve not seen
+her angry once, though she&rsquo;s had every provocation under heaven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She knows <i>when</i> and <i>where</i> to be amiable,&rdquo; retorted
+Carrie. &ldquo;Any one of her admirers would tell the same story with
+yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the room, and Carrie,
+fearing she had said too much, immediately apologized to Durward, saying,
+&ldquo;it was not often that she allowed herself to speak against her cousin,
+and that she should not have done so now, were not John so much blinded, that
+her mother, knowing Lena&rsquo;s ambitious nature, sometimes seriously feared
+the consequence. I know,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that John fancies Nellie, but
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s influence over him is very great.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m always sorry when
+I speak against &rsquo;Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn&rsquo;t prejudice
+any one against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would never
+have been uttered in the presence of a stranger. She <i>is</i> handsome and
+agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,&rdquo; was
+Durward&rsquo;s gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the
+room, the conversation ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile &rsquo;Lena was very differently employed. Nearly a year had elapsed
+since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with joy at the thought
+of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved. Carrie was to her an object of
+indifference, rather than dislike, and ofttimes had she thought, &ldquo;If she
+would only let me love her.&rdquo; But it could not be, for there was no
+affinity between them. Carrie was proud and overbearing&mdash;jealous of her
+high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. had said, strove hard to subdue her
+temper, and who now seldom resented Carrie&rsquo;s insults, except when they
+were leveled at her aged grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we have before stated, news&rsquo; had been received at Maple Grove that
+Durward would accompany her cousins home. Mr. Graham would, of course, join him
+there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were immediately commenced. An
+unusual degree of sickness was prevailing among the female portion of Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s servants, and the very day before the company was expected,
+Aunt Milly, the head cook was taken suddenly ill. Coaxing, scolding, and
+threatening were alike ineffectual. The old negress would not say she was well
+when she wasn&rsquo;t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick
+(<i>lazy</i>, as her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged
+to superintend the cookery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Crosser than a bar,&rdquo; as the little darkies said, she flew back and
+forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the corners of her
+mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike at anything that came in
+her way. As if there were a fatality attending her movements, she was
+unfortunate in whatever she undertook. The cake was burned black, the custard
+curdled, the preserves were found to be working, the big preserve dish got
+broken, a thunder shower soured the cream, and taking it all in all, she really
+had trouble enough to disconcert the most experienced housekeeper. Still, the
+few negroes able to assist, thought &ldquo;she needn&rsquo;t be so fetch-ed
+cross.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft to the
+charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed, listened in dismay to
+the disastrous accounts brought her from time to time from the kitchen,
+mentally congratulating herself the while upon not being within hearing of her
+mistress&rsquo; tongue. Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to help, but she was
+repulsed so angrily that &rsquo;Lena did not presume to offer her services
+until the day of their arrival, when, without a word, she repaired to the
+chambers, which she swept and dusted, arranging the furniture, and making
+everything ready for the comfort of the travelers. Then descending to the
+parlors, she went through the same process there, filled the vases with fresh
+flowers, looped back the curtains, opened the piano, wheeled the sofa a little
+to the right, the large chair a little to the left, and then going to the
+dining-room, she set the table in the most perfect order, doing all so quietly
+that her aunt knew nothing of it until it was done. Jake the coachman, had gone
+down to Frankfort after them, and as he was not expected to return until
+between three and four, dinner was deferred until that hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From sunrise Mrs. Livingstone had worked industriously, until her face and
+temper were at a boiling heat. The clock was on the point of striking three,
+and she was bending over a roasting turkey, when &rsquo;Lena ventured to
+approach her, saying, &ldquo;I have seen Aunt Milly baste a turkey many a time,
+and I am sure I can do it as well as she.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo; was the uncivil answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied:
+&ldquo;Why, it is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would want to cool
+and dress yourself before they came. I can see to the dinner, I know I can.
+Please let me try.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somewhat mollified by her niece&rsquo;s kind manner, Mrs. Livingstone resigned
+her post and repaired to her own room, while &rsquo;Lena, confining her long
+curls to the top of her head and donning the wide check-apron which her aunt
+had thrown aside, set herself at work with a right good will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What dat ar you say?&rdquo; exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her woolly
+head from her pillow, and looking at the little colored girl, who had brought
+to her the news that &ldquo;young miss was in de kitchen.&rdquo; &ldquo;What
+dat ar you tellin&rsquo;? Miss &rsquo;Leny pokin&rsquo; &rsquo;mong de pots and
+kittles, and dis ole nigger lazin&rsquo; in bed jes like white folks. Long as
+&rsquo;twas ole miss, I didn&rsquo;t seer. Good &rsquo;nough for her to roast,
+blister, and bile; done get used to it, case she&rsquo;s got to in kingdom
+come, no mistake&mdash;he!&mdash;he! But little Miss &rsquo;Leny, it&rsquo;s
+too bad to bake her lamb&rsquo;s-wool hands and face, and all de quality
+comin&rsquo;: I&rsquo;ll hobble up thar, if I can stand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawling up to the
+kitchen, insisted upon taking &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s place, saying, &ldquo;she
+could sit in her chair and tell the rest what to do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a time &rsquo;Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and weak, but
+the sound of wheels decided her. Springing to the sideboard in the dining-room,
+she brought Aunt Milly a glass of wine, which revived her so much that she now
+felt willing to leave her. By this time the carriage was at the door, and to
+escape unobserved was now her great object. But this she could not do, for as
+she was crossing the hall, Anna espied her, and darting forward, seized her
+around the neck, at the same time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with
+Durward&rsquo;s eye upon her, <i>kissed</i> her twice; then turning to him, she
+said, &ldquo;I suppose you do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the strangeness of
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s appearance, for as nearly as she could, she looked like a
+fright. Bending over hot stoves and boiling gravies is not very beneficial to
+one&rsquo;s complexion, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s cheeks, neck, forehead, and
+nose were of a purplish red&mdash;her hair was tucked back in a manner
+exceedingly unbecoming, while the broad check-apron, which came nearly to her
+feet, tended in nowise to improve her appearance. She felt it keenly, and after
+returning Durward&rsquo;s salutation, she broke away before Anna or John, Jr.,
+who were both surprised at her looks, had time to ask a question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but knowing that would
+disfigure her still more, she bathed her burning face and neck, brushed out her
+curls, threw on a simple muslin dress, and started for the parlor, of which
+Durward and Carrie were at that moment the only occupants. As she was passing
+the outer door, she observed upon one of the piazza pillars a half-blown rose,
+and for a moment stopped to admire it. Durward, who sat in a corner, did not
+see her, but Carrie did, and a malicious feeling prompted her to draw out her
+companion, who she felt sure was disappointed in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face. They
+were speaking of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and whom Carrie pronounced
+&ldquo;perfectly beautiful,&rdquo; while Durward would hardly admit that she
+was even good-looking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am surprised at your taste,&rdquo; said Carrie, adding, as she noticed
+the proximity of her cousin, &ldquo;I think she resembles &rsquo;Lena, and of
+course you&rsquo;ll acknowledge <i>she</i> is beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She <i>was</i> beautiful five years ago, but she&rsquo;s greatly changed
+since then,&rdquo; answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite
+satisfaction his words afforded Carrie, who replied, &ldquo;You had better keep
+that opinion to yourself, and not express it before Captain Atherton or brother
+John.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who takes my name in vain?&rdquo; asked John Jr., himself appearing at a
+side door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, John,&rdquo; said Carrie, &ldquo;we were just disputing about
+&rsquo;Lena. Durward does not think her handsome.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Durward be hanged!&rdquo; answered John, making a feint of drawing from
+his pocket a pistol which was not there. &ldquo;What fault has he to find with
+&rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little too rosy, that&rsquo;s all,&rdquo; said Durward, laughingly,
+while John continued, &ldquo;She <i>did</i> look confounded red and dowdyish,
+for her. I don&rsquo;t understand it myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie&rsquo;s eye had all the while
+been resting, disappeared, and as there was no longer an incentive for
+ill-natured remarks, the amiable young lady adroitly changed the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and started in
+pursuit, in the course of his search passing the kitchen, where he was
+instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, while bemoaning her own aches and pains,
+did not fail to tell him how &ldquo;Miss &rsquo;Lena, like aborned angel
+dropped right out of &rsquo;tarnity, had been in thar, burning her skin to a
+fiery red, a-tryin&rsquo; to get up a tip-top dinner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So ho!&rdquo; thought the young man, &ldquo;that explains it;&rdquo; and
+turning on his heel, he walked back to the house just as the last bell was
+ringing for dinner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assembled, except
+&rsquo;Lena. She had excused herself on the plea of a severe headache, and now
+in her own room was chiding herself for being so much affected by a remark
+accidentally overheard. What did she care if Durward did think her plain? He
+was nothing to her, and never would be&mdash;and again she bathed her head,
+which really was aching sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s got the headache,&rdquo; said John Jr.
+&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t wonder, cooking all the dinner as she did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s
+angry frown bade her son keep silence,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.&rsquo;s cardinal virtues,
+and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had told him, adding aside to
+Durward, &ldquo;<i>This</i> explains the extreme rosiness which so much
+offended your lordship. When next you see her, you&rsquo;ll change your
+mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he now
+presented her to Durward. The <i>Noble&rsquo;s</i> blood had long been
+forgotten, but grandma was never at a loss for a subject, and she commenced
+talking notwithstanding Carrie&rsquo;s efforts to keep her still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I think on&rsquo;t, Car&rsquo;line,&rdquo; said she at last, turning
+to her granddaughter, &ldquo;now I think on&rsquo;t, what made you propose to
+have my dinner sent up to my room. I hain&rsquo;t et there but once this great
+while, and that was the day General Fontaine&rsquo;s folks were here, and
+Matilda thought I warn&rsquo;t able to come down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward&rsquo;s half-concealed smile showed that he understood it all, while
+John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was talking, managed, to lead her
+on, until she reached her favorite theme&mdash;Nancy Scovandyke. Here a look
+from her son silenced her, and as dinner was just then over, Durward missed of
+hearing that remarkable lady&rsquo;s history.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the piazza, &rsquo;Lena
+joined them. Her headache had passed away, leaving her face a shade whiter than
+usual. The flush was gone from her forehead and nose, but mindful of
+Durward&rsquo;s remark, the roses deepened on her cheek, which only increased
+her loveliness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I acknowledge that I was wrong&mdash;your cousin <i>is</i>
+beautiful,&rdquo; whispered Durward to Carrie, who, mentally hating the beauty
+which had never before struck her so forcibly, replied in her softest tones,
+&ldquo;I knew you would, and I hope you&rsquo;ll be equally ready to forgive
+her for winning hearts only to break them, for with that face how can she help
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry,&rdquo; answered Durward;
+&ldquo;neither can I think Miss Rivers guilty of it. At all events, I mean to
+venture a little nearer,&rdquo; and before Carrie could frame a reasonable
+excuse for keeping him at her side, he had crossed ever and taken a seat by
+&rsquo;Lena, with whom he was soon in the midst of an animated conversation,
+his surprise each moment increasing at the depth of intellect she displayed,
+for the beauty of her mind was equal to that of her person. Had it not been for
+the remembrance of Carrie&rsquo;s insinuations, his admiration would have been
+complete. But anything like coquetry he heartily despised, and one great secret
+of his liking for Carrie, was her evident freedom from that fault. As yet he
+had seen nothing to condemn in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s conduct. Wholly unaffected,
+she talked with him as she would have talked with any stranger, and still there
+was in her manner a certain coldness for which he could not account.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning,&rdquo; thought he, and in
+spite of his principles, he erelong found himself exerting all his powers to
+please and interest her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and simultaneously with
+his arrival, Mr. Everett came also. Immediately remembering what he had heard,
+Durward, in his eagerness to watch &rsquo;Lena, failed to note the crimson
+flush on Anna&rsquo;s usually pale cheek, as Malcolm bent over her with his
+low-spoken, tender words of welcome, and when the phthisicky captain, claiming
+the privilege of an old friend, kissed the blushing Anna, Durward in his
+blindness attributed the scornful expression of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face to a
+feeling of unwillingness that any save herself should share the attentions even
+of the captain! And in this impression he was erelong confirmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed to keep Malcolm at a
+distance, while he himself wholly monopolized the young girl, who cast
+imploring glances toward her cousin, as if asking for relief. Many a time, on
+similar occasions, had &rsquo;Lena claimed the attention of the captain, for
+the sake of leaving Anna free to converse with Malcolm, and now understanding
+what was wanted of her, she nodded in token that she would come to the rescue.
+Just then, Mrs. Livingstone, who had kept an eye upon her niece, drew near, and
+as she seemed to want a seat; &rsquo;Lena instantly arose and offered hers,
+going herself to the place where the captain was sitting. Erelong, her lively
+sallies and the captain&rsquo;s loud laugh began to attract Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s attention, and observing that Durward&rsquo;s eyes were
+frequently drawn that way, she thought proper to make some remarks concerning
+the impropriety of her niece&rsquo;s conduct.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do wish,&rdquo; said she, apparently speaking more to herself than to
+Durward, &ldquo;I do wish &rsquo;Lena would learn discretion, and let Captain
+Atherton alone, when she knows how much her behavior annoys Mr. Everett.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Everett anything to her!&rdquo; asked Durward, half hoping that
+she would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he isn&rsquo;t he ought to be,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, with
+an ominous shake of the head. &ldquo;Rumor says they are engaged, and though
+when questioned she denies it, she gives people abundant reason to think so,
+and yet every chance she gets, she flirts with Captain Atherton, as you see her
+doing now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old
+man?&rdquo; asked Durward, laughing at the very idea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is <i>rich</i>. &rsquo;Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious&mdash;there
+lies the secret,&rdquo; was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s reply, and thinking she
+had said enough for the present, she excused herself, while she went to give
+orders concerning supper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left to himself, Durward
+had nothing to do but to watch &rsquo;Lena, who, as she saw symptoms of
+desertion in the anxious glances which the captain cast toward Anna, redoubled
+her exertions to keep him at her side, thus confirming Durward in the belief
+that she really was what her aunt and Carrie had represented her to be.
+&ldquo;Poor, proud, and ambitious,&rdquo; rang in his ears, and as he mistook
+the mischievous look which &rsquo;Lena frequently sent toward Anna and Malcolm,
+for a desire to see how the latter was affected by her conduct, he thought
+&ldquo;Fickle as fair,&rdquo; at the same time congratulating himself that he
+had obtained an insight into her real character, ere her exceeding beauty and
+agreeable manners had made any particular impression upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling piqued at his
+indifference, &rsquo;Lena in turn treated him so coldly, that even Carrie was
+satisfied with the phase which affairs had assumed, and that night, in the
+privacy of her mother&rsquo;s dressing-room, expressed her pleasure that
+matters were progressing so finely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve no idea, mother,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;how much he
+detests anything like coquetry. Nellie Douglass thinks it&rsquo;s a kind of
+monomania with him, and I am inclined to believe it is so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In that case,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;it behooves you,
+in his presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other
+gentlemen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t lived nineteen years for nothing,&rdquo; said Carrie,
+folding her soft white hands complacently one over the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Speaking of Nellie Douglass,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Livingstone, who had
+long desired this interview with her daughter, &ldquo;speaking of Nellie,
+reminds me of your brother, who seems perfectly crazy about her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what if he does ?&rdquo; asked Carrie, her thoughts far more intent
+upon Durward Bellmont than her brother. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t Nellie good enough
+for him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, good enough, I admit,&rdquo; returned her mother, &ldquo;but I
+think I can find a far more suitable match&mdash;Mabel Ross, for instance. Her
+fortune is said to be immense, while Mr. Douglass is worth little or
+nothing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When you bring about a union between John Livingstone Jr. and Mabel
+Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers to do anything, even to the
+marrying of Anna and Grandfather Atherton,&rdquo; answered Carrie, to whom her
+mother&rsquo;s schemes were no secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And that, too, I&rsquo;ll effect, rather than see her thrown away upon a
+low bred northerner, who shall never wed her&mdash;never;&rdquo; and the
+haughty woman paced up and down her room, devising numerous ways by which her
+long cherished three-fold plan should be effected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his usual custom, and
+going out into the garden he came suddenly upon &rsquo;Lena.
+&ldquo;This,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is a pleasure which I did not expect when I
+rather unwillingly tore myself from my pillow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the coldness of the night before was gone, but &rsquo;Lena could not so
+soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, that &ldquo;she learned to
+rise early among the New England hills.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An excellent practice, and one which more of our young ladies would do
+well to imitate,&rdquo; returned Durward, at the same time speaking of the
+beautifying effect which the morning air had upon her complexion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday concerning her
+plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that &ldquo;any information
+regarding her personal appearance was wholly unnecessary, as she knew very well
+how she looked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment her again, walked on in
+silence at her side, while &rsquo;Lena, repenting of her hasty words, and
+desirous of making amends, exerted herself to be agreeable; and by the time the
+breakfast-bell rang, Durward mentally pronounced her &ldquo;a perfect
+mystery,&rdquo; which he would take delight in unraveling!
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/>
+MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of carriage wheels and a loud
+ring at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Graham, who, true to his
+appointment with Durward, had come up to meet him, accompanied by Mrs. Graham.
+This lady, who could boast of having once been the bride of an English lord, to
+say nothing of belonging to the &ldquo;very first family of Virginia,&rdquo;
+was a sort of bugbear to Mrs. Livingstone, who, haughty and overbearing to her
+equals, was nevertheless cringing and cowardly in the presence of those whom
+she considered her superiors. Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her ideas
+concerning her were quite elevated, and now when she came unexpectedly, it
+quite overcame her. Unfortunately, too, she was this morning suffering from a
+nervous headache, the result of the excitement and late hours of the night
+before, and on learning that Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell back in
+her rocking-chair, and between a groan and a sigh, declared her utter inability
+to see her at present, saying that Carrie must play the part of hostess until
+such time as she felt composed enough to undertake it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I can&rsquo;t&mdash;I <i>shan&rsquo;t</i>&mdash;that ends it!&rdquo;
+said Carrie, who, though a good deal dressed on Durward&rsquo;s account, still
+felt anxious to give a few more finishing touches to her toilet, and to see if
+her hair and complexion were all right, ere she ventured into the august
+presence ef her &ldquo;mother-in-law elect,&rdquo; as she confidently
+considered Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anna must go, then,&rdquo; persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full
+well how useless it would be to press Carrie farther. &ldquo;Anna must
+go&mdash;where is she? Call her, &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk which had
+been planned the night previous, and when &rsquo;Lena returned with the
+intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in great distress
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think&mdash;and Mr.
+Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to entertain her.
+What shall I do! I can&rsquo;t go in looking so yellow and jaded as I now
+do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first thought was to bring her aunt&rsquo;s powderball, as
+the surest way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act would
+be deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering instead to go
+herself to the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>You</i>! What could <i>you</i> say to her?&rdquo; returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, to whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can at least answer her questions,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena and
+after a moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how &rsquo;Lena, in her
+plain gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the
+fashionable Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But then,&rdquo; thought she, &ldquo;she has so little sensibility, I
+don&rsquo;t s&rsquo;pose she cares! and why should she? Mrs. Graham will of
+course look upon her as only a little above a servant&rdquo;&mdash;and with
+this complimentary reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to her
+dressing-room, while &rsquo;Lena, with a beating heart and slightly heightened
+color, repaired to the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eye
+fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a smile at
+the idea of being afraid of <i>her</i>. She was a short, dumpy, florid looking
+woman, showily, and as &rsquo;Lena thought, <i>overdressed</i> for morning, as
+her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed and sparkled with every
+movement. Her forehead was very low, and marked by a scowl of discontent which
+was habitual, for with everything to make her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from
+being so. Exceedingly nervous and fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker
+side, and when her husband and son, who were of exactly opposite temperaments,
+strove to laugh her into good spirits, they generally made the matter worse, as
+she usually reproached them with having no feeling or sympathy for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into quite a
+fever at Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s apparent lack of courtesy in not hastening to
+receive her, and when &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s light step was heard in the hall, she
+turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask why she had not come
+sooner. Durward, who was present immediately introduced his mother, at the same
+time admiring the extreme dignity of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s manner as she received
+the lady&rsquo;s greeting, apologizing for her aunt&rsquo;s non-appearance,
+saying &ldquo;she was suffering from a severe headache, and begged to be
+excused for an hour or so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite excusable,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, at the same time saying
+something in a low tone about it&rsquo;s not being her wish to stop there so
+early, as she knew <i>she</i> was not expected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But perfectly welcome, nevertheless,&rdquo; &rsquo;Lena hastened to say,
+thinking that for the time being the reputation of her uncle&rsquo;s house was
+resting upon her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dare say,&rdquo; was Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s ungracious answer, and then
+her little gray, deep-set eyes rested upon &rsquo;Lena, wondering if she were
+&ldquo;a governess or what?&rdquo; and thinking it strange that she should seem
+so perfectly self-possessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Insensibly, too, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s manner won upon her, for spite of her
+fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed woman. Ill health and
+long years of dissipation had helped to make her what she was. Besides this,
+she was not quite happy in her domestic relations, for though Mr. Graham
+possessed all the requisites of a kind and affectionate husband, he could not
+remove from her mind the belief that he liked others better then he did
+herself! &rsquo;Twas in vain that he alternately laughed at and reasoned with
+her on the subject. She was not to be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who
+was really exceedingly polite and affable to the ladies, was almost constantly
+provoking the green-eyed monster by his attentions to some one of the fair sex.
+In spite of his nightly &ldquo;Caudle&rdquo; lectures, he <i>would</i>
+transgress again and again, until his wife&rsquo;s patience was exhausted, and
+now she affected to have given him up, turning for comfort and affection toward
+Durward, who was her special delight, &ldquo;the very apple of her eye&mdash;he
+was so much like his father, Sir Arthur, who during the whole year that she
+lived with him had never once given her cause for jealousy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just before &rsquo;Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham, had for a moment stepped
+out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, he, too, was introduced to the
+young lady. It was strange, considering &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s uncommon beauty,
+that Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband&rsquo;s manner, but for once in her
+life she felt no fears, and looking from the window, she failed to note the
+sudden pallor which overspread his face when Mr. Livingstone presented to him
+&ldquo;Miss Rivers&mdash;my niece.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored face,
+whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers, while his pleasant,
+affable deportment universally won the friendship of all who knew him. And
+&rsquo;Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for the moment his warm
+hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested upon her, her heart went
+toward him as a friend, while she wondered why he looked at her so long and
+earnestly, twice repeating her name&mdash;&ldquo;Miss
+Rivers&mdash;<i>Rivers</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the first, &rsquo;Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom
+Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to apologize
+for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met before, she referred
+him to that time, saying &ldquo;she thought it strange that he should remember
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old acquaintances&mdash;ah&mdash;indeed !&rdquo; and little Mrs. Graham
+nodded and fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen
+cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl which was
+of too long standing to be smoothed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, my dear,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, &ldquo;I
+had entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars
+when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago. You were quite a little
+girl then&rdquo;&mdash;turning to &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only ten,&rdquo; was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and
+anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward &rsquo;Lena, asking
+&ldquo;how long she had lived in Kentucky&mdash;where she used to
+live&mdash;and where her mother was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone, suddenly
+stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mother is dead,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And your father?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to Canada!&rdquo; interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors
+of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother&rsquo;s
+being so inquisitive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr. Graham
+replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before. Here John Jr.
+appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated himself by his cousin,
+addressing to her some trivial remark, and calling her &rsquo;<i>Lena</i>. It
+was well for Mr. Graham&rsquo;s after peace that his wife was just then too
+much engrossed with Durward to observe the effect which that name produced upon
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, &ldquo;You were
+telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your
+yard&mdash;suppose we go and see it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr. Graham
+casually remarked, &ldquo;Your niece is a fine-looking girl&mdash;&rsquo;Lena,
+I think your son called her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, or <i>Helena</i>, which was her mother&rsquo;s name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my
+wife,&rdquo; returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at
+once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and keeping his
+face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose thoughts, as was usually
+the case when his sister was mentioned, were far back in the past. When at last
+Mr. Graham lifted his head there were no traces of the stormy emotions which
+had shaken his very heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked
+back to the parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
+their respects to his lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie&rsquo;s and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even Durward noticed it, and
+while he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of the latter,
+who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met his mother on
+perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his life felt a kind of
+contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an elegantly embroidered
+double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels, which almost swept the floor,
+treated his mother with a fawning servility as disgusting to him as it was
+pleasing to the lady in question. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account
+of her wealth and her husband&rsquo;s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if
+something were withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her
+daughters rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for
+nothing could be more flattering than their attentions. Both mother and
+daughter having the son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs. Graham
+asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a servant,
+offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham laid her hand
+caressingly upon her shoulders, calling her a &ldquo;dear little pet,&rdquo;
+and asking &ldquo;where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft sound which he was in
+the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his sister of her
+<i>nose</i>, made the &ldquo;bright, naughty eyes&rdquo; flash so angrily, that
+even Durward noticed it, and wondered if &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s temper had not
+been transferred to her cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That young girl&mdash;&rsquo;Lena, I think you call her&mdash;is a
+relative of yours,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending
+the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,&rdquo; answered Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers&mdash;does she belong
+to a Virginia family?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie looked mysterious and answered, &ldquo;I never knew anything of her
+father, and indeed, I reckon no one does&rdquo;&mdash;then after a moment she
+added, &ldquo;Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with which
+they could willingly dispense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very true,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, &ldquo;What a pity we
+couldn&rsquo;t all have been born in England. There, dear, you can leave me
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her mother, who
+was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. &ldquo;Old Milly,&rdquo; she
+said, &ldquo;had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had got a
+<i>collapse</i>, as she called it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t Hagar do,&rdquo; asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs.
+Graham&rsquo;s first dinner with them should be in style.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but she can&rsquo;t do everything&mdash;somebody must superintend
+her, and as for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the
+table, I won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not make &rsquo;Lena go into the kitchen&mdash;it won&rsquo;t hurt
+her to-day more than it did yesterday,&rdquo; suggested Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A good idea,&rdquo; returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door
+she called &rsquo;Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham,
+who, the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now seemed
+oblivious to all else save her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the expression
+of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well knew his
+mother&rsquo;s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present, while at the
+same time he wondered that his father should appear so deeply interested in an
+entire stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, I wish to speak with you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone,
+appearing at the door, and &rsquo;Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the
+room, while Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner,
+ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, &rsquo;Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a
+word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with
+difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising within
+her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former <i>asked</i>
+instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it willingly. But now in
+quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over pastry and pudding, scarcely
+knowing which was which, until a pleasant voice at her side made her start, and
+looking up she saw Anna, who had just returned from her walk, and who on
+learning how matters stood, declared her intention of helping too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If there&rsquo;s anything I like, it&rsquo;s being in a muss,&rdquo;
+said she, and throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and
+fastening back her curls in imitation of &rsquo;Lena, she was soon up to her
+elbows in cooking&mdash;her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and
+cream, and her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the
+china closet. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham
+either,&rdquo; said she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the
+pie line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But alas! Malcolm Everett&rsquo;s words of love spoken beneath the
+wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna&rsquo;s ears, so it was no
+wonder she <i>salted</i> the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one
+noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both &rsquo;Lena and Hagar
+praised its white, uncurdled appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,&rdquo; said Anna,
+when everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but &rsquo;Lena,
+knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward&rsquo;s
+distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing at the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and
+you must look after her a little, for I shall not come down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a great state
+of fermentation to know &ldquo;who was below, and what the doin&rsquo;s was, I
+should of gone down,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I know&rsquo;d &rsquo;Tilda
+would be madder&rsquo;n a hornet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then
+informing her that Mr. Bellmont&rsquo;s father and mother were there, she
+proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. The handsome black silk and
+neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were donned, and then,
+staff in hand, the old lady started for the dining-room, &rsquo;Lena giving her
+numerous charges not to talk much, and on no account to mention her favorite
+topic&mdash;Nancy Scovandyke!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nancy&rsquo;s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live
+lord,&rdquo; was grandma&rsquo;s mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady,
+rustling in a heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her husband, through
+fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. But not so with John Jr. To be sure, he
+cared not a fig, on his grandmother&rsquo;s account, whether she were
+introduced or not, for he well knew she would not hesitate to make their
+acquaintance; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and Carrie, he called
+out, in a loud tone, &ldquo;My grandmother, Mrs. Nichols&mdash;Mr. and Mrs.
+Graham.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked &ldquo;if anything stung
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;no,&rdquo; said he, at the same time indicating that it was
+not worth while to mind it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got stung, have you?&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols. &ldquo;Mebby &rsquo;twas
+a bumble-bee&mdash;seems &rsquo;sef I smelt one; but like enough it&rsquo;s the
+scent on Car&rsquo;line&rsquo;s handkercher.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on grandma, who,
+after a time, forgetful of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s caution, said, &ldquo;I
+b&rsquo;lieve they say you&rsquo;re from Virginny!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham,
+clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anywheres near Richmond?&rdquo; continued Mrs. Nichols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was born in Richmond, madam.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Law, now I who knows but you&rsquo;re well acquainted with Nancy
+Scovandyke&rsquo;s kin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as she
+replied, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or
+any of her relatives.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, she&rsquo;s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s&rsquo;pose
+you&rsquo;d call her, bein&rsquo; she&rsquo;s just the age of my son.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s charge, stopped,
+but John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by asking what
+relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein&rsquo; you&rsquo;ve
+asked a civil question, &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t more&rsquo;n fair for me to answer
+it. Better&rsquo;n forty year ago Nancy&rsquo;s mother&rsquo;s
+aunt&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which would be Miss Nancy&rsquo;s great-aunt,&rdquo; interrupted John
+Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless the boy,&rdquo; returned the old lady, &ldquo;he&rsquo;s got the
+Nichols&rsquo; head for figgerin&rsquo;. Yes, Nancy&rsquo;s great-aunt though
+she was six years and two months younger&rsquo;n Nancy&rsquo;s mother. Wall, as
+I was sayin&rsquo;, she went off to Virginny to teach music. She was
+prouder&rsquo;n Lucifer, and after a spell she married a southerner, rich as a
+Jew, and then she never took no more notice of her folks to hum, than&rsquo;s
+ef they hadn&rsquo;t been. But the poor critter didn&rsquo;t live long to enjoy
+it, for when her first baby was born, she died. &rsquo;Twas a little girl, but
+her folks in Massachusetts have never heard a word whether she&rsquo;s dead or
+alive. Joel Slocum, that&rsquo;s Nancy&rsquo;s nephew, says he means to go down
+there some day, and look her up, but I wouldn&rsquo;t bother with &rsquo;em,
+for that side of the house always did feel big, and above Nancy&rsquo;s folks,
+thinkin&rsquo; Nancy&rsquo;s mother married beneath her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during grandma&rsquo;s
+recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never once looking up,
+while her face and neck were literally spotted, either with heat, excitement or
+anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; attention, causing her
+to ask the lady &ldquo;if she warn&rsquo;t pestered with erysipelas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not aware of it, madam,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma
+replied, &ldquo;It looks mighty like it to me, and I&rsquo;ve seen a good deal
+on&rsquo;t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less. Now I think
+on&rsquo;t,&rdquo; she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion,
+&ldquo;now I think on&rsquo;t, you look quite a considerable like
+Nancy&mdash;the same forehead and complexion&mdash;only she&rsquo;s a head
+taller. Hain&rsquo;t you noticed it, John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I have not,&rdquo; answered John, at the same time proposing a
+change in the conversation, as he presumed &ldquo;they had all heard enough of
+Nancy Scovandyke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna&rsquo;s pie. John Jr. was
+the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Horror, mother, who made this pie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that something was
+wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was busy at a side-table, she
+wondered &ldquo;if there ever was any one who had so much trouble with servants
+as herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would burst on poor
+Hagar&rsquo;s head, spoke out, &ldquo;Hagar is not in the fault,
+mother&mdash;no one but myself is to blame. <i>I</i> made the pie, and must
+have put in salt instead of sugar.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You made the pie!&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, &ldquo;What
+business had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn&rsquo;t a few more servants, for
+then we should all be obliged to turn drudges.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, &ldquo;if it
+hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did &rsquo;Lena,
+who,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning
+herself until she is ashamed to appear at the table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone hastened to
+explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that in her dilemma,
+&rsquo;Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of compliment,
+undoubtedly, that &ldquo;her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to such
+work&mdash;indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face, and in a
+sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;if she thought it detracted
+from a young lady&rsquo;s worth, to be skilled in whatever pertained to the
+domestic affairs of a family.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;Not
+at all&mdash;not at all. I mean that my daughters shall learn everything, so
+that their husbands will find in them every necessary qualification.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or
+other,&rdquo; said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very
+interesting, while Anna retorted, &ldquo;Of course we shall. I wouldn&rsquo;t
+be an old maid for the world&mdash;I&rsquo;d run away first!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company retired from
+the table. For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked with a cane, limping even
+then. Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual gallantry, offered her his
+arm, which she willingly accepted, casting a look of triumph upon her
+daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so well pleased. So thorough had been
+grandma&rsquo;s training, that she did not often venture into the parlor
+without a special invitation from its mistress, but on this occasion, Mr.
+Graham led her in there as a matter of course, and placing her upon the sofa,
+seated himself by her side, and commenced questioning her concerning her former
+home and history. Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative,
+and never before had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon
+every word, when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty, her
+untimely death, and rascally husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rivers&mdash;Rivers,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what kind of a looking man
+was he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord only knows&mdash;I never see him,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Nichols.
+&ldquo;But this much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old
+woman&rsquo;s curses can do him any harm, he&rsquo;s had mine a plenty of
+times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do wrong to talk so,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, &ldquo;for who knows
+how bitterly he may have repented of the great wrong done to your
+daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why in the name of common sense don&rsquo;t he hunt up her child,
+and own her&mdash;he needn&rsquo;t be ashamed of &rsquo;Leny.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very true,&rdquo; answered Mr. Graham. &ldquo;No one need be ashamed of
+her. I should be proud to call her my daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps
+this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first marriage a secret from
+his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now, after the lapse of years,
+he dares not tell her for fear of what might follow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then she&rsquo;s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he&rsquo;s a
+cowardly puppy! That&rsquo;s my opinion on &rsquo;em, and I&rsquo;ll tell
+&rsquo;em so, if ever I see &rsquo;em!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath
+waxing warmer and warmer toward the destroyer of her daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite Maccaboy, and
+then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment, took some, slyly
+casting it aside when she did not see him. This emboldened the old lady to
+offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat
+talking to Carrie, who, on a low stool at her feet, was looking up into her
+face as if in perfect admiration. Without deigning other reply than a haughty
+shake of the head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who
+muttered, &ldquo;How disgusting! But for pa&rsquo;s sake we tolerate it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here &rsquo;Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh and
+blooming as a rose. There was no vacant seat near except one between Durward
+and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter, she accepted. A peculiar
+smile flitted over Carrie&rsquo;s face, which was noticed by Mrs. Graham, and
+attributed to the right cause. Ere long Durward, John Jr., &rsquo;Lena and
+Anna, who had joined them, left the house, and from the window Carrie saw that
+they were amusing themselves by playing &ldquo;Graces.&rdquo; Gradually the
+sound of their voices increased, and as &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s clear, musical
+laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs. Graham and Carrie looked out just in time
+to see Durward holding the struggling girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward
+of his having thrown the &ldquo;grace hoop&rdquo; upon her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, &ldquo;What kind of a girl
+is your cousin?&rdquo; to which Carrie replied, &ldquo;You have a fair sample
+of her,&rdquo; at the same time nodding toward &rsquo;Lena, who was
+unmercifully pulling John Jr.&rsquo;s ears as a reward for his presumption.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather hoydenish, I should think,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, secretly
+hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat down in one
+of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm Everett, who naturally,
+and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna to himself, Durward observed this,
+and when he saw them walk away together, while &rsquo;Lena appeared wholly
+unconcerned, he began to think that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when
+she hinted of an engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John
+Jr.&rsquo;s straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he
+said, &ldquo;Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other&rsquo;s
+society to ours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; answered John. &ldquo;I saw that years ago, when Anna
+wasn&rsquo;t knee-high; and I&rsquo;m glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine
+fellow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt certain
+that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger than that of
+friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton, the idea
+was too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment. Once exonerated from
+these charges, it was strange how fast &rsquo;Lena rose in his estimation, and
+when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did not wish he would leave them
+alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward replied, &ldquo;Yes, yes, do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon I will,&rdquo; said John, shaking down his tight pants, and
+pulling at his long coat sleeves. &ldquo;I never want anybody round when
+I&rsquo;m with Nellie Douglass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and &rsquo;Lena alone. That neither
+of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time which they remained
+together, for when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham proposed to Carrie
+to take a turn in the garden, she found the young couple still in the arbor, so
+wholly engrossed that they neither saw nor heard her until she stood before
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a ride
+early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath, laid her hand
+on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from &rsquo;Lena instead of
+her son, she said, &ldquo;No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can&rsquo;t go&mdash;he
+has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna, whom I
+have asked to accompany me; so you see &rsquo;twill be impossible for him to
+ride with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unless she goes with us,&rdquo; interrupted Durward. &ldquo;You would
+like to visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, very much,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s reply, while Mrs. Graham
+continued, &ldquo;I am sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but
+our carriage will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It has carried six many a time,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;and if she
+will go, I will take you on my lap, or anywhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course &rsquo;Lena declined&mdash;he knew she would&mdash;and determined not
+to be outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, &ldquo;I
+shan&rsquo;t release you from your engagement to ride with me. We will start
+early and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no way
+interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but resolving not to
+leave them to finish their <i>tete-a-tete</i>, she threw herself upon one of
+the seats, and commenced talking to her son, while Carrie, burning with
+jealousy and vexation, started for the house, where she laid her grievances
+before her mother, who, equally enraged, declared her intention of
+&ldquo;hereafter watching the vixen pretty closely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And she&rsquo;s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well,
+I fancy I can prevent that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How?&rdquo; asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, &ldquo;You
+know she always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the
+Grattan woods, two miles away. Of course she&rsquo;ll order Cæsar to bring him
+up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding him say nothing
+to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the morning she asks for
+the pony, he can tell her just how it is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital! capital!&rdquo; exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there
+had been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the back
+parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whew!&rdquo; thought the young man. &ldquo;Plotting, are they? Well,
+I&rsquo;ll see how good I am at counterplotting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his servant, Bill,
+telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put in the lower stable
+instead of the one where she was usually kept; &ldquo;and then in the morning,
+long before the sun is up,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;do you have her at the door
+for one of the young ladies to ride.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, marster,&rdquo; answered Bill, looking around for his old straw
+hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, see how quick you can go,&rdquo; John Jr. continued, adding as an
+incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before old Cæsar,
+who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give him ten cents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and without stopping
+to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon the run, returning in the
+course of an hour and claiming his reward, as Cæsar had not yet got home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said John Jr., tossing him the silver. &ldquo;And now
+remember to keep your tongue between your teeth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of tattling about
+something which to him seemed of no consequence whatever, and he walked off,
+eying his dime, and wishing he could earn one so easily every day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime John Jr. sought out &rsquo;Lena, to whom he said, &ldquo;And so you
+are going to ride to-morrow morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you know ?&rdquo; she asked, and John, looking very wise,
+replied, that &ldquo;little girls should not ask too many questions,&rdquo;
+adding, that as he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered
+Bill to have her at the door early in the morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Much obliged,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;I was about giving it
+up when I heard the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Cæsar is so cross I
+hated to ask him to go for her; but now I&rsquo;ll say nothing to him about
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night when Cæsar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his mistress
+suddenly appeared, asking, &ldquo;if he had received any orders to go for
+Fleetfoot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, &ldquo;No, miss, and
+Lord knows I don&rsquo;t want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods
+to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t, either, and if any one tells you to go don&rsquo;t
+you do it,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Somebody&rsquo;s playin&rsquo; possum, that&rsquo;s sartin,&rdquo;
+thought Bill, who was present, and began putting things together.
+&ldquo;Somebody&rsquo;s playin&rsquo; possum, but they don&rsquo;t catch this
+child leakin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you told him?&rdquo; whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the
+hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that &ldquo;she presumed the
+ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Cæsar about the pony.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she commenced
+talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to Woodlawn, dwelling upon it
+as if it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently exulting that &rsquo;Lena was
+to be left behind.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/>
+WOODLAWN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the eastern horizon,
+Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door saddled and waiting for its
+young rider, while near by it was Firelock, which Durward had borrowed of John
+Jr. At last &rsquo;Lena appeared, and if Durward had admired her beauty before,
+his admiration was now greatly increased when he saw how well she looked in her
+neatly fitting riding dress and tasteful straw hat. After bidding her good
+morning, he advanced to assist her in mounting, but declining his offer, she
+with one bound sprang into the saddle,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jumps like a toad,&rdquo; said Bill. &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t stiff and clumsy
+like Miss Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the clatter of their
+horses&rsquo; hoofs arousing and bringing to the window Mrs. Graham, who had a
+suspicion of what was going on. Pushing aside the silken curtain, she looked
+uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her son cared aught for the
+graceful creature at his side, and thinking if he did, how hard she would labor
+to overcome his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the only one who watched them, for
+fearing lest Bill should not awake, John Jr. had foregone his morning nap,
+himself calling up the negro, and now from his window he, too, looked after
+them until they entered upon the turnpike and were lost to view. Then, with
+some very complimentary reflections upon Lena&rsquo;s riding, he returned to
+his pillow, thinking to himself, &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a girl worth having. By
+Jove, if I&rsquo;d never seen Nellie Douglass, and &rsquo;Lena wasn&rsquo;t my
+cousin, wouldn&rsquo;t I keep mother in the hysterics most of the time!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked &rsquo;Lena
+&ldquo;where she wished to go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anywhere you please,&rdquo; said she, when, for reasons of his own, he
+proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of
+satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family to visit
+Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it seemed like a perfect
+Eldorado. It was a grand old building, standing on a cross road about three
+miles from the turnpike, and commanding quite an extensive view of the country
+around. It was formerly owned by a wealthy Englishman, who spent his winters in
+New Orleans and his summers in the country. The year before he had died
+insolvent, Woodlawn falling into the hands of his creditors, who now offered it
+for sale, together with the gorgeous furniture which still remained just as the
+family had left it. To the left of the building was a large, handsome park, in
+which the former owner had kept a number of deer, and now as Durward and
+&rsquo;Lena rode up and down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures would
+occasionally spring up and bound away with the fleetness of the wind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the former
+combining both the useful and the agreeable. A luxurious grape-vine wreathed
+itself over the arched entrance, while the wide, graveled walks were bordered,
+some with box, and others with choice flowers, now choked and overgrown with
+weeds, but showing marks of great beauty, when properly tended and cared for.
+At the extremity of the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the
+garden, was a summer house, fitted up with everything which could make it
+attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through the
+little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of the park, with many
+well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating finally at the side of a
+tiny sheet of water, which within a few years had forced itself through the
+limestone soil natural to Kentucky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting terms with
+the Livingstones; consequently, &rsquo;Lena had never before been at Woodlawn,
+and her admiration increased with every step, and when at last they entered the
+house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms, it knew no bounds. She
+remembered the time when she had thought her uncle&rsquo;s furniture splendid
+beyond anything in the world, but it could not compare with the magnificence
+around her, and for a few moments she stood as if transfixed with astonishment.
+Durward had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning the
+grounds, and now noticing her silence, he asked &ldquo;what was the
+matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove an
+illusion and fade away,&rdquo; said she.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw
+before?&rdquo; he asked; and she replied, &ldquo;Oh, yes, far more so,&rdquo;
+at the same time giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she
+first saw the inside of her uncle&rsquo;s house, and ending by saying,
+&ldquo;But you can imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge
+pretty well what were my ideas of the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wishing to see if &rsquo;Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode
+of living Durward said, &ldquo;I have never heard anything concerning your
+eastern home and how you lived there&mdash;will you please to tell me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to tell which will interest you,&rdquo; answered
+&rsquo;Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade
+her commence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now at his
+bidding &rsquo;Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof, bare
+walls, and oaken floors&mdash;of herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she
+picked <i>huckleberries</i> with <i>Joel Slocum</i>! And then, in lower and
+more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother&rsquo;s grave in the valley, near
+which her beloved grandfather&mdash;the only father she had ever
+known&mdash;was now sleeping. &rsquo;Lena never spoke of her grandfather
+without weeping. She could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did
+when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of
+the sofa, she sobbed like a child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward&rsquo;s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to consider
+the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently toward him, trying
+to soothe her grief, calling her &rsquo;<i>Lena</i>, and smoothing back the
+curls which had fallen over her face. As soon as possible &rsquo;Lena released
+herself from him, and drying her tears, proposed that they should go over the
+house, as it was nearly time for them to return home. Accordingly, they passed
+on through room after room, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s quick eye taking in and
+appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward was no less lost in
+admiration of her, for speaking of herself so frankly as she had done. Many
+young ladies, he well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their home was
+once in a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar
+things connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her
+which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But little was said by either of them as they went over the house, until
+Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly asked his
+companion &ldquo;how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have blushed and
+simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer, but &rsquo;Lena
+quickly replied, &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; laughingly giving as an insuperable
+objection, &ldquo;the size of the house and the number of windows she would
+have to wash!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home, and again
+mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which they reached just
+after the family had finished breakfast. With the first ring of the bell, John
+Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what might occur, was at the table, and when
+his mother and Carrie, anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and
+&rsquo;Lena, cast wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently
+asked Mrs. Graham &ldquo;if her son had returned from his ride.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not seen him,&rdquo; answered the lady, her scowl deepening
+and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at
+ease.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s gone to ride?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied
+that Durward and &rsquo;Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that
+&ldquo;they must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so
+long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept company
+with Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s scowl. Chopping her steak into mince-meat, and almost
+biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at last found voice
+to ask, &ldquo;what horse &rsquo;Lena rode!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fleetfoot, of course,&rdquo; said John Jr., at the same time telling his
+father he thought &ldquo;he ought to give &rsquo;Lena a pony of her own, for
+she was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting old
+and clumsy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of Cæsar, whom
+she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him with the calaboose, and
+anything else which came to her mind. Old Cæsar was taken by surprise, and
+being rather slow of speech, was trying to think of something to say, when John
+Jr., who had followed his mother, came to his aid, saying that &ldquo;he
+himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,&rdquo; and adding aside to his mother,
+that &ldquo;the next time she and Cad were plotting mischief he&rsquo;d advise
+them to see who was in the back parlor!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Always ready to suspect &rsquo;Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately
+supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a reply, John
+Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide Cæsar, &rsquo;Lena,
+or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the pause followed the
+example of his young master and stole away. The tramp of horses&rsquo; feet was
+now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally resolving that Fleetfoot should be
+sold, repaired to the door in time to see Durward carefully lift &rsquo;Lena
+from her pony and place her upon the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie
+were all standing upon the piazza, and as &rsquo;Lena came up the walk, her
+eyes sparkling and her bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she beautiful?&rdquo; at the same time asking her
+&ldquo;where she had been.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Woodlawn,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Woodlawn!&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Woodlawn!&rdquo; echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the
+rear by exclaiming, &ldquo;To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The pony,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, as she passed into the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. Livingstone said to her,
+in a low tone, &ldquo;I would advise you to keep an eye upon your son, if he is
+at all susceptible, for there is no bound to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+ambition.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her little gray eye was a
+sufficient answer, and satisfied with the result of her caution, Mrs.
+Livingstone reentered the house. Two hours afterward, the carriage stood at the
+door waiting to convey the party to Woodlawn. It had been arranged that Mrs.
+Graham, Carrie, Anna, and Durward should ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham
+went on horseback. Purposely, Carrie loitered behind her companions, who being
+first, of course took the back seat, leaving her the privilege of riding by the
+side of Durward. This was exactly what she wanted, and leaning back on her
+elbow, she complacently awaited his coming. But how was she chagrined, when, in
+his stead, appeared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage and took a seat
+beside her; saying to his wife&rsquo;s look of inquiry, that as John Jr. had
+concluded to go, Durward preferred riding on horseback with him, adding, in his
+usually polite way, &ldquo;And I, you know, would always rather go with the
+ladies. But where is Miss Rivers?&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Why isn&rsquo;t
+she here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Simply because she wasn&rsquo;t invited, I suppose,&rdquo; returned his
+wife, detecting the disappointment in his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not invited!&rdquo; he repeated; &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know as this trip
+was of sufficient consequence to need a special invitation. I thought, of
+course, she was here&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Or you would have gone on horseback,&rdquo; said his wife, ever ready to
+catch at straws.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the truthful:
+answer&mdash;&ldquo;Yes&rdquo;&mdash;while he compromised the matter by saying
+that &ldquo;the presence of three fair ladies ought to satisfy him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and during all the ride she was
+extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to Mr. Graham&rsquo;s lively
+sallies, and winning golden laurels in the opinion of Mrs. Graham, who secretly
+thought her husband altogether too agreeable. As they turned into the long
+avenue which led to Woodlawn, and Carrie thought of the ride which &rsquo;Lena
+had enjoyed alone with its owner&mdash;for such was Durward reported to
+be&mdash;her heart swelled with bitterness toward her cousin, in whom she saw a
+dreaded rival. But when they reached the house, and Durward assisted her to
+alight, keeping at her side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy
+vanished, and with her sweetest smile she looked up into his face, affecting a
+world of childish simplicity, and making, as she believed, a very favorable
+impression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as your cousin,&rdquo;
+said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to be more intent on foreign
+subjects than the scenery around her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, I dare say not,&rdquo; returned Carrie. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena was
+never accustomed to anything until she came to Kentucky, and now I suppose she
+thinks she must go into ecstacies over everything, though I sometimes wish she
+wouldn&rsquo;t betray her ignorance quite so often.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;According to her description, her home in Massachusetts was widely
+different from her present one,&rdquo; said Durward, and Carrie quickly
+replied, &ldquo;I wonder now if she bored you with an account of her former
+home! You must have been edified, and had a delightful ride, I declare.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss Rivers is, I
+think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,&rdquo; returned Durward, beginning
+to see the drift of her remarks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself from Carrie, he did not
+again return to her until it was time to go home. Meantime, at Maple Grove,
+Mrs. Livingstone, in the worst possible humor, was finding fault with poor
+&rsquo;Lena, accusing her of eavesdropping, and asking her if she did not begin
+to believe the old adage, that listeners never heard any good of themselves. In
+perfect astonishment &rsquo;Lena demanded what she meant, saying she had never,
+to her knowledge, been guilty of listening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone declared herself
+&ldquo;satisfied now, for a person who would listen and then deny it, was
+capable of almost anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean, madam ?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, her temper getting
+the ascendency. &ldquo;Explain yourself, for no one shall accuse me of lying
+without an attempt to prove it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;I wonder what you can do! Will
+you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Admirers! What admirers?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena, and her aunt replied,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give you credit for feigning the best of any one I ever saw,
+but you can&rsquo;t deceive me. I know very well of your intrigues to entrap
+Mr. Bellmont. But it is not strange that you should inherit something of your
+mother&rsquo;s nature; and you know what she was!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the glittering tears,
+which shone like diamonds, &rsquo;Lena sprang to her feet, exclaiming,
+&ldquo;Yes, I do know what she was. She was a far more worthy woman than you,
+and if in my presence you dare again breathe aught against her name, you shall
+rue it&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That she shall, so help me heaven,&rdquo; murmured a voice near, which
+neither Mrs. Livingstone nor &rsquo;Lena heard, nor were they aware of any
+one&rsquo;s presence until Mr. Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At his wife&rsquo;s request he had exchanged places with his son, and riding on
+before the rest, had reached home first, being just in time to overhear the
+last part of the conversation between Mrs. Livingstone and &rsquo;Lena.
+Instantly changing her manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her niece from the
+room, heaving a deep sigh as the door closed after her, and saying that
+&ldquo;none but those who had tried it knew what a thankless job it was to rear
+the offspring of others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham&rsquo;s eyes, as he answered, &ldquo;In
+your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is willing. I have taken a
+great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would like to adopt her as my daughter. I will
+speak to Mrs. Graham to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Much as she disliked &rsquo;Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for the world have
+her become an inmate of Mr. Graham&rsquo;s family, where she would be
+constantly thrown in Durward&rsquo;s way; and immediately changing her tactics,
+she replied, &ldquo;I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my husband
+would not think of such a thing; neither should I be quite willing for her to
+leave us, much as she troubles me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. That night, after he had retired
+to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, pacing up and down the apartment,
+occasionally pausing to gaze out into the moonlit sky, and then resuming his
+measured tread. At last nerving himself to brave the difficulty, he stopped
+before his wife, to whom he made known his plan of adopting &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems hasty, I know,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but she is just the kind
+of person I would like to have round&mdash;just such a one as I would wish my
+daughter to be if I had one. In short, I like her, and with your consent I will
+adopt her as my own, and take her from this place where I know she&rsquo;s not
+wanted. What say you, Lucy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you adopt the old woman too?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, whose face
+was turned away so as to hide its expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is an after consideration,&rdquo; returned her husband, &ldquo;but
+if you are willing, I will either take her to our home, or provide for her
+elsewhere&mdash;but come, what do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little dumpling hands
+folded one within the other, the long transparent nails making deep indentures
+in the soft flesh, and her gray eyes emitting <i>green</i> gleams of scorn. The
+answer her husband sought came at length, and was characteristic of the woman.
+Hissing out the words from between her teeth, she replied, &ldquo;When I take
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers into my family for my husband and son to make love to,
+alternately, I shall be ready for the lunatic asylum at Lexington.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what objection have you to her?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham; to which
+his wife replied, &ldquo;The very fact, sir, that you wish it, is a sufficient
+reason why I will not have her; besides that, you must misjudge me strangely if
+you think I&rsquo;d be willing for my son to come daily in contact with a girl
+of her doubtful parentage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What know you of her parentage?&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, his lips turning
+slightly pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, what do I know?&rdquo; answered his wife. &ldquo;Her father, if she
+has any, is a rascal, a villain&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, all of that,&rdquo; muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife
+continued, &ldquo;And her mother a poor, low, mean,
+ignorant&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold!&rdquo; thundered Mr. Graham. &ldquo;You shall not speak so of any
+woman of whom you know nothing, much less of &rsquo;Lena Rivers&rsquo;
+mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And pray what do you know of her&mdash;is she an old
+acquaintance?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner as much of
+insolence as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; returned Mr. Graham, &ldquo;that &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+mother could be nothing else than respectable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Undoubtedly; but of this be assured&mdash;the daughter shall never, by
+my permission, darken my doors,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham, growing more and more
+excited, and continuing&mdash;&ldquo;I know you of old, Harry Graham; and I
+know now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was so as to be near her,
+but it shan&rsquo;t be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself who had first
+suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that until within a day or two her
+husband and &rsquo;Lena were entire strangers. But this made no difference. She
+was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an hour she fretted and cried,
+declaring herself the most abused of her sex, and wishing she had never seen
+her husband, who, in his heart, warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving not
+to mention the offending &rsquo;Lena again in the presence of his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed; after which, Mr. and Mrs.
+Graham, together with Durward, returned to Louisville, intending to take
+possession of their new home about the first of October.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/>
+MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.</h2>
+
+<p>
+As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were commenced for repairing
+Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in a style suited to the luxurious taste of
+its rightful owner, which, as report said, was in reality Durward. He had
+conceived a fancy for the place five years before, when visiting in the
+neighborhood, and on learning that it was for sale, he had purchased it, at the
+suggestion of his mother, proposing to his father that for a time, at least, he
+should be its nominal possessor. What reason he had for this he hardly knew
+himself, unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of great
+wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved than was he. Courteous,
+kind-hearted, and generous almost to a fault, he gained friends wherever he
+went, and it was with some reason that Mrs. Graham thought herself blessed
+above mothers, in the possession of such a son. &ldquo;He is so like me,&rdquo;
+she would say, in speaking of his many virtues, when, in fact, there was
+scarcely anything in common between them, for nearly all of Durward&rsquo;s
+sterling qualities were either inherited from his own father, or the result of
+many years&rsquo; companionship with his stepfather. Possessed of the most
+exquisite taste, he exercised it in the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under
+his skillful management, began in a few weeks to assume a more beautiful
+appearance than it had ever before worn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out to see how matters were
+progressing, the latter usually accepting Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s pressing
+invitation to make her house his home. This he was the more willing to do, as
+it threw him into the society of &rsquo;Lena, who was fast becoming an object
+of absorbing interest to him. The more he saw of her, the more was his
+admiration increased, and oftentimes, when joked concerning his preference for
+Carrie, he smiled to think how people were deceived, determining, however, to
+keep his own secret until such time as he should be convinced that &rsquo;Lena
+was all he could desire in a wife. For her poverty and humble birth he cared
+nothing. If she were poor, he was rich, and he possessed too much good sense to
+deem himself better than she, because the blood of a nobleman flowed in his
+veins. He knew that she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could he be
+assured that she was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s insinuation that she was a heartless coquette,
+troubled him, and though he could not believe it without more proof than he had
+yet received, he determined to wait and watch, studying her character, the
+while, to see if there was in her aught of evil. In this state of affairs, it
+was hardly more than natural that his manner toward her should be rather more
+reserved than that which he assumed toward Carrie, for whom he cared nothing,
+and with whom he talked laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was
+out of his sight, and never suspecting how much importance she attached to his
+every word and look, construing into tokens of admiration the most casual
+remark, such as he would utter to any one. This was of advantage to
+&rsquo;Lena, for, secure of their prize, both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie, for
+a time, at least, ceased to persecute her, seldom speaking of her in
+Durward&rsquo;s presence, and, as a general thing, acting as though she were
+not in existence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of watching his mother and
+sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now withdrew his espionage, amusing
+himself, instead, by galloping three times a week over to Frankfort, the home
+of Nellie Douglass, and by keeping an eye upon Captain Atherton, who, as a
+spider would watch a fly, was lying in wait for the unsuspecting Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of Mrs. Graham, who
+came up early in October, bringing with her a larger train of house servants
+than was often seen in Woodford county. About three weeks after her arrival,
+invitations were issued for a party or &ldquo;house warming,&rdquo; as the
+negroes termed it. Nero, Durward&rsquo;s valet, brought the tiny notes to Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s, giving them into the care of Carrie, who took them
+immediately to her mother&rsquo;s room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Durward&rsquo;s handwriting,&rdquo; said she, glancing at the
+superscriptions, and reading as she did so&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. and Mrs.
+Livingstone&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. John Livingstone,
+Jr.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Miss Carrie Livingstone&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Miss Anna
+Livingstone&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;<i>Miss &rsquo;Lena Rivers</i>;&rdquo; and here
+she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked up
+inquiringly&mdash;&ldquo;And as I live, one for
+<i>grandma</i>&mdash;&lsquo;MRS. MARTHA NICHOLS!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for
+the billet. &ldquo;Yes, &rsquo;tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!&mdash;what can it
+mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant. For once in his
+life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of being master in his own house,
+declaring that if Mrs. Nichols were not invited with the family, there should
+be no party at all. Mrs. Graham saw that he was in earnest, and yielded the
+point, knowing that in all probability the old lady would not be permitted to
+attend. Her husband had expected a like opposition with regard to &rsquo;Lena,
+but he was disappointed, for his wife, forgetting her declaration that
+&rsquo;Lena should never darken her doors and thinking it would not do to
+slight her, consented that, on her uncle&rsquo;s account, she should be
+invited. Accordingly, the notes were despatched, producing the effect we have
+seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!&rdquo; said Carrie.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad enough to have &rsquo;Lena stuck in with us, for of
+course <i>she&rsquo;ll</i> go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why of course?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;The invitations are
+at my disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two of them, no one will be
+blamed but Nero, who was careless and dropped them! &rsquo;Lena has nothing
+decent to wear, and I don&rsquo;t feel like expending much more for a person so
+ungrateful as she is. You ought to have heard how impudent she was that time
+you all went to Woodlawn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then followed a one-sided description of that morning&rsquo;s occurrence, Mrs.
+Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch of excitement, that before her
+recital was finished, she had determined at all events to keep back
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s invitation, as a method of punishing her for her
+&ldquo;insolence,&rdquo; as she termed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for
+she cannot endure her; and besides that, I don&rsquo;t think &rsquo;Lena
+expects to be invited, so there&rsquo;s no harm done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for a moment her better
+nature shrank from so mean a transaction, which might, after all, be found out,
+involving them in a still worse difficulty; but as the thought flashed upon her
+that possibly &rsquo;Lena might again attract Durward toward her, she assented,
+and they were about putting the notes aside, when John Jr. came in, catching up
+his grandmother&rsquo;s note the first thing, and exclaiming, &ldquo;Oh,
+<i>rich</i>!&mdash;<i>capital</i>! I hope she&rsquo;ll go!&rdquo; Then, before
+his mother could interpose a word, he darted away in quest of Mrs. Nichols,
+whose surprise was fully equal to that of Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, you don&rsquo;t say I&rsquo;ve got an invite,&rdquo; said she,
+leaving the darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mending, and
+wiping her steel-bowed spectacles. &ldquo;Come, &rsquo;Leny, you read it,
+that&rsquo;s a good girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin&rsquo;s hand, read
+that Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where&rsquo;s the invite? That don&rsquo;t say anything about
+<i>me</i>!&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug
+after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as they could, &rsquo;Lena and John Jr. explained it to her, and then,
+fully convinced that she was really invited, Mrs. Nichols began to wonder what
+she should wear, and how she should go, asking John &ldquo;if he couldn&rsquo;t
+tackle up and carry her in the shay,&rdquo; as she called the single buggy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered John Jr. willing to do anything for the sake
+of the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother&rsquo;s attendance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify her
+grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to the ridicule which her
+appearance at a fashionable party would call forth. Glancing reprovingly at her
+cousin, she said, &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t think of going, grandma, for you are
+lame and old, and there&rsquo;ll be so many people there, all strangers, too,
+that you won&rsquo;t enjoy it at all. Besides that, we&rsquo;ll have a nice
+time at home together&mdash;-I&rsquo;ll read to you all the evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>We</i>,&rdquo; repeated John Jr. &ldquo;Pray, are you not
+going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not without an invitation,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena smilingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True, true,&rdquo; returned her cousin. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s downstairs, I
+dare say. I only stopped to look at this. I&rsquo;ll go and get yours
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother&rsquo;s room, asking
+for &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s card.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s card! What do you mean?&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone, looking up from the book she was reading, while Carrie for a
+moment suspended her needle-work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s invitation; you know well enough what I mean,&rdquo;
+returned John Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the table, and
+failing to find the one for which he was seeking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it&rsquo;s
+not here,&rdquo; was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s quiet answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thunder!&rdquo; roared John Jr., &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena not invited!
+That&rsquo;s a smart caper. But there&rsquo;s some mistake about it, I know.
+Who brought them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nero brought them,&rdquo; said Carrie, &ldquo;and I think it is strange
+that grandmother should be invited and &rsquo;Lena left out. But I suppose Mrs.
+Graham has her reasons. She don&rsquo;t seem to fancy &rsquo;Lena much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Graham go to grass,&rdquo; muttered John Jr., leaving the room and
+slamming the door after him with great violence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas a pity he did not look in one of the drawers of his mother&rsquo;s
+work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing note! But he did not think
+of that. He only knew that &rsquo;Lena was slighted, and for the next two hours
+he raved and fretted, sometimes declaring he would not go, and again wishing
+Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little suited to her round, fat proportions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, if they feel too big to invite &rsquo;Leny, they needn&rsquo;t
+expect to see me there, that&rsquo;s just all there is about it,&rdquo; said
+grandma, settling herself in her rocking-chair, and telling &rsquo;Lena
+&ldquo;she wouldn&rsquo;t care an atom if she&rsquo;s in her place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But &rsquo;Lena did care. No one likes to be slighted, and she was not an
+exception to the general rule. Owing to her aunt&rsquo;s skillful management
+she had never yet attended a large party, and it was but natural that she
+should now wish to go. But it could not be, and she was obliged to content
+herself with the hopes of a minute description from Anna; Carrie she would not
+trust, for she well knew that whatever she told would be greatly exaggerated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham undoubtedly wished to give her friends ample time to prepare, for
+her invitations were issued nearly a week in advance. This suited Carrie, who
+had a longer time to decide upon what would be becoming, and when at last a
+decision was made, she could do nothing but talk about her dress, which really
+was beautiful, consisting of a pink and white silk, with an over-skirt of soft,
+rich lace. This, after it was completed, was tried on at least half a dozen
+times, and the effect carefully studied before the long mirror. Anna, who cared
+much less for dress than her sister, decided upon a black flounced skirt and
+velvet basque. This was Mr. Everett&rsquo;s taste, and whatever suited him
+suited her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do think it&rsquo;s too bad that &rsquo;Lena is not invited,&rdquo;
+said she one day, when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party. &ldquo;She
+would enjoy it so much. I don&rsquo;t understand, either, why she is omitted,
+for Mr. Graham seemed to like her, and Durward too&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A great ways off, you mean,&rdquo; interrupted Carrie. &ldquo;For my
+part, I see nothing strange in the omission. It is no worse to leave her out
+than scores of others who will not be invited.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But to come into the house and ask all but her,&rdquo; said Anna.
+&ldquo;It does not seem right. She is as good as we are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s as people think,&rdquo; returned Carrie, while John Jr.,
+who was just going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at the door,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy yourself better than
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers. If you do, you are the only one that thinks so. Why, you
+can&rsquo;t begin to compare with her, and it&rsquo;s a confounded shame that
+she isn&rsquo;t invited, and so I shall tell them if I have a good
+chance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll look smart fishing for an invitation, won&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo; said Carrie, her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of
+her hearing almost before the words were uttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in with Durward, who
+was bound for the same place. After the usual greetings were exchanged, Durward
+said, &ldquo;I suppose you are all coming on Thursday night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; returned John Jr., &ldquo;I believe the old folks, Cad, and
+Anna intend doing so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But where&rsquo;s Miss Rivers? Doesn&rsquo;t she honor us with her
+presence?&rdquo; asked Durward, in some concern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr.&rsquo;s first impulse, as he afterwards said, was &ldquo;to knock him
+off from his horse,&rdquo; but a second thought convinced him there might be
+some mistake; so he replied that &ldquo;it was hardly to be supposed Miss
+Rivers would attend without an invitation&mdash;she wasn&rsquo;t quite so
+verdant as that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Without an invitation!&rdquo; repeated Durward, stopping short in the
+road. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena not invited! It isn&rsquo;t so! I directed one to her
+myself, and gave it to Nero, together with the rest which were designed for
+your family. He must have lost it. I&rsquo;ll ask him the moment I get home,
+and see that it is all made right. She must come, any way, for I wouldn&rsquo;t
+give&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished the sentence
+for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t give a picayune for the whole affair without
+her&mdash;that&rsquo;s what you mean, and why not say so? I speak right out
+about Nellie, and she isn&rsquo;t one half as handsome as &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s beauty that I admire
+altogether,&rdquo; returned Durward. &ldquo;I like her for her frankness, and
+because I think her conduct is actuated by the best of principles; perhaps I am
+mistaken&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you are not,&rdquo; again interrupted John Jr., &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena
+is just what she seems to be. There&rsquo;s no deception in her. She
+isn&rsquo;t one thing to-day and another to-morrow. Spunky as the old Nick, you
+know, but still she governs her temper admirably, and between you and me, I
+know I&rsquo;m a better man than I should have been had she never come to live
+with us. How well I remember the first time I saw her,&rdquo; he continued,
+repeating to Durward the particulars of their interview in Lexington, and
+describing her introduction to his sisters. &ldquo;From the moment she refused
+to tell that lie for me, I liked her,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and when she dealt
+me that blow in my face, my admiration was complete.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he laughed heartily at
+John&rsquo;s description of his spirited cousin, thinking, too, how different
+was his opinion of her from that which his mother evidently entertained. Still,
+if Mrs. Livingstone was prejudiced, John Jr. might also be somewhat biased, so
+he would not yet make up his mind; but on one thing he was resolved&mdash;she
+should be invited, and for fear of contingencies, he would carry the card
+himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely questioned, and negro-like,
+called down all manner of evil upon himself &ldquo;if he done drapped the note
+any whar. &rsquo;Strue as I live and breathe, Mas&rsquo;r Bellmont,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;I done carried Miss &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s invite with the rest, and
+guv &rsquo;em all to the young lady with the big nose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might have believed
+him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that Nero had accidentally
+dropped it. So he wrote another, taking it himself, and asking for &ldquo;Miss
+Rivers.&rdquo; Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him coming up to the
+house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her collar, puffing out her hair
+a little more, pinching her cheek, which was not quite so red as usual, and
+wishing that she was alone. But unfortunately, both Anna and &rsquo;Lena were
+present, and as there was no means of being rid of them, she retained her seat
+at the piano, carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when the
+door opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, Miss &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said the girl, &ldquo;Marster
+Bellmont want to speak with you in the hall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With &rsquo;Lena! How funny!&rdquo; exclaimed Carrie. &ldquo;Are you
+sure it was &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sure&mdash;he done ask for Miss Rivers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask him in, why don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said Carrie, suspecting his
+errand, and thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing
+&ldquo;wonderfully pleased&rdquo; that &rsquo;Lena was not intentionally
+neglected. Before Corinda could reply, &rsquo;Lena had stepped into the hall,
+and was standing face to face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he
+asked if &ldquo;she really believed they, intended to slight her,&rdquo; at the
+same time explaining how it came to his knowledge, and saying &ldquo;he hoped
+she would not fail to attend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely
+think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented, and he
+took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if she were not
+there with the rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You feel better, now, don&rsquo;t you ?&rdquo; said Carrie with a sneer,
+as &rsquo;Lena re-entered the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a great deal,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s truthful answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m real glad!&rdquo; exclaimed Anna. &ldquo;I most knew
+&rsquo;twas a mistake all the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you
+wear? Let me see. Why, you haven&rsquo;t got anything suitable, have
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was true, for &rsquo;Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was
+beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and to him
+Anna forthwith stated the case, saying &rsquo;Lena must have a new dress, and
+suggesting embroidered muslin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How ridiculous!&rdquo; muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her
+earlier.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t Miss Simpson still here?&rdquo; asked her father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna replied that she was, and then turning to &rsquo;Lena, Mr. Livingstone
+asked if &ldquo;she wanted to go very much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when at supper
+that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was said that he had gone
+to Frankfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Frankfort!&rdquo; repeated his wife. &ldquo;What has he gone there
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned home, bringing with him
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress, which Anna pronounced &ldquo;the sweetest thing she
+ever saw,&rdquo; at the same time running with it to her cousin. There was
+company in the parlor, which for a time kept down the gathering storm in Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s face, but the moment they were gone, and she was alone with
+her husband in their room, it burst forth, and in angry tones she demanded
+&ldquo;what he meant by spending her money in that way, and without her
+consent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her work-box, and opening
+the little drawer, held to view the missing note. Then turning to his wife,
+whose face was very pale, he said, &ldquo;This morning I made a discovery which
+exonerates Nero from all blame. I understand it fully, and while I knew you
+were capable of almost anything, I must say I did not think you would be guilty
+of quite so mean an act. Stay,&rdquo; he continued, as he saw her about to
+speak, &ldquo;you are my wife, and as &rsquo;Lena is at last invited, your
+secret is safe, but remember, it must not be repeated. You understand me, do
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and astonishment&mdash;the
+first, that she was detected, and the last, that her husband dare assume such
+language toward her. But he had her in his power&mdash;she knew that&mdash;and
+for a time it rendered her very docile, causing her to consult with Miss
+Simpson concerning the fitting of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s dress, herself standing
+by when it was done, and suggesting one or two improvements, until &rsquo;Lena,
+perfectly bewildered, wondered what had come over her aunt, that she should be
+so unusually kind. Carrie, too, learning from her mother how matters stood,
+thought proper to change her manner, and while in her heart she hoped something
+would occur to keep &rsquo;Lena at home, she loudly expressed her pleasure that
+she was going, offering to lend her several little ornaments, and doing many
+things which puzzled &rsquo;Lena, who readily saw that she was feigning what
+she did not feel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, grandma, learning that &rsquo;Lena was invited, declared her
+intention of going. &ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t of gin up in the first
+on&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;only I wanted to show &rsquo;em proper
+resentment; but now it&rsquo;s different, and I&rsquo;ll go,
+anyway&mdash;&rsquo;Tilda may say what she&rsquo;s a mind to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was in vain that &rsquo;Lena reasoned the case. Grandma was decided, and it
+was not until both her son and daughter interfered, the one advising and the
+other commanding her to stay at home, that she yielded with a burst of tears,
+for grandma was now in her second childhood, and easily moved. It was terrible
+to &rsquo;Lena to see her grandmother weep, and twining her arms around her
+neck, she tried to soothe her, saying, &ldquo;she would willingly stay at home
+with her if she wished it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this. &ldquo;No,
+&rsquo;Leny,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I want you to go and enjoy yourself while
+you are young, for you&rsquo;ll sometime be old and in the way;&rdquo; and the
+old creature covered her face with her shriveled hands and wept.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, and drying her
+tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride and satisfaction which she felt
+when she saw how well the white muslin became &rsquo;Lena, who, John Jr., said,
+never looked so beautifully as she did when arrayed for the party. Mr.
+Livingstone had not been sparing of his money when he purchased the party
+dress, which was a richly embroidered muslin, and fell in soft folds around
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s graceful figure. Her long flowing curls were intertwined
+with a few natural flowers, her only attempt at ornament of any kind, and,
+indeed, ornaments would have been sadly out of place on &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple Grove reached Woodlawn,
+where they found a large company assembled, some in the drawing-rooms below,
+and others still lingering at the toilet in the dressing chamber. Among these
+last were Nellie Douglass and Mabel Ross, the latter of whom Mrs. Livingstone
+was perfectly delighted to see, overwhelming her with caresses, and urging her
+to stop for awhile at Maple Grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall be so glad to have you with us, and the country air will do you
+so much good, that you must not refuse,&rdquo; said she, pinching Mabel&rsquo;s
+sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy hair, which, in contrast with
+the bandeau of pearls that she wore, looked dark as midnight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and there was
+something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s <i>motherly</i> demeanor, that
+the heart of the young orphan warmed toward her, and tears glittered in her
+large, mournful eyes, the only beauty, save her hair, of which she could boast.
+Very few had ever cared for poor Mabel, who, though warm-hearted and
+affectionate, required to be known in order to be appreciated, and as she was
+naturally shy and retiring, there were not many who felt at all acquainted with
+her. Left alone in the world at a very early age, she had never known what it
+was to possess a real, disinterested friend, unless we except Nellie Douglass,
+who, while there was nothing congenial between them, had always tried to treat
+Mabel as she herself would wish to be treated, were she in like circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which they knew would
+accrue, for she was generous to a fault, bestowing with a lavish hand upon
+those whom she loved, and who had too often proved false, denouncing her as
+utterly spiritless and insipid. So often had she been deceived, that now, at
+the age of eighteen, she had learned to distrust her fellow creatures, and
+oftentimes in secret would she weep bitterly over her lonely condition,
+lamenting the plain face and unattractive manners, which she fancied rendered
+her an object of dislike. Still there was about her a depth of feeling of which
+none had ever dreamed, and it only required a skillful hand to mold her into an
+altogether different being. She was, perhaps, too easily influenced, for in
+spite of her distrust, a pleasant word or kind look would win her to almost
+anything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the better
+accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel should believe
+her to be the best friend she had in the world. Accordingly, she now flattered
+and petted her, calling her &ldquo;darling,&rdquo; and &ldquo;dearest,&rdquo;
+and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, &ldquo;provided
+Nellie Douglas were willing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing
+disposition poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it
+rather a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs.
+Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, &ldquo;Go down with
+me,&rdquo; at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her daughters,
+Nellie, and &rsquo;Lena. In the hall they met with John Jr. He had heard
+Nellie&rsquo;s voice, and stationing himself at the head of the stairs, was
+waiting her appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Ross,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time
+indicating her willingness to give her into his care.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he passed on
+toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie&rsquo;s train and drawing
+from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness. Mrs. Livingstone glanced
+backward just in time to see the look of affection with which her son regarded
+Nellie, as she placed her soft hand confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward
+smilingly into his face. She dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with
+a mental invective against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and
+smoothing down the heavy folds of her <i>moire antique</i>, entered the
+drawing-room, which was brilliantly lighted, and filled with the beauty and
+fashion of Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the door they met Durward, who, as he took &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s hand, said,
+&ldquo;It is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after
+you.&rdquo; This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides
+having her son and Nellie under her special cognizance, had also an eye upon
+her niece and Anna. Her espionage of the latter, however, was not needed
+immediately, owing to her being straightway appropriated by Captain Atherton,
+who, in dainty white kids, and vest to match (the color not the material),
+strutted back and forth with Anna tucked under his arm, until the poor girl was
+ready to cry with vexation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham and Durward started for
+&rsquo;Lena, the latter reaching her first, and paying her so many little
+attentions, that the curiosity of others was aroused, and frequently was the
+question asked, &ldquo;Who is she, the beautiful young lady in white muslin and
+curls?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in passing near her
+niece, she managed to whisper, &ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake don&rsquo;t show
+your ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. Bellmont&rsquo;s good nature any
+longer. It&rsquo;s very improper to claim any one&rsquo;s attention so long,
+and you are calling forth remarks.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to Durward,
+&ldquo;How <i>can</i> you resist such beseeching glances as those ladies send
+toward you?&rdquo; nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie was one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room in quest of
+some other shelter when Durward should relinquish her, as she felt he would
+surely do, but none presented itself. Her uncle was playing the agreeable to
+Miss Atherton, Mr. Graham to some other lady, while John Jr. kept closely at
+Nellie&rsquo;s side, forgetful of all else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What shall I do?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, unconsciously and half aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stay with me,&rdquo; answered Durward, drawing her hand further within
+his arm, and bending upon her a look of admiration which she could not mistake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who was highly incensed at
+her son&rsquo;s proceedings, and at last actually asked him &ldquo;if he did
+not intend noticing anyone except Miss Rivers,&rdquo; adding, as an apology for
+her rudeness (for Mrs. Graham prided herself upon being very polite in her own
+house), &ldquo;she has charms enough to win a dozen gallants, but there are
+others here who need attention from you. There&rsquo;s Miss Livingstone,
+you&rsquo;ve hardly spoken with her to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus importuned, Durward released &rsquo;Lena and walked away, attaching
+himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possible, than did the old
+captain to Anna. About this time Mr. Everett came. He had been necessarily
+detained, and now, after paying his respects to the host and hostess, he
+started in quest of Anna, who was still held &ldquo;in durance vile&rdquo; by
+the captain. But the moment she saw Malcolm, she uttered a low exclamation of
+joy, and without a single apology, broke abruptly away from her ancient
+cavalier, whose little watery eyes looked daggers after her for an instant;
+then consoling himself with the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her,
+do what she would, he walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her for a time
+of her charge, who was becoming rather tiresome. Frequently, by nods, winks,
+and frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone tried to bring her son to a sense of his
+improper conduct in devoting himself exclusively to one individual, and
+neglecting all others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her efforts were all in vain. John Jr. was incorrigible, slyly whispering
+to Nellie, that &ldquo;he had no idea of beauing a medicine chest.&rdquo; This
+he said, referring to Mabel&rsquo;s ill health, for among his other oddities,
+John Jr. had a particular aversion to sickly ladies. Of course Nellie reproved
+him for his unkind remarks, at the same time warmly defending Mabel,
+&ldquo;who,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;had been delicate from infancy, and
+suffered far more than was generally suspected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her stay at home, then,&rdquo; was John Jr.&rsquo;s answer, as he
+led Nellie toward the supper-room, which the company were just then entering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs. Livingstone being
+the first to propose going. As she was ascending the stairs, John Jr. observed
+that Mabel was with her, and turning to &rsquo;Lena, who now leaned on his arm,
+he said, &ldquo;There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.&mdash;so mother
+thinks!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena, looking around.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, there,&rdquo; continued John, pointing toward Mabel.
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches
+over her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw them together,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;and I thought
+it very kind in my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and I felt sorry
+for her. She is going home with us, I believe.&rdquo;,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Going home with <i>us</i>!&rdquo; repeated John Jr. &ldquo;In the name
+of the people, what is she going home with us for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;your mother thinks the country
+air will do her good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Un</i>-doubtedly,&rdquo; said John, with a sneer.
+&ldquo;Mother&rsquo;s motives are usually very disinterested. I wonder she
+don&rsquo;t propose to the old captain to take up <i>his</i> quarters with us,
+so she can nurse him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr. should be very
+polite toward Mabel, and when his mother asked him to help her into the
+carriage, he complied so ungraciously, that Mabel observed it, and looked
+wonderingly at her <i>patroness</i> for an explanation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only one of his freaks, love&mdash;he&rsquo;ll get over it,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Livingstone, while poor Mabel, sinking back amoung the cushions, wept
+silently, thinking that everybody hated her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When &rsquo;Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good-night, the former
+retained her hand, while he expressed his sorrow at her leaving so soon.
+&ldquo;I meant to have seen more of you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but you must
+visit us often&mdash;will you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s observation, and
+the lecture which she that night read her offending spouse, had the effect to
+keep him awake until the morning was growing gray in the east. Then, when he
+was asleep, he so far forgot himself and the wide-open ears beside him as
+actually to breathe the name of &rsquo;Lena in his dreams!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspicions, and at the
+breakfast-table next morning, she gave her son a lengthened account of her
+husband&rsquo;s great sin in dreaming of a young girl, and that girl
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers. Durward laughed heartily and then, either to tease his
+mother, or to make his father&rsquo;s guilt less heinous in her eyes, he
+replied, &ldquo;It is a little singular that our minds should run in the same
+channel, for, I, too, dreamed of &rsquo;Lena Rivers!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Mrs. Graham. A double task was now imposed upon her&mdash;that of watching
+both husband and son; but she was accustomed to it, for her life, since her
+second marriage, had been one continued series of watching for evil where there
+was none. And now, with a growing hatred toward &rsquo;Lena, she determined to
+increase her vigilance, feeling sure she should discover something if she only
+continued faithful to the end.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/>
+MABEL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s family were assembled
+in the parlor, discussing the various events of the previous night. John Jr.,
+&rsquo;Lena, and Anna declared themselves to have been highly pleased with
+everything, while Carrie in the worst of humors, pronounced it &ldquo;a perfect
+bore,&rdquo; saying she never had so disagreeable a time in all her life, and
+ending her ill-natured remarks by a malicious thrust at &rsquo;Lena, for having
+so long kept Mr. Bellmont at her side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, but I think he
+showed his good taste by preferring &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said John Jr.; then
+turning toward the large easy-chair, where Mabel sat, pale, weary, and
+spiritless, he asked &ldquo;how she had enjoyed herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the exception of his accustomed &ldquo;good-morning,&rdquo; this was the
+first time he had that day addressed her, and it was so unexpected, that it
+brought a bright glow to her cheek, making John Jr. think she was &ldquo;not so
+horribly ugly after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, &ldquo;that on account
+of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed anything of the kind.&rdquo; Then
+pressing her hand upon her forehead, she continued, &ldquo;My head is aching
+dreadfully, as a punishment for last night&rsquo;s dissipation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching head, and now, with an
+impatient gesture, he was turning away, when his mother said, &ldquo;Poor girl,
+she really looks miserable. I think a ride would do her good. Suppose you take
+her with you&mdash;I heard you say you were going to Versailles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horsemanship, she being a
+better rider, if possible; than &rsquo;Lena, and now, at Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s proposition, she looked up eagerly at John Jr., who
+replied,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, hang it all! mother, I can&rsquo;t always be bothered with a
+girl;&rdquo; then as he saw how Mabel&rsquo;s countenance fell, he continued,
+&ldquo;Let &rsquo;Lena ride with her&mdash;she wants to, I know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, whose heart warmed toward the orphan
+girl, partly because she was an orphan, and partly because she saw that she was
+neglected and unloved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected his mother&rsquo;s
+object in detaining her as a guest. So when &rsquo;Lena was proposed as a
+substitute she seemed equally well pleased, and the young man, as he walked off
+to order the ponies, mentally termed himself a bear for his rudeness;
+&ldquo;for after all,&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s mother who has
+designs upon me, not Mabel. She isn&rsquo;t to blame.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This opinion once satisfactorily settled, it was strange how soon John Jr.
+began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her much more agreeable than he had at
+first supposed, and even acknowledging to &rsquo;Lena that &ldquo;she was a
+good deal of a girl, after all, were it not for her everlasting headaches and
+the smell of medicine,&rdquo; which he declared she always carried about with
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush-sh,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena&mdash;&ldquo;you shan&rsquo;t talk so,
+for she is sick a great deal, and she does not feign it, either.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps not,&rdquo; returned John Jr., &ldquo;but she can at least keep
+her <i>miserable feelings</i> to herself. Nobody wants to know how many times
+she&rsquo;s been blistered and bled!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were somethings in Mabel which he liked,
+for no one could live long with her and not admire her gentleness and uncommon
+sweetness of disposition, which manifested itself in numerous little acts of
+kindness to those around her. Never before in her life had she been so
+constantly associated with a young gentleman, and as she was quite susceptible,
+it is hardly more than natural that erelong thoughts of John Jr. mingled in
+both her sleeping and waking dreams. She could not understand him, but the more
+his changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in him, and her
+eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word from him, or fill with tears at
+the abruptness of his speeches; while he seemed to take special delight in
+seeing how easily he could move her from one extreme to the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each change, and warily
+calculating its result. Not once since Mabel became an inmate of her family had
+she mentioned her to her son, for she deemed it best to wait, and let matters
+take their course. But at last, anxious to know his real opinion, she
+determined to sound him. Accordingly, one day when they were alone, she spoke
+of Mabel, asking him if he did not think she improved upon acquaintance, at the
+same time enumerating her many excellent qualities, and saying that whoever
+married her would get a prize, to say nothing of a fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. replied, &ldquo;I dare
+say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome to them for all
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought you liked Mabel,&rdquo; said his mother; and John answered,
+&ldquo;So I do like her, but for pity&rsquo;s sake, is a man obliged to marry
+every girl he likes? Mabel does very well to tease and amuse one, but when you
+come to the marrying part, why, that&rsquo;s another thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what objection have you to her,&rdquo; continued his mother, growing
+very fidgety and red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Several,&rdquo; returned John, &ldquo;She has altogether too many aches
+and pains to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever; and last, but not least,
+I like somebody else. So, mother mine, you may as well give up all hopes of
+that hundred thousand down in Alabama, for I shall never marry Mabel Ross,
+never.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very angry, and, in an
+elevated tone of voice, she said, &ldquo;I s&rsquo;pose it&rsquo;s Nellie
+Douglass you mean, but if you knew all of her that I do, I
+reckon&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something dreadful, if she
+would! But John Jr. took no notice of her hints, and when he got a chance, he
+replied, &ldquo;You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie will have me,
+I surely will have her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marry her, then,&rdquo; retorted his mother&mdash;&ldquo;marry her with
+all her poverty, but for heaven&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t give so much
+encouragement to a poor defenseless girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he&rsquo;d neither speak to nor look at
+her again, if common civilities were construed into encouragement, John Jr.
+strode out of the room, determining, as the surest method of ending the
+trouble, to go forthwith to Nellie, and in a plain, straight-forward way make
+her an offer of himself. With him, to will was to do, and in about an hour he
+was descending the long hill which leads into Frankfort. Unfortunately, Nellie
+had gone for a few weeks to Madison, and again mounting Firelock, the young man
+galloped back, reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper.
+Not feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, the sight of his
+mother and Mabel, whom he believed were leagued against him, he repaired to the
+parlor, whistling loudly, and making much more noise than was at all necessary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won&rsquo;t you be a little more quiet,
+for my head aches so hard to-night,&rdquo; said a languid voice, from the
+depths of the huge easy-chair which stood before the glowing grate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle of shawls, John
+Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up and her lips white as ashes, while
+the purple rings about her heavy eyes, told of the pain she was enduring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thunder!&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s exclamation, as he strode from the
+room, slamming together the door with unusual force.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of hot tea and a slice of
+toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find her sobbing like a child. It did not
+take long for her to learn the cause, and then, as well as she could, she
+soothed her, telling her not to mind John&rsquo;s freaks&mdash;it was his way,
+and he always had a particular aversion to sick people, never liking to hear
+them talk of their ailments. This hint was sufficient for Mabel, who ever after
+strove hard to appear well and cheerful in his presence. But in no way, if he
+could help it, would he notice her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next to Mrs. Livingstone, &rsquo;Lena was Mabel&rsquo;s best friend, and when
+she saw how much her cousin&rsquo;s rudeness and indifference pained her, she
+determined to talk with him about it, So the first time they were alone, she
+broached the subject, speaking very kindly of Mabel, and asking if he had any
+well-grounded reason for his uncivil treatment of her. There was no person in
+the world who possessed so much influence over John Jr. as did &rsquo;Lena, and
+now, hearing her patiently through, he replied, &ldquo;I know I&rsquo;m
+impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I can help it. She is so flat and silly, and
+takes every little attention from me as a declaration of love. Still, I
+don&rsquo;t blame her as much as I do mother, who is putting her up to it, and
+if she&rsquo;d only go home and mind her own business, I should like her well
+enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand you,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and her cousin
+continued; &ldquo;Why, when Mabel first came here, I do not think she knew what
+mother was fishing for, so she was not so much at fault, but she does
+now&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you sure?&rdquo; interrupted &rsquo;Lena, and John Jr. replied,
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a confounded fool if she don&rsquo;t. And what provokes me,
+is to think she&rsquo;ll still keep staying here, when modesty, if nothing
+else, should prompt her to leave. You wouldn&rsquo;t catch Nellie doing so.
+Why, she&rsquo;ll hardly come her at all, for fear folks will say she comes to
+see me, and that&rsquo;s why I like her so well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel,&rdquo; said Lena,
+&ldquo;for I&rsquo;ve no idea she&rsquo;s in love with you a bit more than I
+am. I dare say she likes you well enough, for there&rsquo;s nothing in you to
+dislike.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a
+kiss, a liberty he often took with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Behave, can&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, at the same time
+continuing&mdash;&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t suppose Mabel is dying for you at
+all. All of us girls like to receive attention from you gentlemen, and
+she&rsquo;s not an exception. Besides that, you ought to be polite to her,
+because she&rsquo;s your mother&rsquo;s guest, if for nothing else. I
+don&rsquo;t ask you to love her,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but I do ask you to
+treat her well. Kind words cost nothing, and they go far toward making others
+happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So they do,&rdquo; answered John, upon whom &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s words
+were having a good effect. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve nothing under heaven against Mabel
+Ross, except that mother wants me to marry her; but if you&rsquo;ll warrant me
+that the young lady herself has no such intentions, why, I&rsquo;ll do my very
+best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll warrant you,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, who really had no
+idea that Mabel cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satisfied with
+the result of her interview she started to leave the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, &ldquo;You are sure she
+don&rsquo;t care for me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perfectly sure,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The plague, she don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; thought John, as the door closed
+upon &rsquo;Lena; and such is human nature, that the young man began to think
+that if Mabel didn&rsquo;t care for him, he&rsquo;d see if he couldn&rsquo;t
+make her, for after all, there was something pleasant in being liked, even by
+Mabel!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in the parlor, John Jr.
+joined them, and after wringing Carrie&rsquo;s nose, pulling
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s and Anna&rsquo;s curls, he suddenly upset Mabel&rsquo;s
+work-box, at the same time slyly whispering to his cousin, &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I
+coming round?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Abrupt as this proceeding, was, it pleased Mabel, who with the utmost good
+humor, commenced picking up her things, John Jr. assisting her, and managing
+once to bump his head against hers! After this, affairs at Maple Grove glided
+on as smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could wish. John and Mabel were
+apparently on the most amicable terms, he deeming &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+approbation a sufficient reward for the many little attentions which he paid to
+Mabel, and she, knowing nothing of all that had passed, drinking in his every
+word and look, learning to live upon his smile, and conforming herself, as far
+as possible, to what she thought would best please him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone unfolded to Mabel her
+own wishes, saying she should be perfectly happy could she only call her
+&ldquo;daughter,&rdquo; and hinting that such a thing &ldquo;by wise management
+could easily be brought about.&rdquo; With a gush of tears the orphan girl laid
+her head in Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s lap, mentally blessing her as her
+benefactress, and thanking the Giver of all good for the light and happiness
+which she saw dawning upon her pathway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John is peculiar,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;and if he fancied
+you liked him very much, it might not please him as well as indifference on
+your part.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, with this lesson, Mabel, for the first time in her life attempted to act as
+she did not feel, feigning carelessness or indifference when every pulse of her
+heart was throbbing with joy at some little attention paid her by John Jr., who
+could be very agreeable when he chose, and who, observing her apparent
+indifference, began to think that what &rsquo;Lena had said was true, and that
+Mabel really cared nothing for him. With this impression he exerted himself to
+be agreeable, wondering how her many good qualities had so long escaped his
+observation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is more to her than I supposed,&rdquo; said he one day to
+&rsquo;Lena, who was commending him for his improved manner. &ldquo;Yes, a heap
+more than I supposed. Why, I really like her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid aside, he, as is often the
+case, began to find virtues in her the existence of which he had never
+suspected. Frequently, now, he talked, laughed, and rode with her, praising her
+horsemanship, pointing out some points wherein it might be improved, and never
+dreaming the while of the deep affection his conduct had awakened in the
+susceptible girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I am so happy,&rdquo; said she one day to &rsquo;Lena, who was
+speaking of her improved health. &ldquo;I never thought it possible for
+<i>me</i> to be so happy. I dreaded to come here at first, but now I shall
+never regret it, never.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, adjusting the feathers
+to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her neatly fitting riding-dress, became
+her better than anything else. The excitement of her words sent a deep glow to
+her cheek, while her large black eyes sparkled with unusual brilliancy. She was
+going out with John Jr., who, just as she finished speaking, appeared in the
+doorway, and catching a glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, jocose
+way, &ldquo;Upon my word, Meb, if you keep on, you&rsquo;ll get to be quite
+decent looking in time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid her, and
+questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast forming belief that
+her affection for him was returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t expect him to do anything like other people, he&rsquo;s so
+odd,&rdquo; thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which charmed her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length Nellie, who had returned from Madison, and felt rather lonely, wrote
+to Mabel, asking her to come home. This plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed, but
+Mabel was decided, and the week before Christmas was fixed upon for her
+departure. John Jr., anxious to see Nellie, proposed accompanying her, but when
+the day came he was suffering from a severe cold, which rendered his stay in
+the house absolutely necessary. So his mother, who had reasons of her own for
+doing so, went in his stead. Carrie, who never had any fancy for Mabel, and
+only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite, merely offering her
+hand, and then resumed the novel she was reading, even before Mabel had left.
+Anna and &rsquo;Lena bade her a more affectionate adieu, and then advancing
+toward John Jr., who, in his dressing-gown and slippers, reclined upon the
+sofa, she offered him her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young man accompanied her
+to the door, playfully claiming the privilege of taking leave just as his
+sister and cousin had done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only me, you know,&rdquo; said he, imprinting upon her
+forehead a kiss which sent the rich blood to her neck and face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with Nellie, while Mabel,
+simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the world, saw in it a world of meaning,
+and for a long time after the carriage roiled away from Maple Grove the bright
+glow on her cheek told of happy thoughts within.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?&rdquo; asked
+Mrs. Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam,&rdquo; answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone continued,
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange. He confessed to me that
+he&mdash;ah&mdash;he&mdash;loved you, and I supposed he intended telling you
+so; but bashfulness prevented, I dare say!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this down-right falsehood cost Mrs.
+Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied the case required it, and after a
+few twinges, her conscience felt easy, particularly when she saw how much
+satisfaction her words gave to her companion, to whom the improbability of the
+affair never occurred. Could she have known how lightly John Jr. treated the
+matter, laughingly describing his leave-taking to his sisters and &rsquo;Lena,
+and saying, &ldquo;Meb wasn&rsquo;t the worst girl in the world, after
+all,&rdquo; she might not have been so easily duped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion perfect.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/>
+NELLIE AND MABEL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with articles of
+elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from being wealthy, still loved
+to surround his only daughter with everything which could increase her comfort.
+So the best, the fairest, and the most Costly was always for her, his
+&ldquo;darling Nellie,&rdquo; as he called her, when with bounding footsteps
+she flew to greet him on his return at night, ministering to his wants in a
+thousand ways, and shedding over his home such a halo of sunshine that ofttimes
+he forgot that he was a lonely widower, while in the features of his precious
+child he saw again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed from his
+side forever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But not on him were Nellie&rsquo;s thoughts resting, as she sat there alone
+that afternoon. She was thinking of the past&mdash;of John Livingstone, and the
+many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of words to tell her
+she was beloved. And freely did her heart respond. That John Jr. was not
+perfect, she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so easily influenced by
+those he loved, that she knew it would be an easy task to soften down some of
+the rougher shades of his character. Three times during her absence had he
+called, expressing so much disappointment, that with woman&rsquo;s ready
+instinct she more than half divined his intentions, and regretted that she was
+gone. But Mabel was coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for so had
+&rsquo;Lena written, and Nellie&rsquo;s cheeks glowed and her heart beat high,
+as she thought of what might occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she
+was not his equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father
+was poor&mdash;but one of John Jr.&rsquo;s nature would never take that into
+consideration. They had known each other from childhood, and he had always
+evinced for her the same preference which he now manifested. Several weeks had
+elapsed since she had seen him, and now, rather impatiently, she awaited his
+arrival,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, ma&rsquo;am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the
+parlor,&rdquo; said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her reverie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Livingstone!&rdquo; she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a
+mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, &ldquo;Mrs.
+Livingstone!&mdash;and so <i>he</i> has not come. I wonder what&rsquo;s the
+matter!&rdquo; and with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor,
+where, with rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs.
+Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of furniture,
+and her proud spirit whispering to herself, &ldquo;Poverty, poverty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming her back,
+congratulated her upon her improved health and looks, saying, &ldquo;the
+<i>air</i> of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;&rdquo; then turning toward
+Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning than the one she
+intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at the same time
+for the fire being so low.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father is absent most of the day,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;and as I am
+much in my chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as well,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs.
+&ldquo;One fire is <i>cheaper</i> than two, and in these times I suppose it is
+necessary for some people to economize.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her visitor. After
+a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking straight in Nellie&rsquo;s
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold
+prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left the room.
+When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible improvement in her health.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily
+in her chair, &ldquo;Yes, Mabel isn&rsquo;t the same creature she was when she
+came to us, but then it&rsquo;s no wonder, for love, you know, will work
+miracles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming next.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you&rsquo;ve no curiosity whatever. Why
+don&rsquo;t you ask with whom Mabel is in love?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo; laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the
+tassel of her blue silk apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, &ldquo;It may seem out of place for
+me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of excellent
+sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her
+tormentor continued: &ldquo;Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you, both
+myself and husband are well pleased that it should be so. From the moment I
+first saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for which I could not
+account, and if I were now to select my future daughter-in-law, I should prefer
+her to all others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and again Mrs.
+Livingstone spoke: &ldquo;It may be a weakness, but I have always felt anxious
+that John should make a match every way worthy of him, both as to wealth and
+station. Indeed, I would hardly be willing for him to marry one whose fortune
+is less than Mabel&rsquo;s. But I need have no fears, for John has his own
+views on that subject, and though he may sometimes be attentive to girls far
+beneath him, he is pretty sure in the end to do as I think best!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to
+madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she heard.
+Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if John Jr. really
+loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there not been a thousand
+opportunities for him to tell her so? At this moment Mabel reentered the
+parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to the dinner, left the room, going
+she scarce knew whither, until she found herself in a little arbor at the foot
+of the garden, where many and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where
+he would never sit again&mdash;so she thought, so she believed&mdash;and
+throwing herself upon one of the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to
+meet the worst&mdash;to conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising
+within her toward Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only
+one she had ever loved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer
+reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering Mabel
+to know how deeply she had wronged her. &ldquo;She is an orphan&mdash;a lonely
+orphan,&rdquo; thought she, &ldquo;and God forbid that through me one drop of
+bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders
+concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering when
+Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the little
+blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being over, Mrs.
+Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her leave, bidding a most
+affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as if she had indeed been her
+mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-bye, darling Meb,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I shall come for you to
+visit us erelong.&rdquo; Turning to Nellie, she said, &ldquo;Do take care of
+her health, which you know is now precious to more than one;&rdquo; then in a
+whisper she added, &ldquo;Remember that what I have told you is sacred.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the parlor,
+together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits contrasted painfully
+with the silence and sadness which lay around her heart. That night, Mr.
+Douglass had some business in the city, and the two girls were left alone. The
+lamps were unlighted, for the full golden moonlight, which streamed through the
+window-panes, suited better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the
+sofa, looked listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little
+stool at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie&rsquo;s lap, and her
+hand searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and
+farther away, as hers advanced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length she spoke: &ldquo;Nellie, dear Nellie&mdash;there is something I want
+so much to tell you&mdash;if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the sofa-cushion,
+came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon Mabel&rsquo;s brow, while
+Nellie&rsquo;s voice answered, softly and slow, &ldquo;What is it, Mabel? I
+will hear you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at the time
+when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother, chiding her for her
+tears, and threatening her with punishment if she did not desist. &ldquo;Since
+then,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I have been so lonely&mdash;how lonely, none but
+a friendless orphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a time they
+seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten times more wretched than
+before. I never once dreamed that&mdash;that Mr. Livingstone could care aught
+for one so ugly as I know I am. I thought him better suited for you, Nellie.
+(How cold your hand is, but don&rsquo;t take it away, for it cools my
+forehead.&rdquo;)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued: &ldquo;Yes, I think him
+better suited to you, and when his mother told me that he loved me, and that he
+would, undoubtedly, one day make me his wife, it was almost too much for me to
+believe, but it makes me so happy&mdash;oh, so happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And he&mdash;he, too, told you that he loved you?&rdquo; said Nellie,
+very low, holding her breath for the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;<i>he</i> never told me in <i>words</i>. &rsquo;Twas his
+mother that told me&mdash;he only <i>acted</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what did he do?&rdquo; asked Nellie, smiling in spite of herself, at
+the simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention of exaggerating, proceeded
+to tell what John Jr. had said and done, magnifying every attention, until
+Nellie, blinded as she was by what his mother had said, was convinced that, at
+all events, he was not true to herself. To be sure, he had never told her he
+loved her in words; but in actions he had said it many a time, and if he could
+do the same with Mabel, he must be false either to one or the other. Always
+frank and open-hearted herself, Nellie despised anything like deception in
+others, and the high opinion she had once entertained for John Jr., was now
+greatly changed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, and the hour of
+midnight found her restless and wakeful. At length, rising up and leaning upon
+her elbow, she looked down upon the face of Mabel, who lay sleeping sweetly at
+her side. Many and bitter were her thoughts, and as she looked upon her rival,
+marking her plain features and sallow skin, an expression of scorn flitted for
+an instant across her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And <i>she</i> is preferred to me!&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Well, let it
+be so, and God grant I may not hate her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms wound round
+Mabel&rsquo;s neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her unkind thoughts, she fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/>
+MRS. LIVINGSTONE&rsquo;S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+After leaving Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s, Mrs. Livingstone ordered her coachman to
+drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, where she was frequently in the
+habit of stopping, partly as a matter of convenience when visiting in town, and
+partly to learn the latest news of the day, for Mrs. Atkins was an intolerable
+gossip. Without belonging exactly to the higher circles, she still managed to
+keep up a show of intimacy with them, possessing herself with their secrets,
+and kindly intrusting them to the keeping of this and that &ldquo;dear
+friend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the amount of Mr.
+Douglass&rsquo; property, and how he was obliged to economize in various ways,
+in order to keep up the appearance of style. From her, too, had she learned how
+often her son was in the habit of calling there, and what rumor said concerning
+those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had learned, in return, that the ambitious lady
+had other views for John, and that anything which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to
+further the plans of her friend, would be gratefully received. On this occasion
+she was at home, and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is such an age since I&rsquo;ve seen you, that I began to fear you
+were offended at something,&rdquo; said she, as she led the way into a cozy
+little sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was blazing on the nicely
+painted hearth. &ldquo;Do sit down and make yourself as comfortable as you can,
+on such poor accommodations. I have just finished dinner but will order some
+for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;I dined at Mr.
+Douglass&rsquo;s&mdash;thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, indeed,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal relieved,
+for to tell the truth, her larder, as was often the case, was rather empty.
+&ldquo;Dined at Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s! Of course, then, nothing which I could
+offer you could be acceptable, after one of his sumptuous meals. I suppose
+Nellie brought out all her mother&rsquo;s old silver, and made quite a display.
+It&rsquo;s a wonder to me how they hold their heads so high, and folks notice
+them as they do, for between you and me, I shouldn&rsquo;t be surprised to hear
+of his failing any minute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it possible?&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Atkins. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to
+prevent it, they say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of Nellie, who
+seems to be doing her best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has she any particular one in view?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, and
+Mrs. Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s aversion to the match, replied,
+&ldquo;Why, you know she tried to get your son&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But didn&rsquo;t succeed,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, didn&rsquo;t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems she&rsquo;s
+spreading sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose one word, she
+drew her chair nearer to her friend, who proceeded; &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a rich
+bachelor&mdash;brother to Mary Wilbur, Nellie&rsquo;s most intimate friend.
+You&rsquo;ve heard of her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t Nellie
+been visiting her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Her or her brother,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Atkins. &ldquo;Mary&rsquo;s
+health is poor, and you know it&rsquo;s mighty convenient for Nellie to go
+there, under pretense of staying with her,&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied smile, and
+another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, after a moment, continued:
+&ldquo;The brother came home with Nellie, stayed over Sunday, rode out with her
+Monday, indorsed ever so many notes for her father, so I reckon, and then went
+home. If that don&rsquo;t mean something, then I&rsquo;m
+mistaken&rdquo;&mdash;and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice of
+cake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After an hour&rsquo;s confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone told of
+Mabel&rsquo;s prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks who were at Mr.
+Graham&rsquo;s party praised &rsquo;Lena Rivers&rsquo; beauty, and predicted a
+match between her and Mr. Bellmont, the former rose to go; and calling upon one
+or two others, and by dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them to say
+&ldquo;they shouldn&rsquo;t be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie
+Douglas,&rdquo; she started for home, exulting to think how everything seemed
+working together for her good, and how, in the denouement, nothing particular
+could be laid to her charge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told Nellie no falsehood,&rdquo; thought she. &ldquo;I did not say
+John loved Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else for her to infer.
+And it has commenced operating, too. I could see it in the spots on her face
+and neck, when I was talking. Nellie&rsquo;s a fine girl, though, but too poor
+for the Livingstones;&rdquo; and with this conclusion, she told the coachman to
+drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, grandma and all, assembled
+in the parlor, and with them Durward Bellmont. His arm was thrown carelessly
+across the back of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s chair, while he occasionally bent
+forward to look at a book of prints which she was examining. The sight of him
+determined her to wait a little ere she retailed her precious bit of gossip to
+her son. He was Nellie&rsquo;s cousin, and as such, would in all probability
+repeat to her what he heard. However communicative John Jr. might be in other
+respects, she knew he would never discuss his heart-troubles with any one, so,
+upon second thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until they were alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward and &rsquo;Lena, however, needed watching, and by a little maneuvering,
+she managed to separate them, greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, who sat
+upon the sofa, one foot bent under her, and the other impatiently tapping the
+carpet. From the moment Durward took his seat by her cousin, she had appeared
+ill at ease, and as he began to understand her better, he readily guessed that
+her silent mood was owing chiefly to the attentions he paid to &rsquo;Lena, and
+not to a nervous headache, as she said, when her grandmother, inquiring the
+cause of her silence, remarked, that &ldquo;she&rsquo;d been chipper enough
+until Mr. Bellmont came in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he did not care. He admired &rsquo;Lena, and John Jr. like, it made but
+little difference with him who knew it. Carrie&rsquo;s freaks, which he plainly
+saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs. Livingstone he had no
+suspicion whatever. Consequently, when she sent &rsquo;Lena from the room on
+some trifling errand, herself appropriating the vacated seat, he saw in it no
+particular design, but in his usual pleasant way commenced talking with Carrie,
+who brightened up so much that grandma asked &ldquo;if her headache
+wasn&rsquo;t e&rsquo;en-a&rsquo;most well!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When &rsquo;Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise visit
+to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll invite Mr.
+Everett, and all go down. What do you say, girls?&rdquo; said he, turning
+toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning &rsquo;Lena quite as much as either of
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital,&rsquo; answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm
+instantly passing before her mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should like it very much,&rdquo; said Carrie, visions of a ride with
+Durward crossing her mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I too,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.&rsquo;s
+shoulder, as if he would of course be her escort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie&rsquo;s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly insolent
+tone, she said, &ldquo;How do you know you are included?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at
+Carrie&rsquo;s manner, prevented her by saying &ldquo;Of course I meant Miss
+Rivers, and I will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me,
+either on horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a very graceful manner &rsquo;Lena accepted the invitation saying that
+&ldquo;she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she
+usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in any other
+way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fleetfoot sold! what&rsquo;s that for?&rdquo; asked Anna; and her mother
+replied, &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve about forty horses on our hands now, and as
+Fleetfoot was seldom used by any one except &rsquo;Lena, your father thought we
+couldn&rsquo;t afford to keep him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever since the
+morning when &rsquo;Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward, Fleetfoot&rsquo;s fate
+had been decreed. Repeatedly had she urged the sale upon her husband, who,
+wearied with her importunity, at last consented, selling him to a neighboring
+planter, who had taken him away that very day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s smart,&rdquo; said John Jr. looking at his father, who had
+not spoken. &ldquo;What is &rsquo;Lena going to ride, I should like to
+know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her.
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered his father, compelled now to speak;
+&ldquo;plenty of feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled.
+Perhaps we&rsquo;ll get &rsquo;Lena a better and younger horse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat
+looking into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing
+around her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That reminds me of Christmas gifts,&rdquo; said Durward, anxious to
+change the conversation. &ldquo;I wonder how many of us will get one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the door, asking
+Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly, the superannuated
+negress, who will be remembered as having nursed Mrs. Nichols during her attack
+of rheumatism, and for whom grandma had conceived a strong affection. For many
+days she had been very ill, causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder &ldquo;what old
+niggers wanted to live for, bothering everybody to death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with her from
+Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but the root was there
+still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly&rsquo;s illness she had been
+revolving in her mind the momentous question, whether she would not be most
+guilty if Polly were suffered to die in bondage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I promised Nancy Scovandyke,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;that I&rsquo;d have
+some on &rsquo;em set free, but I&rsquo;ll be bound if &rsquo;taint harder work
+than I s&rsquo;posed &rsquo;twould be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Aunt Polly&rsquo;s freedom lay warm at grandma&rsquo;s heart and now when
+she was mentioned together with &ldquo;Christmas gifts,&rdquo; a bright idea
+entered her mind,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John,&rdquo; said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the
+medicine, &ldquo;John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since
+I&rsquo;ve been here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe not,&rdquo; was his answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall,&rdquo; continued grandma, &ldquo;bein&rsquo;s the fashion, I want
+you to give me somethin&rsquo; this Christmas, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;what is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then&mdash;she would wait
+until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here the conversation
+ended. Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling &rsquo;Lena he should call
+for her on Thursday.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a plaguy smart feller,&rdquo; said grandma, as the door
+closed upon him; &ldquo;and I kinder think he&rsquo;s got a notion after
+&rsquo;Leny.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ridiculous!&rdquo; muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added,
+&ldquo;Just reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shut up your head,&rdquo; growled John Jr. &ldquo;You are only angry
+because he asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself. I reckon he knows
+what he&rsquo;s about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon he does, too!&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar
+smile, which nettled &rsquo;Lena more than any open attack would have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the parlor,
+and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her opportunity for
+telling him what she had heard. Taking a light from the table, he was about
+retiring, when she said, &ldquo;I learned some news to-day which a little
+surprised me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,&rdquo; answered John, still
+advancing toward the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Partly from her, and partly from others,&rdquo; said his mother, adding,
+as she saw him touch the door-knob, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s about Nellie
+Douglass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he asked,
+&ldquo;What of her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone, &ldquo;only people in Frankfort think she&rsquo;s going to be
+married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I</i> think so, too,&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s mental reply, while his
+verbal one was, &ldquo;Married! To whom?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, she&rsquo;s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s
+party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, who they say is
+very attentive to Nellie. He came home with her from Madison, staying at her
+father&rsquo;s the rest of the week, and paying her numberless attentions,
+which&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I don&rsquo;t believe it</i>,&rdquo; interrupted John Jr., striking
+his fist upon the table, to which he had returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Neither did I, at first,&rdquo; said his mother, &ldquo;but I heard it
+in so many places that there must be something in it. And I&rsquo;m sure
+it&rsquo;s a good match. He is rich, and willing, they say, to help her father,
+who is in danger of failing any moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jealous, particularly
+of those whom he loved very much, and now suddenly remembering to have heard
+Nellie speak in high terms of Robert Wilbur, he began to feel uneasy, lest what
+his mother had said were true. She saw her advantage, and followed it up until,
+in a fit of anger, he rushed from the room and repaired to his own apartment,
+where for a time he walked backward and forward, chafing like a caged lion, and
+wishing all manner of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed false to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such a pitch, that he
+determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, to demand of Nellie if what he
+had heard were true! Upon cooler reflection, however, he concluded not to make
+a &ldquo;perfect fool of himself,&rdquo; and plunging into bed, he fell asleep,
+as what man will not be his trouble what it may.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/>
+CHRISTMAS GIFTS.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly dawned upon the earth,
+when from many a planter&rsquo;s home in the sunny south was heard the joyful
+cry of &ldquo;Christmas Gift,&rdquo; &ldquo;Christmas Gift,&rdquo; as the
+negroes ran over and against each other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came
+within hailing distance, when their loud &ldquo;Christmas Gift&rdquo; would
+make all echo again. On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was
+remembered, for Anna and &rsquo;Lena had worked both early and late in
+preparing some little present, and feeling amply compensated for their trouble,
+when they saw how much happiness it gave. Mabel, too, while she stayed, had
+lent a helping hand, and many a blessing was that morning invoked upon her head
+from the hearts made glad by her generous gifts. Carrie, when asked to join
+them, had turned scornfully away, saying &ldquo;she&rsquo;d plenty to do,
+without working for niggers; who could not appreciate it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine cambric
+handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, and which with a delicate
+note was, the evening previous, sent to Woodlawn, with instructions to have it
+placed next morning on Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s table. Of course Mrs. Graham felt in
+duty bound to return the compliment, and looking over her old jewelry, she
+selected a diamond ring which she had formerly worn, but which was now too
+small for her fat chubby fingers. This was immediately forwarded to Maple
+Grove, reaching there just as the family were rising from the breakfast-table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, isn&rsquo;t it beautiful&mdash;splendid&mdash;magnificent!&rdquo;
+were Carrie&rsquo;s exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s
+generosity, secretly wondering if &ldquo;Durward did not have something to do
+with it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On this point she was soon set right, for the young man himself erelong
+appeared, and after bidding them all a &ldquo;Merry Christmas,&rdquo; presented
+Anna with a package which, on being opened, proved to be a large and complete
+copy of Shakspeare, elegantly bound, and bearing upon its heavy golden clasp
+the words &ldquo;Anna Livingstone, from Durward,&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This you will please accept from me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Mother, I
+believe, has sent Carrie something, and if &rsquo;Lena will step to the door,
+she will see her gift from father, who hopes it will give her as much pleasure
+to accept it, as it does him to present it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can it be?&rdquo; thought Carrie, rising languidly from the sofa,
+and following &rsquo;Lena and her sister to the side door, where stood one of
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s servants, holding a beautiful gray pony, all nicely equipped
+for riding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never dreaming that this was intended for &rsquo;Lena, Carrie looked vacantly
+around, saying, &ldquo;Why, where is it? I don&rsquo;t see anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro&rsquo;s
+hand, and playfully throwing it across &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s neck, &ldquo;Here it
+is&mdash;this pony, which we call Vesta. Vesta, allow me to introduce you and
+your new mistress, Miss &rsquo;Lena, to each other,&rdquo; and catching her up,
+as if she had been a feather, he placed her in the saddle. Then, at a peculiar
+whistle, the well-trained animal started off upon an easy gallop, bearing its
+burden lightly around the yard, and back again to the piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you like her ?&rdquo; he asked of &rsquo;Lena, extending his arms to
+lift her down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment &rsquo;Lena could not speak, her heart was so full. But at last,
+forcing down her emotion, she replied, &ldquo;Oh, very, very much; but it
+isn&rsquo;t for me, I know&mdash;there must be some mistake. Mr. Graham never
+intended it for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, he did,&rdquo; answered Durward. &ldquo;He has intended it ever
+since the morning when you and I rode to Woodlawn. A remark which your cousin
+John made at the table, determined him upon him buying and training a pony for
+you. So here it is, and as I have done my share toward teaching her, you must
+grant me the favor of riding her to Frankfort day after to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, thank you&mdash;you and Mr. Graham too&mdash;a thousand
+times,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, winding her arms around the neck of the docile
+animal, who did her best to return the caress, rubbing her face against
+&rsquo;Lena, and evincing her gentleness in various ways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Mr. Livingstone had joined them, and while he was admiring the
+pony, Durward said to him, &ldquo;I am commissioned by my father to tell you
+that he will defray all the expense of keeping Vesta.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mention such a thing again,&rdquo; hastily interposed Mr.
+Livingstone. &ldquo;I can keep fifty horses, if I choose, and nothing will give
+me more pleasure than to take care of this one for &rsquo;Lena, who deserves it
+if any one does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my Christmas gift from you, uncle, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+asked &rsquo;Lena, the tears gushing from her shining, brown eyes. &ldquo;And
+now please may I return it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said he, and with a nimble spring she caught him
+around the neck, imprinting upon his lips the first and only kiss she had ever
+given him; then, amid blushes and tears, which came from a heart full of
+happiness, she ran away upstairs followed by the envious eyes of Carrie, who
+repaired to her mother&rsquo;s room, where she stated all that had
+transpired&mdash;&ldquo;How Mr. Graham had sent &rsquo;Lena a gray
+pony&mdash;how she had presumed to accept it&mdash;and how, just to show off
+before Mr. Bellmont, she had wound her arms around its neck, and then actually
+<i>kissed pa</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was equally indignant with her daughter, wondering if Mr.
+Graham had lost his reason, and reckoning his wife knew nothing about Vesta!
+But fret as she would, there was no help for it. Vesta belonged to
+&rsquo;Lena&mdash;Mr. Livingstone had given orders to have it well-cared
+for&mdash;and worse than all the rest, &rsquo;Lena was to accompany Durward to
+Frankfort. Something must be done to meet the emergency, but what, Mrs.
+Livingstone didn&rsquo;t exactly know, and finally concluded to wait until she
+saw Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised Christmas gift, which
+was nothing less than &ldquo;the freedom of old Aunt Polly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t refuse me, John, I know you won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said
+she, laying her bony hand on his. &ldquo;Polly&rsquo;s arnt her freedom forty
+times over, even s&rsquo;posin&rsquo; you&rsquo;d a right to her in the fust
+place which I and Nancy Scovandyke both doubt; so now set down like a man, make
+out her free papers, and let me carry &rsquo;em to her right away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without a word Mr. Livingstone complied with his mother&rsquo;s request,
+saying, as he handed her the paper, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not so much the fault of
+the south as of the north that every black under heaven is not free.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grandma looked aghast. Her son, born, brought up, and baptized in a purely
+orthodox atmosphere, to hold such treasonable opinions in opposition to
+everything he&rsquo;d ever been taught in good old Massachusetts! She was
+greatly shocked, but thinking she could not do the subject justice, she said,
+&ldquo;Wall, wall, it&rsquo;s of no use for you and I to arger the pint, for I
+don&rsquo;t know nothin&rsquo; what I want to say, but if Nancy Scovandyke was
+here, she&rsquo;d convince you quick, for she&rsquo;s good larnin&rsquo; as any
+of the gals nowadays.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, she walked away to Polly&rsquo;s cabin. The old negress was better
+to-day, and attired in the warm double-gown which Mabel had purchased and
+&rsquo;Lena had made, she sat up in a large, comfortable rocking-chair which
+John Jr. had given her at the commencement of her illness, saying it was
+&ldquo;his Christmas gift in advance.&rdquo; Going straight up to her, grandma
+laid the paper in her lap, bidding her &ldquo;read it and thank the
+Lord.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless missus&rsquo; dear old heart,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly, &ldquo;I
+can&rsquo;t read a word.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sure enough,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the paper she
+read it through, managing to make the old creature comprehend its meaning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Praise the Lord! praise Master John, and all the other apostles!&rdquo;
+exclaimed Aunt Polly, clasping together her black, wrinkled hands, while tears
+of joy coursed their way down her cheeks. &ldquo;The breath of liberty is
+sweet&mdash;sweet as sugar,&rdquo; she continued, drawing long inspirations as
+if to make up for lost time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having made her an humble
+instrument in contributing so much to another&rsquo;s happiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Set down,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly, motioning toward a wooden bottomed
+chair; &ldquo;set down, and let&rsquo;s us talk over this great meracle, which
+I&rsquo;ve prayed and rastled for mighty nigh a hundred times, without
+havin&rsquo; an atom of faith that &rsquo;twould ever be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Mrs. Nichols sat down, and for nearly an hour the old ladies talked, the one
+of her newly-found freedom, and the other of her happiness in knowing that
+&ldquo;&rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t for nothin&rsquo; she was turned out of her old
+home and brought away over land and sea to Kentucky.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/>
+FRANKFORT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Thursday morning came, bright, sunshiny and beautiful, and at about ten
+o&rsquo;clock &rsquo;Lena, dressed and ready for her ride, came down to the
+parlor, where she found John Jr. listlessly leaning upon the table with his
+elbows, and drumming with his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, cousin,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;why are you not ready?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ready for what?&rdquo; he answered, without raising his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, ready for our visit,&rdquo; replied Lena, at the same time
+advancing nearer, to see what ailed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the visit I make to-day won&rsquo;t hurt me, I reckon,&rdquo; said
+he; pushing his hat a little more to one side and looking up at &rsquo;Lena,
+who, in some surprise, asked what he meant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean what I say,&rdquo; was his ungracious answer; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+no intention whatever of going to Frankfort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not going?&rdquo; repeated &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;Why not? What will Carrie
+do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stick herself in with you and Durward, I suppose,&rdquo; said John Jr.,
+just as Carrie entered the room, together with Mr. Bellmont, Malcolm, and Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not going?&mdash;of course then I must stay at home, too,&rdquo; said
+Carrie, secretly pleased at her brother&rsquo;s decision.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why of course?&rdquo; asked Durward, who, in the emergency, felt
+constrained to offer his services to Carrie though he would greatly have
+preferred &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s company alone. &ldquo;The road is wide enough for
+three, and I am fully competent to take charge of two ladies. But why
+don&rsquo;t you go?&rdquo; turning to John Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because I don&rsquo;t wish to. If it was anywhere in creation but there,
+I&rsquo;d go,&rdquo; answered the young man; hastily leaving the room to avoid
+all further argument.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He does it just to be hateful and annoy me,&rdquo; said Carrie, trying
+to pout, but making a failure, for she had in reality much rather go under
+Durward&rsquo;s escort than her brother&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The horses were now announced as ready, and in a few moments the little party
+were on their way, Carrie affecting so much fear of her pony that Durward at
+last politely offered to lead him a while. This would of course bring him close
+to her side, and after a little well-feigned hesitation, she replied, &ldquo;I
+am sorry to trouble you, but if you would be so kind&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena saw through the ruse, and patting Vesta gently, rode on in advance,
+greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, and greatly to the chagrin of Durward,
+who replied to his loquacious companion only in monosyllables. Once, indeed,
+when she said something concerning &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s evident desire to show
+off her horsemanship, he answered rather coolly, that &ldquo;he&rsquo;d yet to
+discover in Miss Rivers the least propensity for display of any kind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve never lived with her,&rdquo; returned Carrie, and here the
+conversation concerning &rsquo;Lena ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Nellie Douglass was engaged in answering a letter that morning
+received from Mary Wilbur. A few years before, Mary had spent some months in
+Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s family, conceiving a strong affection for Nellie, whom she
+always called her sister, and with whom she kept up a regular correspondence.
+Mary was an orphan, living with her only brother Robert, who was a bachelor of
+thirty or thirty-five. Once she had ventured to hope that Nellie would indeed
+be to her a sister, but fate had decreed it otherwise, and her brother was
+engaged to a lady whom he found a school-girl in Montreal, and who was now at
+her own home in England. This was well-known to Nellie, but she did not deem it
+a matter of sufficient importance to discuss, so it was a secret in Frankfort,
+where Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s polite attentions to herself was a subject of
+considerable remark. For a long time Mary had been out of health, and the
+family physician at last said that nothing could save her except a sea voyage,
+and as her brother was about going to Europe to consummate his marriage, it was
+decided that she should accompany him. This she was willing to do, provided
+Nellie Douglass would go too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It would be much pleasanter,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;having some female
+companion besides her attendant, and then, too, Nellie had relatives in
+England;&rdquo; so she urged her to accompany them, offering to defray all
+expenses for the pleasure of her society.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since Nellie&rsquo;s earliest recollection, her fondest dreams had been of
+England, her mother&rsquo;s birthplace; and now when so favorable an
+opportunity for visiting it was presented, she felt strongly tempted to say
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; Still, she would give Mary no encouragement until she had
+seen her father and John Jr., the latter of whom would influence her decision
+quite as much as the former. But John Jr. no longer loved her&mdash;she was
+sure of that&mdash;and with her father&rsquo;s consent she had half determined
+to go. Still she was undecided, until a letter came from Mary, urging her to
+make up her mind without delay, as they were to sail the 15th of January.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Brother is so sensitive concerning his love affairs,&rdquo; wrote Mary,
+&ldquo;that whether you conclude to join us or not, you will please say nothing
+about his intended marriage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie had seated herself to answer this letter, when a servant came up, saying
+that &ldquo;Marster Bellmont, all the Livingstones, and a heap more were
+downstars, and had sent for her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was just writing, &ldquo;I will go,&rdquo; when this announcement came, and
+quickly suspending her pen, she thought, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s come, at last. It
+may all be a mistake. I&rsquo;ll wait.&rdquo; With a beating heart she
+descended to the parlor, where she politely greeted Mr. Everett and Durward,
+and then anxiously glanced around for the missing one. Mabel, who felt a
+similar disappointment, ventured to inquire for him, in a low tone, whereupon
+Carrie replied, loudly enough for Nellie to hear, &ldquo;Oh, pray don&rsquo;t
+speak of that bear. Why, you don&rsquo;t know how cross he&rsquo;s been ever
+since&mdash;let me see&mdash;ever since you came away. He doesn&rsquo;t say a
+civil word to anybody, and I really wish you&rsquo;d come back before he kills
+us all.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you invite him to come ?&rdquo; said Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be sure we did,&rdquo; answered Carrie, &ldquo;and he said,
+&lsquo;anywhere in creation but there.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie needed no further confirmation, and after conversing awhile with her
+guests, she begged leave to be excused for a few moments, while she finished a
+letter of importance, which must go out in the next mail. Alone in her room,
+she wavered, but the remembrance of the words, &ldquo;anywhere in creation but
+there,&rdquo; decided her, and with a firm hand she wrote to Mary that she
+would go. When the letter was finished and sent to the office, Nellie returned
+to her visitors, who began to rally her concerning the important letter which
+must be answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, coz,&rdquo; said Durward, pulling her down upon the sofa by his
+side, &ldquo;now, coz, I claim a right to know something about this letter. Was
+it one of acceptance or rejection?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Acceptance, of course,&rdquo; answered Nellie, who, knowing no good
+reason why her intended tour should be kept a secret, proceeded to speak of it,
+telling how they were to visit Scotland, France, Switzerland, and Italy, and
+almost forgetting, in her enthusiasm, how wretched the thought of the journey
+made her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And Miss Wilbur&rsquo;s brother is to be your escort&mdash;he is
+unmarried, I believe?&rdquo; said Durward, looking steadily upon the carpet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment Nellie would have told of his engagement, and the object of his
+going, but she remembered Mary&rsquo;s request in time, and the blush which the
+almost committed mistake called to her cheek, was construed by all into a
+confession that there was something between her and Mr. Wilbur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That accounts for John&rsquo;s sudden churlishness,&rdquo; thought
+&rsquo;Lena, wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I see it all,&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel. &ldquo;I understand now what
+has made Nellie so absent-minded and restless these many days. She was making
+up her mind to become Mrs. Wilbur, while I fancied she was offended with
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean,&rdquo; answered Nellie, without
+smiling in the least. &ldquo;Mary Wilbur wishes me to accompany her to Europe,
+and I intend doing so. Her brother is nothing to me, nor ever will be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite a probable story,&rdquo; thought Mr. Everett, without forming his
+reflections into words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toward the middle of the afternoon, a violent ringing of the door-bell, and a
+heavy tramp in the hall, announced some new arrival, and Nellie was about
+opening the parlor door, when who should appear but John Jr.! From his room he
+had watched the departure of the party, one moment wishing he was with them,
+and the next declaring he&rsquo;d never go to Frankfort again so long as he
+lived! At length inclination getting the ascendency of his reason, he mounted
+Firelock, and rushing furiously down the &rsquo;pike, never once slackened his
+speed until the city was in sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dare say she&rsquo;ll think me a fool,&rdquo; thought he,
+&ldquo;tagging her round, but she needn&rsquo;t worry. I only want to show her
+how little her pranks affect me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With these thoughts he could not fail to meet Nellie otherwise than coldly,
+while she received him with equal indifference, calling him Mr. Livingstone,
+and asking if he were cold, with other questions, such as any polite hostess
+would ask of her guest. But her accustomed smile and usual frankness of manner
+were gone, and while John Jr. felt it keenly, he strove under a mask of
+indifference, to conceal his chagrin. Mabel seemed delighted to see him, and
+for want of something better to do, he devoted himself to her, calling her Meb,
+and teasing her about her &ldquo;Indian locks,&rdquo; as he called her
+straight, black hair. Could he have seen the bitter tears which Nellie
+constantly forced back, as she moved carelessly among her guests, far different
+would have been his conduct. But he only felt that she had been untrue to him,
+and in his anger he was hardly conscious of what he was doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So when Mabel said to him, &ldquo;Nellie is going to Europe with Mr. Wilbur and
+Mary,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;Glad of it&mdash;hope
+she&rsquo;ll&rdquo;&mdash;be drowned, he thought&mdash;&ldquo;have a good
+time,&rdquo; he said&mdash;and Nellie, who heard all, never guessed how heavily
+the blow had fallen, or that the hand so suddenly placed against his heart, was
+laid there to still the wild throbbing which he feared she might hear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked when she was going,
+and how long she intended to be gone. &ldquo;What! so soon?&rdquo; said he,
+when told that she sailed the 15th of January, and other than that, not a word
+did he say to Nellie concerning her intended visit, until just before they left
+for home. Then for a moment he stood alone with her in the recess of a window.
+There was a film upon his eyes as he looked upon her, and thought it might be
+for the last time. There was anguish, too, in his heart, but it did not mingle
+in the tones of his voice, which was natural, and, perhaps, indifferent, as he
+said, &ldquo;Why do you go to Europe, Nellie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced up into his face,
+but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest they should betray themselves,
+were resting upon Mabel, who, on a stool across the room, was petting and
+caressing a kitten. &rsquo;Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie answered,
+&ldquo;Because I want to; what do you suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked away to where Mabel
+sat, and commenced teasing her and her kitten, while Nellie, maddened with
+herself, with him, with everybody, precipitately left the room, and going to
+her chamber hastily, and without a thought as to what she was doing, gathered
+together every little token which John Jr. had given her, together with his
+notes and letters, written in his own peculiar and scarcely legible hand. Tying
+them in a bundle, she wrote with unflinching nerve, &ldquo;Do thou
+likewise,&rdquo; and then descending to the hall, laid it upon the hat-stand,
+managing, as he was leaving, to place it unobserved in his hand. Instinctively
+he knew what it was, glanced at the three words written thereon, and in a cold,
+sneering voice, replied, &ldquo;I will, with pleasure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus they parted.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/>
+THE DEPARTURE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John, how would you like to take a trip to New York&mdash;the city, I
+mean?&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks
+following the events narrated in the last chapter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well enough&mdash;why do you ask?&rdquo; answered John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; said his father, &ldquo;I have to-day received a letter
+which makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are
+fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You had better start
+immediately&mdash;say to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. started from his chair. To-morrow she left her home&mdash;the 15th she
+sailed. He might see her again, though at a distance, for she should never know
+he followed her! Since that night in Frankfort he had not looked upon her face,
+but he had kept his promise, returning to her everything&mdash;everything
+except a withered rose-bud, which years before, when but a boy, he had twined
+among the heavy braids of her hair, and which she had given back to him,
+playfully fastening it in the button-hole of his roundabout! How well he
+remembered that day. She was a little romping girl, teasing him unmercifully
+about his <i>flat feet</i> and <i>big hands</i>, chiding him for his <i>negro
+slang</i>, as she termed his favorite expressions, and with whatever else she
+did, weaving her image into his heart&rsquo;s best and noblest affections,
+until he seemed to live only for her, But now &rsquo;twas
+changed&mdash;terribly changed. She was no longer &ldquo;his Nellie,&rdquo; the
+Nellie of his boyhood&rsquo;s love; and with a muttered curse and a tear,
+large, round, and hot, such as only John Jr. could shed, he sent her back every
+memento of the past, all save that rose-bud, with which he could not part, it
+seemed so like his early hopes&mdash;withered and dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box containing the
+treasures was handed her. Again and again she examined to see if there were not
+one farewell word, but there was nothing save, &ldquo;Here endeth the first
+lesson!&rdquo; followed by two exclamation points, which John Jr. had dashed
+off at random. Every article seemed familiar to her as she looked them over,
+and everything was there but one&mdash;she missed the rose-bud&mdash;and she
+wondered at the omission for she knew he had it in his possession. He had told
+her so not three months before. Why, then, did he not return it? Was it a
+lingering affection for her which prompted the detention? Perhaps so, and down
+in Nellie&rsquo;s heart was one warm, bright spot, the memory of that bud,
+which grew green and fresh again, as on the day when first it was torn from its
+parent stem.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it was first known at Maple Grove, that Nellie was going to Europe, Mrs.
+Livingstone, who saw in the future the full consummation of her plans, proposed
+that Mabel should spend the period of Nellie&rsquo;s absence with her. But to
+this Mr. Douglass would not consent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He could not part with both his daughters,&rdquo; he said, and Mabel
+decided to remain, stipulating that &rsquo;Lena, of whom she was very fond,
+should pass a portion of the time with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the time, if she chooses,&rdquo; said Mr. Douglass, who also liked
+&rsquo;Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately proposed that she
+should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont, who had recently come to the
+city, and who was said to be a superior teacher. &ldquo;She is fond of
+music,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and has always wanted to learn, but that aunt of
+hers never seemed willing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she can use
+my piano all the time if she chooses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital!&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she would pay
+the bills, and how much she would assist &rsquo;Lena, for Mabel was an
+excellent musician, singing and playing admirably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When this plan was proposed to &rsquo;Lena, she objected, for two reasons. The
+first, that she could not leave her grandmother, and second, that much as she
+desired the lessons, she would not suffer Mabel to pay for them, and she had no
+means of her own. On the first point she began to waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who
+was in unusually good health, insisted upon her going.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will do you a sight of good,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and
+there&rsquo;s no kind of use why you should stay hived up with me. I&rsquo;d as
+lief be left alone as not, and I shall take comfort thinkin&rsquo; you&rsquo;re
+larnin&rsquo; to play the pianner, for I&rsquo;ve allus wondered &rsquo;Tildy
+didn&rsquo;t set you at Car&rsquo;line&rsquo;s. So, go,&rdquo; the old lady
+continued, whispering in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s ear, &ldquo;Go, and mebby some day
+you&rsquo;ll be a music teacher, and take care of us both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, &rsquo;Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, after a
+moment&rsquo;s thought, exclaimed, &ldquo;Why, I can teach you myself! I should
+love to dearly. It will be something to occupy my mind; and my instructors have
+frequently said that I was capable of teaching advanced pupils, if I chose.
+You&rsquo;ll go now, I know&rdquo;&mdash;and Mabel plead her cause so well,
+that &rsquo;Lena finally consented, saying she should come home once a week to
+see her grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A grand arrangement, I must confess,&rdquo; said Carrie, when she heard
+of it. &ldquo;I should think she sponged enough from her connections, without
+living on other folks, and poor ones, too, like Mr. Douglass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How ridiculous you talk,&rdquo; said John Jr., who was present.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d be perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham&rsquo;s,
+or Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s either, if he had a son whom you considered an eligible
+match. Then as to his being so poor, that&rsquo;s one of Mother Atkins&rsquo;
+yarns, and she knows everybody&rsquo;s history, from Noah down to the present
+day. For &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s sake I am glad to have her go, though heaven knows
+what I shall do without her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone, too, was secretly pleased, for she would thus be more out of
+Durward&rsquo;s way, and the good lady was again becoming somewhat suspicious.
+So when her husband objected, saying &rsquo;Lena could take lessons at home if
+she liked, she quietly overruled him, giving many good reasons why &rsquo;Lena
+should go, and finally saying that if Mrs. Nichols was very lonely without her,
+she might spend her evenings in the parlor when there was no company present!
+So it was decided that &rsquo;Lena should go, and highly pleased with the
+result of their call, Mr. Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her journey. Mr. Wilbur
+had arrived the night before, together with his sister, whose marble cheek and
+lusterless eye even then foretold the lonely grave which awaited her far away
+&rsquo;neath a foreign sky. Durward and Mr. Douglass accompanied them as far as
+Cincinnati, where they took the cars for Buffalo. Just before it rolled from
+the depot, a young man closely muffled, who had been watching our party, sprang
+into a car just in the rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first
+vacant seat, abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have been very
+absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded the call of
+&ldquo;Your ticket, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellie&rsquo;s tears
+were dropping. They had gushed forth when she saw the quivering chin and
+trembling lips of her gray-haired father, as he bade his only child good-bye,
+and now that he was gone, she wept on, never heeding her young friend, who
+strove in vain to call her attention to the fast receding hills of Kentucky,
+which she&mdash;Mary&mdash;was leaving forever. Other thoughts than those of
+her father mingled with Nellie&rsquo;s tears, for she could not forget John
+Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last that he would come to say farewell. But
+he did not. They had parted in coldness, if not in anger, and she might never
+see him again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass; I cannot suffer you to be so sad,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and thoughtlessly throwing his arm
+across the back of the seat, while at the same time he bent playfully forward
+to peep under her bonnet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she did not observe the
+flashing eyes which watched her through the window at the rear of the car.
+Always restless and impatient of confinement, John Jr. had come out for a
+moment upon the platform, ostensibly to take the air, but really to see if it
+were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie. She was sitting not far from the
+door, and he looked in, just in time to witness Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s action,
+which he of course construed just as his jealousy dictated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confounded fool!&rdquo; thought he. &ldquo;<i>I</i> wouldn&rsquo;t hug
+Nellie in the cars in good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And returning to his seat; he wondered which was the silliest, &ldquo;for
+Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run after her. Six of one
+and half a dozen of the other, I reckon,&rdquo; said he; at the same time
+wrapping himself in his shawl, he feigned sleep at every station, for the sake
+of retaining his entire seat, and sometimes if the crowd was great, going so
+far as to snore loudly!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting the close espionage
+kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the night, at a crowded depot, passed so
+closely to her that he felt her warm breath on his cheek. And when, on the
+morning of the 15th, she sailed, she little thought who it was that followed
+her down to the water&rsquo;s edge, standing on the last spot where she had
+stood, and watching with a swelling heart the vessel which bore her away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m nothing better than a walking dead man, now,&rdquo; said he,
+as he, retraced his steps back to his hotel. &ldquo;Nellie&rsquo;s gone, and
+with her all for which I lived, for she&rsquo;s the only girl except
+&rsquo;Lena who isn&rsquo;t a libel on the sex&mdash;or,
+yes&mdash;there&rsquo;s Anna&mdash;does as well as she knows how&mdash;and
+there&rsquo;s Mabel, a little simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and
+good-natured, and on the whole, as smart as they&rsquo;ll average. &rsquo;Twas
+kind in her, anyway, to offer to pay &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s music bills.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men whom he had come to
+see, transacted his business, and then started for home, where he found his
+mother in unusually good spirits. Matters thus far had succeeded even beyond
+her most sanguine expectations. Nellie was gone to Europe, and the rest she
+fancied would be easy. &rsquo;Lena, too, was gone, but the result of this was
+not what she had hoped. Durward had been at Maple Grove but once since
+&rsquo;Lena left, while she had heard of his being in Frankfort several times.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something must be done&rdquo;&mdash;her favorite expression and in her
+difficulty she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, whom she had not seen since
+Christmas. &ldquo;It is quite time she knew about the gray pony, as well as
+other matters,&rdquo; thought she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one
+morning for Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its mistress
+amiably disposed, which was not always the case.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/>
+THE VISIT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham reclined upon a softly-cushioned sofa, her tasteful lace
+morning-cap half falling from her head, and her rich cashmere gown flowing
+open, so as to reveal the flounced cambric skirt which her sewing-girl had sat
+up till midnight to finish. A pair of delicate French slippers pinched rather
+than graced her fat feet, one of which angrily beat the carpet, as if keeping
+time to its mistress&rsquo; thoughts. Nervous and uncomfortable was the lady of
+Woodlawn this morning, for she had just passed through a little conjugal scene
+with her husband, whom she had called a <i>brute</i>, lamenting the
+dispensation of Providence which took from her &ldquo;her beloved Sir Arthur,
+who always thought whatever she said was right,&rdquo; and ending by throwing
+herself in the most theatrical manner upon the sofa in the parlor, where, with
+both her blood and temper at a boiling heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid,
+but recently purchased, announced the approach of a carriage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mercy,&rdquo; exclaimed the distressed lady, &ldquo;whose is it? I hope
+no one will ask for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Reckon how it&rsquo;s Marster Livingstone&rsquo;s carriage, &rsquo;case
+thar&rsquo;s Tom on the box,&rdquo; answered the girl, who had her own private
+reason for knowing Tom at any distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Livingstone, I&rsquo;ll venture to say,&rdquo; groaned Mrs. Graham,
+burying her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the silken cushions.
+&ldquo;Just because I stopped there a few days last summer, she thinks she must
+run here every week; and there&rsquo;s no way of escaping her. Do shut that
+blind; it lets in so much light. There, would you think I&rsquo;d been
+crying?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lor, no,&rdquo; returned the stupid servant, &ldquo;Lor, no; I should
+sooner think your eyes and face were swelled with <i>pisen</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord help me,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Graham, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t
+begin to know as much as poor Charlotte did. She was a jewel, and I don&rsquo;t
+see anything what she wanted to die for, just as I had got her well trained;
+but that&rsquo;s all the thanks I ever get for my goodness. Now go quick, and
+tell her I&rsquo;ve got an excruciating headache.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, miss,&rdquo; said the girl, trying in vain to master the
+big word, &ldquo;if you please, give me somethin&rsquo; shorter, &rsquo;case I
+done forgit that ar, sartin&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fool! Idiot!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for want of
+something better, one of her satin slippers at the woolly head, which dodged
+out of the door in time to avoid it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is your mistress at home?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Martha,
+uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, &ldquo;Yes&mdash;no&mdash;I dun
+know, &rsquo;case she done driv me out afore I know&rsquo;d whether she was at
+home or not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Martha, show the lady this way,&rdquo; called out Mrs. Graham, who was
+listening. &ldquo;Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it you. I&rsquo;m glad to see
+you,&rdquo; said she, half rising and shading her swollen eyes with her hand,
+as if the least effort were painful. &ldquo;You must excuse my dishabille, for
+I am suffering from a bad headache, and when Martha said some one had come, I
+thought at first I could not see them, but you are always welcome. How have you
+been this long time, and why have you neglected me so, when you know how I must
+feel the change from Louisville, where I was constantly in society, to this
+dreary neighborhood?&rdquo; and the lady lay back upon the sofa, exhausted with
+and astonished at her own eloquence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was quite delighted with her friend&rsquo;s unusual
+cordiality, and seating herself in the large easy-chair, began to make herself
+very agreeable, offering to bathe Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s aching head, which kind
+offer the lady declined, bethinking herself of sundry gray hairs, which a close
+inspection would single out from among her flaxen tresses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are your family all well?&rdquo; she asked; to which Mrs. Livingstone
+replied that they were, at the same time speaking of her extreme loneliness
+since Mabel left them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you mean the little dark-eyed brunette, whom I saw with you at my
+party. She was a nice-looking girl&mdash;showed that she came of a good family.
+I think everything of that. I believe I&rsquo;d rather Durward would marry a
+poor aristocrat, than a wealthy plebeian&mdash;one whose family were low and
+obscure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone wondered what she thought of her family, the Livingstones. The
+Richards&rsquo; blood she knew was good, but the Nichols&rsquo; was rather
+doubtful. Still, she would for once make the best of it, so she hastened to say
+that few American ladies were so fortunate as Mrs. Graham had been in marrying
+a noble man. &ldquo;In this country we have no nobility, you know,&rdquo; said
+she, &ldquo;and any one who gets rich and into good society, is classed with
+the first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, &ldquo;but in my mind
+there&rsquo;s a great difference. Now, Mr. Graham&rsquo;s ancestors boast of
+the best blood of South Carolina, while my family, everybody knows, was one of
+the first in Virginia, so if Durward had been Mr. Graham&rsquo;s son instead of
+Sir Arthur&rsquo;s, I should be just as proud of him, just as particular whom
+he married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone, a little piqued, for there
+was something in Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s manner which annoyed
+her&mdash;&ldquo;certainly&mdash;I understand you. I neither married a
+nobleman, nor one of the best bloods of South Carolina, and still I should not
+be willing for my son to marry&mdash;let me see&mdash;well, say &rsquo;Lena
+Rivers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers !&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Graham&mdash;&ldquo;why, I
+would not suffer Durward to look at her, if I could help it. She&rsquo;s of a
+horridly low family on both sides, as I am told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a home thrust which Mrs. Livingstone could not endure quietly, and as
+she had no wish to defend the royalty of a family which she herself despised,
+she determined to avenge the insult by making her companion as uncomfortable as
+possible. So she said, &ldquo;Perhaps you are not aware that your son&rsquo;s
+attentions to this same &rsquo;Lena Rivers, are becoming somewhat
+marked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I was not aware of it,&rdquo; and the greenish-gray eyes fastened
+inquiringly upon Mrs. Livingstone, who continued: &ldquo;It is nevertheless
+true, and as I can appreciate your feelings, I thought it might not be out of
+place for me to warn you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself upon her
+elbow, &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;-but do you know anything positive? What has
+Durward done?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena is in Frankfort now, at Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s,&rdquo;
+answered Mrs. Livingstone, &ldquo;and your son is in the constant habit of
+visiting there; besides that, he invited her to ride with him when they all
+went to Frankfort&mdash;&rsquo;Lena upon the gray pony which your husband gave
+her as a Christmas present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone had touched the right spot. &rsquo;Twas the first intimation
+of Vesta which Mrs. Graham had received, and now sitting bolt upright, she
+demanded what Mrs. Livingstone meant. &ldquo;My husband give &rsquo;Lena Rivers
+a pony! Harry Graham do such a thing! It can&rsquo;t be possible. There must be
+some mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think not,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;Your son came over
+with it, saying &lsquo;it was a present from his father, who sent it, together
+with his compliments.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, groaning, and pronouncing
+herself wholly heart-broken. &ldquo;I knew he was bad,&rdquo; said she,
+&ldquo;but I never dreamed it had come to this. And I might have known it, too,
+for from the moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a crazy creature.
+Talks about her in his sleep&mdash;wants me to adopt her&mdash;keeps his eyes
+on her every minute when he&rsquo;s where she is; and to crown all, without
+consulting me, his lawful wife, he has made her a present, which must have cost
+more than a hundred dollars! And she accepted it&mdash;the vixen!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the worst feature in the case,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone. &ldquo;I have always been suspicious of &rsquo;Lena, knowing what
+her mother was, but I must confess I did not think her quite so presumptuous as
+to accept so costly a present from a gentleman, and a married one, too. But she
+has a peculiar way of making them think what she does is right, and neither my
+husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keeping Vesta. Carrie
+wouldn&rsquo;t have done such a thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed she wouldn&rsquo;t. She is too well-bred for that,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Graham, who had been completely won by Carrie&rsquo;s soft speeches and
+fawning manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, who straightway
+proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by pulling &rsquo;Lena down.
+Accordingly, every little thing which she could remember, and many which she
+could not, were told in an aggravated manner, until quite a case was made out,
+and &rsquo;Lena would never have recognized herself in the artful, designing
+creature which her aunt kindly pictured her to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;if you ever repeat this, you will not
+use my name, for as she is my husband&rsquo;s niece it will not look well in me
+to be proclaiming her vices, except in cases where I think it my duty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own reflections to make a reply, and
+as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her company was hardly desired, she soon arose to
+go, asking Mrs. Graham &ldquo;why she did not oftener visit Maple Grove.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make others so, too, and to
+her friend&rsquo;s question she answered, &ldquo;I may as well be plain as not,
+and to tell you the truth, I should enjoy visiting you very much, were it not
+for one thing. That mother of yours&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of my husband&rsquo;s,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs.
+Graham continued just where she left off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a resemblance to some
+down-east creature or other&mdash;what is her
+name&mdash;Sco&mdash;Sco&mdash;Scovandyke; yes, that&rsquo;s
+it&mdash;Scovandyke. Of course it&rsquo;s not pleasant for me to be told every
+time I meet your mother&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s mother,&rdquo; again interrupted the lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that families
+of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly, certainly,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that
+&ldquo;she was herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;s vulgarity,
+but her husband insisted that she should come to the table, so what could she
+do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about her
+husband&rsquo;s mother, the two amiable ladies parted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham entered the room, finding
+his wife, who had heard his footsteps, in violent hysterics. He had seen her so
+too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the bellrope, when she found
+voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself who was killing her by inches,
+and that the sooner she was dead, the better she supposed he would like it.
+&ldquo;But, for my sake,&rdquo; she added, in a kind of howl, between crying
+and scolding, &ldquo;do try to behave yourself during the short time I have to
+live, and not go to giving away ponies, and mercy knows what.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except through
+the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked him, he was at a
+great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all became plain, and on the
+whole, he felt glad that the worst was over. He would not acknowledge, even to
+himself, that he was afraid of his wife, still he had a little rather she would
+not always know what he did. He supposed, as a matter of course, that she
+would, earlier or later, hear of his present to &rsquo;Lena, and he well knew
+that such an event would surely be followed by a storm, but after what had
+taken place between them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for
+he had thought her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable of great
+things&mdash;as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband with his
+preference for &rsquo;Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did
+herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say,&rdquo; she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a
+slipper), &ldquo;say&mdash;I will be answered. Don&rsquo;t you like &rsquo;Lena
+better than you do me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated question,
+he at length replied, &ldquo;God knows I&rsquo;ve far more reason to love her
+than I have you.&rdquo; At the same moment he left the room, in time to avoid a
+sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who did not expect
+such an answer, had fallen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?&rdquo; he thought, as he wiped the
+drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of his
+spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew calmer, and
+cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what he was) whispered,
+&ldquo;Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking how his
+conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him far than his own
+life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his wife lay upon her sofa,
+Durward entered the parlor and began good-humoredly to rally his mother upon
+her wobegone face, asking what was the matter now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you poor boy, you,&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll soon have
+no mother to go to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather,
+who alone will be to blame for making you an orphan!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too, and while
+he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of which he was
+becoming weary. He knew there had been a jar in the morning, but he had
+supposed that settled, and now, when he found his mother ten times worse than
+ever, he felt half vexed, and said, &ldquo;Do be a woman mother, and not give
+way to such fancies. I really wonder father shows as much patience with you as
+he does, for you make our home very unpleasant; and really,&rdquo; he
+continued, in a laughing tone, &ldquo;if this goes on much longer, I shall, in
+self-defense, get me a wife and home of my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if report is true, that wife will be &rsquo;Lena Rivers,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Graham, in order to try him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely&mdash;I can&rsquo;t tell what may be,&rdquo; was his answer;
+to which Mrs. Graham replied, &ldquo;that it would be extremely pleasant to
+marry a bride with whom one&rsquo;s father was in love.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How ridiculous!&rdquo; Durward exclaimed. &ldquo;As though my father
+cared aught for &rsquo;Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable
+manners.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, he&rsquo;s acknowledged it. He&rsquo;s just told me, &lsquo;God
+knew he loved her better than he did me.&rsquo; What do you think of
+that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did Mr. Graham say that?&rdquo; asked Durward, looking his mother
+directly in her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it&rsquo;s not a
+secret either. Others know it and talk about it. Think of his giving her that
+pony.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the circumstances, he felt
+deeply pained at his father&rsquo;s remark. He had always supposed he liked
+&rsquo;Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his own
+wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life Durward
+distrusted his father. Still, &rsquo;Lena was not to blame; there was comfort
+in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side, admiring her more
+and more, and learning each time he saw her to love her better. And
+she&mdash;she dared not confess to herself how dear he was to her&mdash;she
+dared not hope her affection was returned. She could not think of the
+disappointment the future might bring, so she lived on the present, waiting
+anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the things which she thought
+would please him best.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon the
+piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who should walk
+in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying &ldquo;he had been hired by von
+nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in musique.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her sharing
+in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was overruled by his
+wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas my uncle, was it not?&rdquo; she asked of Du Pont, who
+replied, &ldquo;I promised not to tell. He say, though, he connected with
+mademoiselle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And &rsquo;Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his
+wife&rsquo;s account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du Pont
+as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her willingness to assist
+her whenever it was necessary. Naturally fond of music, &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified Durward appeared, she
+redoubled her exertions, practicing always five, and sometimes six hours a day.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/>
+A FATHER&rsquo;S LOVE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+When it was known at Maple Grove that &rsquo;Lena was taking lessons of Du
+Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first proposed, paid the
+bills.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mighty kind in her, and no mistake,&rdquo; said John Jr., throwing aside
+the stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to himself that
+&ldquo;Mabel was a nice girl, after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he suddenly
+wondered why he had never thought to call upon &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;To be sure,
+I&rsquo;ll feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know she is not
+there, but it&rsquo;s lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I&rsquo;m bound to
+do something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no regrets from his
+mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had been intolerably cross and
+fault-finding. He found a servant in the door, so he was saved the trouble of
+ringing, and entering unannounced, walked noiselessly to the parlor-door, which
+was ajar. &rsquo;Lena, as usual, sat at the piano, wholly absorbed, while over
+her bent Mabel, who was assisting her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly,
+and patiently helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel&rsquo;s
+health was improved since first we saw her, and though she was still
+plain&mdash;ugly, many would say&mdash;there was something pleasing in her
+face, and in the expression of her black, eyes, which looked down so kindly
+upon &rsquo;Lena. John Jr. noticed it, and never before had Mabel appeared to
+so good advantage to him as she did at that moment, as he watched her through
+the open door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, &rsquo;Lena said, &ldquo;I know
+I should never learn if it were not for you,&rdquo; at the same time winding
+her arm about Mabel&rsquo;s neck and kissing her glowing cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me have a share of that,&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward
+and clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a gay laugh they shook him off, and &rsquo;Lena, leading him to the sofa,
+sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and her grandmother.
+John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed to ask if there had come any
+tidings of the absent one; but he would not&mdash;she had left him of her own
+accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for her. So he sat gazing dreamily
+upon her piano, the chair she used to occupy and the books she used to read,
+until &rsquo;Lena, either divining his thoughts, or fancying he would wish to
+know, said, &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve not heard from Nellie since she left us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t expect to, so soon, I suppose,&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s
+indifferent reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they&rsquo;d
+taken a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could have
+with Nellie, looking out upon the sea,&rdquo; was John&rsquo;s answer, while
+Mabel quickly rejoined, that &ldquo;he had chosen a sailing vessel solely on
+Mary&rsquo;s account.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment after,
+Durward was ushered into the parlor. &ldquo;He was in town on business,&rdquo;
+he said, &ldquo;and thought he would call.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time admitting
+Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also found it convenient
+to call. Involuntarily Durward glanced toward &rsquo;Lena, but her face was as
+calm and unruffled as if the visitor had been her uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right there,&rdquo; thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her,
+he fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat disconcerted when
+he saw him there. Mentally blaming himself for the distrust which he felt
+rising within him, he still determined to watch, and judge for himself how far
+his mother&rsquo;s suspicions were correct. Taking up a book which lay near, he
+pretended to be reading, while all the time his thoughts were elsewhere. It was
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont came in, appearing both
+pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you don&rsquo;t expect me to expose my ignorance before all these
+people,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose we adjourn to another room,&rdquo; said Mabel, leading the way
+and followed by John Jr. only.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on observing
+that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed his seat and book,
+poring over the latter as intently as if it had not been wrong side up!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does monsieur incline to stay,&rdquo; asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took
+his station at the end of the piano.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; answered Mr. Graham, &ldquo;unless Miss Rivers insists
+upon my leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much interest
+I take in her progress.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed upon
+&rsquo;Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his book was
+watching him. Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all seemed mingled in
+the expression of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt that there was a
+something which he could not fathom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never knew he was so fond of music,&rdquo; thought he&mdash;&ldquo;I
+mean to put him to the test.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was an
+excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best
+pieces&mdash;&ldquo;something lively and new which will wake us up,&rdquo; said
+he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she was
+habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking her seat at the
+piano, she brought out sounds far different from those of a new performer. But
+Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes and ears being alone for
+&rsquo;Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced talking to her in an
+undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else around him, and it was not
+until Durward twice asked how he liked Mabel&rsquo;s playing, that he heard a
+note. Then, starting up and going toward the instrument, he said, &ldquo;Ah,
+yes, that was a fine march, (&rsquo;twas the &lsquo;Rainbow Schottish,&rsquo;
+then new,) please repeat it, or something just like it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off into a
+spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr. Graham, who seemed
+in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece of white paper which lay upon
+the piano, and of which Durward managed to get possession, finding thereon the
+name, &ldquo;Helena Nichols,&rdquo; to which was added that of
+&ldquo;Rivers,&rdquo; the Nichols being crossed out. It would seem as if both
+father and son were determined each to outstay the other, for hour after hour
+went by and neither spoke of leaving, although John Jr. had been gone some
+time. At last, as the sun was setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his
+father contemplated spending the night; &ldquo;and if so,&rdquo; said he, with
+a meaning in his manner, &ldquo;where shall I tell my mother I left you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to start,
+adding, that &ldquo;he could not find it in his heart to tear him away from two
+so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the weakness of his own
+youth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In your second youth, now, I fancy,&rdquo; thought Durward, watching him
+as he bade &rsquo;Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much
+longer he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does she see as I do, or not?&rdquo; thought he, as he took the hand his
+father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes, which returned
+his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a little child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right here,&rdquo; again thought Durward, slightly pressing the
+soft, warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw how
+quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+ * * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Durward,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city,
+&ldquo;I have a request to make of you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham again
+spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know your mother as well as I do&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; &ldquo;You know how groundlessly
+jealous she is of me&mdash;and it may be just as well for her not to know
+that&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as well for her not to know that you&rsquo;ve spent the afternoon
+with &rsquo;Lena Rivers; is that it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it&mdash;yes&mdash;yes&rdquo;&mdash;answered Mr. Graham,
+adding, ere Durward had time to utter the angry words which he felt rising
+within him, &ldquo;I wish you&rsquo;d marry &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was so sudden&mdash;so different from anything which Durward had expected,
+that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little time ere he
+answered,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps I shall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you would,&rdquo; continued Mr. Graham, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d
+willingly give every dollar I&rsquo;m worth for the privilege of calling her my
+daughter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If his father had an undue
+regard for &rsquo;Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife of another, and
+that other his son? Was it his better and nobler nature struggling to save her
+from evil, which prompted the wish? Durward hoped so&mdash;he believed so; and
+the confidence which had so recently been shaken was fully restored, when, by
+the light of the hall lamp at home, he saw how white and almost ghostly was the
+face which, ere they entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him,
+asking him &ldquo;to be careful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s call, and now, though she had not seen her husband for
+several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head, meantime, and
+replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a much-injured-woman way, as
+provoking as it was uncalled for.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+ * * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father&rsquo;s suggestion was a good one,&rdquo; thought Durward, when
+he had retired to rest. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the
+world. I will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of
+danger.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there to Woodlawn, where
+scarcely a day passed without some domestic storm? No, his home should be full
+of sunlight, of music and flowers, where no angry word or darkening frown could
+ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a blissful future, when &rsquo;Lena
+should be his bride, he fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/>
+JOEL SLOCUM.</h2>
+
+<p>
+In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an individual who,
+though not a very important personage, is still in some degree connected with
+our story. On the night when Durward and his father were riding home from
+Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the exception of grandma, were as
+usual assembled in the parlor. John Jr. had returned, and purposely telling his
+mother and Carrie whom he had left with &rsquo;Lena, had succeeded in putting
+them both into an uncomfortable humor, the latter secretly lamenting the
+mistake which she had committed in suffering &rsquo;Lena to stay with Mabel.
+But it could not be remedied now. There was no good reason for calling her
+home, and the lady broke at least three cambric-needles in her vigorous jerks
+at the handkerchief she was hemming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and Carrie straightened
+up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, who had called on his way home, but
+the voice was strange, and rather impatiently she waited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?&rdquo; asked the stranger of the
+negro who answered the summons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young man to
+walk in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, guess I will,&rdquo; said he, advancing a few steps toward the
+parlor door. Then suddenly halting, he added, more to himself than to the
+negro, &ldquo;Darned if I don&rsquo;t go the hull figger, and send in my card
+as they do to Boston.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and bending his knee for a
+table, he wrote with sundry nourishes, &ldquo;Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq.,
+Slocumville, Massachusetts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, hand that to your <i>boss</i>,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and tell
+him I&rsquo;m out in the entry.&rdquo; At the same time he stepped before the
+hat-stand, rubbing up his oily hair, and thinking &ldquo;Mr. Joel Slocum would
+make an impression anywhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it, Ben ?&rdquo; whispered Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dunno, miss,&rdquo; said the negro, passing the card to his master, and
+waiting in silence for his orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,&rdquo; slowly read
+Mr. Livingstone, wondering where he had heard that name before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their mother
+looked wonderingly up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly John Jr. remembered &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s love-letter, and anticipating
+fun, exclaimed, &ldquo;Show him in, Ben&mdash;show him in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him more fully to our readers,
+promising that the picture is not overdrawn, but such as we saw it in our
+native state. Joel belonged to that extreme class of Yankees with which we
+sometimes, though not often meet. Brought up among the New England mountains,
+he was almost wholly ignorant of what really belonged to good manners, fancying
+that he knew everything, and sneering at those of his acquaintance who, being
+of a more quiet turn of mind, were content to settle down in the home of their
+fathers, caring little or nothing for the world without. But as for him,
+&ldquo;he was bound,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to see the elephant, and if his
+brothers were green enough to stay tied to their mother&rsquo;s apron strings,
+they might do it, but he wouldn&rsquo;t. No, <i>sir</i>! he was going to make
+something of himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To effect this, about two years before the time of which we are speaking, he
+went to Boston to learn the art of daguerreotype-taking, in which he really did
+seem to excel, returning home with some money, a great deal of vanity, and a
+strong propensity to boast of what he had seen. Recollections of &rsquo;Lena,
+his early, and, as he sentimentally expressed it, &ldquo;his undying,
+all-enduring&rdquo; love, still haunted him, and at last he determined upon a
+tour to Kentucky, purchasing for the occasion a rather fantastic suit,
+consisting of greenish pants, blue coat, red vest, and yellow
+neck-handkerchief. These he laid carefully by in his trunk until he reached
+Lexington, where he intended stopping for a time, hanging out a naming sign,
+which announced his presence and capabilities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to impress its inhabitants
+with a sense of his consequence, and mentally styling them all &ldquo;Know
+Nothings,&rdquo; be-cause they did not seem to be more affected, he one
+afternoon donned his best suit, and started for Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s,
+thinking he should create a sensation there, for wasn&rsquo;t he as good as
+anybody? Didn&rsquo;t he learn his trade in Boston, the very center and source
+of all the <i>isms</i> of the day, and ought not Mr. Livingstone to feel proud
+of such a guest, and wouldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena stare when she saw him so much
+improved from what he was when they picked <i>checkerberries</i> together?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at all probable that he
+felt any misgivings when Ben ushered him at once into the presence of Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s family, who stared at him in unfeigned astonishment.
+Nothing daunted, he went through with the five changes of a bow, which he had
+learned at a dancing-school, bringing himself up finally in front of Mr.
+Livingstone, and exclaiming,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How-dy-do?&mdash;Mr. Livingstone, I s&rsquo;pose, it comes more natural
+to say cousin John, I&rsquo;ve heard Miss Nichols and Aunt Nancy talk of you
+since I was knee high, and seems as how you must be related. How is the old
+lady, and Helleny, too? I don&rsquo;t see &rsquo;em here, though I thought, at
+fust, this might be her,&rdquo; nodding to Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had strong intentions of
+ordering the intruder from the room, but John Jr. had no such idea. He liked
+the fun, and now coming forward, said, &ldquo;Mr. Slocum, as your card
+indicates, allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my mother&mdash;and
+sisters,&rdquo; at the same time ringing the bell, he ordered a servant to go
+for his grandmother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, ladies, how-dy-do? Hope you are well till we are better
+acquainted,&rdquo; said Joel, bowing low, and shaking out the folds of his red
+silk handkerchief, strongly perfumed with peppermint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while Anna said,
+&ldquo;Good-evening, Mr. Slocum.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s silence, Joel turned to John Jr.,
+saying, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t believe she heard you&mdash;deaf, mebby?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared, in a great flurry to know
+who wanted to see her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, &ldquo;Now Aunt Martha, if this
+ain&rsquo;t good for sore eyes. How <i>do</i> you do ?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty well, pretty well,&rdquo; she returned, &ldquo;but you&rsquo;ve
+got the better of me, for I don&rsquo;t know more&rsquo;n the dead who you
+be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now how you talk,&rdquo; said Joel. &ldquo;If this don&rsquo;t beat all
+my fust wife&rsquo;s relations. Why, I should have known you if I&rsquo;d met
+you in a porridge-pot. But then, I s&rsquo;pose I&rsquo;ve altered for the
+better since I see you. Don&rsquo;t you remember Joel Slocum, that used to have
+kind of a snickerin&rsquo; notion after Helleny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why-ee, I guess I do,&rdquo; answered grandma, again seizing his hand.
+&ldquo;Where did you come from, and why didn&rsquo;t your Aunt Nancy come with
+you?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s sister&rsquo;s boy.
+Caroline and Anny, this is Joel; you&rsquo;ve heard tell of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been introduced, thank you,&rdquo; said Joel, taking a seat
+near Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample folds of her dress, lest it
+should be polluted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bashful critter, but she&rsquo;ll get over it by the time she&rsquo;s
+seen as much of the world as I have,&rdquo; soliloquized Joel; at the same time
+thinking to make some advances, he hitched a little nearer, and taking hold of
+a strip of embroidery on which she was engaged, he said, &ldquo;Now, du tell,
+if they&rsquo;ve got to workin&rsquo; with floss way down here. Waste of time,
+I tell &rsquo;em, this makin&rsquo; holes for the sake of sewin&rsquo;
+&rsquo;em up. But law!&rdquo; he added, as he saw the deepening scowl on
+Carrie&rsquo;s face, &ldquo;wimmin may jest as well by putterin&rsquo; about
+that as anything else, for their time ain&rsquo;t nothin&rsquo; moren&rsquo; an
+old settin&rsquo; hen&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This speech called forth the first loud roar in which John Jr. had indulged
+since Nellie went away, and now settling back in his chair, he gave vent to his
+feelings in peals of laughter, in which Joel also joined, thinking he&rsquo;d
+said something smart. When at last he&rsquo;d finished laughing, he thought
+again of &rsquo;Lena, and turning to Mrs. Livingstone, asked where she was,
+raising his voice to a high key on account of her supposed deafness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you speak to me?&rdquo; asked the lady, with a look which she meant
+should annihilate him, and in a still louder tone Joel repeated his question,
+asking Anna, aside, if her mother had ever tried &ldquo;McAllister&rsquo;s
+All-Healing Ointment,&rdquo; for her deafness, saying it had &ldquo;nighly
+cured his grandmother when she was several years older than Mrs.
+Livingstone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Much obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately, I do not
+need,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while Joel thought, &ldquo;how
+strange it was that deaf people would always hear in the wrong time!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother don&rsquo;t seem inclined to answer your question concerning
+&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said John Jr., &ldquo;so I will do it for her. She is in
+Frankfort, taking music lessons. You used to know her, I believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lud, yes! I chased her once with a streaked snake, and if she
+didn&rsquo;t put &rsquo;er through, then I&rsquo;m no &lsquo;Judge.
+Takin&rsquo; music lessons, is she? I&rsquo;d give a fo&rsquo; pence to hear
+her play.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you fond of music?&rdquo; asked John Jr., in hopes of what followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, I wouldn&rsquo;t wonder much if I was,&rdquo; answered Joel,
+taking a tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it upon the table.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve kep&rsquo; singin&rsquo; school one term, besides
+leadin&rsquo; the Methodis&rsquo; choir in Slocumville: so I orto know a little
+somethin&rsquo; about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you play, and if so, we&rsquo;d like to hear you,&rdquo;
+continued John Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance cast upon him by Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not such a dreadful sight,&rdquo; answered Joel, sauntering toward the
+piano and drumming a part of &ldquo;Auld Lang Syne.&rdquo; &ldquo;Not such a
+dreadful sight, but I guess these girls do. Come, girls, play us a jig,
+won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go, Cad, it won&rsquo;t hurt you,&rdquo; whispered John, but Carrie was
+immovable, and at last, Anna, who entered more into her brother&rsquo;s spirit,
+took her seat at the instrument, asking what he would have.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, give us &lsquo;Money Musk,&rsquo; &lsquo;Hail Columby,&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Old Zip Coon,&rsquo; or anything to raise a feller&rsquo;s ideas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately, Anna&rsquo;s forte lay in playing old music, which she preferred
+to more modern pieces, and, Joel was soon beating time to the lively strains of
+&ldquo;Money Musk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wall, I declare,&rdquo; said he, when it was ended, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+see but what you Kentucky gals play most as well as they do to hum. I
+didn&rsquo;t s&rsquo;pose many on you ever seen a pianner. Come,&rdquo; turning
+to Carrie, &ldquo;less see what you can do. Mebby you&rsquo;ll beat her all
+holler,&rdquo; and he offered his hand to Carrie, who rather petulantly said
+she &ldquo;must be excused.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, get out,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;You needn&rsquo;t feel so
+bashful, for I shan&rsquo;t criticise you very hard. I know how to feel fer new
+beginners.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?&rdquo; asked Mr. Livingstone,
+pitying Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the performance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I hain&rsquo;t, and I&rsquo;m hungrier than a bear,&rdquo; answered
+Joel, whereupon Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was her guest, arose, saying she
+would see that he had some.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s wrath boiled
+over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what comes of harboring your relatives,&rdquo; said she,
+looking indignantly upon her husband, and adding that she hoped &ldquo;the
+insolent fellow did not intend staying all night, for if he did he
+couldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you propose turning him into the street?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Livingstone, looking up from his paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t propose anything, except that he won&rsquo;t stay in my
+house, and you needn&rsquo;t ask him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume he expects to
+stay,&rdquo; returned Mr. Livingstone; while John Jr. rejoined, &ldquo;Of
+course he does, and if mother doesn&rsquo;t find him a room, I shall take him
+in with me, besides going to Frankfort with him to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost anything rather than have
+her son seen in the city with that specimen. Accordingly, when the hour for
+retiring arrived, she ordered Corinda to show him into the &ldquo;east
+chamber,&rdquo; a room used for her common kind of visitors, but which Joel
+pronounced &ldquo;as neat as a fiddle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning he announced his intention of visiting Frankfort, proposing to
+grandma that she should accompany him, and she was about making up her mind to
+do so, when &rsquo;Lena and Mabel both appeared in the yard. They had come out
+for a ride, they said, and finding the morning so fine, had extended their
+excursion as far as Maple Grove, sending their servant back to tell where they
+were going. With his usual assurance, Joel advanced toward &rsquo;Lena,
+greeting her tenderly, and whispering in her ear that &ldquo;he found she was
+greatly improved as well as himself,&rdquo; while &rsquo;Lena wondered in what
+the improvement consisted. She had formerly known him as a great, overgrown,
+good-natured boy, and now she saw him a &ldquo;conceited gawky.&rdquo; Still,
+her manner was friendly toward him, for he had come from her old home, had
+breathed the air of her native hills, and she well remembered how, years ago,
+he had with her planted and watered the flowers which he told her were still
+growing at her mother&rsquo;s grave.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet there was something about her which puzzled Joel, who felt that the
+difference between them was great. He was disappointed, and the declaration
+which he had fully intended making was left until another time, when, as he
+thought, &ldquo;he shouldn&rsquo;t be so confounded shy of her.&rdquo; His
+quarters, too, at Maple Grove were not the most pleasant, for no one noticed
+him except grandma and John Jr., and with the conviction that &ldquo;the
+Kentuckians didn&rsquo;t know what politeness meant,&rdquo; he ordered his
+horse after dinner, and started back to Lexington, inviting all the family to
+call and &ldquo;set for their picters,&rdquo; saying that &ldquo;seein&rsquo;
+&rsquo;twas them, he&rsquo;d take &rsquo;em for half price.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and drawing a large, square case
+from his pocket, passed it to &rsquo;Lena, saying it was a daguerreotype of her
+mountain home, which he had taken on purpose for her, forgetting to give it to
+her until that minute. The look of joy which lighted up &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+face made Joel almost repent of not having said to her what he intended to, but
+thinking he would wait till next time, he started off, his heart considerably
+lightened by her warm thanks for his thoughtfulness.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/>
+THE DAGUERREOTYPE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look, grandmother!&mdash;a picture of our old home. Isn&rsquo;t it
+natural?&rdquo; exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, it was natural, and the old lady&rsquo;s tears gushed forth the moment she
+looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, the gate partially open, the
+barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the curtain of the west window rolled
+up as it was wont to be, while on the doorstep, basking in the warm sunshine,
+lay a cat, which Mrs. Nichols&rsquo; declared was hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John ought to see this,&rdquo; said she, wiping the tears from her eyes,
+and turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting her son,
+together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called. &ldquo;Look here,
+John,&rdquo; said she, calling him to her side&mdash;&ldquo;Do you remember
+this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The deep flush which mounted to John&rsquo;s brow, showed that he did, and his
+mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: &ldquo;It is our old home in
+Massachusetts. There&rsquo;s the room where John and Helleny both were born,
+and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but yesterday since she
+died, and they carried her out of this door, and down the road, there&mdash;do
+you see?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or not, made no
+answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon the prospect beyond,
+which for him had no attractions then. The sight of that daguerreotype had
+stirred up many bitter memories, and for some time he stood gazing vacantly
+through the window, and thinking&mdash;who shall say of what? It would seem
+that the daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination for him, for after it had
+been duly examined and laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it
+minutely, asking where it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure a
+similar one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a fancy for such scenes,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and would like to
+have just such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say. He can
+take one from this, I suppose. I mean to see him;&rdquo; and with his usual
+good-morning, he departed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort, determining, if
+a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer &rsquo;Lena his heart and
+fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day. For a time they
+conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which was entirely
+foreign from that which lay nearest Durward&rsquo;s heart. At last the
+conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had heard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really think, &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; said he, laughingly, &ldquo;that you
+ought to patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the sake
+of seeing you. Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for me, will
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls,
+&rsquo;Lena answered lightly, &ldquo;Oh, no, no. I have never had my picture
+taken in my life, and I shan&rsquo;t begin with Joel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never had it taken!&rdquo; repeated Durward, in some surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, never,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and Durward continued drawing her
+nearer to him, &ldquo;It is time you had, then. So have it taken for me. I mean
+what I say,&rdquo; he continued, as he met the glance of her merry eyes.
+&ldquo;There is nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except, indeed
+the original, which you will not refuse me, when I ask it, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s mirth was all gone&mdash;she knew he was in earnest now.
+She felt it in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her waist; she saw it
+in his eye, and heard it in the tones of his voice. But what should she say?
+Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon her cheek; and an
+inaudible answer trembled on her lips, when noiselessly through the door came
+<i>Mr. Graham</i>, starting when he saw their position, and offering to
+withdraw if he was intruding. &rsquo;Lena was surprised and excited, and
+springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm as he was about to leave the room,
+bidding him stay and saying he was always welcome there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which &rsquo;Lena had ever
+seen, Durward left&mdash;left without receiving an answer to his question, or
+even referring to it again, though &rsquo;Lena accompanied him to the door,
+half dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it. But he did not, and wishing her
+much pleasure in his father&rsquo;s company, he walked away, writing in his
+heart bitter things against <i>him</i>, not her. On his way home he fell in
+with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a little too much wine, and was
+very talkative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;She be
+von fine girl. What relation be she to Monsieur Graham?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None whatever. Why do you ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because he pay her musique lessons and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he kept back Mr.
+Graham&rsquo;s assertion that he was a near relative, adding in its place, that
+&ldquo;he thought probable he related; but you no tell,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;for Monsieur bid me keep secret and I forgot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here, having reached a cross-road, they parted, and again Durward wrote down
+bitter things against his father, for what could be his object in wishing it
+kept a secret that he was paying for &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s lessons, or why did he
+pay for them at all&mdash;and did &rsquo;Lena know it? He thought not, and for
+a time longer was she blameless in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On reaching home he found both the parlor and drawing-room deserted, and upon
+inquiry learned that his mother was in her own room. Something, he could hardly
+tell what, prompted him to knock for admission, which being granted, he
+entered, finding her unusually pale, with the trace of tears still upon her
+cheek. This of itself was so common an occurrence, that he would hardly have
+observed it had not there been about her a look of unfeigned distress which he
+had seldom seen before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, mother?&rdquo; said he, advancing toward her;
+&ldquo;What has happened to trouble you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without any reply, Mrs. Graham placed in his hand a richly-cased daguerreotype,
+and laying her head upon the table, sobbed aloud. A moment Durward stood
+transfixed to the spot, for on opening the case, the fair, beautiful face of
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon him!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did you get this, mother?&mdash;how came you by it?&rdquo; he
+asked, and she answered, that in looking through her husband&rsquo;s private
+drawer, the key of which she had accidentally found in his vest pocket, she had
+come upon it, together with a curl of soft chestnut-brown hair which she threw
+across Durward&rsquo;s finger, and from which he recoiled as from a
+viper&rsquo;s touch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For several minutes not a word was spoken by either, and then Mrs. Graham,
+looking him in the face, said, &ldquo;You recognize that countenance, of
+course?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Durward was
+terribly moved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Twice had &rsquo;Lena asserted that never in her life had her daguerreotype
+been taken, and yet he held it in his hands; there was no mistaking
+it&mdash;the same broad, open brow&mdash;the same full, red lips&mdash;the same
+smile&mdash;and more than all, the same clustering ringlets, though arranged a
+little differently from what she usually wore them, the hair on the picture
+being combed smoothly over the forehead, while &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s was
+generally brushed up after the style of the prevailing fashion. Had Durward
+examined minutely, he might have found other points of difference, but he did
+not think of that. A look had convinced him that &rsquo;twas
+&rsquo;Lena&mdash;his &rsquo;Lena, he had fondly hoped to call her. But that
+was over now&mdash;she had deceived him&mdash;told him a deliberate
+falsehood&mdash;refused him her daguerreotype and given it to his father, whose
+secrecy concerning it indicated something wrong. His faith was shaken, and yet
+for the sake of what she had been to him, he would spare her good name. He
+could not bear to hear the world breathe aught against her, for possibly she
+might be innocent; but no, there was no mistaking the falsehood, and Durward
+groaned in bitterness as he handed the picture to his mother, bidding her
+return it where she found it. Mrs. Graham had never seen her son thus moved,
+and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm, asking, &ldquo;why he was so
+affected&mdash;what she was to him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything, everything,&rdquo; said he, laying his face upon the table.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers was all the world to me. I loved her as I shall never
+love again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his mother all&mdash;how he
+had that very morning gone to Frankfort with the intention of offering
+&rsquo;Lena his hand&mdash;how he had partially done so, when they were
+interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, he did not say whom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank heaven for your escape. I can bear your father&rsquo;s conduct, if
+it is the means of saving you from her,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while her
+son continued: &ldquo;And now, mother, I have a request to make of you&mdash;a
+request which you must grant. I have loved &rsquo;Lena too well to cease from
+loving her so soon. And though I can never again think to make her my wife, I
+will not hear her name lightly spoken by the world, who must never know what we
+do. Promise me, mother, to keep secret whatever you may know against
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think me bereft of my senses,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham
+petulantly, &ldquo;that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every
+one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, mother,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but you are easily excited,
+and say things you had better not. Mrs. Livingstone bears &rsquo;Lena no good
+will, you know, and sometimes when she is speaking disparagingly of her, you
+may be thrown off your guard, and tell what you know. But this must not be.
+Promise me, mother, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly about his mouth as
+he asked this of his mother who, mentally congratulating herself upon her
+son&rsquo;s escape, promised what he asked, at the same time repeating to him
+all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone concerning &rsquo;Lena, until Durward
+interrupted her with, &ldquo;Stop, stop, I&rsquo;ve heard enough. Nothing which
+Mrs. Livingstone could say would have weighed a straw, but the conviction of my
+own eyes and ears have undeceived me, and henceforth &rsquo;Lena and I are as
+strangers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of her son&rsquo;s
+marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and though she felt indignant
+toward her husband so peculiar was her nature that she would not have had
+matters otherwise if she could and when Durward, who disliked <i>scenes</i>,
+suggested the propriety of her not speaking to his father on the subject at
+present he assented, saying that it would be more easy for her to refrain, as
+she was intending to start for Louisville on the morrow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been contemplating a visit there for some time and before Mr.
+Graham left home this morning, I had decided to go,&rdquo; said she, at the
+same time proposing that Durward should accompany her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To this consented willingly, for in the first shock of his disappointment, a
+change of place and scene was what he most desired. The hot blood of the south,
+which burned in his veins, seemed all on fire, and he felt that he could not,
+for the present, at least be daily associated with his stepfather. An absence
+of several days, he thought, might have the effect of calming him down. It was
+accordingly decided that he should on the morrow, start with her for
+Louisville, to be gone two weeks; and with this understanding they parted,
+Durward going to his own chamber, there to review the past and strive, if
+possible, to efface from his heart every memory of &rsquo;Lena, whom he had
+loved so well. But &rsquo;twas all in vain; he could not so soon forget her and
+far into the hours of night he sat alone striving to frame some excuse for her
+conduct. The fact that his father possessed her daguerreotype might possibly be
+explained, without throwing censure upon her; but the falsehood&mdash;never;
+and with the firm conviction that she was lost to him forever, he at last
+retired to rest, just as the clock in the ball below proclaimed the hour of
+midnight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind the probable result of a
+letter which, in the heat of passion, she had that day dispatched to
+&rsquo;Lena, accusing her of &ldquo;marring the domestic peace of a hitherto
+happy family,&rdquo; and while she cast some reflections upon her birth,
+commanding her never, under any circumstances, &ldquo;to venture into her
+presence!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward&rsquo;s return,
+and as she well knew how much he would disapprove of it, she resolved not to
+tell him, secretly hoping &rsquo;Lena would keep her own counsel. &ldquo;Base
+creature!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;to give my husband her likeness&mdash;but he
+shall never see it again;&rdquo; and with stealthy step she advanced toward the
+secret drawer, which she again opened, and taking from it both daguerreotype
+and ringlet, locked it, replacing the key in the pocket where she found it.
+Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled it into the glowing grate,
+shuddering as she did so, and trembling, as if she really knew a wrong had been
+done to the dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated features, which now
+seemed to regard her mournfully, as if reproaching her for what she had done.
+No part of the dress was visible&mdash;nothing except the head and neck, which
+was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut curls, whose companion so
+recently lay seething and scorching on the burning coals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a footstep without&mdash;her husband had returned&mdash;and quick as
+thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while Mrs. Graham, forcing down her
+emotion, took up a book, which she seemed to be intently reading when her
+husband entered. After addressing to her a few commonplace remarks, all of
+which she answered civilly, he went to the wardrobe, and on pretense of looking
+for his knife, which, he said he believed he left in his vest pocket, he took
+out the key, and then carelessly proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his
+wife watching him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation when
+he saw that his treasure was gone. Again and again was his drawer searched, but
+all to no purpose, and casting an anxious glance toward his wife, whose face,
+for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he commenced walking the floor in a very
+perturbed state of mind, his wife exulting in his discomfiture, and thinking
+herself amply avenged for all that she had endured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day received from
+South Carolina, containing the news of the death of a distant relative, who had
+left him some property. &ldquo;It is not necessary for me to be there in
+person,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but still I should like to visit my old home
+once more. What do you think of it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go, by all means,&rdquo; said she, glad of anything which would place
+distance between him and &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;No one can attend to your business
+one-half as well as yourself. When will you start if you go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Immediately&mdash;before your return from Louisville&mdash;unless you
+wish to accompany me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather
+not,&rdquo; said she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him to wonder what
+had come over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can do as you choose,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but I should be glad of
+your company.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I thank you,&rdquo; was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, wondered
+what had come over him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning the carriage came up to the door to convey Mrs. Graham and
+Durward to Frankfort. The latter was purposely late, and he did not see his
+father until he came down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the carriage. Then
+Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise, &ldquo;where he was going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With my mother to Louisville, sir,&rdquo; answered Durward, stiffly.
+&ldquo;I am not willing she should travel alone, if you are;&rdquo; and he
+sprang into the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive off ere another word
+could be spoken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!&mdash;my usual
+luck!&rdquo; mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the house, and sure of no
+prying eyes, recommenced his search for the daguerreotype, which was nowhere to
+be found. Could she have found it? Impossible! for it was not in her jealous
+nature to have held her peace; and again he sought for it, but all to no
+purpose, and finally thinking he must have taken it with him and lost it, he
+gave it up, mourning more for the loss of the curl, which could never, never be
+replaced, while the picture might be found.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do I live so?&rdquo; thought he, as he nervously paced the room.
+&ldquo;My life is one of continual fear and anxiety, but it shall be so no
+longer. I&rsquo;ll tell her all when she returns. I&rsquo;ll brave the world,
+dare her displeasure, take &rsquo;Lena home, and be a man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that he should keep it, he
+started for Versailles, where he had an engagement with a gentleman who
+transacted business for him in Lexington.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/>
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mabel had gone out, and &rsquo;Lena sat alone in the little room adjoining the
+parlor which Mr. Douglass termed his library, but which Nellie had fitted up
+for a private sewing-room. It was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s favorite resort when she
+wished to be alone, and as Mabel was this morning absent, she had retired
+thither, not to work, but to think&mdash;to recall every word and look of
+Durward&rsquo;s, to wonder when and how he would repeat the question, the
+answer to which had been prevented by Mr. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many and blissful were her emotions as she sat there, wondering if it were not
+a bright dream, from which she would too soon awaken, for could it be that one
+so noble, so good, and so much sought for as Durward Bellmont had chosen her,
+of all others, to be his bride? Yes, it must be so, for he was not one to say
+or act what he did not mean; he would come that day and repeat what he had said
+before; and she blushed as she thought what her answer would be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered, bringing her a letter,
+which she eagerly seized, thinking it was from him. But &rsquo;twas not his
+writing, though bearing the post-mark of Versailles. Hastily she broke the
+seal, and glancing at the signature, turned pale, for it was &ldquo;Lucy
+Graham,&rdquo; his mother, who had written, but for what, she could not guess.
+A moment more and she fell back on the sofa, white and rigid as a piece of
+marble. &rsquo;Twas a cruel and insulting letter, containing many dark
+insinuations, which she, being wholly innocent; could not understand. She knew
+indeed, that Mr. Graham had presented her with Vesta, but was there anything
+wrong in that? She did not think so, else she had never taken her. Her uncle,
+her cousin, and Durward, all three approved of her accepting it, the latter
+coming with it himself&mdash;so it could not be that; and for a long time Lena
+wept passionately, resolving one moment to answer the letter as it deserved
+determining, the next, to go herself and see Mrs. Graham face to face; and then
+concluding to treat it with silent contempt, trusting that Durward would
+erelong appear and make it all plain between them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, about five o&rsquo;clock, Mabel returned, bringing the intelligence
+that Mrs. Graham was in the city, at the Weisiger House, where she was going to
+remain until the morrow. She had met with an accident, which prevented her
+arrival in Frankfort until the train which she was desirous of taking had left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is her husband with her?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena, to which Mabel
+replied, that she understood she was alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll see her and know what she means,&rdquo; thought
+&rsquo;Lena, trembling, even then, at the idea of venturing into the presence
+of the cold, haughty woman.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Supper was over at the Weisiger House, and in a handsome private parlor Mrs.
+Graham lay, half asleep, upon the sofa, while in the dressing-room adjoining
+Durward sat, trying to frame a letter which should tell poor &rsquo;Lena that
+their intimacy was forever at an end. For hours, and until the last gleam of
+daylight had faded away, he had sat by the window, watching each youthful form
+which passed up and, down the busy street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her who
+once had made his world. But his watch was in vain, and now he had sat down to
+write, throwing aside sheet after sheet, as he thought its beginning too cold,
+too harsh, or too affectionate. He was about making up his mind not to write at
+all, but to let matters take their course, when a knock at his mother&rsquo;s
+door, and the announcement that a lady wished to see her arrested his
+attention.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Somebody want to see me? Just show her up,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham,
+smoothing down her flaxen hair, and wiping from between her eyes a spot of
+powder which the opposite mirror revealed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment the visitor entered&mdash;a slight, girlish form, whose features
+were partially hidden from view by a heavy lace veil, which was thrown over her
+satin hood. A single glance convinced Mrs. Graham that it was a lady, a
+well-bred lady, who stood before her, and very politely she bade her be seated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rather haughtily the proffered chair was declined, while the veil was thrown
+aside, disclosing to the astonished gaze of Mrs. Graham the face of &rsquo;Lena
+Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, while her dark eyes grew darker with the
+intensity of her feelings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers! why came you here?&rdquo; she asked, while at the
+mention of that name Durward started to his feet, but quickly resumed his seat,
+listening with indescribable emotions to the sound of a voice which made every
+nerve quiver with pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ask me why I am here, madam,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;I came
+to seek an explanation from you&mdash;to know of what I am accused&mdash;to ask
+why you wrote me that insulting letter&mdash;me, an orphan girl, alone and
+unprotected in the world, and who never knowingly harmed you or yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never harmed me or mine!&rdquo; scornfully repeated Mrs. Graham.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t add falsehood to your other sins&mdash;though, if
+you&rsquo;ll lie to my son, you of course will to me, his mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Explain yourself, madam, if you please,&rdquo; exclaimed &rsquo;Lena,
+her olden temper beginning to get the advantage of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what if I do not please?&rdquo; sneeringly asked Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I will compel you to do so, for my good name is all I have, and it
+shall not be wrested from me without an effort on my part to preserve
+it,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help you. I am sure it
+would be very ungentlemanly in him to desert you, now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham,
+her manner conveying far more meaning than her words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly distinct as
+she replied, &ldquo;Will you explain yourself, or will you not? What have I
+done, that you should treat me thus?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Done? Done enough, I should think! Haven&rsquo;t you whiled him away
+from me with your artful manners? Has he ever been the same man since he saw
+you? Hasn&rsquo;t he talked of you in his sleep? made you most valuable
+presents which a true woman would have refused? and in return, haven&rsquo;t
+you bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together with a lock of your hair, on
+which you no doubt pride yourself, but which to me and my son seem like so many
+coiling serpents?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena had sat down. She could stand no longer, and burying her face in
+her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had finished. Then, lifting up her
+head, she replied in a voice far more husky than the one in which she before
+had spoken&mdash;&ldquo;You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs. Graham, for as I hope
+for heaven, I never entertained a feeling for your husband which I would not
+have done for my own father, and indeed, he has seemed to me more like a parent
+than a friend&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,&rdquo;
+interrupted Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but continued: &ldquo;I
+know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it was wrong, and if it was, I will
+make amends by immediately returning her, for much as I love her, I shall never
+use her again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the daguerreotype?&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Graham, anxious to reach
+that point. &ldquo;What have you to say about the daguerreotype? Perhaps you
+will presume to deny that, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched &rsquo;Lena, whose dark
+brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, &ldquo;It is false, madam. You know it
+is false. I never yet have had my picture taken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Again I repeat, that is false!&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, while Mrs.
+Graham, strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, &ldquo;I can prove
+it, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I defy you to do so,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, strong in her own
+innocence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I show it to her, Durward,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, and
+&rsquo;Lena, turning suddenly round, became for the first time conscious of his
+presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly toward him, asking
+him, in piteous tones, to save her from his mother. Durward would almost have
+laid down his life to prove her innocent, but he felt that could not be. So he
+made her no reply, and in his eye she read that he, too, was deceived. With a
+low, wailing moan she again covered her face with her hands, while Mrs. Graham
+repeated her question, &ldquo;Shall I show it to her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and he answered,
+&ldquo;Why do you ask, when you know you cannot do so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how joyfully &rsquo;Lena started up; he did not believe it, after all, and
+if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that was which she gave to Durward,
+who returned her no answering glance, save one of pity; and again that wailing
+cry smote painfully on his ear. Taking the case from her pocket, Mrs. Graham
+advanced toward &rsquo;Lena, saying, &ldquo;Here, see for yourself, and then
+deny it if you can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But &rsquo;Lena had no power to take it. Her faculties seemed benumbed and
+Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded brow stood leaning against the
+mantel, construed her hesitation into guilt, which dreaded to be convicted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you take it?&rdquo; persisted Mrs. Graham. &ldquo;You
+defied me to prove it, and here it is. I found it in my husband&rsquo;s private
+drawer, together with one of those long curls, which last I burned out of my
+sight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward shuddered, while &rsquo;Lena involuntarily thought of the mass of wavy
+tresses which they had told her clustered around her mother&rsquo;s face, as
+she lay in her narrow coffin. Why thought she of her mother then? Was it
+because they were so strangely alike, that any allusion to her own personal
+appearance always reminded her of her lost parent? Perhaps so. But to return to
+our story &rsquo;Lena would have sworn that the likeness was not hers, and
+still an undefined dread crept over her, preventing her from moving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist you,&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case and holding to view the
+picture, on which with wondering eyes, &rsquo;Lena gazed in astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is I&mdash;it is; but oh, heaven, how came he by it?&rdquo; she
+gasped, and the next moment she fell fainting at Durward&rsquo;s feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, &ldquo;Pray,
+don&rsquo;t touch her&mdash;she does it for effect.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he knew better. He knew there was no feigning the corpse-like pallor of
+that face, and pushing his mother aside, he took the unconscious girl in his
+arms, and bearing her to the sofa, laid her gently upon it, removing her hand
+and smoothing back from her cold brow the thick, clustering curls which his
+mother had designated as &ldquo;coiling serpents.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants,&rdquo; said he,
+to his mother, who had seized the bell-rope. &ldquo;Bring some water from your
+bedroom, and we will take charge of her ourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something commanding in the tones of his voice, and Mrs. Graham, now
+really alarmed at the deathly appearance of &rsquo;Lena, hastened to obey. When
+he was alone, Durward bent down, imprinting upon the white lips a burning
+kiss&mdash;the first he had ever given her. In his heart he believed her
+unworthy of his love, and yet she had never seemed one-half so dear to him as
+at that moment, when she lay there before him helpless as an infant, and all
+unmindful of the caresses which he lavished upon her. &ldquo;If it were indeed
+death;&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;and it had come upon her while yet she was
+innocent, I could have borne it, but now I would I had never seen her;&rdquo;
+and the tears which fell like rain upon her cheek, were not unworthy of the
+strong man who shed them. The cold water with which they profusely bathed her
+face and neck, restored her, and then Durward, who could bear the scene no
+longer, glided silently into the next room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting &rsquo;Lena,
+asked &ldquo;what she thought about it now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t speak to me again, for I am very, very
+wretched,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena softly, while Mrs. Graham continued:
+&ldquo;Have you nothing to offer in explanation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing, nothing&mdash;it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was
+dead,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, sobbing passionately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better wish to live and repent,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham, beginning to
+read her a long sermon on her duty, to which &rsquo;Lena paid no attention, and
+the moment she felt that she could walk, she arose to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass lived not far away, Mrs.
+Graham did not deem an escort necessary. But Durward thought differently. He
+could not walk with her side by side, as he had often done before, but he would
+follow at a distance, to see that no harm came near her. There was no danger of
+his being discovered, for &rsquo;Lena was too much absorbed in her own
+wretchedness to heed aught about her, and in silence he walked behind her until
+he saw the door of Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s house close upon her. Then feeling that
+there was an inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, where
+he found his mother exulting over the downfall of one whom, for some reason,
+she had always disliked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t she look confounded, though, when I showed her the
+picture?&rdquo; said she; to which Durward replied, by asking &ldquo;when and
+why she sent the letter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it,
+either,&rdquo; was Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s crusty answer, whereupon the
+conversation was dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the subject was not
+again resumed during their stay in Louisville.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+It would be impossible to describe &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s emotion as she returned
+to the house. Twice in the hall was she obliged to grasp at the banister to
+keep from falling, and knowing that such excessive agitation would be remarked,
+she seated herself upon the stairs until she felt composed enough to enter the
+parlor. Fortunately, Mabel was alone, and so absorbed in the fortunes of
+&ldquo;Uncle True and little Gerty,&rdquo; as scarcely to notice &rsquo;Lena at
+all. Once, indeed, as she sat before the grate so motionless and still, Mabel
+looked up, and observing how white she was, asked what was the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A bad headache,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, at the same time announcing
+her intention of retiring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save those who like
+her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, as prostrate upon the floor she
+lay, her long silken curls falling about her white face, which looked ghastly
+and haggard by the moonlight that fell softly about her, as if to soothe her
+woe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it,&rdquo; she cried aloud&mdash;&ldquo;this dark mystery, which
+I cannot explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham. He could explain it&mdash;he must
+explain it. She would go to him the next day, asking him what it meant. She
+felt sure that he could make it plain, for suspicious as matters looked, she
+exculpated him from any wrong intention toward her. Still she could not sleep,
+and when the gray morning light crept in, it found her too much exhausted to
+rise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by Mabel and her
+grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her illness, hastened down to
+nurse her. Every day did &rsquo;Lena ask of Mr. Douglass if Mr. Graham had been
+in the city, saying that the first time he came she wished to see him. Days,
+however, went by, and nothing was seen or heard from him, until at last John
+Jr.; who visited her daily, casually informed her that Mr. Graham had been
+unexpectedly called away to South Carolina. A distant relative of his had died,
+bequeathing him a large property, which made it necessary for him to go there
+immediately; so without waiting for the return of his wife, he had started off,
+leaving Woodlawn alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to South Carolina!&rdquo; exclaimed &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;When will
+he return?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody knows. He&rsquo;s away from home more than half the time, just as
+I should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife,&rdquo; answered John Jr., at the same
+time playfully remarking that &rsquo;Lena need not look so blank, as it was not
+Durward who had gone so far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an instant &rsquo;Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask him what to
+do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at all excited, she finally decided
+to keep her own secret, determining, however, to write to Mr. Graham, as soon
+as she was able. Just before John Jr. left her, she called him to her side,
+asking him if he would do her the favor of seeing that Vesta was sent back to
+Woodlawn, as she did not wish for her any longer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the plague is that for&mdash;has mother been raising a row?&rdquo;
+asked John Jr., and &rsquo;Lena replied, &ldquo;No, no, your mother has nothing
+to do with it. I only want Vesta taken home. I cannot at present tell you why,
+but I have a good reason, and some time, perhaps, I&rsquo;ll explain.
+You&rsquo;ll do it, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the determination of questioning Durward as to what had happened, John Jr.
+promised, and when Mrs. Graham and her son returned from Louisville, they found
+Vesta safely stabled with their other horses, while the saddle with its tiny
+slipper hung upon a beam, and seemingly looked down with reproach upon Durward,
+who turned away with a bitter pang as he thought of the morning when he first
+took it to Maple Grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day was dark and rainy, precluding all outdoor exercise, and weary,
+sad, and spiritless, Durward repaired to the library, where, for an hour or
+more, he sat musing dreamily of the past&mdash;of the morning, years ago, when
+first he met the little girl who had since grown so strongly into his love, and
+over whom so dark a shadow had fallen. A heavy knock at the door, and in a
+moment John Jr. appeared, with dripping garments and a slightly scowling face.
+There was a faint resemblance between him and &rsquo;Lena, manifest in the
+soft, curling hair and dark, lustrous eyes. Durward had observed it
+before&mdash;he thought of it now&mdash;and glad to see any one who bore the
+least resemblance to her, he started up, exclaiming, &ldquo;Why, Livingstone,
+the very one of all the world I am glad to see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John made no reply, but shaking the rain-drops from his overcoat, which he
+carelessly threw upon the floor, he took a chair opposite the grate, and
+looking Durward fully in the face, said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve come over, Bellmont,
+to ask you a few plain, unvarnished questions, which I believe you will answer
+truthfully. Am I right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly, sir&mdash;go on,&rdquo; was Durward&rsquo;s reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then, to begin, are you and &rsquo;Lena engaged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you been engaged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you ever expect to be engaged?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you quarreled?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose I do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you tell me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said Durward, determined, for &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s sake,
+that no one should wring from him the secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. arose, jammed both hands into his pockets&mdash;walked to the
+window&mdash;made faces at the weather&mdash;walked back to the
+grate&mdash;made faces at that&mdash;kicked it&mdash;and then turning to
+Durward, said, &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the old Nick to pay, somewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you, there&rsquo;s the old Nick to pay, somewhere,&rdquo;
+continued John, raising his voice. &ldquo;I knew it all the while &rsquo;Lena
+was sick. I read it in her face when I told her Mr. Graham had gone
+south&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A faint sickness gathered around Durward&rsquo;s heart, and John Jr. proceeded:
+&ldquo;She wouldn&rsquo;t tell me, and I&rsquo;ve come to you for information.
+Will you give it to me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said Durward. &ldquo;The nature of our trouble is known
+only to ourselves and one other individual, and I shall never divulge the
+secret.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that other individual my mother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it Cad?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Had they any agency in the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None, whatever, that I know of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;m on the wrong track, and may as well go home,&rdquo; said
+John Jr., starting for the door, where he stopped, while he added, &ldquo;If,
+Bellmont, I ever do hear of your having misled me in this
+matter&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He did not finish the sentence in words, but
+playfully producing a revolver, he departed. The next moment he was dashing
+across the lawn, the mud flying in every direction, and himself thinking how
+useless it was to try to unravel a love quarrel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime, &rsquo;Lena waited impatiently for an answer to the letter
+which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day glided by, and still no
+tidings came. At last, as if everything had conspired against her, she heard
+that he was lying dangerously ill of a fever at Havana, whither he had gone in
+quest of an individual whose presence was necessary in the settlement of the
+estate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, also contained a
+request that she would come to him immediately, and within a few days after its
+receipt, she started for Cuba, together with Durward, who went without again
+seeing &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They found him better than they expected. The danger was past, but he was still
+too weak to move himself, and the physician said it would be many weeks ere he
+was able to travel. This rather pleased Mrs. Graham than otherwise. She was
+fond of change, and had often desired to visit Havana, so now that she was
+there, she made the best of it, and for once in her life enacted the part of a
+faithful, affectionate wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham spoke of
+&ldquo;Helena,&rdquo; imploring her forgiveness for his leaving her so long,
+and promising to return. Sometimes he spoke of her as being dead, and in
+piteous accents he would ask of Durward to bring him back his &ldquo;beautiful
+&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; who was sleeping far away among the New England mountains.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, he brought one
+directed to Mr. Graham, which had been forwarded from Charleston, and which
+bore the post-marks of several places, it having been sent hither and thither,
+ere it reached its place of destination. It was mailed at Frankfort, Kentucky,
+and in the superscription Durward readily recognized the handwriting of
+&rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Worse and worse,&rdquo; thought he, now fully assured of her
+worthlessness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this act he
+instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might contain, it was not for
+him to read it. But what should he do with it? Must he give it to his mother
+who already had as much as she could bear? No, &rsquo;twas not best for her to
+know aught about it, and as the surest means of preventing its doing further
+trouble, he destroyed it&mdash;burned it to ashes&mdash;repenting the next
+moment of the deed, wishing he had read it, and feeling not that he had wronged
+the dead, as his mother did when she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had
+done a wrong to &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, leaving his father and
+mother to travel leisurely from place to place, as the still feeble state of
+the former would admit. &rsquo;Lena, who had returned from Frankfort, trembled
+lest he should come to Maple Grove, but he seemed equally desirous of avoiding
+a meeting, and after lingering about Woodlawn for several days, he suddenly
+departed for Louisville, where, for a time, we leave him, while we follow the
+fortunes of others connected with our story.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/>
+JOHN JR. AND MABEL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Time and absence had gradually softened John Jr.&rsquo;s feelings toward
+Nellie. She was not married to Mr. Wilbur&mdash;possibly she never would
+be&mdash;and if on her return to America he found her the same, he would lose
+no time in seeing her, and, if possible, secure her to himself. Such was the
+tenor of his thoughts, as on one bright morning in June he took his way to
+Lexington, whither he was going on business for his father. Before leaving the
+city, he rode down to the depot, as was his usual custom, reaching there just
+as the cars bound for Frankfort were rolling away. Upon the platform of the
+rear car stood an acquaintance of his, who called out, &ldquo;Halloo,
+Livingstone, have you heard the news?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;News, no. What news?&rdquo; asked John Jr., following after the fast
+moving train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bob Wilbur and Nellie Douglass are married,&rdquo; screamed the young
+man, who, having really heard of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage, supposed it must
+of course be with Nellie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. had no doubt of it, and for a moment his heart fainted beneath the
+sudden blow. But he was not one to yield long to despair, and soon recovering
+from the first shock, he raved in uncontrollable fury, denouncing Nellie as
+worthless, fickle, and good for nothing, mentally wishing her much joy with her
+husband, who in the same breath he hoped &ldquo;would break his confounded
+neck,&rdquo; and ending his tirade by solemnly vowing to offer himself to the
+first girl he met, whether black or white!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Full of this resolution he put spurs to Firelock and sped away over the
+turnpike, looking neither to the right nor the left, lest a chance should offer
+for the fulfillment of his vow. It was the dusk of evening when he reached
+home, and giving his horse into the care of a servant, he walked with rapid
+strides into the parlor, starting back as he saw <i>Mabel Ross</i>, who, for a
+few days past, had been visiting at Maple Grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no backing out,&rdquo; thought he. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s my
+destiny, and I&rsquo;ll meet it like a man. Nellie spited me, and I&rsquo;ll
+let her know how good it feels.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mabel,&rdquo; said he, advancing toward her, &ldquo;will you marry me?
+Say yes or no quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was not quite the kind of wooing which Mabel had expected. &rsquo;Twas not
+what she read of in novels, but then it was in keeping with the rest of John
+Jr.&rsquo;s conduct, and very frankly and naturally she answered
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said he, beginning to feel better already, and turning
+to leave the room&mdash;&ldquo;Very well, you fix the day, and arrange it all
+yourself, only let it be very soon, for now I&rsquo;ve made up my mind,
+I&rsquo;m in a mighty hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in earnest or not, asked
+&ldquo;if she should speak to the minister, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, no,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Just tell mother, and she&rsquo;ll fix
+it all right. Will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he walked away, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, except that he was
+engaged. Engaged! The very idea seemed to add new dignity to <i>him</i>, while
+it invested Mabel with a charm she had not hitherto possessed. John Jr. liked
+everything that belonged to him exclusively, and Mabel now was his&mdash;his
+wife she would be&mdash;and when next he met her in the drawing-room, his
+manner toward her was unusually kind, attracting the attention of his mother,
+who wondered at the change. One after another the family retired, until there
+was no one left in the parlor except Mabel and Mrs. Livingstone, who, as her
+husband chanced to be absent, had invited her young visitor to share her room.
+When they were alone, Mabel, with many blushes and a few tears, told of all
+that had occurred, except, indeed, of John&rsquo;s manner of proposing, which
+she thought best not to confide to a third person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Eagerly Mrs. Livingstone listened, mentally congratulating herself upon the
+completion of her plan without her further interference, wondering the while
+how it had been so suddenly brought about, and half trembling lest it should
+prove a failure after all. So when Mabel spoke of John Jr.&rsquo;s wish that
+the marriage should be consummated immediately, she replied,
+&ldquo;Certainly&mdash;by all means. There is no necessity for delay. You can
+marry at once, and get ready afterwards. It is now the last of June. I had
+thought of going to Saratoga in July, and a bride is just the thing to give
+eclat to our party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; answered Mabel, who hardly fancied a wedding without all the
+usual preparations, which she felt she should enjoy so much, &ldquo;I cannot
+think of being married until October, when Nellie perhaps will be here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nellie&rsquo;s return was what Mrs. Livingstone dreaded, and very ingeniously
+she set herself at work to put aside Mabel&rsquo;s objections, succeeding so
+far that the young girl promised compliance with whatever she should think
+proper. The next morning, as John Jr. was passing through the hall, she called
+him into her room, delicately broaching the subject of his engagement, saying
+she knew he could not help loving a girl possessed of so many excellent
+qualities as Mabel Ross. Very patiently John Jr. heard her until she came to
+speak of love. Then, in much louder tones than newly engaged men are apt to
+speak of their betrothed, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Love! Fudge! If you think
+I&rsquo;m marrying Mabel for love, you are greatly mistaken, I like her, but
+love is out of the question.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray what are you marrying her for? Her property?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Property!&rdquo; repeated John, with a sneer, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen the
+effect of marrying for property, and I trust I&rsquo;m not despicable enough to
+try it for myself. No, madam, I&rsquo;m not marrying her for money&mdash;but to
+spite Nellie Douglass, if you must know the reason. I&rsquo;ve loved her as I
+shall never again love womankind, but she cheated me. She&rsquo;s married to
+Robert Wilbur, and now I&rsquo;ve too much spirit to have her think <i>I</i>
+care. If she can marry, so can I&mdash;she isn&rsquo;t the only girl in the
+world&mdash;and when I heard what she had done, I vowed I&rsquo;d offer myself
+to the first female I saw. As good or bad luck would have it, &rsquo;twas
+Mabel, who you know said yes, of course, for I verily believe she likes me far
+better than I deserve. What kind of a husband I shall make, the Lord only
+knows, but I&rsquo;m in for it. My word is passed, and the sooner you get us
+tied together the better, but for heaven&rsquo;s sake, don&rsquo;t go to making
+a great parade. Mabel has no particular home. She&rsquo;s here now, and why not
+let the ceremony take place here. But fix it to suit yourselves, only
+don&rsquo;t let me hear you talking about it, for fear I&rsquo;ll get sick of
+the whole thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was exactly what Mrs. Livingstone desired. She had the day before been to
+Frankfort herself, learning from Mrs. Atkins of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage
+with the English girl. She knew her son was deceived, and it was highly
+necessary that he should continue so. She felt sure that neither her daughters,
+Mabel, nor &rsquo;Lena knew of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage, and she resolved
+they should not. It was summer, and as many of their city friends had left
+Frankfort for places of fashionable resort, they received but few calls; and by
+keeping them at home until the wedding was over, she trusted that all would be
+safe in that quarter. Durward, too, was fortunately absent, so she only had to
+deal with Mabel and John Jr. The first of these she approached very carefully,
+casually telling her of Mr. Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage, and then hastily adding,
+&ldquo;But pray don&rsquo;t speak of it to any one, as there are special
+reasons why it should not at present be discussed. Sometime I may tell you the
+reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel wondered why so small a matter should be a secret, but Mrs. Livingstone
+had requested her to keep silence and that was a sufficient reason why she
+should do so. The next step was to win her consent for the ceremony to take
+place there, and in the course of three weeks, saying that it was her
+son&rsquo;s wish. But on this point she found more difficulty than she had
+anticipated, for Mabel shrank from being married at the house of his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It didn&rsquo;t look right,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and she knew Mr.
+Douglass would not object to having it there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone knew so, too, but there was too much danger in such an
+arrangement, and she replied, &ldquo;Of course not, if you request it, but will
+it be quite proper for you to ask him to be at all that trouble when Nellie is
+gone, and there is no one at home to superintend?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So after a time Mabel was convinced, thinking, though, how differently
+everything was turning out from what she expected. Three weeks from that night
+was fixed upon for the bridal, to which but few were to be invited, for Mrs.
+Livingstone did not wish to call forth remark.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything should be done quietly and in order,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;and then, when autumn came, she would give a splendid party in honor of
+the bride.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Douglass, when told of the coming event by Mrs. Livingstone, who would
+trust no one else, expressed much surprise, saying he greatly preferred that
+the ceremony should take place at his own house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; returned the oily-tongued woman, &ldquo;of course you
+had, but even a small wedding party is a vast amount of trouble, and in
+Nellie&rsquo;s absence you would be disturbed. Were she here I would not say a
+word, but now I insist upon having it my own way, and indeed, I think my claim
+upon Mabel is the strongest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Silenced, but not quite convinced, Mr. Douglass said no more, thinking,
+meanwhile, that if he only <i>could</i> afford it, Mabel should have a wedding
+worthy of her. But he could not; he was poor, and hence Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s arguments prevailed the more easily. Fortunately for her,
+John Jr. manifested no inclination to go out at all. A kind of torpor seemed to
+have settled upon him, and day after day he remained at home, sometimes in a
+deep study in his own room, and sometimes sitting in the parlor, where his very
+unlover-like deportment frequently brought tears to Mabel&rsquo;s eyes, while
+Carrie loudly denounced him as the most clownish fellow she ever saw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll train him, Mabel,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for he
+needs it. He ought to have had Nellie Douglass. She&rsquo;s a match for him.
+Why didn&rsquo;t you have her, John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a face dark as night, he angrily requested Carrie &ldquo;to mind her own
+business,&rdquo; saying &ldquo;he was fully competent to take charge of
+himself, without the interference of either wife or sister.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, what if he should look and talk so to me!&rdquo; thought Mabel,
+shuddering as a dim foreboding of her sad future came over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena who understood John Jr. better than any one else, saw that all was
+not right. She knew how much he had loved Nellie; she believed he loved her
+still; and why should he marry another? She could not tell, and as he withheld
+his confidence from her, appearing unusually moody and cross, she dared not
+approach him. At last, having an idea of what she wanted, and willing to give
+her a chance, he one day, when they were alone, abruptly asked her what she
+thought of his choice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you ask me what I think of Mabel,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I answer
+that I esteem her very highly, and the more I know her the better I love her.
+Still, I never thought she would be your wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah&mdash;indeed!&mdash;never thought she would, hey?&rdquo; answered
+John, beginning to grow crusty, and elevating his feet to the top of the
+mantel. &ldquo;You see now what <i>thought</i> did; but what is your objection
+to her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing, nothing,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;Mabel is amiable,
+gentle, and confiding, and will try to be a good wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the deuce are you grumbling for, then?&rdquo; interrupted John Jr.
+&ldquo;Do you want me yourself? If you do, just say the word, and it shall be
+done! I&rsquo;m bound to be married, and I&rsquo;d sooner have you than anybody
+else. Come, what do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena smiled, while she disclaimed any intention toward her cousin, who,
+resuming the position which in his excitement he had slightly changed,
+continued: &ldquo;I have always dealt fairly with you, &rsquo;Lena, and now I
+tell you truly, I have no particular love for Mabel, although I intend making
+her my wife, and heartily wish she was so now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena started, and clasping John&rsquo;s arm, exclaimed, &ldquo;Marry
+Mabel and not love her! You cannot be in earnest. You will not do her so great
+a wrong&mdash;you shall not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know how you&rsquo;ll help it, unless you meddle with what
+does not concern you,&rdquo; said John. &ldquo;I am doing her no wrong, I never
+told her I loved her&mdash;never acted as though I did, and if she is content
+to have me on such terms, it&rsquo;s nobody&rsquo;s business. She loves me half
+to death, and if the old adage be true that love begets love, I shall learn to
+love her, and when I do I&rsquo;ll let you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, the young man shook down his pants, which had become disarranged,
+and walked away, leaving &rsquo;Lena to wonder what course she had better
+pursue. Once she resolved on telling Mabel all that had passed between them,
+but the next moment convinced her that, as he had said, she would be meddling,
+so she decided to say nothing, silently hoping that affairs would turn out
+better than she feared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mabel&rsquo;s wish that &rsquo;Lena and Anna should be her bridesmaids,
+Durward and Malcolm officiating as groomsmen, and as Mr. Bellmont was away, she
+wrote to him requesting his attendance, but saying she had not yet mentioned
+the subject to &rsquo;Lena. Painful as was the task of being thus associated
+with &rsquo;Lena, Durward felt that to refuse might occasion much remark, so he
+wrote to Mabel that &ldquo;he would comply with her request, provided Miss
+Rivers were willing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course she&rsquo;s willing,&rdquo; said Mabel to herself, at the same
+time running with the letter to &rsquo;Lena, who, to her utter astonishment,
+not only refused outright, but also declined giving any particular reason for
+her doing so. &ldquo;Carrie will suit him much better than I,&rdquo; said she,
+but unfortunately, Carrie, who chanced to be present, half hidden in the recess
+of a window, indignantly declined &ldquo;going Jack-at-a-pinch&rdquo; with any
+one, so Mabel was obliged to content herself with Anna and Mr. Everett.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But here a new difficulty arose, for Mrs. Livingstone declared that the latter
+should not be invited, and Anna, in a fit of anger, insisted that if <i>he</i>
+were not good enough to be present, neither was she, and she should accordingly
+remain in her own room. Poor Mabel burst into tears, and when, a few moments
+afterward, John Jr. appeared, asking what ailed her, she hid her face in his
+bosom and sobbed like a child. Then, frightened at her own temerity, for he
+gave her no answering caress, she lifted up her head, while with a quizzical
+expression John Jr. said, &ldquo;So-ho, Meb, seems to me you&rsquo;ve taken to
+crying on my jacket a little in advance. But what&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a few words Mabel told him how everything went wrong, how neither
+&rsquo;Lena, Carrie, nor Anna would be her bridesmaids, and how Anna
+wouldn&rsquo;t see her married because Malcolm was not invited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can manage that,&rdquo; said John Jr. &ldquo;Mr. Everett <i>shall</i>
+be invited, so just shut up crying, for if there&rsquo;s anything I detest,
+it&rsquo;s a woman&rsquo;s sniveling;&rdquo; and he walked off thinking he had
+begun just as he meant to hold out.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/>
+THE BRIDAL.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas Mabel&rsquo;s wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms of Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s house she stood awaiting the summons to the parlor. They
+had arrayed her for the bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, &rsquo;Lena, Anna,
+and the seamstress, all had had something to do with her toilet, and now they
+had left her for a time with him who was so soon to be her husband. She
+knew&mdash;for they had told her&mdash;she was looking uncommonly well. Her
+dress, of pure white satin, was singularly becoming; pearls were interwoven in
+the heavy braids of her raven hair; the fleecy folds of the rich veil, which
+fell like a cloud around her, swept the floor. In her eye there was an unusual
+sparkle and on her cheek an unwonted bloom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Mabel was not happy. There was a heavy pain at her heart&mdash;a
+foreboding of coming evil&mdash;and many an anxious glance she cast toward the
+stern, silent man, who, with careless tread, walked up and down the room,
+utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed in bitter
+reflections. Once only had she ventured to speak, and then, in childlike
+simplicity, she had asked him &ldquo;how she looked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well enough,&rdquo; was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he
+continued his walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tears gathered in Mabel&rsquo;s eyes&mdash;she could not help it; drop
+after drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until John Jr., who saw
+more than he pretended, came to her side, asking &ldquo;why she wept.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a moment she
+hesitated, but at length, summoning all her courage, she wound her arms about
+his neck, and in low, earnest tones said, &ldquo;Tell me truly, do you wish to
+marry me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And suppose I do not?&rdquo; he asked, with the same stony composure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, and answered,
+&ldquo;Then would I die rather than wed you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something in her appearance and attitude peculiarly attractive to
+John Jr. Never in his life had he felt so much interested in her, and drawing
+her toward him and placing his arm around her, he said, gently, &ldquo;Be calm,
+little Meb, you are nervous to-night. Of course I wish you to be my wife, else
+I had not asked you. Are you satisfied?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly to his, was a
+sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the injustice he was about to do her,
+John Jr. bent for an instant over her slight figure, mentally resolving, that
+so far as in him lay he would be true to his trust. There was a knock at the
+door, and Mrs. Livingstone herself looked in, pale, anxious, and expectant. Mr.
+Douglass, who was among the invited guests, had arrived, and <i>must</i> have
+an interview with John Jr. ere the ceremony. &rsquo;Twas in vain she attempted
+politely to waive his request. He <i>would</i> see him, and distracted with
+fear, she had at last conducted him into the upper hall, and out upon an open
+veranda, where in the moonlight he awaited the coming of the bridegroom, who,
+with some curiosity, approached him, asking what he wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It may seem strange to you,&rdquo; said Mr. Douglass, &ldquo;that I
+insist upon seeing you now, when another time might do as well, but I believe
+in having a fair understanding all round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meddling old rascal!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, of course,
+was within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., Mr. Douglass
+said, so low as to prevent her catching anything further, save the sound of his
+voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such things have
+been, and there has something come to my knowledge to-day, which I deem it my
+duty to tell you, so that hereafter you can neither blame me nor Mabel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, &ldquo;To
+be brief, then, Mabel&rsquo;s large fortune is, with the exception of a few
+thousands, of which I have charge, all swept away by the recent failure of the
+Planters&rsquo; Bank, in which it was invested. I heard of it this morning, and
+determined on telling you, knowing that if you loved her for herself, it would
+make no difference, while if you loved her for her money, it were far better to
+stop here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing could have been further from John&rsquo;s thoughts than a desire for
+Mabel&rsquo;s wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his mother&rsquo;s eyes,
+was valueless to him, and after a moment&rsquo;s silence, in which he was
+thinking what a rich disappointment it would be to his mother, who, he knew,
+prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Good, I&rsquo;m glad of
+it. I never sought Mabel&rsquo;s hand for what there was in it, and I&rsquo;m
+more ready to marry her now than ever. But,&rdquo; he added, as a sudden
+impulse of good came over him, &ldquo;She need not know it; it would trouble
+her uselessly, and for the present we&rsquo;ll keep it from her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by turns censured and
+admired him, but now there was but one feeling in his bosom toward him, and
+that was one of unbounded respect. With a warm pressure of the hand he turned
+away, thinking, perchance, of his fair young daughter, who, far away o&rsquo;er
+the Atlantic waves, little dreamed of the scene on which that summer moon was
+shining. As the conference ended; Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing,
+glided, from her hiding-place, eagerly scanning her son&rsquo;s face to see if
+there was aught to justify her fears. But there was nothing, and with her heart
+beating at its accustomed pace, she descended the stairs in time to meet
+Durward, who, having reached Woodlawn that day, had not heard of
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s decision.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This way, Marster Bellmont&mdash;upstars is the gentleman&rsquo;s
+room,&rdquo; said the servant in attendance, and ascending the stairs, Durward
+met with Anna, asking her for her cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In there&mdash;go in,&rdquo; said Anna, pointing to a half-open door,
+and then hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose coming she had seen from the
+window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated, and as his knock met
+with no response, he ventured at last to enter unannounced into the presence of
+&rsquo;Lena, whom he had not met since that well-remembered night. Tastefully
+attired for the wedding in a simple white muslin, she sat upon a little stool
+with her face buried in the cushions of the sofa. She had heard his voice in
+the lower hall, and knowing she must soon meet him, she had for a moment
+abandoned herself to the tumult of bitter thoughts, which came sweeping over
+her in that trying hour. She was weeping&mdash;he knew that by the trembling of
+her body&mdash;and for an instant everything was forgotten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his hand upon those clustering
+curls which fell unheeded around her, when the thought that from among them had
+been cut the hated tress which his mother had cast into the flames, arrested
+his hand, and he was himself again. Forcing down his emotion, he said, calmly,
+&ldquo;Miss Rivers,&rdquo; and starting quickly to her feet, &rsquo;Lena
+demanded proudly what he would have, and why he was there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; said he, as he marked her haughty bearing and glanced
+at her dress, which was hardly in accordance with that of a bridesmaid;
+&ldquo;I supposed I was to be groomsman&mdash;am I mistaken?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So far as I am concerned you are, sir. I knew nothing of Mabel&rsquo;s
+writing to you, or I should have prevented it, for after what has occurred, you
+cannot deem me weak enough to lend myself to such an arrangement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And &rsquo;Lena walked out of the room, while Durward looked after her in
+amazement, one moment admiring her spirit, and the next blaming Mabel for not
+informing him how matters stood. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s no help for it
+now,&rdquo; thought he, as he descended the stairs and made his way into the
+parlor, whither &rsquo;Lena had preceded him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thus ended an interview of which &rsquo;Lena had thought so much, hoping
+and praying that it might result in a reconciliation. But it was all over
+now&mdash;the breach was wider than ever&mdash;with half-benumbed faculties she
+leaned on the window, unconscious of the earnest desire he felt to approach
+her, for there was about her a strange fascination which it required all his
+power to resist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched to John Jr., who,
+without a word, offered his arm to Mabel, and descending the broad staircase,
+they stood within the parlor in the spot which had been assigned them. Once
+during the ceremony he raised his eyes, encountering those of &rsquo;Lena,
+fixed upon him so reproachfully that with a scowl he turned away. Mechanically
+he went through with his part of the service, betraying no emotion whatever,
+until the solemn words which made them one were uttered. Then, when it was
+over&mdash;when he was bound to her forever&mdash;he seemed suddenly to awake
+from his apathy and think of what he had done. Crowding around him, they came
+with words of congratulation&mdash;all but &rsquo;Lena, who tarried behind, for
+she had none to give. Wretched as she was herself, she pitied the frail young
+bride, whose half-joyous, half-timid glances toward the frigid bridegroom,
+showed that already was she sipping from the bitter cup whose very dregs she
+was destined to drain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr. Douglass and Durward stood,
+speaking together of Nellie, and though John shrank from the sound of her name,
+his hearing faculties seemed unusually sharpened, and he lost not a word of
+what they were saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told,&rdquo; said Durward,
+&ldquo;and I am glad of it, for I miss her much. But what is it about Mr.
+Wilbur&rsquo;s marriage. Wasn&rsquo;t it rather unexpected?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not very. Nellie knew before she went that he was engaged to Miss
+Allen, but at his sister&rsquo;s request she kept it still. He found her at a
+boarding-school in Montreal, several years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will they remain in Europe?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For a time, at least, until Mary is better&mdash;but Nellie comes home
+with some friends from New Haven, whom she met in Paris;&rdquo; then in a low
+tone Mr. Douglass added, &ldquo;I almost dread the effect of this marriage upon
+her, for I am positive she liked him better than anyone else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little white, blue-veined hand which rested on that of John Jr., was
+suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that Mabel looked up inquiringly in the face
+which had no thought for her, for Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s words had fallen upon
+him like a thunderbolt, crushing him to the earth, and for a moment rendering
+him powerless. Instantly he comprehended it all. He had deceived himself, and
+by his impetuous haste lost all that he held most dear on earth. There was a
+cry of faintness, a grasping at empty space to keep from falling, and then
+forth into the open air they led the half-fainting man, followed by his
+frightened bride, who tenderly bathed his damp, cold brow, unmindful how he
+shrank from her, shuddering as he felt the touch of her soft hand, and
+motioning her aside when she stooped to part from his forehead the heavy locks
+of his hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere kept watch over a gentle
+girl, who &rsquo;neath the blue skies of sunny France, dreamed of her distant
+home across the ocean wave; of the gray-haired man, who, with every morning
+light and evening shade, blessed her as his child; of another, whose image was
+ever present with her, whom from her childhood she had loved, and whom neither
+time nor distance could efface from her memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down upon the white, haggard face
+and heavy bloodshot eye of him who counted each long, dreary hour as it passed
+by, cursing the fate which had made him what he was, and unjustly hardening his
+heart against his innocent unsuspecting wife.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br/>
+MARRIED LIFE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabel with at least a
+show of attention, but he was not one to act long as he did not feel. Had
+Nellie been, indeed, the wife of another, he might in time have learned to love
+Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence only served to remind him of what
+he had lost, and at last he began to shun her society, never seeming willing to
+be left with her alone, and either repulsing or treating with indifference the
+many little acts of kindness which her affectionate nature prompted. To all
+this Mabel was not blind, and when once she began to suspect her true position,
+it was easy for her to fancy slights where none were intended.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one of constant
+unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, which had been much
+improved, began to fail. Her old racking headaches returned with renewed force,
+confining her for whole days to her room, where she lay listening in vain for
+the footsteps which never came, and tended only by &rsquo;Lena, who in
+proportion as the others neglected her, clung to her more and more. The trip to
+Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the bitterness of his disappointment
+bitterly refusing to go, and saying there was nothing sillier than for a
+newly-married couple to go riding around the country, disgusting sensible
+people with their fooleries. So with a burst of tears Mabel yielded and her
+bridal tour extended no further than Frankfort, whither her husband <i>did</i>
+once accompany her, dining out even then with an old schoolmate whom he chanced
+to meet, and almost forgetting to call at Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s for Mabel when
+it was time to return home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which shipwrecked entirely the
+poor bride&rsquo;s happiness. By some means or other it at last came to Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s knowledge that Mabel&rsquo;s fortune was not only all gone,
+but that her son had known it in time to prevent his marrying her. Owing to
+various losses her own property had for a few years past been gradually
+diminishing, and when she found that Mabel&rsquo;s fortune, which she leaned
+upon as an all-powerful prop, was swept away, it was more than she could bear
+peaceably; and in a fit of disappointed rage she assailed her son, reproaching
+him with bringing disgrace upon the family by marrying a poor, homely, sickly
+girl, who would be forever incurring expense without any means of paying it!
+For once, however, she found her match, for in good round terms John Jr. bade
+her &ldquo;go to thunder,&rdquo; his favorite point of destination for his
+particular friends, at the same time saying, &ldquo;he didn&rsquo;t care a dime
+for Mabel&rsquo;s money. It was you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;who kept your eye
+on that, aiding and abetting the match, and now that you are disappointed,
+I&rsquo;m heartily glad of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who is going to pay for her board,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve no means of earning it, and I hope you don&rsquo;t intend
+to sponge out of me, for I think I&rsquo;ve enough paupers on my hands
+already!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Board</i>!&rdquo; roared John Jr. in a towering passion. &ldquo;While
+you thought her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything else; and since she
+has become poor, I do not think her appetite greatly increased. You taunt me,
+too, with having no means of earning my own living. Whose fault is
+it?&mdash;tell me that. Haven&rsquo;t you always opposed my having a
+profession? Didn&rsquo;t you <i>pet</i> and <i>baby</i> &lsquo;Johnny&rsquo;
+when a boy, keeping him always at your apron strings, and now that he&rsquo;s a
+man, he&rsquo;s not to be turned adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel,
+too, just as long as I please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned her battery upon poor
+Mabel, treating her with shameful neglect, intimating that she was in the way;
+that the house was full, and that she never supposed John was going to settle
+down at home for her to support; he was big enough to look after himself, and
+if he chose to marry a wife who had nothing, why let them go to work, as other
+folks did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what was meant, for John
+Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowledge of her loss, requesting his mother
+to do the same in such decided terms, that, hint as strongly as she pleased,
+she dared not tell the whole, for fear of the storm which was sure to follow.
+All this was not, of course, calculated to add to Mabel&rsquo;s comfort, and
+day by day she grew more and more unhappy, generously keeping to herself,
+however, the treatment which she received from Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of his
+mother,&rdquo; thought she, so the secret was kept, though she could not always
+repress the tears which would start when she thought how wretched she was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was anything particularly
+annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying woman, and now, when he so often
+found Mabel indisposed or weeping, he grew more morose and fault-finding,
+sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying to provoke him, when, in fact, she
+had used every means in her power to conciliate him. Again, conscience-smitten,
+he would lay her aching head upon his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing
+temples, would soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always awoke
+refreshed, and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her suffer. At
+such times, John would resolve never again to treat her unkindly, but alas! his
+resolutions were too easily broken. Had he married Nellie, a more faithful,
+affectionate husband there could not have been. But now it was different. A
+withering blight had fallen upon his earthly prospects, and forgetting that he
+alone was to blame, he unjustly laid the fault upon his innocent wife, who, as
+far as she was able, loved him as deeply as Nellie herself could have done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received a note, informing
+him that several of his young associates were going on a three days&rsquo;
+hunting excursion, in which they wished him to join. In the large easy-chair,
+just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported by pillows and saturated with
+camphor, while around her eyes were the dark rings which usually accompanied
+her headaches. Involuntarily John Jr. glanced toward her. Had it been Nellie,
+all the pleasures of the world could not have induced him to leave her, but
+Mabel was altogether another person, and more for the sake of seeing what she
+would say, than from any real intention of going, he read the note aloud; then
+carelessly throwing it aside, he said, &ldquo;Ah, yes, I&rsquo;ll go.
+It&rsquo;ll be rare fun camping out these moonlight nights.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him out of her sight, and
+now, at the first intimation of his leaving her, her lip began to tremble,
+while tears filled her eyes and dropped upon her cheeks. This was enough, and
+mentally styling her &ldquo;a perfect cry baby,&rdquo; he resolved to go at all
+hazards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly,&rdquo;
+said Anna, who was present.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to know if little Anna&rsquo;s got so she can dictate me,
+too,&rdquo; answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that &ldquo;he
+reckoned Mabel would get over her bad feelings quite as well without him as
+with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More for the sake of opposition than because she really cared, Carrie, too,
+chimed in, saying that &ldquo;he was a pretty specimen of a three months&rsquo;
+husband,&rdquo; and asking &ldquo;how he ever expected to answer for all of
+Mabel&rsquo;s tears and headaches.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hang her tears and headaches,&rdquo; said he, beginning to grow angry.
+&ldquo;She can get one up to order any time, and for my part, I am getting
+heartily tired of the sound of aches and pains.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please <i>don&rsquo;t</i> talk so,&rdquo; said Mabel, pressing her hands
+upon her aching head, while &rsquo;Lena sternly exclaimed, &ldquo;Shame on you,
+John Livingstone. I am surprised at you, for I did suppose you had some little
+feeling left.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but I am happy to say
+it is entirely lost on me,&rdquo; said John, leaving the room and shutting the
+door with a bang, which made every one of Mabel&rsquo;s nerves quiver anew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a perfect brute,&rdquo; said Carrie, while &rsquo;Lena and Anna
+drew nearer to Mabel, the one telling her &ldquo;she would not care,&rdquo; and
+the other silently pressing the little hand which instinctively sought hers, as
+if sure of finding sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately Carrie gave a detailed
+account of her brother&rsquo;s conduct, at the same time referring her mother
+for proof to Mabel&rsquo;s red eyes and swollen face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never interfere between husband and wife,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone
+coolly, &ldquo;but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of advice. Without
+being at all personal, I would say that few women have beauty enough to afford
+to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have patience enough to bear
+with a woman who is forever whining and complaining, first of this and then of
+that. I don&rsquo;t suppose that John is so much worse than other people, and I
+think he bears up wonderfully, considering his disappointment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to stare at each
+other in silence, wondering what she meant. Since her marriage, Mabel had
+occupied the parlor chamber, which connected with a cozy little bedroom and
+dressing-room adjoining. These had at the time been fitted up and furnished in
+a style which Mrs. Livingstone thought worthy of Mabel&rsquo;s wealth, but now
+that she was poor, the case was altered, and she had long contemplated removing
+her to more inferior quarters. &ldquo;She wasn&rsquo;t going to give her the
+very best room in the house. No, indeed, she wasn&rsquo;t&mdash;wearing out the
+carpets, soiling the furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would not do to approach
+him on the subject, so she waited, determining to carry out her plans the very
+first time he should be absent, thinking when it was once done, he would submit
+quietly. On hearing that he had gone off on a hunting excursion, she thought,
+&ldquo;Now is my time,&rdquo; and summoning to her assistance three or four
+servants, she removed everything belonging to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small
+and not remarkably convenient room which the former had occupied previous to
+his marriage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you about?&rdquo; asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked
+in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About my business,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone. I&rsquo;m not going
+to have my best things all worn out, and if this was once good enough for John
+to sleep in, it is now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But will Mabel like it?&rdquo; asked Anna, a little suspicious that her
+sister-in-laww&rsquo;s rights were being infringed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone. &ldquo;If she don&rsquo;t like it, all she has to do is to go
+away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lasted jest about as long as I thought &rsquo;twood,&rdquo; said Aunt
+Milly, when she heard what was going on. &ldquo;Ile and crab-apple vinegar
+won&rsquo;t mix, nohow, and if before the year&rsquo;s up old miss don&rsquo;t
+worry the life out of that poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a
+picked chicken, my name ain&rsquo;t Milly Livingstone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated with the family, they
+saw things as they were, and while Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s conduct was
+universally condemned, Mabel was a general favorite. After Mrs. Livingstone had
+left the room, Milly, with one or two others, stole up to reconnoiter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I &rsquo;clar&rsquo; for&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Milly, &ldquo;if here
+ain&rsquo;t Marster John&rsquo;s bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right
+out in far sight, and Miss Mabel comin&rsquo; in here to sleep. &rsquo;Pears
+like some white folks hain&rsquo;t no idee of what &rsquo;longs to good
+manners. Here, Corind, put the jack in thar, the fish-line thar, the backy
+thar, and heave that ar other thrash out o&rsquo;door,&rdquo; pointing to some
+geological specimens which from time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which
+his mother had not thought proper to molest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed good taste, began to
+make some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, and under her
+supervision the room began to present a more cheerful and inviting aspect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,&rdquo; said she, turning up
+her broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand.
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if
+&rsquo;tain&rsquo;t to use. Go, Corind, and fetch &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the precaution to
+bring them in the tongs, so that in the <i>denouement</i> she could stoutly
+deny having even &ldquo;tached &rsquo;em, or even had &rsquo;em in her
+hands!&rdquo; (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied. Had she been
+consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for wishing her to
+take another room, she would have consented willingly, but to be thus summarily
+removed without a shadow of warning, hardly came up to her ideas of justice.
+Still, there was no help for it, and that night the bride of three months
+watered her lone pillow with tears, never once closing her heavy eyelids in
+sleep until the dim morning light came in through the open window, and the
+tread of the negroes&rsquo; feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for many
+hours, the weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the ill-natured remarks
+which her non-appearance was eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said
+&ldquo;it was strange what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress
+Mabel fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her
+until such time as she chose to appear, but she&rsquo;d find herself mistaken,
+for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon her, and if she
+couldn&rsquo;t come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until dinner
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly had the latter
+stolen up to her cousin&rsquo;s room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn
+face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had come all too
+soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her sleep; it will do her good,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, adjusting
+the bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not
+disturb her, she left the chamber.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly preparing a rich
+cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black tea, were to be slyly conveyed
+to Mabel, who was now awake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Reckon thar don&rsquo;t nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the
+roost,&rdquo; said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner of
+her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who, not having
+seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking the world was not,
+after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet a few left who cared for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her headache of the day before still remained, and &rsquo;Lena suggested that
+she should stay in her room, saying that she would herself see that every
+necessary attention was paid her. This she could the more readily do, as Mrs.
+Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her husband. That afternoon, as Mabel
+lay watching the drifting clouds as they passed and repassed before the window,
+her ear suddenly caught the sound of horses&rsquo; feet. Nearer and nearer they
+came, until with a cry of delight she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for
+very joy&mdash;for John Jr. had come home! She could not be mistaken, and if
+there was any lingering doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for she heard his
+voice in the hall below, his footsteps on the stairs. He was coming, an unusual
+thing, to see her first.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But how did he know she was there, in his old room? He did not know it; he was
+only coming to put his rifle in its accustomed place, and on seeing the chamber
+filled with the various paraphernalia of a woman&rsquo;s toilet, he started,
+with the exclamation, &ldquo;What the deuce! I reckon I&rsquo;ve got into the
+wrong pew,&rdquo; and was going away, when Mabel called him back. &ldquo;Meb,
+you here?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;<i>You</i> in this little tucked-up hole, that
+I always thought too small for me and my traps! What does it mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband&rsquo;s voice, and knowing
+from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with her, the sense of
+injustice done her by his mother burst out, and throwing her arms around his
+neck, she told him everything connected with her removal, asking what his
+mother meant by saying, &ldquo;she should never get anything for their
+board,&rdquo; and begging him &ldquo;to take her away where they could live
+alone and be happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since he had left her, John Jr. had <i>thought</i> a great deal, the result of
+which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner than he at first
+intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently, and if possible win back
+the respect of &rsquo;Lena, which he knew he had lost. To his companions, who
+urged him to remain, he replied that &ldquo;he had left his wife sick, and he
+could not stay longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It cost him a great effort to say &ldquo;my wife,&rdquo; for never before had
+he so called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and bidding his
+young friends adieu, he started for home with the same impetuous speed which
+usually characterized his riding. He had fully expected to meet Mabel in the
+parlor, and was even revolving in his own mind the prospect of kissing her,
+provided &rsquo;Lena were present. &ldquo;That&rsquo;ll prove to her,&rdquo;
+thought he, &ldquo;that I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I am; so
+I&rsquo;ll do it, if Meb doesn&rsquo;t happen to be all bound up in camphor and
+aromatic vinegar, which I can&rsquo;t endure, anyway.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old room,
+where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment he scarcely knew
+what to say. By the time, however, that she had finished her story, his mind
+was pretty well made up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so it&rsquo;s mother&rsquo;s doings, hey?&rdquo; said he, violently
+pulling the bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda
+appeared in answer to his summons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How many blacks are there in the kitchen?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,&rdquo; answered Corinda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and adding that
+&ldquo;Marster John looked mighty black in the face&rdquo;, and she reckoned
+some on &rsquo;em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of what might
+happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in her
+mistress&rsquo; absence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly&rsquo;s first thought was
+of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Corinda a sense of
+what she might expect if in any way she implicated her, she gave her a cuff in
+advance, bidding her &ldquo;be keerful how she blabbed&rdquo;, then heading the
+sable group, she repaired to the chamber, where John Jr. was awaiting them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said, &ldquo;Take
+hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where they came
+from.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, oh don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; entreated Mabel, but laying his hand
+over her mouth, John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the
+negroes &ldquo;to be quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt Milly,
+comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her mistress had her
+match in her son, set to work with a right good will, and when about dusk Mrs.
+Livingstone came home, she was astonished at seeing a light in the parlor
+chamber, while occasionally she could discern the outline of a form moving
+before the window. What could it mean? Perhaps they had company, and springing
+from the carriage she hastened into the house, meeting &rsquo;Lena in the hall,
+and eagerly asking who was in the front chamber.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;that my cousin is not pleased
+with the change, and has gone back to the front room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The impudent thing!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her
+son&rsquo;s return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to Mabel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing open the
+door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands crammed in his pockets
+and legs crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting and ready for
+whatever might occur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John Livingstone!&rdquo; she gasped in her surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my name,&rdquo; he returned, quietly enjoying her look of
+amazement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she continued.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mean what I say,&rdquo; was his provoking answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What have you been about?&rdquo; was her next question, to which he
+replied, &ldquo;Your eyesight is not deficient&mdash;you can see for
+yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon Mabel,
+abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist, bidding her
+&ldquo;confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as she was not
+in the least to blame.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your wife!&rdquo; repeated Mrs. Livingstone&mdash;&ldquo;very
+affectionate you&rsquo;ve grown, all at once. Perhaps you&rsquo;ve forgotten
+that you married her to spite Nellie, who you then believed was the bride of
+Mr. Wilbur, but you surely remember how you fainted when you accidentally
+learned your mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pillows, prevented Mrs.
+Livingstone from any further remarks, and satisfied with the result of her
+visit, she walked away, while John Jr., springing to the bedside, bore his
+young wife to the open window, hoping the cool night air would revive her. But
+she lay so pale and motionless in his arms, her head resting so heavily upon
+his shoulder, that with a terrible foreboding he laid her back upon the bed,
+and rushing to the door, shouted loudly, &ldquo;Help&mdash;somebody&mdash;come
+quick&mdash;Mabel is dead, I know she is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when she
+saw the marble whiteness of Mabel&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t kill her, &rsquo;Lena. God knows I didn&rsquo;t. Poor
+little Meb,&rdquo; said John Jr., quailing beneath &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s rebuking
+glance, and bending anxiously over the slight form which looked so much like
+death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mabel was not dead. &rsquo;Lena knew it by the faint fluttering of her
+heart, and an application of the usual remedies sufficed, at last, to restore
+her to consciousness. With a long-drawn sigh her eyes unclosed, and looking
+earnestly in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s face, she said, &ldquo;Was it a dream,
+&rsquo;Lena? Tell me, was it all a dream?&rdquo;&mdash;then, as she observed
+her husband, she added, shudderingly, &ldquo;No, no, not a dream. I remember it
+all now. And I wish I was dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, advancing
+nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her white brow, saying, softly,
+&ldquo;Poor, poor Meb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while the hot tears
+gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, &ldquo;Forgive me, John, I couldn&rsquo;t
+help it. I didn&rsquo;t know it, and now, if you say so, I&rsquo;ll go away,
+alone&mdash;where you&rsquo;ll never see me again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely torn away the veil, and
+she saw why she was there&mdash;knew why he had sought her for his
+wife&mdash;understood all his coldness and neglect; but she had no word of
+reproach for him, her husband, and from the depths of her crushed heart she
+forgave him, commiserating him as the greater sufferer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May be I shall die,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;and
+then&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John Jr.
+understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as it did, he
+felt half inclined to declare, with his usual impulsiveness, that it should
+never be; but the rash promise was not made, and it was far better that it
+should not be.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/>
+THE SHADOW.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mabel&rsquo;s nerves had received too great a shock to rally immediately, and
+as day after day went by, she still kept her room, notwithstanding the very
+pointed hints of her mother-in-law that &ldquo;she was making believe for the
+sake of sympathy.&rdquo; Why didn&rsquo;t she get up and go out
+doors&mdash;anybody would be sick to be flat on their back day in and day out;
+or did she think she was spiting her by showing what muss she could keep the
+&ldquo;best chamber&rdquo; in if she chose?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s
+dissatisfaction. Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, she would not yield
+without an attempt at making Mabel, at least, as uncomfortable in mind as
+possible. Accordingly, almost every day when her son was not present, she
+conveyed from the room some nice article of furniture, substituting in its
+place one of inferior quality, which was quite good enough, she thought, for a
+penniless bride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Pears like ole miss goin&rsquo; to make a clean finish of her dis
+time,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress&rsquo; daily
+depredations. &ldquo;Ole Sam done got title deed of her, sure enough. Ki!
+won&rsquo;t she ketch it in t&rsquo;other world, when he done show her his
+cloven foot, and won&rsquo;t she holler for old Milly to fotch her a drink of
+water? not particular then&mdash;drink out of the bucket, gourd-shell, or
+anything; but dis nigger&rsquo;ll sign her post in de parlor afore she&rsquo;ll
+go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Milly,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, who overheard this colloquy,
+&ldquo;don&rsquo;t you know it&rsquo;s wrong to indulge in such wicked
+thoughts?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless you, child,&rdquo; returned the old negress, &ldquo;she
+&rsquo;sarves &rsquo;em all for treatin&rsquo; that poor, dear lamb so.
+I&rsquo;d &rsquo;nihilate her if I&rsquo;s Miss Mabel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, Milly,&rdquo; said Aunt Polly, who was present. &ldquo;You must
+heap coals of fire on her head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, that&rsquo;s it&mdash;she orto have &rsquo;em,&rdquo; quickly
+responded Milly, thinking Polly&rsquo;s method of revenge the very best in the
+world, provided the coals were &ldquo;bilin&rsquo; hot,&rdquo; and with this
+reflection she started upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel she had been
+preparing for the invalid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Several times each day Grandma Nichols visited Mabel&rsquo;s room, always
+prescribing some new tea of herbs, whose healing qualities were wonderful,
+having effected cures in every member of Nancy Scovandyke&rsquo;s family, that
+lady herself, as a matter of course, being first included. And Aunt Milly, with
+the faithfulness characteristic of her race, would seek out each new herb,
+uniting with it her own simple prayer that it might have the desired effect.
+But all in vain, for every day Mabel became weaker, while her dark eyes grew
+larger and brighter, anon lighting up with joy as she heard her husband&rsquo;s
+footsteps in the hall, and again filling with tears as she glanced timidly into
+his face, and thought of the dread reality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maybe I shall die,&rdquo; was more than once murmured in her sleep, and
+John Jr., as often as he heard those words, would press her burning hands, and
+mentally reply, &ldquo;Poor little Meb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And all this time no one thought to call a physician, until Mr. Livingstone
+himself at last suggested it. At first he had felt no interest whatever in his
+daughter-in-law, but with him force of habit was everything, and when she no
+longer came among them, he missed her&mdash;missed her languid steps upon the
+stairs and her childish voice in the parlor. At last it one day occurred to him
+to visit her. She was sleeping when he entered the room, but he could see there
+had been a fearful change since last he looked upon her, and without a word
+concerning his intentions, he walked to the kitchen, ordering one of his
+servants to start forthwith for the physician, whose residence was a few miles
+distant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone was in the front parlor when he returned, in company with
+Doctor Gordon, and immediately her avaricious spirit asked who would pay the
+bill, and why was he sent for. Mabel did not need him&mdash;she was only
+babyish and spleeny&mdash;and so she told the physician, who, however, did not
+agree with her. He did not say that Mabel would die, but he thought so, for his
+experienced eye saw in her infallible signs of the disease which had stricken
+down both her parents, and to which, from her birth, she had been a prey. Mabel
+guessed as much from his manner, and when again he visited her, she asked him
+plainly what he thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was young&mdash;a bride&mdash;surrounded apparently by everything which
+could make her happy, and the physician hesitated, answering her evasively,
+until she said, &ldquo;Do not fear to tell me truly, for I want to die. Oh, I
+long to die,&rdquo; she continued, passionately clasping her thin white hands
+together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is an unusual wish in one so young,&rdquo; answered the physician,
+&ldquo;but to be plain with you, Mrs. Livingstone, I think consumption too
+deeply seated to admit of your recovery. You may be better, but never well.
+Your disease is hereditary, and has been coming on too long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is well,&rdquo; was Mabel&rsquo;s only answer, as she turned wearily
+upon her side and hid her face in the pillows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long time she lay there, thinking, weeping, and thinking again, of the
+noisome grave through which she must pass, and from which she instinctively
+shrank, it was so dark, so cold, and dreary. But Mabel had trusted in One who
+she knew would go with her down into the lone valley&mdash;whose arm she felt
+would uphold her as she crossed the dark, rolling stream of death; and as if
+her frail bark were already safely moored upon the shores of the eternal river,
+she looked back dreamily upon the world she had left, and as she saw what she
+felt would surely be, she again murmured through her tears, &ldquo;It is
+well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, when John Jr. came up to his room, he appeared somewhat moody and
+cross, barely speaking to Mabel, and then walking up and down the room with the
+heavy tread which always indicated a storm within. He had that day been to
+Frankfort, hearing that Nellie was really coming home very soon&mdash;very
+possibly she was now on her way. Of course she would visit Mabel, when she
+heard she was sick, and of course he must meet her face to face, must stand
+with her at the bedside of <i>his wife</i> and that wife Mabel. In his heart he
+did not accuse the latter of feigning her illness, but he wished she would get
+well faster, so that Nellie need not feel obliged to visit her. She could at
+least make an effort&mdash;a great deal depended upon that&mdash;and she had
+now been confined to her room three or four weeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus he reflected as he walked, and at last his thoughts formed themselves into
+words. Stopping short at the foot of the bed, he said abruptly and without
+looking her in the face, &ldquo;How do you feel tonight?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The stifled cough which Mabel tried to suppress because it was offensive to
+him, brought a scowl to his forehead, and in imagination he anticipated her
+answer, &ldquo;I do not think I am any better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I don&rsquo;t believe you try to be,&rdquo; sprang to his lips, but
+its utterance was prevented by a glance at her face, which by the flickering
+lamplight looked whiter than ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nellie is coming home in a few weeks,&rdquo; he said at length, with his
+usual precipitancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the night when her
+mother-in-law had rang it in her ears, and now she started so quickly, that the
+offending cough could not be forced back, and the coughing fit which followed
+was so violent that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her quivering lips, saw
+that what she had raised was streaked with blood. But he was unused to
+sickness, and he gave it no farther thought, resuming the conversation as soon
+as she became quiet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be plain, Meb,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I want you to hurry and get
+well before Nellie comes&mdash;for if you are sick she&rsquo;ll feel in duty
+bound to visit you, and I&rsquo;d rather face a loaded cannon than her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and she lay so long with
+her eyes closed that John Jr., growing impatient, said, &ldquo;Are you asleep,
+Meb?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said she, at the same time requesting him to take the
+vacant chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt that she had
+much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and as she proceeded, his heart
+melted toward her in a manner which he had never thought possible. Very gently
+she spoke of her approaching end as sure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ask me to make haste and be well,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;but it
+cannot be. I shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, never join you
+in the parlor below, and before the cold winds of winter are blowing, I shall
+be dead. I hope I shall live until Nellie comes, for I must see her, I must
+make it right between her and you. I must tell her to forgive you for marrying
+me when you loved only her; and she will listen&mdash;she won&rsquo;t refuse
+me, and when I am gone you&rsquo;ll be happy together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously moved toward him
+was met more than half-way, and thus strengthened, Mabel continued: &ldquo;You
+must sometimes think and speak of Mabel when she is dead. I do not ask you to
+call me wife. I do not wish it, but you must forget how wretched I have made
+you, for oh, I did not mean it, and had I sooner known what I do now, I would
+have died ere I had caused you one pang of sorrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given worlds to recall
+that moment, that he might tell the broken-hearted girl how bitterly he, too,
+repented of all the wrong he had done her; but he did not say so then&mdash;he
+could only listen, while he mentally resolved that if Mabel were indeed about
+to die, he would make the remainder of her short life happy, and thus atone, as
+far as possible, for the past. But alas for John Jr., his resolutions were
+easily broken, and as days and weeks went by, and there was no perceptible
+change in her, he grew weary of well-doing, absenting himself whole days from
+the sick-room, and at night rather unwillingly resuming his post as watcher,
+for Mabel would have no one else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since Mabel&rsquo;s illness he had occupied the little room adjoining hers, and
+often when in the still night he lay awake, watching the shadow which the lamp
+cast upon the wall, and thinking of her for whom the light was constantly kept
+burning, his conscience would smite him terribly, and rising up, he would steal
+softly to her bedside to see if she were sleeping quietly. But anon he grew
+weary of this, too; the shadow on the wall troubled him, it kept him awake; it
+was a continual reproach, and he must be rid of it, somehow. He tried the
+experiment of closing his door, but Mabel knew the moment he attempted it, and
+he could not refuse her when she asked him to leave it open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John Jr. grew restless, fidgety, and nervous. Why need the lamp be kept
+burning? He could light it when necessary; or why need he sleep there, when
+some one else would do as well? He thought of &rsquo;Lena&mdash;she was just
+the one, and the next day he would speak to her. To his great joy she consented
+to relieve him awhile, provided Mabel were willing; but she was not, and John
+Jr. was forced to submit. He was not accustomed to restraint, and every night
+matters grew worse and worse. The shadow annoyed him exceedingly. If he slept,
+he dreamed that it kept a glimmering watch over him, and when he awoke, he, in
+turn, watched over that, until the misty day-light came to dissipate the
+phantom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About this time several families from Frankfort started for New Orleans, where
+they were wont to spend the winter, and irresistibly, John Jr. became possessed
+of a desire to visit that city, too. Mabel would undoubtedly live until spring,
+now that the trying part of autumn was past and there could be no harm in his
+leaving her for awhile, when he so much needed rest. Accordingly, &rsquo;Lena
+was one day surprised by his announcing his intended trip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you cannot be in earnest,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you surely will
+not leave Mabel now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why not?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;She doesn&rsquo;t grow any worse,
+and won&rsquo;t until spring, and this close confinement is absolutely killing
+me! Why, I&rsquo;ve lost six pounds in six months, and you&rsquo;ll see to her,
+I know you will. You&rsquo;re a good girl, and I like you, if I did get angry
+with you, weeks ago when I went a hunting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to convince him of the
+fact, telling him how much pleasure she had felt in observing his improved
+manner toward Mabel, and that he must not spoil it now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use talking,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m bent on
+going somewhere. I&rsquo;ve tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I
+can&rsquo;t stay <i>put</i>. It isn&rsquo;t my nature. I shan&rsquo;t tell Meb
+till just before I start, for I hate scenes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And suppose she dies while you are gone?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was wrong, and rather
+tartly he answered, as he left the room, &ldquo;Give her a decent burial, and
+present the bill to mother!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The next morning, as &rsquo;Lena sat alone with Mabel, John Jr. entered,
+dressed and ready for his journey. But he found it harder telling his wife than
+he had anticipated. She looked unusually pale this morning. The sallowness of
+her complexion was all gone, and on either cheek there burned a round, bright
+spot. &rsquo;Lena had just been arranging her thick, glossy hair, and now,
+wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her pillows, while her large black eyes,
+unnaturally bright, sparkled with joy at the sight of her husband. But they
+quickly filled with tears when told that he was going away, and had come to say
+good-bye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only to New Orleans and back,&rdquo; he said, as he saw her
+changing face. &ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t be gone long, and &rsquo;Lena will take
+care of you a heap better than I can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t that,&rdquo; answered Mabel, wiping her tears away.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go, John. Wait a little while. I&rsquo;m sure it won&rsquo;t
+be long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are nervous,&rdquo; said he, playfully lapping her white cheek.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re not going to die. You&rsquo;ll live to be grandmother yet,
+who knows? But I must be off or lose the train. Good bye, little Meb,&rdquo;
+grasping her hand, &ldquo;Good-bye, &rsquo;Lena. I&rsquo;ll bring you both
+something nice&mdash;good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked him to come back to her bedside
+just for one moment. He could not refuse, and winding her long, emaciated arms
+around his neck, she whispered, &ldquo;Kiss me once before you go. I shall
+never ask it again, and &rsquo;twill make me happier when you are gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A dozen times, if you like,&rdquo; said he, giving her the only
+husband&rsquo;s kiss she had ever received.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed silently for
+heaven&rsquo;s blessing on his wayward head, and then releasing him, she bade
+him go. Had he known of all that was to follow, he would not have left her, but
+he believed as he said, that she would survive the winter, and with one more
+kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing thickly, he departed.
+The window of Mabel&rsquo;s room commanded a view of the turnpike, and when the
+sound of horses&rsquo; feet was heard on the lawn, she requested &rsquo;Lena to
+lead her to the window, where she stood watching him until a turn in the road
+hid him from her sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis the last time,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and he will never know
+how much this parting cost me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, Mabel said, &ldquo;If
+I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell her how it all happened, and that
+she must forgive him, for he was not to blame.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not understand you,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and then, in broken
+sentences, Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and how terribly John
+was deceived. &ldquo;Of course he couldn&rsquo;t love me after that,&rdquo;
+said she, &ldquo;and it&rsquo;s right that I should die. He and Nellie were
+made for each other, and if the inhabitants of heaven are allowed to watch over
+those they loved on earth, I will ask to be always near them. You will tell
+her, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see Nellie herself as
+she was to sail from Liverpool the 20th, and a few days proved her conjecture
+correct. Entering Mabel&rsquo;s room one morning about a week after
+John&rsquo;s departure, she brought the glad news that Nellie had returned, and
+would be with them to-morrow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed. The roundness of her form
+and face was gone; the rose had faded from her cheek, and her footsteps were no
+longer light and bounding as of old. She knew of John Jr.&rsquo;s absence or
+she would not have come, for she could not meet him face to face. She had
+heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and while she felt indignant toward him,
+she freely forgave his innocent wife, who she felt had been more sinned against
+than sinning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying her face on
+Nellie&rsquo;s neck, wept like a child. &ldquo;You do not hate me,&rdquo; she
+said at last, &ldquo;or you would not have come so soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hate you?&mdash;no,&rdquo; answered Nellie. &ldquo;I have no cause for
+hating <i>you</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you will stay with me until I die&mdash;until he comes
+home&mdash;and forgive him, too,&rdquo; Mabel continued.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can promise the first, but the latter is harder,&rdquo; said Nellie,
+her cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the wreck before her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you must, you will,&rdquo; exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling all she
+knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll forgive
+him Nellie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging closer to Nellie as
+she felt the dark shadow of death creeping gradually over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he&rsquo;d only come,&rdquo; she would say, &ldquo;and I could place
+your hand in his before I died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it was not to be. Day after day John Jr. lingered, dreading to return, for
+he knew Nellie was there, and he could not meet her, he thought, at the bedside
+of Mabel. So he tarried until a letter from &rsquo;Lena, which said that Mabel
+would die, decided him, and rather reluctantly he started homeward. Meantime
+Mabel, who knew nothing of her loss, conceived the generous idea of willing all
+her possessions to her recreant husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he&rsquo;ll think more kindly of me,&rdquo; said she to his
+father, to whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Livingstone felt that
+he could not undeceive her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and the will duly drawn up,
+signed, sealed, and delivered into the hands of Mr. Livingstone, whose wife,
+with a mocking laugh, bade him &ldquo;guard it carefully, it was so
+valuable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It shows her goodness of heart, at least,&rdquo; said he, and possibly
+Mrs. Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her manner softened
+greatly toward her daughter-in-law.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+It was midnight at Maple Grove. On the table, in its accustomed place, the lamp
+was burning dimly, casting the shadow upon the wall, whilst over the whole room
+a darker shadow was brooding. The window was open, and the cool night air came
+softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair from off the pale brow of the
+dying. Tenderly above her Nellie and &rsquo;Lena were bending. They had watched
+by her many a night, and now she asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a
+single one&mdash;she would rather die alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of horses&rsquo; hoofs rang out on the still air, but she did not
+heed it. Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up the graveled walk,
+through the yard, and Nellie&rsquo;s face blanched to an unnatural whiteness as
+she thought who that midnight-rider was. Arrived in Frankfort only an hour
+before, he had hastened forward, impelled by a something he could not resist.
+From afar he had caught the glimmering light, and he felt he was not too late.
+He knew how to enter the house, and on through the wide hall and up the broad
+staircase he came, until he stood in the chamber, where before him another
+guest had entered, whose name was Death!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay <i>his</i>
+wife&mdash;<i>her</i> rival&mdash;the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom,
+and the pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mabel! She is dead!&rdquo; was all he uttered, and falling upon his
+knees, he buried his face in the pillow, while half scornfully, half pityingly,
+Nellie gazed upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not for the wrong he had
+done her, but for the sake of the young girl, now passed forever away.
+&rsquo;Lena felt differently. His silent grief conquered all resentment, and
+going to his side, she told him how peacefully Mabel had died&mdash;how to the
+last she had loved and remembered him, praying that he might be happy when she
+was gone,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor little Meb, she deserved a better fate,&rdquo; was all he said, as
+he continued his kneeling posture, until the family and servants, whom Nellie
+had summoned, came crowding round, the cries of the latter grating on the ear,
+and seeming sadly out of place for her whose short life had been so dreary, and
+who had welcomed death as a release from all her pain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s wish that Mabel should be arrayed in her bridal
+robes, but with a shudder at the idle mockery, John Jr. answered,
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; and in a plain white muslin, her shining hair arrayed as she
+was wont to wear it, they placed her in her coffin, and on a sunny slope where
+the golden sunlight and the pale moonbeams latest fell, and where in spring the
+bright green grass and the sweet wild flowers are earliest seen, laid her down
+to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, when all around was still, John Jr. lay musing sadly of the past.
+His affection for Mabel had been slight and variable, but now that she was
+gone, he missed her. The large easy-chair, with its cushions and pillows, was
+empty, and as he thought of the pale, dark face and aching head he had so often
+seen reclining there, and which he would never see again, he groaned in
+bitterness of spirit, for well he knew that he had helped to break the heart
+now lying cold and still beneath the coffin-lid. There was no shadow on the
+wall, for the lamp had gone out with the young life for whom it had been kept
+burning, but many a shadow lay dark and heavy across his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With the sun-setting a driving rain had come on, and as the November wind went
+howling past the window, and the large drops beat against the casement, he
+thought of the lonesome little grave on which that rain was falling; and
+shuddering, he hid his face in the pillows, asking to be forgiven, for he knew
+that all too soon that grave was made, and he had helped to make it. At last,
+long after the clock had told the hour of midnight, he arose, and lighting the
+lamp which many a weary night had burned for <i>her</i>, he placed it where the
+shadow would fall upon the wall as it had done of old. It was no longer a
+phantom to annoy him, and soothed by its presence, he fell asleep, dreaming
+that Mabel had come back to bring him her forgiveness, but when he essayed to
+touch her, she vanished from his sight, and there was nothing left save that
+shadow on the wall.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/>
+MRS. GRAHAM&rsquo;S RETURN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn, the former remaining but a day
+and night, and then, without once seeing &rsquo;Lena, departing for Europe,
+where business, either fancied or real, called him. Often, when lying weary and
+sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing to his wife the secret which he
+felt was wearing his life away, but the cowardice of his nature seemed
+increased by physical weakness, and from time to time was the disclosure
+postponed, while the chain of evidence was fearfully lengthening around poor
+&rsquo;Lena, to whom Mrs. Graham had transferred the entire weight of her
+displeasure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she was ever ready to
+forgive when she saw any indications of reform on his part, and as during all
+their journey he had never once given her cause for offense, she began to
+attribute his former delinquencies wholly to &rsquo;Lena; and when he proposed
+a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned it, hoping that time and absence would
+remove from his mind all thoughts of the beautiful girl, who she thought was
+her rival. Still, though she would not confess it, in her heart she did not
+believe &rsquo;Lena guilty except so far as a desire to attract Mr.
+Graham&rsquo;s attention would make her so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The daguerreotype which had
+caused so much trouble was still in her possession, guarded carefully from her
+husband, who never suspecting the truth, supposed he had lost it. Frequently
+had Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each time discovering some point of
+difference between it and its supposed original. Still she never for a moment
+doubted that it was &rsquo;Lena, until an event occurred which convinced her of
+the contrary, leaving her, meantime, more mystified than ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day in
+Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first individual whom
+they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel Slocum. Not finding his
+business as profitable in Lexington as he could wish, he had recently removed
+to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had prompted him to board at the Burnet
+House, until he&rsquo;d seen the &ldquo;Ohio elephant,&rdquo; when he intended
+retiring to one of the cheaper boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a
+grin of recognition became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very
+long and very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either
+water or brush.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is that loafer who seems to know you?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham,
+directing her husband&rsquo;s attention toward Joel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham replied that &ldquo;he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he
+took daguerreotypes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one of his
+wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang, &ldquo;Now you
+don&rsquo;t say this is you. And this is your old woman, I s&rsquo;pose. Miss
+Graham, how-dy-du? Darned if you don&rsquo;t look like Aunt Nancy, only
+she&rsquo;s lean and you are squatty. S&rsquo;posin&rsquo; you give me a call
+and get your picters taken. I didn&rsquo;t get an all-killin&rsquo; sight of
+practice in Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn&rsquo;t know enough to
+patternize me, and &rsquo;taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,&rdquo;
+turning to Mr. Graham, &ldquo;employed me once, and pretended to be
+suited.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to Joel, gave
+his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made an excuse for
+leaving her awhile. Looking from the window a moment after, Mrs. Graham saw him
+walking down the street in close conversation with Joel, who, by the way of
+showing his importance, lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met.
+Instantly her curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion
+of his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction that
+there was something in his possession which he did not wish her to see. Once,
+when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust something into his
+pocket, appearing so much confused that she resolved to ferret out the secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he was
+asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his pockets, found a
+daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw was a <i>fac-simile</i> of
+the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of the
+hair&mdash;everything&mdash;was the same, and utterly confounded, she stood
+gazing first at one and then at the other, wondering what it meant. Could
+&rsquo;Lena be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the last
+daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the first. At all
+events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done its companion, and
+stealthily returning it to its place, she crept back to bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel was buried
+that day. Of course &rsquo;Lena could not have been absent from home. Mrs.
+Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came upon her that
+another than &rsquo;Lena was the original of the daguerreotypes. And yet she
+was not generous enough to tell Durward so. She knew he was deceived&mdash;she
+wished him to remain so&mdash;and to effect it, she refrained from seeking an
+explanation from her husband, fearing lest &rsquo;Lena should be proved
+innocent. Her husband knew there was a misunderstanding between Durward and
+&rsquo;Lena, and if she were to ask him about the pictures, he would, she
+thought, at once suspect the cause of that misunderstanding, and as a matter of
+course, exonerate &rsquo;Lena from all blame. The consequence of this she
+foresaw, and therefore she resolved upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if
+in the end she prevented Durward from making &rsquo;Lena his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter almost
+constantly before Durward&rsquo;s mind, frequently referring to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had
+started for Europe. She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day
+of her husband&rsquo;s departure. &rsquo;Lena had not met the lady before,
+since that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned
+her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near the
+window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated with Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not know before of Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s return, and when her aunt
+casually asked, &ldquo;Did your husband come back with you?&rdquo; she
+involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came, sent the
+blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled with joy. She
+should see him&mdash;he would explain everything&mdash;and she should be
+guiltless in Durward&rsquo;s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which was
+quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s adding,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three
+months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, which did not escape
+the observation or either mother or son, the latter of whom had watched her
+from the first, noting each change, and interpreting it according to his fears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, &rsquo;Lena, how have I been deceived!&rdquo; was his
+mental cry as she precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who asked
+what was the matter, that she was faint and dizzy. Death had been but yesterday
+within their walls, and as if softened by its presence, Mrs. Livingstone
+actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that &ldquo;constant watching with
+poor, dear Mabel had impaired her health.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,&rdquo; returned
+Mrs. Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost on Mrs. Livingstone, was
+noticed by Durward, who soon proposed leaving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On their way home, his mother asked if he observed &rsquo;Lena when Mr. Graham
+was mentioned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without saying that he did, Durward replied, &ldquo;I noticed your remark to
+Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to say a word
+which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon &rsquo;Lena. Her reputation
+as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught against it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t, I won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to
+conciliate her son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had
+first supposed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of
+Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to expressions
+which would have operated unfavorably against the young girl, and when at last
+circumstances occurred which gave her, as she thought, liberty to free her
+mind, she was only too willing to do so. Of those circumstances, in which
+others besides &rsquo;Lena were concerned, we will speak in another chapter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/>
+ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Malcolm Everett&rsquo;s engagement with General Fontaine had expired, and as
+was his original intention, he started for New York, first seeking an interview
+with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, of whom he asked their daughter Anna in
+marriage, at the same time announcing the startling fact that they had been
+engaged for more than a year. &ldquo;I do not ask you for her now,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;for I am not in a situation to support her as I would wish to, but
+that time will come ere long, I trust, and I can assure you that her happiness
+shall be the first object of my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett. He was unused to that,
+and as an equal meets an equal, he met them, made known his request, and then
+in silence awaited their answer. Had Mrs. Livingstone been less indignant,
+there would undoubtedly have ensued a clamorous call for hartshorn and
+vinaigrette, but as it was, she started up, and confronting the young man, she
+exclaimed, &ldquo;How dare you ask such a thing? <i>My</i> daughter marry
+<i>you</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why not, madam?&rdquo; he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone
+continued: &ldquo;<i>You</i>, a low-born Yankee, who have been, as it were, an
+hireling. <i>You</i> presume to ask for <i>my</i> daughter!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; he answered calmly, with a quiet smile, ten-fold more
+tantalizing than harsh words would have been, &ldquo;I do. Can I have her with
+your consent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never, so long as I live. I&rsquo;d sooner see her dead than wedded to
+vulgar poverty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is your answer. Very well,&rdquo; said Malcolm, bowing stiffly.
+&ldquo;And now I will hear yours,&rdquo; turning to Mr. Livingstone, who
+replied, that &ldquo;he would leave the matter entirely with his wife&mdash;it
+was nothing to him&mdash;he had nothing personal against Mr. Everett&mdash;he
+rather liked him than otherwise, but he hardly thought Anna suited to him, she
+had been brought up so differently;&rdquo; and thus evasively answering, he
+walked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cowardly fool!&rdquo; muttered Mrs. Livingstone, as the door closed upon
+him. &ldquo;If I pretended to be a man, I&rsquo;d be one;&rdquo; then turning
+to Malcolm, she said, &ldquo;Is there anything further you wish to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I have honorably asked you for your
+daughter. You have refused her, and must abide the consequence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And pray what may that be?&rdquo; she asked, and he answered: &ldquo;She
+will soon be of an age to act for herself, and though I would far rather take
+her with your consent, I shall not then hesitate to take her without, if you
+still persist in opposing her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is the door,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone rising.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see it, madam,&rdquo; answered Malcolm, without deigning to move.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oblige me by passing out,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Livingstone.
+&ldquo;Insolent creature, to stand here threatening to elope with my daughter,
+who has been destined for another since her infancy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she shall never become the bride of that old man,&rdquo; answered
+Malcolm. &ldquo;I know your schemes. I&rsquo;ve seen them all along, and I will
+frustrate them, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You cannot,&rdquo; fiercely answered Mrs. Livingstone. &ldquo;It shall
+be ere another year comes round, and when you hear that it is so, know that you
+hastened it forward;&rdquo; and the indignant lady, finding that her opponent
+was not inclined to move, left the room herself, going in quest of Anna, whom
+she determined to watch for fear of what might happen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna was nowhere to be found, and in a paroxysm of rage she alarmed the
+household, instituting a strict search, which resulted in the discovery of Anna
+beneath the same sycamore where Malcolm had first breathed his vows, and
+whither she had repaired to await the decision of her parents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expected as much,&rdquo; said she, when told of the result, &ldquo;but
+it matters not. I am yours, and I&rsquo;ll never marry another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The approach of the servants prevented any further conversation, and with a
+hurried adieu they parted. A few days afterward, as Mrs. Livingstone, sat in
+her large easy-chair before the glowing grate, Captain Atherton was announced,
+and shown at once into her room. To do Mrs. Livingstone justice, we must say
+that she had long debated the propriety of giving Anna, in all the freshness of
+her girlhood, to a man old as her father, but any hesitancy she had heretofore
+felt, had now vanished. The crisis had come, and when the captain, as he had
+two or three times before done, broached the subject, urging her to a decision,
+she replied that she was willing, provided Anna&rsquo;s consent could be
+gained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pho! that&rsquo;s easy enough,&rdquo; said the captain, complacently
+rubbing together his fat hands and smoothing his colored
+whiskers&mdash;&ldquo;Bring her in here, and I&rsquo;ll coax her in five
+minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna was sitting with her grandmother and &rsquo;Lena, when word came that her
+mother wished to see her, the servant adding, with a titter, that
+&ldquo;Mas&rsquo;r Atherton thar too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively she knew why she was sent for, and turning white as marble, she
+begged her cousin to go with her. But &rsquo;Lena refused, soothing the
+agitated girl, and begging her to be calm. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve only to be
+decided,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and it will soon be over. Captain Atherton, I
+am sure, will not insist when he sees how repugnant to your feelings it
+is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna knew her own weakness&mdash;she could never say, in her mother&rsquo;s
+presence, what she felt&mdash;and trembling like an aspen, she descended the
+stairs, meeting in the lower hall her brother, who asked what was the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, John, John,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;Captain Atherton is in there
+with mother, and they have sent for me. What shall I do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be a woman,&rdquo; answered John Jr. &ldquo;Tell him <i>no</i> in good
+broad English, and if the old fellow insists, I&rsquo;ll blow his brains
+out!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the Captain did not insist. He was too cunning for that, and when, with a
+burst of tears, Anna told him she could not be his wife because she loved
+another, he said, good-humoredly, &ldquo;Well, well, never mind spoiling those
+pretty blue eyes. I&rsquo;m not such an old savage as you think me. So
+we&rsquo;ll compromise the matter this way. If you really love Malcolm, why,
+marry him, and on your bridal day I&rsquo;ll make you a present of a nice
+little place I have in Frankfort; but if, on the other hand, Malcolm proves
+untrue, you must promise to have me. Come, that&rsquo;s a fair bargain. What do
+you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Malcolm will never prove untrue,&rdquo; answered Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; returned the captain. &ldquo;So you are safe in
+promising.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what good will it do you?&rdquo; queried Anna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No good, in particular,&rdquo; said the captain. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s only
+a whim of mine, to which I thought you might perhaps agree, in consideration of
+my offer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do&mdash;I will,&rdquo; said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad
+after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch,&rdquo; said
+John Jr., when he learned from Anna the result of the interview.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But week after week glided by. Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s persecutions ceased,
+and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Malcolm&rsquo;s letters, which came
+regularly, and when about the first of March Captain Atherton himself went off
+to Washington, Anna gave her fears to the wind, and all the day long went
+singing about the house, unmindful of the snare laid for her unsuspecting
+footsteps. At length Malcolm&rsquo;s letters suddenly ceased, and though Anna
+wrote again and again, there came no answer. Old Cæsar, who always carried and
+brought the mail for Maple Grove, was questioned, but he declared he
+&ldquo;done got none from Mas&rsquo;r Everett,&rdquo; and suspicion in that
+quarter was lulled. Unfortunately for Anna, both her father and John Jr. were
+now away, and she had no counselor save &rsquo;Lena, who once, on her own
+responsibility, wrote to Malcolm, but with a like success, and Anna&rsquo;s
+heart grew weary with hope deferred. Smilingly Mrs. Livingstone looked on, one
+moment laughing at Anna for what she termed love-sickness, and the next
+advising her to be a woman, and marry Captain Atherton. &ldquo;He was not very
+old&mdash;only forty-three&mdash;and it was better to be an old man&rsquo;s
+darling than a young man&rsquo;s slave!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus the days wore on, until one evening just as the family were sitting down
+to tea they were surprised by a call from the captain, who had returned that
+afternoon, and who, with the freedom of an old friend, unceremoniously entered
+the supper-room, appropriating to himself the extra plate which Mrs.
+Livingstone always had upon the table. Simultaneously with him came Cæsar, who
+having been to the post-office, had just returned, bringing, besides other
+things, a paper for Carrie, from her old admirer, Tom Lakin, who lived in
+Rockford, at which place the paper was printed. Several times had Tom
+remembered Carrie in this way, and now carelessly glancing at the first page,
+she threw it upon the floor, whence it was taken by Anna, who examined it more
+minutely glancing, as a matter of course, to the marriage notices.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime the captain, who was sitting by &rsquo;Lena, casually remarked,
+&ldquo;Oh, I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in Washington.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Everett&mdash;Malcolm Everett?&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Malcolm Everett,&rdquo; answered the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is there spending the honeymoon with his bride!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s exclamation of astonishment was prevented by a shriek from
+Anna, who had that moment read the announcement of Mr. Everett&rsquo;s
+marriage, which was the first in the list. It was Malcolm H.
+Everett&mdash;there could be no mistake&mdash;and when &rsquo;Lena reached her
+cousin&rsquo;s side, she found that she had fainted. All was now in confusion,
+in the midst of which the Captain took his leave, having first managed to speak
+a few words in private with Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fortune favors us,&rdquo; was her reply, as she went back to her
+daughter, whose long, death-like swoon almost wrung from her the secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna revived, and with the first indication of returning consciousness, the
+cold, hard woman stifled all her better feelings, and then tried to think she
+was acting only for the good of her child. For a long time Anna appeared to be
+in a kind of benumbed torpor, requesting to be left alone, and shuddering if
+Mr. Everett&rsquo;s name were mentioned in her presence. It was in vain that
+&rsquo;Lena strove to comfort her, telling her there might be some mistake.
+Anna refused to listen, angrily bidding &rsquo;Lena desist, and saying
+frequently that she cared but little what became of herself now. A species of
+recklessness seemed to have taken possession of her, and when her mother one
+day carelessly remarked that possibly Captain Atherton would claim the
+fulfillment of her promise, she answered, in the cold, indifferent tone which
+now marked her manner of speaking, &ldquo;Let him. I am ready and willing for
+the sacrifice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you in earnest?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In earnest? Yes&mdash;try me and see,&rdquo; was Anna&rsquo;s brief
+answer, which somewhat puzzled her mother, who would in reality have preferred
+opposition to this unnatural passiveness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But anything to gain her purpose, she thought, and drawing Anna closely to her
+side, she very gently and affectionately told her how happy it would make her
+could she see her the wife of Captain Atherton, who had loved and waited for
+her so long, and who would leave no wish, however slight, ungratified. And
+Anna, with no shadow of emotion on her calm, white face, consented to all that
+her mother asked, and when next the captain came, she laid her feverish hand in
+his, and with a strange, wild light beaming from her dark blue eyes, promised
+to share his fortunes as his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be winter and spring,&rdquo; said she, with a bitter,
+mocking laugh, &ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be winter and spring, but it matters
+not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many years before, when a boy of eighteen, Captain Atherton had loved, or
+fancied he loved, a young girl, whose very name afterward became hateful to
+him, and now, as he thought of Anna&rsquo;s affection for Malcolm, he likened
+it to his own boyish fancy, believing she would soon get over it, and thank him
+for what he had done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night Anna saw the moon and stars go down, bending far out from her
+window, that the damp air might cool her burning brow, and when the morning sun
+came up the eastern horizon, its first beams fell on the golden curls which
+streamed across the window-sill, her only pillow the livelong night. On
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s mind a terrible conviction was fastening itself&mdash;Anna
+was crazed. She saw it in the wildness of her eye, in the tones of her voice,
+and more than all, in the readiness with which she yielded herself to her
+mother&rsquo;s schemes, &ldquo;But it shall not be,&rdquo; she thought,
+&ldquo;I will save her,&rdquo; and then she knelt before her aunt, imploring
+her to spare her daughter&mdash;not to sacrifice her on the altar of mammon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to mind her own affairs.
+Then &rsquo;Lena sought her cousin, and winding her arms around her neck,
+besought of her to resist&mdash;to burst the chain which bound her, and be
+free. But with a shake other head, Anna bade her go away. &ldquo;Leave me,
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;leave me to work out my destiny. It
+is decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not struggle against it. Each
+night I read it in the stars, and the wind, as it sighs through the maple
+trees, whispers it to my ear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, if my aunt could see her now,&rdquo; thought &rsquo;Lena but as if
+her mother&rsquo;s presence had a paralyzing power, Anna, when with her, was
+quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Livingstone sometimes missed her merry
+laugh and playful ways, she thought the air of dignity which seemed to have
+taken their place quite an improvement, and far more in keeping with the
+bride-elect of Captain Atherton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly surprised at the
+phase which affairs had assumed in his absence, but when &rsquo;Lena whispered
+to him her fears, he smilingly answered, &ldquo;I reckon you&rsquo;re mistaken.
+Her mother would have found it out&mdash;where is she?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her chamber at the old place by the open window they found her, and though
+she did not as usual spring eagerly forward to meet her father, her greeting
+was wholly natural; but when Mr. Livingstone, taking her upon his knee, said
+gently, &ldquo;They tell me you are to be married soon,&rdquo; the wildness
+came back to her eye, and &rsquo;Lena wondered he could not see it. But he did
+not, and smoothing her disordered tresses, he said, &ldquo;Tell me, my
+daughter, does this marriage please you? Do you enter into it willingly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment there was a wavering, and &rsquo;Lena held her breath to catch the
+answer, which came at last, while the eyes shone brighter than
+ever&mdash;&ldquo;Willing? yes, or I should not do it; no one compels me, else
+I would resist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Woman&rsquo;s nature,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while
+&rsquo;Lena turned away to hide her tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone would have the
+ceremony a grand and imposing one. In the neighborhood, the fast approaching
+event was discussed, some pronouncing it a most fortunate thing for Anna, who
+could not, of course, expect to make so eligible a match as her more brilliant
+sister, while others&mdash;the sensible portion&mdash;wondered, pitied, and
+blamed, attributing the whole to the ambitious mother, whose agency in her
+son&rsquo;s marriage was now generally known. At Maple Grove closets, chairs,
+tables, and sofas were loaded down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna
+stood up while they fitted to her the rich white satin, scarcely whiter than
+her own face, and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw her daughter&rsquo;s
+indifference, would pinch her bloodless cheeks, wondering how she could care so
+little for her good fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unnatural mother!&mdash;from the little grave on the sunny slope, now
+grass-grown and green, came there no warning voice to stay her in her purpose?
+No; she scarcely thought of Mabel now, and with unflinching determination she
+kept on her way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was one who, night and day, pondered in her mind the best way of
+saving Anna from the living death to which she would surely awake, when it was
+too late. At last she resolved on going herself to Captain Atherton, telling
+him just how it was, and if there was a spark of generosity in his nature, she
+thought he would release her cousin. But this plan required much caution, for
+she would not have her uncle&rsquo;s family know of it, and if she failed, she
+preferred that it should be kept a secret from the world. There was then no
+alternative but to go in the night, and alone. She did not now often sit with
+the family, and she knew they would not miss her. So, one evening when they
+were as usual assembled in the parlor, she stole softly from the house, and
+managing to pass the negro quarters unobserved, she went down to the lower
+stable, where she saddled the pony she was now accustomed to ride, and leading
+him by a circuitous path out upon the turnpike, mounted and rode away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The night was moonless, and the starlight obscured by heavy clouds, but the
+pale face and golden curls of Anna, for whose sake she was there alone, gleamed
+on her in the darkness, and &rsquo;Lena was not afraid.
+Once&mdash;twice&mdash;she thought she caught the sound of another
+horse&rsquo;s hoofs, but when she stopped to listen, all was still, and again
+she pressed forward, while her pursuer (for &rsquo;Lena was followed) kept at a
+greater distance. Durward had been to Frankfort, and on his way home had
+stopped at Maple Grove to deliver a package. Stopping only a moment, he reached
+the turnpike just after &rsquo;Lena struck into it. Thinking it was a servant,
+he was about to pass her, when her horse sheered at something on the road-side,
+and involuntarily she exclaimed, &ldquo;Courage, Dido, there&rsquo;s nothing to
+fear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly he recognized her voice, and was about to overtake and speak to her,
+but thinking that her mission was a secret one, or she would not be there
+alone, he desisted. Still he could not leave her thus. Her safety might be
+endangered, and reining in his steed, and accommodating his pace to hers, he
+followed without her knowledge. On she went until she reached the avenue
+leading to &ldquo;Sunnyside,&rdquo; as Captain Atherton termed his residence,
+and there she stopped, going on foot to the house, while, hidden by the deep
+darkness Durward waited and watched.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half timidly &rsquo;Lena rang the door-bell, dropping her veil over her face
+that she might not be recognized. &ldquo;I want to see your master,&rdquo; she
+said to the woman who answered her ring, and who in some astonishment replied,
+&ldquo;Bless you, miss, Mas&rsquo;r Atherton done gone to Lexington and
+won&rsquo;t be home till to-morry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; repeated &rsquo;Lena in a disappointed tone. &ldquo;Oh,
+I&rsquo;m so sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is you the new miss what&rsquo;s comin&rsquo; here to live?&rdquo; asked
+the negro, who was Captain Atherton&rsquo;s house keeper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly the awkwardness of her position flashed upon &rsquo;Lena, but
+resolving to put a bold face on the matter, she removed her veil, saying,
+playfully, &ldquo;You know me now, Aunt Martha.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In course I do,&rdquo; answered the negro, holding up both hands in
+amazement, &ldquo;but what sent you here this dark, unairthly night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Business with your master,&rdquo; and then suddenly remembering that
+among her own race Aunt Martha was accounted an intolerable gossip, she began
+to wish she had not come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it could not now be helped, and turning away, she walked slowly down the
+avenue, wondering what the result would be. Again they were in motion, she and
+Durward, who followed until he saw her safe home, and then, glad that no one
+had seen her but himself, he retraced his steps, pondering on the mystery which
+he could not fathom. After &rsquo;Lena left Sunnyside, a misty rain came on,
+and by the time she reached her home, her long riding-dress was wet and
+drizzled, the feathers on her cap were drooping, and to crown all, as she was
+crossing the hall with stealthy step, she came suddenly upon her aunt, who,
+surprised at her appearance, demanded of her where she had been. But
+&rsquo;Lena refused to tell, and in quite a passion Mrs. Livingstone laid the
+case before her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding somewhere with
+somebody, she wouldn&rsquo;t tell who, but she (Mrs. Livingstone) most knew if
+was Durward, and something must be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, next day; when they chanced to be alone, Mr. Livingstone took the
+opportunity of questioning &rsquo;Lena, who dared not disobey him, and with
+many tears she confessed the whole, saying that &ldquo;if it were wrong she was
+very sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You acted foolishly, to say the least of it,&rdquo; answered her uncle,
+adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself altogether too much about
+Anna, who seemed happy and contented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still he was ill at ease. &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s fears disturbed him, and for many
+days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to himself that there was
+something strange about her. But possibly all engaged girls acted so; his wife
+said they did; and hating anything like a scene, he concluded to let matters
+take their course, half hoping, and half believing, too, that something would
+occur to prevent the marriage. What it would be, or by what agency it would be
+brought about, he didn&rsquo;t know, but he resolved to let &rsquo;Lena alone,
+and when his wife insisted upon his &ldquo;lecturing her soundly for
+meddling,&rdquo; he refused, venturing even to say, that, &ldquo;she
+hadn&rsquo;t meddled.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime a new idea had entered &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s mind. She would write to
+Mr. Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such things in
+stories, and it could do no harm. Gradually as she wrote, hope grew strong
+within her, and it became impressed upon her that there had been some
+deep-laid, fiendish plot. If so, she dared not trust her letter with old
+Cæsar, who might be bribed by his mistress. And how to convey it to the office
+was now the grand difficulty. As if fortune favored her plan, Durward, that
+very afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as he said, on his way to
+Frankfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but to
+save Anna she could do almost any thing. Hastily securing the letter, and
+throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn and out upon the
+turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena&mdash;excuse me&mdash;Miss Rivers, is it you?&rdquo; asked
+Durward, touching his hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if
+she could trust him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Trust me? Yes, with anything,&rdquo; answered Durward, quickly
+dismounting, and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful face which
+looked up to him so eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, &ldquo;take this letter and see it
+deposited safely, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while he
+instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said concerning
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s attachment to Mr. Everett.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, observing
+the expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness,
+&ldquo;I assure you there is no harm in it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and
+riding away more puzzled than ever, while &rsquo;Lena returned to the house,
+which everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a box from
+the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs. Livingstone placed in her
+daughter&rsquo;s waving hair, bidding her mark their effect. But not a muscle
+of Anna&rsquo;s face changed; nothing moved her; and with the utmost
+indifference she gazed on the preparations around her. A stranger would have
+said &rsquo;Lena was the bride, for, with flushed cheeks and nervously anxious
+manner, she watched each sun as it rose and set, wondering what the result
+would be. Once, when asked whom she would have for her bridesmaid and
+groomsman, Anna had answered, &ldquo;Nellie and John!&rdquo; but that could not
+be, for the latter had imposed upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year
+ere he spoke to Nellie of that which lay nearest his heart, and in order the
+better to keep his vow, he had gone from home, first winning from her the
+promise that she would not become engaged until his return. And now, when he
+learned of his sister&rsquo;s request, he refused to come, saying, &ldquo;if
+she would make such a consummate fool of herself, he did not wish to see
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrangement brought the
+latter occasionally to the house, &rsquo;Lena had opportunities of asking him
+if there had yet come any answer to her letter; and much oftener than he would
+otherwise have done, Durward went down to Frankfort, for he felt that it was no
+unimportant matter which thus deeply interested &rsquo;Lena. At last, the day
+before the bridal came, Durward had gone to the city, and in a state of great
+excitement &rsquo;Lena awaited his return, watching with a trembling heart as
+the sun went down behind the western hills. Slowly the hours dragged on, and
+many a time she stole out in the deep darkness to listen, but there was nothing
+to be heard save the distant cry of the night-owl, and she was about retracing
+her steps for the fifth time, when from behind a clump of rose-bushes started a
+little dusky form, which whispered softly, &ldquo;Is you Miss
+&rsquo;Leny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, &rsquo;Lena answered,
+&ldquo;Yes; what do you want?&rdquo; while at the same moment she recognized a
+little hunch back belonging to General Fontaine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the
+answer,&rdquo; said the boy, passing her a tiny note.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Master Everett! Is he here?&rdquo; she exclaimed, catching the note and
+re-entering the house, where by the light of the hall lamp she read what he had
+written.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was very short, but it told all&mdash;how he had written again and again,
+receiving no answer, and was about coming himself when a severe illness
+prevented. The marriage, he said, was that of his uncle, for whom he was named,
+and who had in truth gone on to Washington, the home of his second wife. It
+closed by asking her to meet him, with Anna, on one of the arbor bridges at
+midnight. Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a book which chanced to be lying in
+the hall, &rsquo;Lena wrote, &ldquo;We will be there,&rdquo; and giving it to
+the negro, bade him hasten back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he got no letter, was not
+to call, and trembling in every nerve, &rsquo;Lena sought her chamber, there to
+consider what she was next to do. For some time past Carrie had occupied a
+separate room from Anna, who, she said disturbed her with her late hours and
+restless turnings, so &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s part seemed comparatively easy.
+Waiting until the house was still, she entered Anna&rsquo;s room, finding her,
+as she had expected, at her old place by the open window, her head resting upon
+the sill, and when she approached nearer, she saw that she was asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her sleep yet awhile,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;it will do her
+good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the room adjoining lay the bridal dress, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first
+impulse was to trample it under her feet, but passing it with a shudder, she
+hastily collected whatever she thought Anna would most need. These she placed
+in a small-sized trunk, and then knowing it was done, she approached her
+cousin, who seemed to be dreaming, for she murmured the name of
+&ldquo;Malcolm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is here, love&mdash;he has come to save you,&rdquo; she whispered,
+while Anna, only partially aroused, gazed at her so vacantly, that
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s heart stood still with fear lest the poor girl&rsquo;s
+reason were wholly gone. &ldquo;Anna, Anna,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;awake;
+Malcolm is here&mdash;in the garden, where you must meet him&mdash;come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Malcolm is married,&rdquo; said Anna, in a
+whisper&mdash;married&mdash;and my bridal dress is in there, all looped with
+flowers; would you like to see it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our Father in heaven help me,&rdquo; cried &rsquo;Lena, clasping her
+hands in anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna&rsquo;s upturned face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This seemed to arouse her, for in a natural tone she asked why &rsquo;Lena
+wept. Again and again &rsquo;Lena repeated to her that Malcolm had
+come&mdash;that he was not married&mdash;that he had come for her; and as Anna
+listened, the torpor slowly passed away&mdash;the wild light in her eyes grew
+less bright, for it was quenched by the first tears she had shed since the
+shadow fell upon her; and when &rsquo;Lena produced the note, and she saw it
+was indeed true, the ice about her heart was melted, and in choking, long-drawn
+sobs, her pent-up feelings gave way, as she saw the gulf whose verge she had
+been treading. Crouching at &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s feet, she kissed the very hem
+of her garments, blessing her as her preserver, and praying heaven to bless
+her, also. It was the work of a few moments to array her in her traveling
+dress, and then very cautiously &rsquo;Lena led her down the stairs, and out
+into the open air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I could see father once,&rdquo; said Anna; but such an act involved
+too much danger, and with one lingering, tearful look at her old home, she
+moved away, supported by &rsquo;Lena, who rather dragged than led her over the
+graveled walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they approached the arbor bridge, they saw the glimmering light of a
+lantern, for the night was intensely dark, and in a moment Anna was clasped in
+the arms which henceforth were to shelter her from the storms of life. Helpless
+as an infant she lay, while &rsquo;Lena, motioning the negro who was in
+attendance to follow her, returned to the house for the trunk, which was soon
+safely deposited in the carriage at the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Words cannot express what I owe you,&rdquo; said Malcolm, when he gave
+her his hand at parting, &ldquo;but of this be assured, so long as I live you
+have in me a friend and brother.&rdquo; Turning back for a moment, he added,
+&ldquo;This flight is, I know, unnecessary, for I could prevent
+to-morrow&rsquo;s expected event in other ways than this, but revenge is sweet,
+and I trust I am excusable for taking it in my own way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna could not speak, but the look of deep gratitude which beamed from her eyes
+was far more eloquent than words. Upon the broad piazza &rsquo;Lena stood until
+the last faint sound of the carriage wheels died away; then, weary and worn,
+she sought her room, locking Anna&rsquo;s door as she passed it, and placing
+the key in her pocket. Softly she crept to bed by the side of her slumbering
+grandmother, and with a fervent prayer for the safety of the fugitives, fell
+asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/>
+THE RESULT.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused &rsquo;Lena from her heavy
+slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the night
+previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing it were not
+morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and after a hasty toilet,
+descended to the breakfast-room, where another chair was vacant, another face
+was missing. Without any suspicion of the truth, Mrs. Livingstone spoke of
+Anna&rsquo;s absence, saying she presumed the poor girl was tired and sleepy,
+and this was admitted as an excuse for her tardiness. But when breakfast was
+over and she still did not appear, Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon
+with the information that &ldquo;she&rsquo;d knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna
+would not answer, and when she tried the door she found it locked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at &rsquo;Lena; whose face wore a scarlet
+hue as she hastily quitted the table. With a presentiment of something, he
+himself started for Anna&rsquo;s room; followed by his wife and Carrie, while
+&rsquo;Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened breathlessly for the result. It
+was useless knocking for admittance, for there was no one within to bid them
+enter, and with a powerful effort Mr. Livingstone burst the lock. The window
+was open, the lamp was still burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed
+was undisturbed, the room in confusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s eye took in all this at a glance, but her husband saw only
+the latter, and ere he was aware of what he did, a fervent &ldquo;Thank
+heaven,&rdquo; escaped him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s gone&mdash;run away&mdash;dead, maybe,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs.
+Livingstone, wringing her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively
+drawing nearer to her husband for comfort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time &rsquo;Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward her,
+Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena, where is our
+child?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at Midway
+for Cincinnati,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, thinking she might as well tell the
+whole at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In Ohio!&rdquo; shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;What has she gone to Ohio for? Speak, ingrate,
+for you have done the deed&mdash;I am sure of that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was Mr. Everett&rsquo;s wish to return home that way I
+believe,&rdquo; coolly answered &rsquo;Lena, without quailing in the least from
+the eyes bent so angrily upon her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s fingers loosened their grasp, while her face
+grew livid with mingled passion and fear. Her fraud was discovered&mdash;her
+stratagem had failed&mdash;and she was foiled in this, her second darling
+scheme. But she was yet to learn what agency &rsquo;Lena had in the matter, and
+this information her husband obtained for her. There was no anger in the tones
+of his voice when he asked his niece to explain the mystery, else she might not
+have answered, for &rsquo;Lena could not be driven. Now, however, she felt that
+he had a right to know, and she told him all she knew; what she had done
+herself and why she had done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Malcolm had
+gone in his trouble, had kindly assisted him by lending both servants and
+carriage; but upon the intercepted letters she could throw no light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is unworthy the
+name of either man or woman,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, while his eye rested
+sternly upon his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and resolving to make the
+best of the matter, she, too, united with him in denouncing the deed, wondering
+who could have done it, and meanly suggesting Maria Fontaine, a pupil of Mr.
+Everett&rsquo;s, who had, at one time, felt a slight preference for him. But
+this did not deceive her husband&mdash;neither did it help her at all in the
+present emergency. The bride was gone, and already she felt the tide of scandal
+and gossip which she knew would be the theme of the entire neighborhood. Still,
+if her own shameful act was kept a secret she could bear it, and it must be. No
+one knew of it except Captain Atherton and Cæsar, the former of whom would
+keep his own counsel, while fear of a passport down the river, the
+negroes&rsquo; dread, would prevent the latter from telling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to treat the whole matter
+as a capital joke, worthy of being immortalized in romance, she returned to her
+room, and hastily writing a few lines, rang the bell for Cæsar who soon
+appeared, declaring that &ldquo;as true as he lived and breathed and drew the
+breath of life, he&rsquo;d done gin miss every single letter afore
+handin&rsquo; &rsquo;em to anybody else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you&rsquo;ll find yourself
+in New Orleans,&rdquo; was Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s very lady-like response, as
+she handed him the note, bidding him take it to Captain Atherton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason or other the captain this morning was exceedingly restless,
+walking from room to room, watching the clock, then the sun, and finally, in
+order to pass the time away, trying on his wedding suit, to see how he was
+going to look! Perfectly satisfied with his appearance, he was in imagination
+going through the ceremony, and had just inclined his head in token that he
+would take Anna for his wife, when Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s note was handed
+him. At first he could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Anna gone!&mdash;run away with Mr. Everett! It could not be, and sinking into a
+chair, he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, &ldquo;mighty queer and
+shaky.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on it, and this, upon
+second thought, he determined to do. Hastily changing his dress, now useless,
+he mounted his steed, and was soon on his way toward Maple Grove, a new idea
+dawning upon his mind, and ere his arrival, settling itself into a fixed
+purpose. From Aunt Martha he had heard of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s strange visit,
+and he now remembered the many times she had tried to withdraw him from Anna,
+appropriating him to herself for hours. The captain&rsquo;s vanity was
+wonderful. Sunnyside needed a mistress&mdash;he needed a wife, &rsquo;Lena was
+poor&mdash;perhaps she liked him&mdash;and if so there might be a wedding,
+after all. She was beautiful, and would sustain the honors of his house with a
+better grace, he verily believed, than Anna! Full of these thoughts, he reached
+Maple Grove, where he found Durward, to whom Mrs. Livingstone had detailed the
+whole circumstance, dwelling long upon &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s meddling
+propensities, and charging the whole affair upon her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she knew what she was about&mdash;she had an object in view,
+undoubtedly,&rdquo; she added, glad of an opportunity to give vent to her
+feelings against &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray, what was her object?&rdquo; asked Durward, and Mrs. Livingstone
+replied, &ldquo;I told you once that &rsquo;Lena was ambitious, and I have
+every reason to believe she would willingly marry Captain Atherton,
+notwithstanding he is so much older.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She forgot that there was the same disparity between the captain and Anna as
+between him and &rsquo;Lena, but Durward did not, and with a derisive smile he
+listened, while she proceeded to give her reasons for thinking that a desire to
+supplant Anna was the sole object which &rsquo;Lena had in view, for what else
+could have prompted that midnight ride to Sunnyside. Again Durward smiled, but
+before he could answer, the bride-groom elect stood before them, looking rather
+crestfallen, but evidently making a great effort to appear as usual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so the bird has flown?&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;Well, it takes a
+Yankee, after all, to manage a case, but how did he find it out?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him Lena&rsquo;s agency in the matter,
+omitting, this time, to impute to her the same motive which she had done when
+stating the case to Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So &rsquo;Lena is at the bottom of it?&rdquo; said he, rubbing his
+little fat, red hands. &ldquo;Well, well, where is she? I&rsquo;d like to see
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Corinda, tell &rsquo;Lena she is wanted in the parlor,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the interview, arose to go,
+but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to stay, that he at last resumed his
+seat on the sofa by the side of Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the part you have
+taken in this elopement,&rdquo; said Mrs. Livingstone, sternly, as &rsquo;Lena
+appeared in the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said the captain, gallantly offering
+&rsquo;Lena a chair. &ldquo;My business with Miss Rivers concerns
+herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am here, sir, to answer any proper question,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena,
+proudly, at the same time declining the proffered seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s an air worthy of a queen,&rdquo; thought the captain, and
+determining to make his business known at once, he arose, and turning toward
+Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, whom he considered his audience, he
+commenced: &ldquo;What I am about to say may seem strange, but the fact is, I
+want a wife. I&rsquo;ve lived alone long enough. I waited for Anna eighteen
+years, and now&rsquo;s she gone. Everything is in readiness for the bridal; the
+guests are invited; nothing wanting but the bride. Now if I <i>could</i> find a
+substitute.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not in me,&rdquo; muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, while with
+a sarcastic leer the captain continued: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t refuse before you
+are asked, Miss Livingstone. I do not aspire to the honor of your hand, but I
+do ask Miss Rivers to be my wife&mdash;here before you all. She shall live like
+a princess&mdash;she and her grandmother both. Come, what do you say? Many a
+poor girl would jump at the chance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rich blood which usually dyed &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s cheek was gone, and pale
+as the marble mantel against which she leaned, she answered, proudly, &ldquo;I
+would sooner die than link my destiny with one who could so basely deceive my
+cousin, making her believe it was her betrothed husband whom he saw in
+Washington instead of his uncle! Marry you? Never, if I beg my bread from door
+to door!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Noble girl!&rdquo; came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, who had
+held his breath for her answer, and who now glanced triumphantly at Mrs.
+Livingstone, whose surmises were thus proved incorrect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The captain&rsquo;s self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble girl should
+refuse him with his half million. A sense of the ridiculous position in which
+he was placed maddened him, and in a violent rage he replied, &ldquo;You
+won&rsquo;t, hey? What under heavens have you hung around me so for, sticking
+yourself in between me and Anna when you knew you were not wanted?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did it, sir, at Anna&rsquo;s request, to relieve her&mdash;and for
+nothing else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that dark,
+rainy night?&rdquo; chimed in Mrs. Livingstone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, madam,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, turning toward her aunt. &ldquo;I
+had in vain implored of you to save her from a marriage every way irksome to
+her, when in her right mind, but you would not listen, and I resolved to appeal
+to the captain&rsquo;s better nature. In this I failed, and then I wrote to Mr.
+Everett, with the result which you see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask who was the
+bearer of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s letter, but remembering it now, she put the
+question. &rsquo;Lena would not implicate Durward without his permission, but
+while she hesitated, he answered for her, &ldquo;<i>I</i> carried that letter,
+Mrs. Livingstone, though I did not then know its nature. Still if I had, I
+should have done the same, and the event has proved that I was right in so
+doing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, indeed!&rdquo; said the captain growing more and more nettled and
+disagreeable. &ldquo;Ah, indeed! Mr. Bellmont leagued with Miss Rivers against
+me. Perhaps she would not so bluntly refuse an offer coming from you, but I can
+tell you it won&rsquo;t sound very well that the Hon. Mrs. Bellmont once rode
+four miles alone in the night to visit a bachelor. Ha! ha! Miss &rsquo;Lena;
+better have submitted to my terms at once, for don&rsquo;t you see I have you
+in my power?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you answer for it to
+me; do you understand?&rdquo; exclaimed Durward, starting up and confronting
+Captain Atherton, who, the veriest coward in the world, shrank from the
+flashing of Durward&rsquo;s eye, and meekly answered, &ldquo;Yes,
+yes&mdash;yes, yes, I won&rsquo;t, I won&rsquo;t. I don&rsquo;t want to fight.
+I like &rsquo;Lena. I don&rsquo;t blame Anna for running away if she
+didn&rsquo;t want me&mdash;but it&rsquo;s left me in a deuced mean scrape,
+which I wish you&rsquo;d help me out of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his proffered hand,
+promised to render him any assistance in his power, and advising him to be
+present himself in the evening, as the first meeting with his acquaintances
+would thus be over. Upon reflection, the captain concluded to follow this
+advice, and when evening arrived and with it those who had not heard the news,
+he was in attendance, together with Durward, who managed the whole affair so
+skillfully that the party passed off quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests
+playfully condoling with the deserted bridegroom, who received their jokes with
+a good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, when the company were gone and all around was silent, Mrs.
+Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears she had shed for her
+youngest born, whom she well knew <i>she</i> had driven from home, and when her
+husband asked what they should do, she answered with a fresh burst of tears,
+&ldquo;Send for Anna to come back.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And Malcolm, too?&rdquo; queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless
+to send for one without the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, Malcolm too. There&rsquo;s room for both,&rdquo; said the weeping
+mother, feeling how every hour she should miss the little girl, whose presence
+had in it so much of sunlight and joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Anna would not return. Away to the northward, in a fairy cottage overhung
+with the wreathing honeysuckle and the twining grape-vine, where the first
+summer flowers were blooming and the song-birds were caroling all the day long,
+her home was henceforth to be, and though the letter which contained her answer
+to her father&rsquo;s earnest appeal was stained and blotted, it told of
+perfect happiness with Malcolm, who kissed away her tears as she wrote,
+&ldquo;Tell mother I cannot come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/>
+MORE CLOUDS.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Since the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed himself &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+champion, her health and spirits began to improve. That she was not wholly
+indifferent to him she had every reason to believe, and notwithstanding the
+strong barrier between them, hope sometimes whispered to her of a future, when
+all that was now so dark and mysterious should be made plain. But while she was
+thus securely dreaming, a cloud, darker and deeper than any which had yet
+overshadowed her, was gathering around her pathway. Gradually had the story of
+her ride to Captain Atherton&rsquo;s gained circulation, magnifying itself as
+it went, until at last it was currently reported that at several different
+times had she been seen riding away from Sunnyside at unseasonable hours of the
+night, the time varying from nine in the evening to three in the morning
+according to the exaggerating powers of the informer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that each and every one
+repeated it to his or her neighbor, until at last it reached Mrs. Graham, who,
+forgetting the caution of her son, said, with a very wise look, that &ldquo;she
+was not at all surprised&mdash;she had from the first suspected &rsquo;Lena,
+and she had the best of reasons for so doing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course Mrs. Graham&rsquo;s friend was exceedingly anxious to know what she
+meant, and by dint of quizzing, questioning and promising never to tell, she at
+last drew out just enough of the story to know that Mr. Graham had a
+daguerreotype which looked just like &rsquo;Lena, and that Mrs. Graham had no
+doubt whatever that she was in the habit of writing to him. This of course was
+repeated, notwithstanding the promise of secrecy, and many of the neighbors
+suddenly remembered some little circumstance trivial in itself, but all going
+to swell the amount of evidence against poor &rsquo;Lena, who, unconscious of
+the gathering storm, did not for a time observe the sidelong glances cast
+toward her whenever she appeared in public.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of her acquaintances began
+to attract her attention, causing her to wonder what it all meant. But there
+was no one of whom she would ask an explanation. John Jr. was gone&mdash;Anna
+was gone&mdash;and to crown all, Durward, too, left the neighborhood just as
+the first breath of scandal was beginning to set the waves of gossip in motion.
+In his absence, Mrs. Graham felt no restraint, whatever, and all that she knew,
+together with many things she didn&rsquo;t know, she told, until it became a
+matter of serious debate whether &rsquo;Lena ought not to be <i>cut</i>
+entirely. Mrs. Graham and her clique decided in the affirmative, and when Mrs.
+Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed by public opinion, gave a small
+party for her daughter Maria, &rsquo;Lena was purposely omitted. Hitherto she
+had been greatly petted and admired by both Maria and her mother, and she felt
+the slight sensibly, the more so, as Carrie darkly hinted that girls who could
+not behave themselves must not associate with respectable people.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Leny not invited!&rdquo; said Mrs. Nichols, espousing the cause
+of her granddaughter. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s to pay, I wonder? Miss Fontaine and
+the gineral, too, allus appeared to think a sight on her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I presume the <i>general</i> does now,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Livingstone,
+&ldquo;but it&rsquo;s natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particular about
+the reputation of her daughter&rsquo;s associates.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And ain&rsquo;t &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s reputation as good as the best on
+&rsquo;em,&rdquo; asked Mrs. Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with
+insulted pride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the general opinion that it might be improved,&rdquo; was
+Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s haughty answer, as she left her mother-in-law to her
+own reflections.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll kill her stone dead,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving
+in her own mind the propriety of telling &rsquo;Lena what her aunt had said.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll kill her stone dead, and I can&rsquo;t tell her. Mebby
+it&rsquo;ll blow over pretty soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of calling upon
+&rsquo;Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one asked for her, and with her eyes
+and ears now sharpened, she fancied that once, as she was passing the parlor
+door, she heard her own name coupled with that of Mr. Graham. A startling light
+burst upon her, and staggering to her room, she threw herself, half fainting,
+upon the bed, where an hour afterwards she was found by Aunt Milly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old negress had also heard the story in its most aggravated form, and
+readily divining the cause of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s grief, attempted to console
+her, telling her &ldquo;not to mind what the good-for-nothin&rsquo; critters
+said; they war only mad &rsquo;cause she&rsquo;s so much handsomer and trimmer
+built.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know, then,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, lifting her head from the
+pillow. &ldquo;You know what it is; so tell me, for I shall die if I remain
+longer in suspense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lor&rsquo; bless the child,&rdquo; exclaimed old Milly, &ldquo;to think
+she&rsquo;s the very last one to know, when it&rsquo;s been common talk more
+than a month!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s been common talk? What is it?&rdquo; demanded &rsquo;Lena;
+and old Milly, seating herself upon a trunk, commenced: &ldquo;Why, honey,
+hain&rsquo;t you hearn how you done got Mr. Graham&rsquo;s pictur and gin him
+yourn &rsquo;long of one of them curls&mdash;how he&rsquo;s writ and
+you&rsquo;ve writ, and how he&rsquo;s gone off to the eends of the airth to get
+rid on you&mdash;and how you try to cotch young Mas&rsquo;r Durward, who hate
+the sight on you&mdash;how you waylay him one day, settin&rsquo; on a rock out
+by the big gate&mdash;and how you been seen mighty nigh fifty times
+comin&rsquo; home afoot from Captain Atherton&rsquo;s in the night,
+rainin&rsquo; thunder and lightnin&rsquo; hard as it could pour&mdash;how after
+you done got Miss Anna to &rsquo;lope, you ax Captain Atherton to have you, and
+git mad as fury &rsquo;cause he &rsquo;fuses&mdash;and how your mother
+warn&rsquo;t none too likely, and a heap more that I can&rsquo;t
+remember&mdash;hain&rsquo;t you heard of none on&rsquo;t?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None, none,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, while Milly continued,
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sin and shame for quality folks that belong to the
+meetin&rsquo; to pitch into a poor &rsquo;fenseless girl and pick her all to
+pieces. Reckon they done forgot what our Heabenly Marster told &rsquo;em when
+he lived here in old Kentuck, how they must dig the truck out of thar own eyes
+afore they go to meddlin&rsquo; with others; but they never think of him these
+days, &rsquo;cept Sundays, and then as soon as meetin&rsquo; is out they done
+git together and talk about you and Mas&rsquo;r Graham orfully. I hearn
+&rsquo;em last Sunday, I and Miss Fontaine&rsquo;s cook, Cilly, and if they
+don&rsquo;t quit it, thar&rsquo;s a heap on us goin&rsquo; to leave the
+church!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who arose to leave the
+room, again told her not to care, as all the blacks were for her, she felt that
+she was not utterly alone in her wretchedness. Still, the sympathy of the
+colored people alone could not help her, and dally matters grew worse, until at
+last even Nellie Douglass&rsquo;s faith was shaken, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+heart died within her as she saw in her signs of neglect. Never had Mr.
+Livingstone exchanged a word with her upon the subject, but the reserve with
+which he treated her plainly indicated that he, too, was prejudiced, while her
+aunt and Carrie let no opportunity pass of slighting her, the latter invariably
+leaving the room if she entered it. On one such occasion, in a state bordering
+almost on distraction &rsquo;Lena flew back to her own chamber, where to her
+great surprise, she found her uncle in close conversation with her grandmother,
+whose face told the pain his words were inflicting. &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s first
+impulse was to fall at his feet and implore his protection, but he prevented
+her by immediately leaving the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, grandmother, grandmother,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;help me, or I
+shall die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In her heart Mrs. Nichols believed her guilty, for John had said so&mdash;he
+would not lie; and to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s touching appeal for sympathy, she
+replied, as she rocked to and fro, &ldquo;I wish you <i>had</i> died,
+&rsquo;Leny, years and years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Twas the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with the wailing cry,
+&ldquo;God help me now&mdash;no one else can,&rdquo; the heart-broken girl fell
+fainting to the floor, while in silent agony Mrs. Nichols hung over her,
+shouting for help.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but at the first call Aunt
+Milly hastened to the room. &ldquo;Poor sheared lamb,&rdquo; said she,
+gathering back the thick, clustering curls which shaded &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+marble face, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s innocent as the new-born baby.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, if I could think so,&rdquo; said grandma; but she could not, and
+when the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and eagerly sought hers, they read
+distrust and doubt, and motioning her grandmother away, &rsquo;Lena said she
+would rather be alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded upon her as she lay there
+watching the daylight fade from the distant hills, and musing of the stern
+realities around her. Gradually her thoughts assumed a definite purpose; she
+would go away from a place where she was never wanted, and where she now no
+longer wished to stay. Mr. Everett had promised to be her friend, and to him
+she would go. At different intervals her uncle and cousin had given her money
+to the amount of twenty dollars, which was still in her possession, and which
+she knew would take her far on her road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With &rsquo;Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when sure her
+grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly made the needful preparations
+for her flight. Unlike most aged people, Mrs. Nichols slept soundly, and
+&rsquo;Lena had no fears of waking her. Very stealthily she moved around the
+room, placing in a satchel, which she could carry upon her arm, the few things
+she would need. Then, sitting down by the table, she wrote:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;DEAR GRANDMA: When you read this I shall be gone, for I cannot longer
+stay where all look upon me as a wretched, guilty thing. I am innocent,
+grandma, as innocent as my angel mother when they dared to slander her, but you
+do not believe it, and that is the hardest of all. I could have borne the rest,
+but when you, too, doubted me, it broke my heart, and now I am going away.
+Nobody will care&mdash;nobody will miss me but you.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to write than it will
+you to read
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;&rsquo;LENA&rsquo;S LAST GOOD-BYE&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All was at length ready, and then bending gently over the wrinkled face so
+calmly sleeping, &rsquo;Lena gazed through blinding tears upon each lineament,
+striving to imprint it upon her heart&rsquo;s memory, and wondering if they
+would ever meet again. The hand which had so often rested caressingly upon her
+young head, was lying outside the counterpane, and with one burning kiss upon
+it she turned away, first placing the lamp by the window, where its light,
+shining upon her from afar, would be the last thing she could see of the home
+she was leaving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was well known to her, and
+without once pausing, lest her courage should fail her, she pressed forward.
+The distance which she had to travel was about three and a half miles, and as
+she did not dare trust herself in the highway, she struck into the fields,
+looking back as long as the glimmering light from the window could be seen, and
+then when that home star had disappeared from view, silently imploring aid from
+Him who alone could help her now. She was in time for the cars, and, though the
+depot agent looked curiously at her slight, shrinking figure, he asked no
+questions, and when the train moved rapidly away, &rsquo;Lena looked out upon
+the dark, still night, and felt that she was a wanderer in the world.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br/>
+REACTION.</h2>
+
+<p>
+The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the window of Grandma
+Nichols&rsquo;s room, and roused her from her slumber. On the pillow beside her
+rested no youthful head&mdash;there was no kind voice bidding her
+&ldquo;good-morrow&rdquo;&mdash;no gentle hand ministering to her
+comfort&mdash;for &rsquo;Lena was gone, and on the table lay the note, which at
+first escaped Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;s attention. Thinking her granddaughter had
+arisen early and gone before her, she attempted to make her own toilet, which
+was nearly completed, when her eye caught the note. It was directed to her, and
+with a dim foreboding she: took it up, reading that her child was
+gone&mdash;gone from those who should have sustained her in her hour of trial,
+but who, instead, turned against her, crushing her down, until in a state of
+desperation she had fled. It was in vain that the breakfast-bell rang out its
+loud summons. Grandma did not heed it; and when Corinda came up to seek her,
+she started back in affright at the scene before her. Mrs. Nichols&rsquo;s cap
+was not yet on, and her thin gray locks fell around her livid face as she
+swayed from side to side, moaning at intervals, &ldquo;God forgive me that I
+broke her heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up she said, pointing
+toward the vacant bed, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s gone; I&rsquo;ve killed
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and down the stairs,
+she rushed into the dining-room, announcing the startling news that &ldquo;old
+miss had done murdered Miss &rsquo;Lena, and hid her under the bed!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>will</i> come next!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following
+her husband to his mother&rsquo;s room where a moment sufficed to explain the
+whole.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled the poor old
+lady&rsquo;s reason. The sight of his mother&rsquo;s distress aroused all the
+better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly soothing her, he told her that
+&rsquo;Lena should be found&mdash;he would go for her himself. Carrie, too, was
+touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up the scattered locks, and
+tying on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an instant on the wrinkled brow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep it there; it feels soft, like &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Nichols, the tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with his wife, hurried
+off to the neighbors, none of whom knew aught of the fugitive, and all of whom
+offered their assistance in searching. Never once did it occur to Mr.
+Livingstone that she might have taken the cars, for that he knew would need
+money, and he supposed she had none in her possession. By a strange
+coincidence, too, the depot agent who sold her the ticket, left the very next
+morning for Indiana, where he had been intending to go for some time, and where
+he remained for more than a week, thus preventing the information which he
+could otherwise have given concerning her flight. Consequently, Mr. Livingstone
+returned each night, weary and disheartened, to his home, where all the day
+long his mother moaned and wept, asking for her &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of the wanderer, she
+ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger came to the house, she would
+whisper softly to them, &ldquo;&rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s dead. I killed her; did you
+know it?&rdquo; at the same time passing to them the crumpled note, which she
+ever held in her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had so recently
+denounced her, and when it became known that she was gone, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been the most bitter against her now changed their
+opinion, wondering how they could ever have thought her guilty. The stories
+concerning her visits to Captain Atherton&rsquo;s were traced back to their
+source, resulting in exonerating her from all blame, while many things,
+hitherto kept secret, concerning Anna&rsquo;s engagement, were brought to
+light, and &rsquo;Lena was universally commended for her efforts to save her
+cousin from a marriage so wholly unnatural. Severely was the captain censured
+for the part he had taken in deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly confessed,
+while he openly espoused the cause of the fugitive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough to make a like
+confession. Public suspicion pointed to her as the interceptor of Anna&rsquo;s
+letters, and though she did not deny it, she wondered what that had to do with
+&rsquo;Lena, at the same time asking &ldquo;how they expected to clear up the
+Graham affair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of feeling the
+neighborhood were willing to overlook many things which had before seemed dark
+and mysterious, while Mrs. Graham, for some most unaccountable reason, suddenly
+retracted almost everything she had said, acknowledging that she was too hasty
+in her conclusions, and evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest
+perfectly surprising to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in utter astonishment,
+wondering what the end would be. About this time Durward returned, greatly
+pained at the existing state of things. In Frankfort, where &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+flight was a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot agent, who was on
+his way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose rather singular manner had
+attracted his attention. This was undoubtedly &rsquo;Lena, and after a few
+moments&rsquo; conversation with his mother, Durward announced his intention of
+going after her, at least as far as Rockford, where he fancied she might have
+gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her manner seemed so strange
+that he at last asked what was the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing&mdash;nothing in particular,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;only
+I&rsquo;ve been thinking it all over lately, and I&rsquo;ve come to the
+conclusion that perhaps &rsquo;Lena is innocent after all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost before she
+had finished speaking, with, &ldquo;<i>Do</i> you know anything? Have you heard
+anything?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She <i>had</i> heard&mdash;she <i>did</i> know; but ere she could reply, the
+violent ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, prevented her
+answer. In a perfect fever of excitement Durward glanced at his watch. If he
+waited long, he would be too late for the cars, and with a hasty adieu he left
+the parlor, turning back ere he reached the outer door, and telling his mother
+he must speak with her alone. If Mrs. Graham had at first intended to divulge
+what she knew, the impulse was now gone, and to her son&rsquo;s urgent request
+that she should disclose what she knew, she replied, &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t
+much&mdash;only your father has another daguerreotype, the counterpart of the
+first one. He procured it in Cincinnati, and &rsquo;Lena I know was not
+there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures closely, and I do not
+think they resemble &rsquo;Lena as much as we at first supposed. Possibly it
+might have been some one else, her mother, may be,&rdquo; and Mrs. Graham
+looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently answered, &ldquo;Her mother
+died years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he had heard, and hoping,
+half believing, that &rsquo;Lena would yet be exonerated from all blame. For a
+moment Mrs. Graham gazed after him, regretting that she had not told him all,
+but thinking there was time enough yet, and remembering that her husband had
+said she might wait until his return, if she chose, she went back to the parlor
+while Durward kept on his way.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/>
+THE WANDERER.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Fiercely the noontide blaze of a scorching July sun was falling upon the huge
+walls of the &ldquo;Laurel Hill Sun,&rdquo; where a group of idlers were
+lounging on the long, narrow piazza, some niching into still more grotesque
+carving the rude, unpainted railing, while others, half reclining on one elbow,
+shaded their eyes with their old slouch hats, as they gazed wistfully toward
+the long hill, eager to catch the first sight of the daily stage which was
+momentarily expected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jerry is late, to-day&mdash;but it&rsquo;s so plaguy hot he&rsquo;s
+favorin&rsquo; his hosses, I guess,&rdquo; said the rosy-faced landlord, with
+that peculiar intonation which stamped him at once a genuine Yankee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A watched pot never biles,&rdquo; muttered one of the loungers, who
+regularly for fifteen years had been at his post, waiting for the stage, which
+during all that time had brought him neither letter, message, friend, nor foe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But force of habit is everything, and after the very wise saying recorded
+above, he resumed his whittling, never again looking up until the loud blast of
+the driver&rsquo;s horn was heard on the distant hill-top, where the four
+weary, jaded horses were now visible. It was the driver&rsquo;s usual custom to
+blow his horn from the moment he appeared on the hill, until with a grand
+flourish he reined his panting steeds before the door of the inn. But this time
+there was one sharp, shrill sound, and then all was still, the omission
+eliciting several remarks not very complimentary to the weather, which was
+probably the cause of &ldquo;Jerry&rsquo;s&rdquo; unwonted silence. Very slowly
+the vehicle came on, the horses never leaving a walk, and the idler of fifteen
+years&rsquo; standing, who for a time had suspended his whittling,
+&ldquo;wondered what was to pay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A nearer approach revealed three or four male passengers, all occupied with a
+young lady, who, on the back seat, was carefully supported by one of her
+companions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A sick gal, I guess. Wonder if the disease is catchin&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+said the whittler, standing back several paces and looking over the heads of
+the others, who crowded forward as the stage came up. The loud greeting of the
+noisy group was answered by Jerry with a low &ldquo;sh&mdash;sh,&rdquo; as he
+pointed significantly at the slight form which two of the gentlemen were
+lifting from the coach, asking at the same time if there were a physician near.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter on her? Hain&rsquo;t got the cholery, has
+she,&rdquo; said the landlord, who, having hallooed to his wife to &ldquo;fetch
+up her vittles,&rdquo; now appeared on the piazza ready to welcome his guests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the first mention of cholera, the fifteen years&rsquo; man vamosed,
+retreating across the road, and seating himself on the fence under the shadow
+of the locust trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is she, Jerry?&rdquo; asked the younger of the set, gazing curiously
+upon the white, beautiful face of the stranger, who had been laid upon the
+lounge in the common sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lord only knows,&rdquo; said Jerry, wiping the heavy drops of sweat from
+his good-humored face; &ldquo;I found her at the hotel in Livony. She came
+there in the cars, and said she wanted to go over to &rsquo;tother railroad.
+She was so weak that I had to lift her into the stage as I would a baby, and
+she ain&rsquo;t much heavier. You orto seen how sweet she smiled when she
+thanked me, and asked me not to drive very fast, it made her head ache so.
+Zounds, I wouldn&rsquo;t of trotted the horses if I&rsquo;d never got here.
+Jest after we started she fainted, and she&rsquo;s been kinder talkin&rsquo;
+strange like ever since. Some of the gentlemen thought I&rsquo;d better leave
+her back a piece at Brown&rsquo;s tavern, but I wanted to fetch her here, where
+Aunt Betsy could nuss her up, and then I can kinder tend to her myself, you
+know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This last remark called forth no answering joke, for Jerry&rsquo;s companions
+all knew his kindly nature, and it was no wonder to them that his sympathies
+were so strongly enlisted for the fair girl thus thrown upon his protection. It
+was a big, noble heart over which Jerry Langley buttoned his driver&rsquo;s
+coat, and when the physician who had arrived pronounced the lady too ill to
+proceed any further, he called aside the fidgety landlord, whose peculiarities
+he well knew, and bade him &ldquo;not to fret and stew, for if the gal
+hadn&rsquo;t money, Jerry Langley was good for a longer time than she would
+live, poor critter;&rdquo; and he wiped a tear away, glancing, the while, at
+the burying-ground which lay just across the garden, and thinking how if she
+died, her grave should be beneath the wide-spreading oak, where often in the
+summer nights he sat, counting the head-stones which marked the last resting
+place of the slumbering host, and wondering if death were, as some had said, a
+long, eternal sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Aunt Betsey, of whom he had spoken, was the landlady, a little dumpy,
+pleasant-faced, active woman, equally in her element bending over the steaming
+gridiron, or smoothing the pillows of the sick-bed, where her powers of nursing
+had won golden laurels from Others than Jerry Langley. When the news was
+brought to the kitchen that among the passengers was a sick girl, who was to be
+left, her first thought, natural to everybody, was, &ldquo;What shall I do
+?&rdquo; while the second, natural to her, was, &ldquo;Take care of her, of
+course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, when the dinner was upon the table, she laid aside her broad check
+apron, substituting in its place a half-worn silk, for Jerry had reported the
+invalid to be &ldquo;every inch a lady;&rdquo; then smoothing her soft, silvery
+hair with her fat, rosy hands, she repaired to the sitting-room, where she
+found the driver watching his charge, from whom he kept the buzzing flies by
+means of his bandana, which he waved to and fro with untiring patience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Handsome as a London doll,&rdquo; was her first exclamation, adding,
+&ldquo;but I should think she&rsquo;d be awful hot with them curls,
+dangling&rsquo; in her neck! If she&rsquo;s goin&rsquo; to be sick they&rsquo;d
+better be cut off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If there was any one thing for which Aunt Betsey Aldergrass possessed a
+particular passion, it was for <i>hair-cutting</i>, she being barber general
+for Laurel Hill, which numbered about thirty houses, store and church
+inclusive, and now when she saw the shining tresses which lay in such profusion
+upon the pillow, her fingers tingled to their very tips, while she
+involuntarily felt for her scissors! Very reverentially, as if it were almost
+sacrilege, Jerry&rsquo;s broad palm was laid protectingly upon the clustering
+ringlets, while he said, &ldquo;No, Aunt Betsey, if she dies for&rsquo;t, you
+shan&rsquo;t touch one of them; &rsquo;twould spile her hair, she looks so
+pretty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly the long, fringed lids unclosed, and the brown eyes looked up so
+gratefully at Jerry, that he beat a precipitate retreat, muttering to himself
+that &ldquo;he never could stand the gals, anyway, they made his heart thump
+so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I very sick, and can&rsquo;t I go on?&rdquo; asked the young lady,
+attempting to rise, but sinking back from extreme weakness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Considerable sick, I guess,&rdquo; answered the landlady, taking from a
+side cupboard an immense decanter of camphor, and passing it toward the
+stranger. &ldquo;Considerable sick, and I wouldn&rsquo;t wonder if you had to
+lay by a day or so. Will they be consarned about you to home, &rsquo;cause if
+they be, my old man&rsquo;ll write.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no home,&rdquo; was the sad answer, to which Aunt Betsey
+responded in astonishment, &ldquo;Hain&rsquo;t no home! Where does your marm
+live?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother is dead,&rdquo; said the girl, her tears dropping fast upon the
+pillow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, &ldquo;And your
+pa&mdash;where is he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never saw him,&rdquo; said the girl, while her interrogator continued:
+&ldquo;Never saw your pa, and your marm is dead&mdash;poor child, what is your
+name, and where did you come from?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment the stranger hesitated, and then thinking it better to tell the
+truth at once, she replied, &ldquo;My name is &rsquo;Lena. I lived with my
+uncle a great many miles from here, but I wasn&rsquo;t happy. They did not want
+me there, and I ran away. I am going to my cousin, but I&rsquo;d rather not
+tell where, so you will please not ask me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something in her manner which silenced Aunt Betsey, who, erelong,
+proposed that she should go upstairs and lie down on a nice little bed, where
+she would be more quiet. But &rsquo;Lena refused, saying she should feel better
+soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby, then, you&rsquo;d eat a mouffle or two. We&rsquo;ve got some
+roasted pork, and Hetty&rsquo;ll warm over the gravy;&rdquo; but
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s stomach rebelled at the very thought, seeing which, the
+landlady went back to the kitchen, where she soon prepared a bowl of gruel, in
+spite of the discouraging remarks of her husband, who, being a little after the
+<i>Old Hunks</i> order, cautioned her &ldquo;not to fuss too much, as gals that
+run away warn&rsquo;t apt to be plagued with money&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fortunately, Aunt Betsey&rsquo;s heart covered a broader sphere, and the moment
+the stage was gone she closed the door to shut out the dust, dropped the green
+curtains, and drawing from the spare-room a large, stuffed chair, bade
+&rsquo;Lena &ldquo;see if she couldn&rsquo;t set up a minit.&rdquo; But this
+was impossible, and all that long, sultry afternoon she lay upon the lounge,
+holding her aching head, which seemed well-nigh bursting with its weight of
+pain and thought. &ldquo;Was it right for her to run away? Ought she not to
+have stayed and bravely met the worst? Suppose she were to die there alone,
+among strangers and without money, for her scanty purse was well-nigh
+drained.&rdquo; These and similar reflections crowded upon her, until her brain
+grew wild and dizzy, and when at sunset the physician came again he was
+surprised to find how much her fever had increased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She ought not to lie here,&rdquo; said he, as he saw how the loud shouts
+of the school-boys made her shudder. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there some place where
+she can be more quiet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the head of the stairs was a small room, containing a single bed and a
+window, which last looked out upon the garden and the graveyard beyond. Its
+furniture was of the plainest kind, it being reserved for more common
+travelers, and here the landlord said &rsquo;Lena must be taken. His wife would
+far rather have given her the front chamber, which was large, airy and light,
+but Uncle Tim Aldergrass said &ldquo;No,&rdquo; squealing out through his
+little peaked nose that &ldquo;&rsquo;twarn&rsquo;t an atom likely he&rsquo;d
+ever more&rsquo;n half git his pay, anyway, and he warn&rsquo;t a goin&rsquo;
+to give up the hull house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much more will it be if she has the best chamber,&rdquo; asked
+Jerry, pulling at Uncle Tim&rsquo;s coattail and leading him aside. &ldquo;How
+much will it be, &rsquo;cause if &rsquo;taint too much, she shan&rsquo;t stay
+in that eight by nine pen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A dollar a week, and cheap at that,&rdquo; muttered Uncle Tim, while
+Jerry, going out behind the wood-house, counted over his funds, sighing as he
+found them quite too small to meet the extra, dollar per week, should she long
+continue ill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I hadn&rsquo;t of fooled so much away for tobacker and things, I
+shouldn&rsquo;t be so plaguy poor now,&rdquo; thought he, forgetting the many
+hearts which his hard-earned gains had made glad, for no one ever appealed in
+vain for help from Jerry Langley, who represented one class of Yankees, while
+Timothy Aldergrass represented another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry knocked
+softly at Aunt Betsey&rsquo;s door, telling her that for more than an hour
+he&rsquo;d heard the young lady takin&rsquo; on, and he guessed she was worse.
+Hastily throwing on her loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+room, where she found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and
+whispering, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a disordered brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord help us! she&rsquo;s crazy as a loon. Run for the doctor,
+quick!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot or shoe, Jerry ran
+off in his stocking-feet, alarming the physician, who immediately hastened to
+the inn, pronouncing &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s disease to be brain fever, as he had
+at first feared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was sometimes in Kentucky
+and sometimes in Massachusetts, where she said they had buried her mother. At
+other times she would ask Aunt Betsey to send for Durward when she was dead,
+and tell him how innocent she was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I tell you there was something wrong?&rdquo; Uncle Timothy
+would squeak. &ldquo;Nobody knows who we are harborin&rsquo; nor how much
+&rsquo;twill damage the house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as day after day went by, and &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s fever raged more
+fiercely, even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of them to take her
+home and bury her by the side of Mabel, where Durward could see her grave, he
+would sigh, &ldquo;Poor critter, I wish you was to home,&rdquo; but whether
+this wish was prompted by a sincere desire to please &rsquo;Lena, or from a
+more selfish motive, we are unable to state. One morning, the fifth of
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly and
+tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild disorder over her
+pillow, or streaming down her shoulders. Hitherto Aunt Betsey had restrained
+her <i>barberic</i> desire, each day arranging the heavy locks, and tucking
+them under the muslin cap, where they refused to stay. Once the doctor himself
+had suggested the propriety of cutting them away, adding, though, that they
+would wait awhile, as it was a pity to lose them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better be cut off than yanked off,&rdquo; said Aunt Betsey, on the
+morning when &rsquo;Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear out handfulls of
+her shining hair and scatter it over the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached the bedside, and
+taking one of the curls in her hand, was about to sever it, when &rsquo;Lena,
+divining her intentions, sprang up, and gathering up her hair, exclaimed,
+&ldquo;No, no, not these; take everything else, but leave me my curls. Durward
+thought they were beautiful, and I cannot lose them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its passengers, and as
+the tones of their voices came in at the open window, &rsquo;Lena suddenly grew
+calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered, &ldquo;Hark! He&rsquo;s
+come. Don&rsquo;t you hear him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling her to come down, and
+leaving &rsquo;Lena, who had almost instantly become quiet, to the care of a
+neighbor, she started for the kitchen, meeting in the lower hall with Hetty,
+who was showing one of the passengers to a room where he could wash and refresh
+himself after his dusty ride. As they passed each other, Hetty asked,
+&ldquo;Have you clipped her curls?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Aldergrass, &ldquo;she wouldn&rsquo;t let me
+touch &rsquo;em, for she said that Durward, whom she talks so much about, liked
+&rsquo;em, and they mustn&rsquo;t be cut off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty and her mistress
+had been admiring, stopped, and turning to the latter, said, &ldquo;Of whom are
+you speaking?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days
+ago,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Aldergrass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is her name, and where does she live?&rdquo; continued the
+stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She calls herself &rsquo;Lena, but the &rsquo;tother name I don&rsquo;t
+know, and I guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically followed Hetty to his
+room, starting and turning pale as a wild, unnatural laugh fell on his ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is the young lady, sir,&rdquo; said Hetty, observing his agitated
+manner. &ldquo;She raves most all the time, and the doctor says she&rsquo;ll
+die if she don&rsquo;t stop.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he wished to be, alone. He
+had found her then&mdash;his lost &rsquo;Lena&mdash;sick, perhaps dying, and
+his heart gave one agonized throb as he thought, &ldquo;What if she should die?
+Yet why should I wish her to live?&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;when she is as
+surely lost to me as if she were indeed resting in her grave!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet be well,
+else, perhaps, he had never followed her. Believing she would stop at Mr.
+Everett&rsquo;s, he had come on thus far, finding her where he least expected
+it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure mingled with his pain as
+he thought how he would protect and care for her, ministering to her comfort,
+and softening, as far as possible, the disagreeable things which he saw must
+necessarily surround her. Money, he knew, would purchase almost everything, and
+if ever Durward Bellmont felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found
+&rsquo;Lena Rivers sick and alone at the not very comfortable inn of Laurel
+Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry&mdash;whose long, lank figure
+and original manner had afforded him much amusement during his
+ride&mdash;handing a dozen or more oranges to Mrs. Aldergrass, saying, as he
+did so, &ldquo;They are for Miss &rsquo;Lena. I thought mebby they&rsquo;d
+taste good, this hot weather, and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest
+and best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment Durward&rsquo;s cheek flushed at the idea of Lena&rsquo;s being
+cared for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart grew warm toward the
+uncouth driver who, without any possible motive save the promptings of his own
+kindly nature, had thus thought of the stranger girl. Erelong the stage was
+announced as ready and waiting, but to the surprise and regret of his
+fellow-passengers, who had found him a most agreeable traveling companion,
+Durward said he was not going any further that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A new streak, ain&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; asked Jerry, who knew he was booked
+for the entire route; but the young man made no reply, and the fresh, spirited
+horses soon bore the lumbering vehicle far out of sight, leaving him to watch
+the cloud of dust which it carried in its train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that a guest of
+Durward&rsquo;s appearance honored his house with more than a passing call, and
+with the familiarity so common to a country landlord, he slapped him on the
+shoulder, telling him &ldquo;there was the tallest kind of fish in the
+Honeoye,&rdquo; whose waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were just
+discernible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never fish, thank you, sir,&rdquo; answered Durward, while the
+good-natured landlord continued: &ldquo;Now you don&rsquo;t say it! Hunt, then,
+mebby?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Occasionally,&rdquo; said Durward, adding, &ldquo;But my reason for
+stopping here is of entirely a different nature. I hear there is with you a
+sick lady. She is a friend of mine, and I am staying to see that she is well
+attended to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his opinion of
+&rsquo;Lena, whose want of money had made him sadly suspicious of her.
+&ldquo;Yes, yes, a fine gal; fell into good hands, too, for my old woman is the
+greatest kind of a nuss. Want to see her, don&rsquo;t you?&mdash;the lady I
+mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not just yet; I would like a few moments&rsquo; conversation with your
+wife first,&rdquo; answered Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Greatly frustrated when she learned that the stylish looking gentleman wished
+to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her shining face with flour, and donning
+another cap, repaired to the sitting-room, where she commenced making excuses
+about herself, the house, and everything else, saying, &ldquo;&rsquo;twant what
+he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he&rsquo;d try to put up with
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded to ask her every
+particular concerning &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s illness, and whether she would
+probably recognize him should he venture into her presence,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless your dear heart, no. She hain&rsquo;t known a soul on us these
+three days. Sometimes she calls me &lsquo;grandmother,&rsquo; and says when
+she&rsquo;s dead I&rsquo;ll know she&rsquo;s innocent. &rsquo;Pears Like
+somebody has been slanderin&rsquo; her, for she begs and pleads with Durward,
+as she calls him, not to believe it. Ain&rsquo;t you the one she means?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin&rsquo; straight
+in the bed, ravin&rsquo; and screechin&rsquo;, but the minit she heard your
+voice she dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since. Will you go up
+now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward signified his willingness, and following his landlady, he soon stood in
+the close, pent-up room where, in an uneasy slumber, &rsquo;Lena lay panting
+for breath, and at intervals faintly moaning in her sleep. She had fearfully
+changed since last he saw her, and with a groan, he bent over her, murmuring,
+&ldquo;My poor &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; while he gently laid his cool, moist hand
+upon her burning brow. As if there were something soothing in its touch, she
+quickly placed her little hot, parched hand on his, whispering, &ldquo;Keep it
+there. It will make me well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and carefully removing from her
+face and neck the thick curls which Mrs. Aldergrass had thought to cut away. At
+last she awoke, but Durward shrank almost in fear from the wild, bright eyes
+which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in them was no ray of reason. She called
+him &ldquo;John&rdquo; blessing him for coming, and saying, &ldquo;Did you tell
+Durward. Does <i>he</i> know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am Durward,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you recognize me? Look
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she answered, with a mocking laugh, which made him
+shudder, it was so unlike the merry, ringing tones he had once loved to hear.
+&ldquo;No, no, you are not Durward. He would not look at me as you do. He
+thinks me guilty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his identity. She would only
+answer with a laugh, which grated so harshly on his ear that he finally
+desisted, and suffered her to think he was her cousin. The smallness of her
+chamber troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up he asked if there was no
+other apartment where &rsquo;Lena would be more comfortable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course there is,&rdquo; said Aunt Betsy. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the
+best chamber I was goin&rsquo; to give to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Let her have every comfort the
+house affords, and you shall be amply paid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Uncle Timothy had now no objection to the offer, and the large, airy room with
+its snowy, draped bed was soon in readiness for the sufferer, who, in one of
+her wayward moods, absolutely refused to be moved. It was in vain that Aunt
+Betsey plead, persuaded, and threatened, and at last in despair Durward was
+called in to try his powers of persuasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s something more like it,&rdquo; said &rsquo;Lena, and when
+he urged upon her the necessity of her removal, she asked, &ldquo;Will you go
+with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And stay with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; she continued, stretching her arms toward him
+as a child toward its mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A moment more and she was reclining on the soft downy pillows, the special
+pride of Mrs. Aldergrass, who bustled in and out, while her husband, ashamed of
+his stinginess, said &ldquo;they should of moved her afore, only &rsquo;twas a
+bad sign.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the remainder of the day she seemed more quiet, talking incessantly, it
+is true, but never raving if Durward were near. It is strange what power he had
+over her, a word from him sufficing at any time to subdue her when in her most
+violent fits of frenzy. For two days and nights he watched by her side, never
+giving himself a moment&rsquo;s rest, while the neighbors looked on, surmising
+and commenting as people always will. Every delicacy of the season, however
+costly, was purchased for her comfort, while each morning the flowers which he
+knew she loved the best were freshly gathered from the different gardens of
+Laurel Hill, and in broken pitchers, cracked tumblers, and nicked saucers,
+adorned the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the close of the third day she fell into a heavy slumber, and Durward, worn
+out and weary, retired to take the rest he so much needed. For a long time
+&rsquo;Lena slept, watched by the physician, who, knowing that the crisis had
+arrived, waited anxiously for her waking, which came at last, bringing with it
+the light of returning reason. Dreamily she gazed about the room, and in a
+voice no longer strong with the excitement of delirium, asked, &ldquo;Where am
+I, and how came I here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a few words the physician explained all that was necessary for her to know,
+and then going for Mrs. Aldergrass, told her of the favorable change in his
+patient, adding that a sudden shock might still prove fatal.
+&ldquo;Therefore,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;though I know not in what relation
+this Mr. Bellmont stands to her, I think it advisable for her to remain awhile
+in ignorance of his presence. It is of the utmost consequence that she be kept
+quiet for a few days, at the end of which time she can see him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this Aunt Betsey communicated to Durward, who unwilling to do anything
+which would endanger &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s safety, kept himself aloof, treading
+softly and speaking low, for as if her hearing were sharpened by disease she
+more than once, when he was talking in the hall below, started up, listening
+eagerly; then, as if satisfied that she had been deceived, she would resume her
+position, while the flush on her cheek deepened as she thought, &ldquo;Oh, what
+if it had indeed been he!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nearly all the day long he sat just without the door, holding his breath as he
+caught the faint tones of her voice, and longing for the hour when he could see
+her, and obtain, if possible, some clue to the mystery attending her and his
+father. His mother&rsquo;s words, together with what he had heard &rsquo;Lena
+say in her ravings, had tended to convince him that <i>she</i>, at least, might
+be innocent, and once assured of this, he felt that he would gladly fold her to
+his bosom, and cherish her there as the choicest of heaven&rsquo;s blessings.
+All this time &rsquo;Lena had no suspicion of his presence, but she wondered at
+the many luxuries which surrounded her, and once, when Mrs. Aldergrass offered
+her some choice wine, she asked who it was that supplied her with so many
+comforts. Aunt Betsey&rsquo;s, forte did not lay in keeping a secret, and
+rather evasively she replied, &ldquo;You mustn&rsquo;t ask me too many
+questions just yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s suspicions were at once aroused, and for more than an hour
+she lay thinking&mdash;trying to recall something which seamed to her like a
+dream. At last calling Aunt Betsey to her, she said, &ldquo;There was somebody
+here while I was so sick&mdash;somebody besides strangers&mdash;somebody that
+stayed with me all the time&mdash;who was it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody, nobody&mdash;I mustn&rsquo;t tell,&rdquo; said Mrs. Aldergrass,
+hurriedly, while &rsquo;Lena continued, &ldquo;Was it Cousin John?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no; don&rsquo;t guess any more,&rdquo; was Mrs. Aldergrass&rsquo;s
+reply, and &rsquo;Lena, clasping her hands together, exclaimed, &ldquo;Oh,
+could it he be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words reached Durward&rsquo;s ear, and nothing but a sense of the harm it
+might do prevented him from going at once to her bedside. That night, at his
+earnest request, the physician gave him permission to see her in the morning,
+and Mrs. Aldergrass was commissioned to prepare her for the interview.
+&rsquo;Lena did not ask who it was; she felt that she knew; and the knowledge
+that he was there&mdash;that he had cared for her&mdash;operated upon her like
+a spell, soothing her into the most refreshing slumber she had experienced for
+many a weary week. With the sun-rising she was awake, but Mrs. Aldergrass, who
+came in soon after, told her that the visitor was not to be admitted until
+about ten, as she would by that time have become more composed, and be the
+better able to endure the excitement of the interview. A natural delicacy
+prevented &rsquo;Lena from objecting to the delay, and, as calmly as possible,
+she watched Mrs. Aldergrass while she put the room to rights, and then
+patiently submitted to the arranging of her curls, which during her illness had
+become matted and tangled. Before eight everything was in readiness, and soon
+after, worn out by her own exertions, &rsquo;Lena again fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How lovely she looks,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Aldergrass. &ldquo;He shall
+just have a peep at her,&rdquo; and stepping to the door she beckoned Durward
+to her side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never before had &rsquo;Lena, seemed so beautiful to him, and as he looked upon
+her, he felt his doubts removing, one by one. She was innocent&mdash;it could
+not be otherwise&mdash;and very impatiently he awaited the lapse of the two
+hours which must pass ere he could see her, face to face. At length, as the
+surest way of killing time, he started out for a walk in a pleasant wood, which
+skirted the foot of Laurel Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here for a time we leave him, while in another chapter we speak of an event
+which, in the natural order of things, should here be narrated.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV<br/>
+&rsquo;LENA&rsquo;S FATHER.</h2>
+
+<p>
+Two or three days before the morning of which we have spoken, Uncle Timothy,
+who like many of his profession had been guilty of a slight infringement of the
+&ldquo;Maine&rdquo; liquor law, had been called to answer for the same at the
+court then in session in the village of Canandaigua, the terminus of the stage
+route. Altogether too stingy to pay the coach fare, his own horse had carried
+him out, going for him on the night preceding Durward&rsquo;s projected meeting
+with &rsquo;Lena. On the afternoon of that day the cars from New York brought
+up several passengers, who being bound for Buffalo, were obliged to wait some
+hours for the arrival of the Albany train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Among those who stopped at the same house with Uncle Timothy, was our old
+acquaintance, Mr. Graham, who had returned from Europe, and was now homeward
+bound, firmly fixed in his intention to do right at last. Many and many a time,
+during his travels had the image of a pale, sad face arisen before him,
+accusing him of so long neglecting to own his child, for &rsquo;Lena was his
+daughter, and she, who in all her bright beauty had years ago gone down to an
+early grave, was his wife, the wife of his first, and in bitterness of heart he
+sometimes thought, of his only love. His childhood&rsquo;s home, which was at
+the sunny south, was not a happy one, for ere he had learned to lisp his
+mother&rsquo;s name, she had died, leaving him to the guardianship of his
+father, who was cold, exacting, and tyrannical, ruling his son with a rod of
+iron, and by his stern, unbending manner increasing the natural cowardice of
+his disposition. From his mother Harry had inherited a generous, impulsive
+nature, frequently leading him into errors which his father condemned with so
+much severity that he early learned the art of concealment, as far, at least,
+as his father was concerned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the age of eighteen he left home for Yale, where he spent four happy years,
+for the restraints of college life, though sometimes irksome, were preferable
+far to the dull monotony of his southern home; and when at last he was
+graduated, and there was no longer an excuse for tarrying, he lingered by the
+way, stopping at the then village of Springfield, where, actuated by some
+sudden freak, he registered himself as Harry <i>Rivers</i>, the latter being
+his middle name. For doing this he had no particular reason, except that it
+suited his fancy, and Rivers, he thought, was a better name than Graham. Here
+he met with Helena Nichols, whose uncommon beauty first attracted his
+attention, and whose fresh, unstudied manners afterward won his love to such an
+extent, that in an unguarded moment, and without a thought of the result, he
+married her, neglecting to tell her his real name before their marriage,
+because he feared she would cease to respect him if she knew he had deceived
+her, and then afterward finding it harder than ever to confess his fault.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As time wore on, his father&rsquo;s letters, commanding him to return, grew
+more and more peremptory, until at last he wrote, &ldquo;I am
+sick&mdash;dying&mdash;and if you do not come, I&rsquo;ll cast you off
+forever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Harry knew this was no unmeaning threat, and he now began to reap the fruit of
+his folly. He could not give up Helena, who daily grew dearer to him, neither
+could he brave the displeasure of his father by acknowledging his marriage, for
+disinheritance was sure to follow. In this dilemma he resolved to compromise
+the matter. He would leave Helena awhile; he would visit his father, and if a
+favorable opportunity occurred, he would confess all; if not, he would return
+to his wife and do the best he could. But she must be provided for during his
+absence, and to effect this, he wrote to his father, saying he stood greatly in
+need of five hundred dollars, and that immediately on its receipt he would
+start for home. Inconsistent as it seemed with his general character, the elder
+Mr. Graham was generous with his money, lavishing upon his son all that he
+asked for, and the money was accordingly sent without a moment&rsquo;s
+hesitation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now Harry&rsquo;s besetting sin, <i>secrecy</i>, came again in action, and
+instead of manfully telling Helena the truth, he left her privately, stealing
+away at night, and quieting his conscience by promising himself to reveal all
+in a letter, which was actually written, but as at the time of its arrival
+Helena was at home, and the postmaster knew of no such person, it was at last
+sent to Washington with thousands of its companions. The reader already knows
+how &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s young mother watched for her recreant husband&rsquo;s
+coming until life and hope died out together, and it is only necessary to
+repeat that part of the story which relates to Harry, who on his return home
+found his father much worse than he expected. At his bedside, ministering to
+his wants, was a young, dashing widow, who prided herself upon being Lady
+Bellmont. On his death-bed her father had committed her to the guardianship of
+Mr. Graham, who, strictly honorable in all his dealings, had held his trust
+until the time of her marriage with a young Englishman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unfortunately, as it proved for Harry, and fortunately for Sir Arthur, who had
+nothing in common with his wife, the latter died within two years after his
+marriage, leaving his widow and infant son again to the care of Mr. Graham,
+with whom Lady Bellmont, as she was pleased to call herself, lived at
+intervals, swaying him whichever way she listed, and influencing him as he had
+never been influenced before. The secret of this was, that the old man had his
+eye upon her vast possessions, which he destined for his son, who, ignorant of
+the honor intended him, had presumed to marry according to the promptings of
+his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely was the first greeting over, ere his father at once made known his
+plans, to which Harry listened with mingled pain and amazement.
+&ldquo;Lucy&mdash;Lady Bellmont!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;why, she&rsquo;s a
+mother&mdash;a widow&mdash;beside being ten years my senior.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three years,&rdquo; interrupted his father. &ldquo;She is twenty-five,
+you twenty-two, and then as to her being a widow and a mother, the immensity of
+her wealth atones for that. She is much sought after, but I think she prefers
+you. She will make you a good wife, and I am resolved to see the union
+consummated ere I die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never sir, never,&rdquo; answered Harry, in a more decided manner than
+he had before assumed toward his father. &ldquo;It is utterly
+impossible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was too much exhausted to urge the matter at that time, but he
+continued at intervals to harass Harry, until the very sight of Lucy Bellmont
+became hateful to him. It was not so, however, with the son, the Durward of our
+story. He was a fine little fellow, whom every one loved, and for hours would
+Harry amuse himself with him, while his thoughts were with his own wife and
+child, the latter of whom was to be so strangely connected with the fortunes of
+the boy at his side. For weeks his father lingered, each day seeming an age to
+Harry, who, though he did not wish to hasten his father&rsquo;s death, still
+longed to be away. Twice had he written without obtaining an answer, and he was
+about making up his mind to start, at all events, when his father suddenly
+died, leaving him the sole heir of all his princely fortune, and with his
+latest breath enjoining it upon him to marry Lucy Bellmont, who, after the
+funeral was over, adverted to it, saying, in her softest tones, &ldquo;I hope
+you don&rsquo;t feel obliged to fulfill your father&rsquo;s request.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; was Harry&rsquo;s short answer, as he went on with
+his preparations for his journey, anticipating the happiness he should
+experience in making Helena the mistress of his luxurious home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But alas for human hopes. The very morning on which he was intending to start,
+he was seized with a fever, which kept him confined to his bed until the spring
+was far advanced. Sooner than he was able he started for Springfield in quest
+of Helena, learning from the woman whom he had left in charge, that she was
+dead, and her baby too! The shock was too much for him in his weak state, and
+for two weeks he was again confined to a sick-bed, sincerely mourning the
+untimely end of one whom he had truly loved, and whose death his own foolish
+conduct had hastened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon after their marriage her portrait had been taken by the best artist in the
+town, and this he determined to procure as a memento of the few happy days he
+had spent with Helena. But the cottage where he left her was now occupied by
+strangers, and after many inquiries, he learned that the portrait, together
+with some of the furniture, had been sold to pay the rent, which became due
+soon after his departure. His next thought was to visit her parents, but from
+this his natural timidity shrank. They would reproach him, he thought, with the
+death of their daughter, whom he had so deeply wronged, and not possessing
+sufficient courage to meet them face to face, he again started for home,
+bearing a sad heart, which scarcely again felt a thrill of joy until the
+morning when he first met with &rsquo;Lena, whose exact resemblance to her
+mother so startled him as to arouse the jealousy of his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the many ways and means by
+which Lucy Bellmont sought to ensnare him. Suffice it to say, that she at last
+succeeded, and he married her, finding in the companionship of her son more
+real pleasure than he ever experienced in her society. After a time Mrs.
+Graham, growing weary of Charleston, where her haughty, overbearing manner made
+her unpopular, besought her husband to remove, which he finally did, going to
+Louisville, where he remained until the time of his removal to Woodlawn. Fully
+believing what the old nurse had told him of the death of his wife and child,
+he had no idea of the existence of the latter, though often in the stillness of
+night the remembrance of the little girl whom Durward had pointed out to him in
+the cars, arose before him, haunting him with visions of the past, but it was
+not until he met her at Maple Grove that he entertained a thought of her being
+his daughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there was now an object for
+which to live. Carefully had he guarded from his wife a knowledge of his first
+marriage, for he dreaded her sneering reproaches, and he could not hear his
+beloved Helena&rsquo;s name breathed lightly by one so greatly her inferior.
+When he saw &rsquo;Lena, however, his first impulse was to clasp her in his
+arms and compel his wife to own her, but day after day went by, and he still
+delayed, hoping for a more favorable opportunity, which never came. Had he
+found her in less favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but
+seeing only the brightest side of her life, he believed her comparatively
+happy. She was well educated, accomplished, and beautiful, and so he waited,
+secure in the fact that he was near to see that no harm should befall her. Once
+it occurred to him that possibly he might die suddenly, thus leaving his
+relationship to her a secret forever, and acting upon this thought, he
+immediately made his will, bequeathing all to &rsquo;Lena, whom he acknowledged
+to be his daughter, adding an explanation of the whole affair, together with a
+most touching letter to his child, who would never see it until he was dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some good excuse for
+still keeping it from his wife, who worried him incessantly concerning his
+evident preference for &rsquo;Lena. Many and many a time he resolved to tell
+her all, but as often postponed the matter, until, with the broad Atlantic
+between them, he ventured to write what he could not tell her verbally and,
+strange to say, the effect upon his wife was far different from what he had
+expected. She did not faint, for there was no one by to see her, neither did
+she rave, for there was no one to hear her, but with her usual inconsistency,
+she blamed her husband for not telling her before. Then came other thoughts of
+a different nature. <i>She</i> had helped to impair &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+reputation, and if disgrace attached to her, it would also fall upon her own
+family. Consequently, as we have seen, she set herself at work to atone, as far
+as possible, for her conduct. Her husband had given her permission to wait, if
+she chose, until his return, ere she made the affair public, and as she dreaded
+the remarks it would necessarily call forth, she resolved to do so. He had
+advised her to tell &rsquo;Lena, but she was gone&mdash;no one knew whither,
+and nervously she waited for some tidings of the wanderer. She was willing to
+receive &rsquo;Lena, but not the grandmother, <i>she</i> was voted an
+intolerable nuisance, who should never darken the doors of
+Woodlawn&mdash;never!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, landing in New York, from
+whence he started for home, meeting, as we have seen, with a detention in
+Canandaigua, where he accidentally fell in with Uncle Timothy, who, being minus
+quite a little sum of money on account of his transgression, was lamenting his
+ill fortune to one of his acquaintances, and threatening to give up tavern
+keeping if the Maine law wasn&rsquo;t repealed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it has cost me up&rsquo;ards of fifty
+dollars, and I&rsquo;ll bet I hain&rsquo;t sold mor&rsquo;n a barrel, besides
+what wine that Kentucky chap has bought for his gal, and I suppose they call
+that nothin&rsquo;, bein&rsquo; it&rsquo;s for sickness. Why, good Lord, the
+hull on&rsquo;t was for medicine, or chimistry, or mechanics!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name he did not
+remember.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s &rsquo;Lena,&rdquo; answered Uncle Timothy,
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena Rivers that dandified chap calls her, and it&rsquo;s plaguy
+curis to me what she&rsquo;s a runnin&rsquo; away for, and he a streakin&rsquo;
+it through the country arter her; there&rsquo;s mischief summers, so I tell
+&rsquo;em, but that&rsquo;s no consarn of mine so long as he pays down
+regular.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s curiosity was instantly aroused, and the moment he could
+speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he meant by the sick lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, &ldquo;A
+relation of yourn, mebby?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said Mr. Graham. &ldquo;Is it far to Laurel
+Hill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better&rsquo;n a dozen miles! Was you goin&rsquo; out there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time asking if he could
+procure a horse and carriage there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a penny, and now
+nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, &ldquo;Them liv&rsquo;ry
+scamps&rsquo;ll charge you tew dollars, at the lowest calkerlation. I&rsquo;m
+going right out, and will take you for six shillin&rsquo;. What do you
+think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s thoughts were not very complimentary to the shrewd Yankee,
+but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied that he would go, suggesting
+that they should start immediately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In less than five minits. You jest set down while I go to the store
+arter some jimcracks for the old woman,&rdquo; said Uncle Timothy, starting up
+the street, which was the last Mr. Graham saw of him for three long hours.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of that time, the little man came stubbing down the walk, making
+many apologies, and saying &ldquo;he got so engaged about the darned
+&lsquo;liquor law,&rsquo; and the putty-heads that made it, that he&rsquo;d no
+idee &rsquo;twas so late.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On their way home he still continued to discourse on his favorite topic,
+lamenting that he had voted for the present governor, announcing his intention
+of &ldquo;jinin&rsquo; the <i>Hindews</i> the fust time they met at
+Suckerport,&rdquo; a village at the foot of Honeoye lake, and stopping every
+man whom he knew to belong to that order, to ask if they took a <i>fee</i>, and
+if &ldquo;there was any bedivelment of <i>gridirons</i> and <i>goats</i>, such
+as the Masons and Odd Fellers had!&rdquo; Being repeatedly assured that the fee
+was only a dollar, and that the initiatory process was not very painful, he
+concluded &ldquo;to go it, provided they&rsquo;d promise to run him for
+constable. Office is the hull any of the scallywags jine &rsquo;em for, and I
+may as well go in for a sheer,&rdquo; said he, thinking if he could not have
+the privilege of selling liquor, he would at least secure the right of
+arresting those who drank it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and the clock had struck
+ten long ere they reached the inn, which they found still and dark, save the
+light which was kept burning in &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s her chamber&mdash;the young gal&rsquo;s&mdash;where you see
+the candle,&rdquo; said Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge walls of
+the tavern. &ldquo;I guess you won&rsquo;t want to disturb her to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt a twinge
+of his inveterate habit of secrecy, &ldquo;If you&rsquo;d just as lief, you
+need not speak of me to the young gentleman; I wish to take him by
+surprise&rdquo;&mdash;meaning Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle Timothy was too
+much absorbed in his loss to think of anything else, and when his wife asked
+&ldquo;who it was that he lighted up to bed,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;A chap
+that wanted to come out this way, and so rid with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham was very tired, and now scarcely had his head pressed the pillow ere
+he was asleep, dreaming of &rsquo;Lena, whose presence was to shed such a halo
+of sunlight over his hitherto cheerless home. The ringing of the bell next
+morning failed to arouse him, but when Mrs. Aldergrass, noticing his absence
+from the table, inquired for him, Uncle Timothy answered, &ldquo;Never mind,
+let him sleep&mdash;tuckered out, mebby&mdash;and you know we allus have a
+sixpence more for an extra meal!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usually careful toilet, he
+sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, for now that the interview was so
+near, his ideas seemed suddenly to forsake him. From the window he saw Durward
+depart for his walk, watching him until he disappeared in the dim shadow of the
+woods.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will wait until his return, and let him tell her,&rdquo; thought he,
+but when a half hour or more went by and Durward did not come, he concluded to
+go down and ask to see her by himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In order to do this, it was necessary for him to pass &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room,
+the door of which was ajar. She was awake, and hearing his step, thought it was
+Mrs. Aldergrass, and called to her. A thrill of exquisite delight ran through
+his frame at the sound of her voice, and for an instant he debated the
+propriety of going to her at once. A second call decided him, and in a moment
+he was at her bedside, clasping her in his arms, and exclaiming, &ldquo;My
+precious &rsquo;Lena! My <i>daughter</i>! Has nothing ever told you that I am
+your father, the husband of your angel mother, who lives again in her
+child&mdash;<i>my</i> child&mdash;my &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s brain grew dizzy, and she had well-nigh
+fainted, when the sound of Mr. Graham&rsquo;s voice brought her back to
+consciousness. Pressing his lips to her white brow, he said, &ldquo;Speak to me
+my daughter. Say that you receive me as your father for such I am.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With lightning rapidity &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s thoughts traversed the past, whose
+dark mystery was now made plain, and as the thought that it might be
+so&mdash;that it was so&mdash;flashed upon her, she clasped her hands together,
+exclaiming, &ldquo;My father! Is it true? You are not deceiving me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Deceive you, darling?&mdash;no,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am your father,
+and Helena Nichols was my wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left me
+unacknowledged?&rdquo; asked &rsquo;Lena.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham groaned bitterly. The hardest part was yet to come, but he met it
+manfully, telling her the whole story, sparing not himself in the least, and
+ending by asking if, after all this, she could forgive and love him as her
+father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Raising herself in bed, &rsquo;Lena wound her arms around his neck, and laying
+her face against his, wept like a little child. He felt that he was
+sufficiently answered, and holding her closer to his bosom, he pushed back the
+clustering curls, kissing her again and again, while he said aloud, &ldquo;I
+have your answer, dearest one; we will never be parted again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he did not observe the
+fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched fist of Durward Bellmont, who
+had returned from his walk, and who, in coming up to his, room, had recognized
+the tones of his father&rsquo;s voice. Recoiling backward a step or two, he was
+just in time to see &rsquo;Lena as she threw herself into Mr. Graham&rsquo;s,
+arms&mdash;in time to hear the tender words of endearment lavished upon her by
+his father. Staggering backward, he caught at the banister to keep from
+falling, while a moan of anguish came from his ashen lips. Alone in his room,
+he grew calmer, though his heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he
+strode up and down the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before, &ldquo;I
+would far rather see her dead than thus&mdash;my lost, lost &rsquo;Lena!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his father, whom he
+believed to be far more guilty than she. &ldquo;I cannot meet him,&rdquo;
+thought he; &ldquo;there is murder at my heart, and I must away ere he knows of
+my presence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stairs, glancing back
+once, and seeing &rsquo;Lena reclining upon his father&rsquo;s arm, while her
+eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding smile, which told of perfect
+happiness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank God that I am unarmed, else he could not live,&rdquo; thought he,
+hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in Uncle Timothy&rsquo;s hands
+double the sum due for himself and &rsquo;Lena, and then, without a word of
+explanation, he walked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in his present state of
+feeling, he determined to go on foot to Canandaigua, a distance of little more
+than a dozen miles. Meantime, Mr. Graham was learning from &rsquo;Lena the
+cause of her being there, and though she, as far as possible, softened the fact
+of his having been accessory to her misfortunes, he felt it none the less
+keenly, and would frequently interrupt her with the exclamation that it was the
+result of his cowardice&mdash;his despicable habit of secrecy. When she spoke
+of the curl which his wife had burned, he seemed deeply affected, groaning
+aloud as he hid his face in his hands,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And <i>she</i> found it&mdash;she burned it,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;and
+it was all I had left of my Helena. I cut it from her head on the morning of my
+departure, when she lay sleeping, little dreaming of my cruel desertion.
+But,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I can bear it better now that I have you, her
+living image, for what she was when last I saw her, you are now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the tact he so well knew
+how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from his blushing daughter a confession of the
+love she bore him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is worthy of you,&rdquo; said he, while &rsquo;Lena, without seeming
+to heed the remark, said, &ldquo;I have not seen him yet, but I am expecting
+him every moment, for he was to visit me this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this juncture Mrs. Aldergrass, who had been at one of her neighbors&rsquo;,
+came in, appearing greatly surprised at the sight of the stranger, whom
+&rsquo;Lena quietly introduced as &ldquo;her father,&rdquo; while Mr. Graham
+colored painfully as Mrs. Aldergrass, curtsying very low, hoped <i>Mr.
+Rivers</i> was well!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let it go so,&rdquo; whispered &rsquo;Lena, as she saw her father about
+to speak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his daughter&rsquo;s eyes
+sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was heard, he asked Mrs. Aldergrass for
+Mr. Bellmont, saying they would like to see him, if he had returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, announcing that
+&ldquo;he&rsquo;d paid his bill and gone off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; said Mr. Graham. &ldquo;There must be some mistake. I will
+go down and inquire.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing the gold, Uncle
+Timothy told all he knew, adding, that &ldquo;&rsquo;twan&rsquo;t noways likely
+but he&rsquo;d come back agin, for he&rsquo;d left things in his room to the
+vally of five or six dollars.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon reflection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and returning to &rsquo;Lena, he
+sat by her all day, soothing her with assurances that Durward would surely come
+back, as there was no possible reason for his leaving them so abruptly. As the
+day wore away and the night came on he seemed less sure, while even Uncle
+Timothy began to fidget, and when in the evening a young pettifogger, who had
+recently hung out his shingle on Laurel Hill, came in, he asked him, in a low
+tone, &ldquo;if, under the present governor, they <i>hung</i> folks on
+circumstantial evidence alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evidence,&rdquo;
+answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little ivory tablets and making
+a charge against Uncle Timothy for professional advice!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off in broad
+daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any sign he was
+murdered&mdash;by the landlord?&rdquo; continued Uncle Timothy, beginning to
+think there might be a worse law than the Maine liquor law.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That depends upon the previous character of the landlord,&rdquo;
+answered the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Timothy, brightening up,
+exclaimed, &ldquo;I shall stand the racket, then, for my character is
+tip-top.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of going in quest of Durward,
+and with a magnanimity quite praiseworthy, Uncle Timothy offered his
+<i>hoss</i> and wagon &ldquo;for nothin&rsquo;, provided Mr. Graham would leave
+his watch as a guaranty against <i>his</i> runnin&rsquo; off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, saying he had come
+from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. Bellmont, who wished him to bring
+letters for Mr. Graham and Miss Rivers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where is Mr. Bellmont?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham, to which the man
+replied, that he took the six o&rsquo;clock train the night before, saying,
+further, that his manner was so strange as to induce a suspicion of insanity on
+the part of those who saw him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room, giving her
+her letter, and then reading his, which was full of bitterness, denouncing him
+as a villain and cautioning him, as he valued his life, never again to cross
+the track of his outraged step-son.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have robbed me,&rdquo; he wrote, &ldquo;of all I hold most dear, and
+while I do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, for you are older in
+experience, older in years, and ten-fold older in sin, and I know you must have
+used every art your foul nature could suggest, ere you won my lost &rsquo;Lena
+from the path of rectitude.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at &rsquo;Lena, who had
+fainted. It was long ere she returned to consciousness, and then her fainting
+fit was followed by another more severe, if possible, than the first, while in
+speechless agony Mr. Graham hung over her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child,&rdquo; thought he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But at last &rsquo;Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow the crumpled
+note, she passed it toward her father, bidding him read it. It was as follows;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;MY LOST &rsquo;LENA: By this title it seems appropriate for me to call
+you, for you are more surely lost to me than you would be were this summer sun
+shining upon your grave. And, &rsquo;Lena, believe me when I say I would
+rather, far rather, see you dead than the guilty thing you are, for then your
+memory would be to me as a holy, blessed influence, leading me on to a better
+world, where I could hope to greet you as my spirit bride. But now, alas! how
+dark the cloud which shrouds you from my sight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, &rsquo;Lena, &rsquo;Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I
+thought you so pure and innocent, when even now, I would willingly lay down my
+life could that save you from ruin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you ask what I mean? I have only to refer you to what this morning
+took place between you and the vile man I once called father, and whom I
+believed to be the soul of truth and honor. With a heart full of tenderness
+toward you, I was hastening to your side, when a scene met my view which
+stilled the beatings of my pulse and curdled the very blood in my veins, I saw
+you throw your arms around <i>his</i> neck&mdash;the husband of <i>my</i>
+mother. I saw you lay your head upon his bosom. I heard him as he called you
+<i>dearest</i>, and said you would never be parted again!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know all that has passed heretofore, and can you wonder that my
+worst fears are now confirmed? God knows how I struggled against those doubts,
+which were nearly removed, when, by the evidence of my own eyesight,
+uncertainty was made sure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now, my once loved, but erring &rsquo;Lena, farewell. I am going
+away&mdash;whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear your name
+coupled with disgrace. Another reason why I go, is that the hot blood of the
+south burns too fiercely in my veins to suffer me to meet your destroyer and
+not raise my hand against him. When this reaches you, I shall be far away. But
+what matters it to you? And yet, &rsquo;Lena, there will come a time when
+you&rsquo;ll remember one who, had you remained true to yourself, would have
+devoted his life to make you happy, for I know I am not indifferent to you. I
+have read it in your speaking eye, and in the childlike confidence with which
+you would yield to <i>me</i> when no one else could control your wild ravings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But enough of this. Time hastens, and I must say farewell&mdash;farewell
+forever&mdash;my <i>lost, lost</i> &rsquo;Lena!
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;DURWARD.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gradually as Mr. Graham read, he felt a glow of indignation at Durward&rsquo;s
+hastiness. &ldquo;Rash boy! he might at least have spoken with me,&rdquo; said
+he, as he finished the letter, but &rsquo;Lena would hear no word of censure
+against him. She did not blame him. She saw it all, understood it all, and as
+she recalled the contents of his letter, her own heart sadly echoed,
+&ldquo;<i>lost forever</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but in spite of his
+endeavors, there was still at her heart the same dull, heavy pain, and most
+anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, waiting impatiently for the time when she
+would be able to start for home, as he hoped a change of place and scene would
+do much toward restoring both her health and spirits. Soon after his arrival at
+Laurel Hill, Mr. Graham had written to Mr. Livingstone, telling him what he had
+before told his wife, and adding, &ldquo;Of course, my <i>daughter&rsquo;s</i>
+home will in future be with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see
+yourself and family at any time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This part of the letter he showed to &rsquo;Lena, who, after reading it, seemed
+for a long time absorbed in thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is it, darling? Of what are you thinking?&rdquo; Mr. Graham asked,
+at length, and &rsquo;Lena, taking the hand which he had laid gently upon her
+forehead, replied, &ldquo;I am thinking of poor grandmother. She is not happy,
+now, at Maple Grove. She will be more unhappy should I leave her, and if you
+please, I would rather stay there with her. I can see you every day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from your
+grandmother?&rdquo; interrupted Mr. Graham. &ldquo;No, no, I am not quite so
+bad as that. Woodlawn is large&mdash;there are rooms enough&mdash;and grandma
+shall have her choice, provided it is a reasonable one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And your wife&mdash;Mrs. Graham? What will she say?&rdquo; timidly
+inquired &rsquo;Lena, involuntarily shrinking from the very thought of coming
+in contact with the little lady who had so recently come up before her in the
+new and formidable aspect of <i>stepmother</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, neither did he care. The
+fault of his youth once confessed, he felt himself a new man, able to cope with
+almost anything, and if in the future his wife objected to what he knew to be
+right, it would do her no good, for henceforth he was to rule his own house.
+Some such thoughts passed through his mind, but it would not be proper, he
+knew, to express himself thus to &rsquo;Lena, so he laughingly replied,
+&ldquo;Oh, we&rsquo;ll fix that, easily enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a letter to his wife,
+announcing his safe return from Europe, and saying that he should be at home as
+soon as &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s health would admit of her traveling. Not wishing to
+alarm her unnecessarily, he merely said of Durward, that he had found him at
+Laurel Hill. To this letter Mrs. Graham replied immediately, and with a far
+better grace than her husband had expected. Very frankly she confessed the
+unkind part she had acted toward &rsquo;Lena, and while she said she was sorry,
+she also spoke of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of
+Lena&rsquo;s friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The continued absence of Durward was now the only drawback to
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s happiness, and with a comparatively light heart, she began
+to anticipate her journey home. Most liberally did Mr. Graham pay for both
+himself and &rsquo;Lena, and Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining coin,
+dropping it upon the table to make sure it was not <i>bogus</i>, felt quite
+reconciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars. Jerry, the driver, was also
+generously rewarded for his kindness to the stranger-girl, and just before he
+left, Mr. Graham offered to make him his chief overseer, if he would accompany
+him to Kentucky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are just the man I want,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and I know
+you&rsquo;ll like it. What do you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the sake of occasionally seeing &rsquo;Lena, whom he considered as
+something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly have gone, but he was a staunch
+abolitionist, dyed in the wool, and scratching his head, he replied,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m obleeged to you, but I b&rsquo;lieve I&rsquo;d rather drive
+<i>hosses</i> than <i>niggers</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby you could run one on &rsquo;em off, and so make a little
+sumthin&rsquo;,&rdquo; slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on the
+main chance, but it was no part of Jerry&rsquo;s creed to make anything, and as
+&rsquo;Lena at that moment appeared, he beat a precipitate retreat, going out
+behind the church, where he watched the departure of his southern friends,
+saying afterward, to Mrs. Aldergrass, who chided him for his conduct, that
+&ldquo;he never could bid nobody good-bye, he was so darned
+tender-hearted!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br/>
+EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after
+her! That is smart, I must say. Why didn&rsquo;t you let me know it
+before!&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his
+appearance at Maple grove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for some reason
+or other she delayed telling him of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s flight until quite
+recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning for a year, he
+came home with headlong haste, determining to start immediately after his
+cousin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you
+wouldn&rsquo;t feel quite so anxious to get her back,&rdquo; said Carrie.
+&ldquo;For my part, I feel quite relieved at her absence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shut up your head,&rdquo; roared John Jr. &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena is no more
+guilty than <i>you</i>. By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she
+worked to save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious Peter!
+I sometimes wish there wasn&rsquo;t a woman in the world!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If they&rsquo;d all marry you, there wouldn&rsquo;t be long!&rdquo;
+retorted Carrie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve said it now, haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; answered John Jr.,
+while his father suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for
+his own neglect, that Durward had gone after &rsquo;Lena, who was probably at
+Mr. Everett&rsquo;s, and that he himself had advertised in all the principal
+papers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just like Bellmont! He&rsquo;s a fine fellow and deserves &rsquo;Lena,
+if anybody does,&rdquo; exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in,
+&ldquo;Pshaw! I&rsquo;ve no idea he&rsquo;s gone for her. Why, they&rsquo;ve
+hardly spoken for several months, and besides that, Mrs. Graham will never
+suffer him to marry one of so low origin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The deary me!&rdquo; said John Jr., mimicking his sister&rsquo;s manner,
+&ldquo;how much lower is her origin than yours?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie&rsquo;s reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother, who,
+hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him. Perfectly rational
+on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying of &rsquo;Lena,
+that she had killed her, and now, when her first greeting with John Jr. was
+over, she whispered in his ear, &ldquo;Have they told you &rsquo;Lena was dead?
+She is&mdash;I killed her&mdash;it says so here,&rdquo; and she handed him the
+almost worn-out note which she constantly carried with her. Rough as he seemed
+at times, there was in John Jr.&rsquo;s nature many a tender spot, and when he
+saw the look of childish imbecility on his grandmother&rsquo;s face, he pressed
+his strong arm around her, and a tear actually dropped upon her gray hair as he
+told her &rsquo;Lena was not dead&mdash;he was going to find her and bring her
+home. At that moment old Cæsar, who had been to the post-office, returned,
+bringing Mr. Graham&rsquo;s letter, which had just arrived.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s Mr. Graham&rsquo;s handwriting,&rdquo; said Carrie;
+glancing at the superscription. &ldquo;Perhaps <i>he</i> knows something of
+&rsquo;Lena!&rdquo; and she looked meaningly at her mother, who, with a
+peculiar twist of her mouth, replied, &ldquo;Very likely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are right. He <i>does</i> know something of her,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Livingstone, as he finished reading the letter. &ldquo;She is with him at a
+little village called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must go and
+see her immediately,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself back
+quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her brother, asked
+&ldquo;what he thought of &rsquo;Lena now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just what I always did,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s fraud
+somewhere. Will you let me see that, sir?&rdquo; advancing toward his father,
+who, placing the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied
+emotions of his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was
+finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted,
+&ldquo;Hurrah! Hurrah for <i>Miss &rsquo;Lena Rivers Graham</i>, daughter of
+the Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life.
+Hurrah!&rdquo; and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly
+vase, the fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young
+man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is the boy crazy?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the
+coat as he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from his
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Crazy?&mdash;yes,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Who do you think
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s father is? No less a person than Mr. Graham himself. Now
+taunt her again, Cad, with her low origin, if you like. She isn&rsquo;t coming
+here to live any more. She&rsquo;s going to Woodlawn. She&rsquo;ll marry
+Durward, while you&rsquo;ll be a cross, dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?&rdquo; and
+he chucked her under the chin, while she began to cry, bidding him let her
+alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it
+might be true.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,&rdquo; replied
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a syllable, while,
+in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue. Bending forward, grandma had
+listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up as she occasionally caught the
+meaning of what she heard; but she could not understand it at once, and turning
+to her son, she said, &ldquo;What is it, John? what does it mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to her, and
+when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way she exclaimed,
+&ldquo;Thank God that &rsquo;Leny is a lady, at last&mdash;as good as the
+biggest on &rsquo;em. Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her husband was.
+Poor critter! Mebby he&rsquo;ll give me money to go back and see the old place,
+once more, afore I die.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he don&rsquo;t I will,&rdquo; said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his
+wife, who had not spoken before, wondered &ldquo;where he&rsquo;d get
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance that as
+&rsquo;Lena was now Durward&rsquo;s sister, he would not, of course, marry her,
+and determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother, who rallied
+her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly mistaken, for &ldquo;she was
+as pleased as any one at &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s good fortune, but it did not
+follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some others did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left the room. In
+the first excitement, he had thought &ldquo;how glad Nellie will be,&rdquo; and
+acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now ordered his horse, and
+dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised Nellie, first, with his sudden
+appearance, second, with his announcement of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s parentage, and
+third, by an offer of himself!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your destiny,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and it&rsquo;s of no use
+to resist. What did poor little Meb die for, if it wasn&rsquo;t to make room
+for you. So you may as well say yes first as last. I&rsquo;m odd, I know, but
+you can fix me over. I&rsquo;ll do exactly what you wish me to. Say yes,
+Nellie, won&rsquo;t you ?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, if ever before woman had such
+wooing. We think not, for never was there another John Jr.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have had happiness enough for one day,&rdquo; said he, kissing her
+blushing cheek and hurrying away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he went
+straight from Mr. Douglass&rsquo;s to the marble factory, where he ordered a
+costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as yet unmarked save by
+the tall grass and rank weeds which grew above it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What inscription will you have?&rdquo; asked the engraver. John Jr.
+thought for a moment, and then replied; &ldquo;Simply &lsquo;Mabel.&rsquo;
+Nothing more or less; that tells the whole story,&rdquo; and involuntarily
+murmuring to himself, &ldquo;Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I
+am,&rdquo; he started for home, where he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs.
+Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy no longer
+advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her great satisfaction, she
+found that the news had preceded her. Feeling sure that Mrs. Graham must feel
+greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother began, at first, to act the part of
+consolers, telling her it might not be true, after all, for perhaps it was a
+ruse of Mr. Graham&rsquo;s to cover some deep-laid, scheme. But for once in her
+life Mrs. Graham did well, and to their astonishment, replied, &ldquo;Oh, I
+hope not, for you do not know how I long for the society of a daughter, and as
+Mr. Graham&rsquo;s child I shall gladly welcome &rsquo;Lena home, trying, if
+possible, to overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter were to be
+outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her tactics, so could they,
+and for the next half hour they lauded &rsquo;Lena to the skies. They had
+always liked her&mdash;particularly Mrs. Livingstone&mdash;who said, &ldquo;If
+allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a good deal
+pained by those reports which you put in circulation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I</i> put reports in circulation!&rdquo; retorted Mrs. Graham.
+&ldquo;What do you mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole
+neighborhood!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John Jr.&rsquo;s
+appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they might as well be
+friends as enemies, introduced another topic of conversation, soon after which
+Mrs. Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway, she said, &ldquo;Would it
+afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn when &rsquo;Lena arrives?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, Mrs. Livingstone
+said &ldquo;yes,&rdquo; while Carrie, thinking Durward would be there, made a
+similar reply, saying &ldquo;she was exceedingly anxious to see her
+cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Graham, curtsying herself from the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spell <i>Toady</i>, Cad,&rdquo; whispered John Jr., and with more than
+her usual quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; said he, as he walked off to the back yard,
+where he found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel
+employment for them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The news of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing
+much excitement, for she was a favorite there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Clar for&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Aunt Milly, &ldquo;we orto have a
+bonfire. It won&rsquo;t hurt nothin&rsquo; on the brick pavement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work gathering
+blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the time John Jr.
+appeared, they had collected quite a pile. Not knowing how he would like it,
+they all took to their heels, except Thomas Jefferson, who, having some of his
+mother&rsquo;s spirit, stood his ground, replying, when asked what they were
+about, that they were &ldquo;gwine to celebrate Miss &rsquo;Lena.&rdquo; Taking
+in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called out, &ldquo;Good! come back here, you
+scapegraces.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach, the
+smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes and ivories
+shining with the expected frolic. Taught by John Jr., they hurrahed at the top
+of their voices when the flames burst up, and one little fellow, not yet able
+to talk plain, made his bare, shining legs fly like drumsticks as he shouted,
+&ldquo;Huyah for Miss &rsquo;Leny Yivers Gayum&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bellmont, too, say,&rdquo; whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the
+back piazza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Bellmont, too, say</i>,&rdquo; yelled the youngster, leaping so high
+as to lose his balance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of Carrie, who,
+spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the parlor, where for more than
+an hour she cried from pure vexation.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/>
+ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a warm September night at Woodlawn. The windows were open, and through
+the richly-wrought curtains the balmy air of evening was stealing, mingling its
+delicious perfume of flowers without with the odor of those which drooped from
+the many costly vases which adorned the handsome parlors. Lamps were burning,
+casting a mellow light over the gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy
+white the mistress of the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous,
+a little fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross. For more than
+two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the supper, which the cook,
+quite as anxious as herself, pronounced spoiled by the delay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+According to promise the party from Maple Grove had arrived, with the exception
+of John Jr., who had generously remained with his grandmother, she having been
+purposely omitted in the invitation. From the first, Mrs. Graham had decided
+that Mrs. Nichols should never live at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to
+have it understood at once. Accordingly, as she was conducting Mrs. Livingstone
+and Carrie to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s room, she casually remarked,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve made no provision for Mrs. Nichols, except as an occasional
+visitor, for of course she will remain with her son. She is undoubtedly much
+attached to your family, and will be happier there!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>This</i> &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s!&rdquo; interrupted Carrie, ere her
+mother had time to reply. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the very best chamber in the
+house&mdash;Brussels carpets, marble and rosewood furniture, damask curtains.
+Why, she&rsquo;ll hardly know how to act,&rdquo; she continued, half
+unconsciously, as she gazed around the elegant apartment, which, with one of
+her unaccountable freaks, Mrs. Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, this is Lena&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Mrs. Graham, complacently.
+&ldquo;Will it compare at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I do not wish it
+to seem inferior!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, &ldquo;Ye-es, on the
+whole <i>quite</i> as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is
+new!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have I told you,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting
+them,&mdash;&ldquo;have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New
+Orleans, where &rsquo;Lena will of course be the reigning belle? You ought to
+be there, dear,&rdquo; laying her hand on Carrie&rsquo;s shoulder. &ldquo;It
+would be so gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spiteful old thing&mdash;she tries to insult us,&rdquo; thought Carrie,
+her heart swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated &rsquo;Lena, whose
+future life seemed so bright and joyous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower hall just
+as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at Midway, drove up at a
+side door. Carrie&rsquo;s first thought was for Durward, and shading her eyes
+with her hand, she looked anxiously out. But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently
+lifting out his daughter, who was still an invalid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mighty careful of her,&rdquo; thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms
+he bore her up the marble steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he said, turning
+to his wife, &ldquo;Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and love her as
+such, for my sake?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of
+Mrs. Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her &ldquo;&rsquo;Lena,&rdquo;
+and saying &ldquo;she was welcome to Woodlawn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her with
+caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence, chiding her for
+running away, calling her a <i>naughty puss</i>, and perfectly bewildering her
+with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone&rsquo;s turn came next, but he
+neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in keeping with his nature,
+but very, very tenderly he looked into her eyes, as he said, &ldquo;You know,
+&rsquo;Lena, that <i>I</i> am glad&mdash;most glad for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unostentatious as was this greeting, &rsquo;Lena felt that there was more
+sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed forth
+involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one &ldquo;a baby,&rdquo; and the
+other &ldquo;a fool,&rdquo; Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor,
+while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show &rsquo;Lena to her room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t you better go up and assist your cousin,&rdquo; whispered
+Mrs. Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking at the door, an
+act of politeness she had never before thought it necessary to offer
+&rsquo;Lena. But she was an <i>heiress</i>, now, fully, yes, more than equal,
+and that made a vast difference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I came to see if I could render you any service,&rdquo; she said in
+answer to &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s look of inquiry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No I thank you,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, beginning to get an inkling
+of the truth. &ldquo;You know I&rsquo;m accustomed to waiting upon myself, and
+if I want anything, Drusa can assist me. I&rsquo;ve only to change my soiled
+dress and smooth my hair,&rdquo; she continued, as she shook out her long and
+now rather rough tresses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What handsome hair you&rsquo;ve got,&rdquo; said Carrie, taking one of
+the curls in her hand. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d forgotten it was so beautiful.
+Hasn&rsquo;t it improved during your absence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one&rsquo;s hair, I
+believe,&rdquo; answered &rsquo;Lena, as she proceeded to brush and arrange her
+wavy locks, which really had lost some of their luster.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack. Looking
+&rsquo;Lena in the face, she said, &ldquo;What is it? I can&rsquo;t make it
+out, but&mdash;but somehow you&rsquo;ve changed, you don&rsquo;t look
+so&mdash;so&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So <i>well</i> you would say, I suppose,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena,
+laughingly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve grown thin, but I hope to improve by and
+by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, and her large eyes
+sparkled as she thought her young mistress &ldquo;a heap the best lookin&rsquo;
+<i>now</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward. Instantly &rsquo;Lena
+turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, and in an unsteady voice she
+replied, that &ldquo;she did not know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not know!&rdquo; repeated Carrie, her own countenance brightening
+visibly. &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you seen him? Wasn&rsquo;t he at that funny,
+out-of-the-way place, where you were?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but he left before I saw him,&rdquo; returned &rsquo;Lena, her
+manner plainly indicating that there was something wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie&rsquo;s spirits rose. There was a chance for her, and on their way
+downstairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly, that &rsquo;Lena wondered if
+it could be the same haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her except to
+repulse or command her. The supper-bell rang just as they reached the parlor,
+and Mr. Graham, taking &rsquo;Lena on his arm, led the way to the dining-room,
+where the entire silver tea-set had been brought out, in honor of the occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t &rsquo;Lena changed, mother?&rdquo; said Carrie, feeling
+hateful, and knowing no better way of showing it &ldquo;Hasn&rsquo;t her
+sickness changed her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It has made her grow <i>old</i>; that&rsquo;s all the difference I
+perceive,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she&rsquo;d said the
+thing which she knew would most annoy herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How old are you, dear?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eighteen,&rdquo; was &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s answer, to which Mrs. Graham
+replied, &ldquo;I thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, I
+believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two, only two,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie
+exclaimed, &ldquo;Horrors! How old do you take me to be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and soon after
+they rose from the table. Scarcely had they returned to the parlor, when John
+Jr. was announced. &ldquo;He had,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;got his grandmother to
+sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his respects to <i>Miss
+Graham</i>!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Little girl! I&rsquo;m as much
+delighted with your good fortune as I should be had it happened to myself. But
+where is Bellmont?&rdquo; he continued, looking about the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Graham replied that he was not there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not here?&rdquo; repeated John Jr. &ldquo;What have you done with him,
+&rsquo;Lena?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin&rsquo;s face, &rsquo;Lena said,
+softly, &ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t talk about it now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something wrong,&rdquo; thought John Jr. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+bet I&rsquo;ll have to shoot that dog yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&rsquo;Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she could
+confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of whispering to him,
+&ldquo;Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie taking
+a most affectionate leave of &rsquo;Lena, urging her not to fail of coming over
+the next day, as they should be expecting her. The ludicrous expression of John
+Jr.&rsquo;s face was a sufficient interpretation of his thoughts, as whispering
+aside to &rsquo;Lena, he said, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t do it justice if I
+try!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry &rsquo;Lena to Maple
+Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. But she excused herself, on the plea
+of a headache, and they set off without her. The meeting between &rsquo;Lena
+and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in order to sustain the
+character she had assumed, walked to the window, to hide her emotions,
+probably&mdash;at least John Jr. thought so, for with the utmost gravity he
+passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the first transports of her
+interview with &rsquo;Lena were over, Mrs. Nichols fastened herself upon Mr.
+Graham, while John Jr. invited &rsquo;Lena to the garden, where he claimed from
+her the promised story, which she told him unreservedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s nothing, compared with my experience,&rdquo; said John
+Jr., plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters above his
+head. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s easily settled. I&rsquo;ll go after Durward myself,
+and bring him back, either dead or alive&mdash;the latter if possible, the
+former if necessary. So cheer up. I&rsquo;ve faith to believe that you and
+Durward will be married about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are
+engaged&mdash;did I tell you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Involuntarily &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny
+slope and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know what you think,&rdquo; said John Jr. rather testily, &ldquo;but
+hang me if I can help it. Meb was never intended for me, except by mother. I
+suppose there is in the world somebody for whom she was made, but it
+wasn&rsquo;t I, and that&rsquo;s the reason she died. I am sorry as anybody,
+and every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well, and who
+met with so poor a return. I&rsquo;ve bought her some gravestones,
+though,&rdquo; he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for the past.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs. Nichols the
+propriety of her removing to Woodlawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t live long to trouble anybody,&rdquo; said she when asked
+if she would like to go, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;m nothin&rsquo; without
+&rsquo;Leny.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when &rsquo;Lena returned
+to the house, she found her grandmother in her chamber, packing up, preparatory
+to her departure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to come agin,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for I&rsquo;ve as
+much as two loads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take them,&rdquo; interposed &rsquo;Lena. &ldquo;You
+won&rsquo;t need them, and nothing will harm them here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to Mrs. Livingstone
+and Carrie was, &ldquo;that they keep the dum niggers from her things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything. She had lived at Maple Grove for years,
+and every niche and corner of her room she understood. She knew the blacks and
+they knew her, and ere she was half-way to Woodlawn, she began to wish she had
+not started. Politely, but coldly, Mrs. Graham received her, saying &ldquo;I
+thought, perhaps, you would return with them to <i>spend the day</i>!&rdquo;
+laying great emphasis on the last words, as if that, of course, was to be the
+limit of her visit Grandma understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of
+not remaining long.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Graham don&rsquo;t want to be pestered with me,&rdquo; said she to
+&rsquo;Lena, the first time they were alone, &ldquo;and I don&rsquo;t mean that
+she shall be. &rsquo;Tilda is used to me, and she don&rsquo;t mind it now, so I
+shall go back afore long. You can come to see me every day, and once in a while
+I&rsquo;ll come here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham remarked to Mrs. Nichols
+that &ldquo;she hoped she was not homesick, as there was every probability of
+her being obliged to <i>stay over night</i>!&rdquo; adding, by way of comfort,
+that &ldquo;she was going to Frankfort the next day to make purchases for
+&rsquo;Lena, and would take her home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not very agreeably surprised
+by the return of her mother-in-law, who, Mrs. Graham said, &ldquo;was so
+home-sick they couldn&rsquo;t keep her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, returned from the
+city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle for grandma, consisting of
+dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, which she had purchased as a sort or
+peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her having decamped so quietly from
+Woodlawn. But the poor old lady did not live to wear them. Both her mind and
+body were greatly impaired, and for two or three years she had been failing
+gradually. There was no particular disease, but a general breaking up of the
+springs of life, and a few weeks after &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s arrival at
+Woodlawn,, they made another grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer
+slept alone.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/>
+DURWARD.</h2>
+
+<p>
+From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had hurried, caring nothing
+except to forget, if possible, the past, and knowing not where he was going,
+until he at last found himself in Richmond, Virginia. This was his
+mother&rsquo;s birthplace, and as several of her more distant relatives were
+still living here, he determined to stop for awhile, hoping that new objects
+and new scenes would have some power to rouse him from the lethargy into which
+he had fallen. Constantly in terror lest he should hear of &rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+disgrace, which he felt sure would be published to the world, he had, since his
+departure from Laurel Hill, resolutely refrained from looking in a newspaper,
+until one morning some weeks after his arrival at Richmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Gazette, and after
+assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did not contain what he so much
+dreaded to see, he sat down to read it, paying no attention to the date, which
+was three or four weeks back. Accidentally he cast his eye over the list of
+arrivals at the Burnet House, seeing among them the names of &ldquo;Mr. H. R.
+Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford county, Kentucky!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Audacious</i>! How dare they be so bold!&rdquo; he exclaimed,
+springing to his feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered
+upon the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Considerable kind of uppish, &rsquo;pears to me,&rdquo; said a strange
+voice, having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain class of
+Yankees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose style of dress and
+freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slocum. Wearying of Cincinnati, as he
+had before done with Lexington, he had traveled at last to Virginia.
+Remembering to have heard that his grandmother&rsquo;s aunt had married, died,
+and left a daughter in Richmond, he determined, if possible, to find some trace
+of her. Accordingly, he had come on to that city, making it the theater of his
+daguerrean operations. These alone not being sufficient to support him, he had
+latterly turned his attention to <i>literary pursuits</i>, being at present
+engaged in manufacturing a book after the Sam Slick order, which, to use his
+own expression, &ldquo;he expected would have a thunderin&rsquo; sale.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, he came every day
+to the reading-room, tumbling over books and papers, generally carrying one of
+the former in his hand, affecting an utter disregard of his personal
+appearance, daubing his fingers with ink, wiping them on the pocket of his
+coat, and doing numerous other things which he fancied would stamp him a
+distinguished person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel&rsquo;s attention was attracted
+toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he had seen at Maple Grove, and though he
+did not recognize the original, he fancied he might have met him before, and
+was about making his acquaintance, when Durward&rsquo;s action drew from him
+the remark we have mentioned. Thinking him to be some impertinent fellow,
+Durward paid him no attention, and was about leaving, when, hitching his chair
+a little nearer, Joel said, &ldquo;Be you from Virginny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From York state?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From Pennsylvany?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be you from Kentucky?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know Mr. Graham&rsquo;s folks?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something
+concerning his stepfather&mdash;but it was not.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel continued:
+&ldquo;Wall, I calkerlate that I&rsquo;m some relation to Miss Graham. Be you
+&rsquo;quainted with her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward knew that a relationship with <i>Mrs</i>. Graham also implied a
+relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious as well as somewhat
+amused, he replied, &ldquo;Related to Mrs. Graham! Pray how?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, you see,&rdquo; said Joel, &ldquo;that my grandmarm&rsquo;s
+aunt&mdash;she was younger than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew. Wall, she went
+off to Virginia to teach music, and so married a nabob&mdash;know what that is,
+I s&rsquo;pose; she had one gal and died, and this gal was never heard from
+until I took it into my head to look her up, and I&rsquo;ve found out that she
+was <i>Lucy Temple</i>. She married an Englishman, first&mdash;then a man from
+South Carolina, who is now livin&rsquo; in Kentucky, between Versailles and
+Frankfort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What was your grandmother&rsquo;s aunt&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; asked
+Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Susan Howard,&rdquo; returned Joel. &ldquo;The Howards were a stuck-up
+set, grandmarm and all&mdash;not a bit like t&rsquo;other side of the family.
+My mother&rsquo;s name was Scovandyke&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And yours?&rdquo; interrupted Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,&rdquo;
+said the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow, which he
+always used on great occasions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said, &ldquo;Can
+you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your
+great-great-aunt&rsquo;s daughter, would be to you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My third cousin, of course,&rdquo; answered Joel. &ldquo;I figgered that
+out with a slate and pencil.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And her son, if she had one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure&mdash;but
+enough to brag on, if they happened to be smart!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple&rsquo;s son?&rdquo; said
+Durward, to which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, &ldquo;Wall,
+s&rsquo;posin&rsquo; you du, &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t make it so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I <i>am</i>, really and truly,&rdquo; continued Durward. &ldquo;Her
+first husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it
+seems.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Jehosiphat</i>! If this ain&rsquo;t curis,&rdquo; exclaimed Joel,
+grasping Durward&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;How <i>do</i> you du, and how is your
+marm. And do you know Helleny Rivers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward&rsquo;s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel
+continued: &ldquo;We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of each
+other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she&rsquo;d got to be mighty
+toppin&rsquo;. Mebby, though, &rsquo;twas only my notion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, &ldquo;I suppose
+you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin&rsquo;. I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; to
+my office now, and if you&rsquo;ll come with me I&rsquo;ll take yourn for
+nothin&rsquo;, bein&rsquo; you&rsquo;re related.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed the young
+man to his &ldquo;office,&rdquo; which was a dingy, cheerless apartment in the
+fourth story of a crazy old building. On the table in the center of the room
+were several likenesses, which he carelessly examined. Coming at last to a
+larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly it dropped from his hand,
+while an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the row, old feller,&rdquo; asked Joel, coming forward and
+picking up the picture which Durward had recognized as &rsquo;Lena Rivers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How came you by it?&rdquo; said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing
+wink, Joel replied, &ldquo;I know, and that&rsquo;s enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I must know, too. It is of the utmost importance that I know,&rdquo;
+said Durward, and after a moment&rsquo;s reflection, Joel answered &ldquo;Wall,
+I don&rsquo;t s&rsquo;pose it&rsquo;ll do any hurt if I tell you. When I was a
+boy I had a hankerin&rsquo; for &rsquo;Leny, and I didn&rsquo;t get over it
+after I was grown, either, so a year or two ago I thought I&rsquo;d go to
+Kentuck and see her. Knowin&rsquo; how tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be
+with a picter of their old home in the mountains, I took it for &rsquo;em and
+started. In Albany I went to see a family that used to live in Slocumville. The
+woman was a gal with &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s mother, and thought a sight of her.
+Wall, in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was an old portrait, which
+looked so much like &rsquo;Leny that in the mornin&rsquo; I asked whose it was,
+and if you b&rsquo;lieve me, &rsquo;twas &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s mother! You know
+she married, or thought she married, a southern rascal, who got her portrait
+taken and then run off, and the picter, which in its day was an expensive one,
+was sold to pay up. A few years afterward, Miss Rice, the woman I was
+tellin&rsquo; you about, came acrost it, and bought it for a little or
+nothin&rsquo; to remember Helleny Nichols by. Thinks to me, nothin&rsquo; can
+please &rsquo;Leny better than a daguerreotype of her mother, so I out with my
+apparatus and took it. But when I come to see that they were as nigh alike as
+two peas, I hated to give it up, for I thought it would be almost as good as
+lookin&rsquo; at &rsquo;Leny. So I kept it myself, but I don&rsquo;t want her
+to know it, for she&rsquo;d be mad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?&rdquo; asked Durward, a
+faint light beginning to dawn upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a feller to hang on,&rdquo; answered Joel, &ldquo;but bein&rsquo;
+I&rsquo;ve started, I&rsquo;ll go it and tell the hull. One morning when I was
+in Lexington, a gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Graham, and saying he
+wanted a copy of an old mountain house which he had seen at Mr.
+Livingstone&rsquo;s. Whilst I was gettin&rsquo; it ready, he happened to come
+acrost this one, and what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away. I
+had to throw water in his face and everything. Bimeby he cum to, and says he,
+&lsquo;Where did you get that?&rsquo; I told him all about it, and then,
+layin&rsquo; his head on the table, he groaned orfully, wipin&rsquo; off the
+thumpinest great drops of sweat and kissin&rsquo; the picter as if he was
+crazy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?&rsquo; says I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Knew her, yes,&rsquo; says he, jumpin&rsquo; up and walkin&rsquo;
+the room as fast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin&rsquo; had happened, and
+says he, &lsquo;I must have that or one jest like it.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At first I hesitated, for I felt kinder mean always about keepin&rsquo;
+it, and I didn&rsquo;t want &rsquo;Leny to know I&rsquo;d got it. I told him
+so, and he said nobody but himself should ever see it. So I took a smaller one,
+leavin&rsquo; off the lower part of the body, as the dress is old-fashioned,
+you see. He was as tickled as a boy with a new top, and actually forgot to take
+the other one of the mountain house. Some months after, I came across him in
+Cincinnati. His wife was with him, and I thought then that she looked like Aunt
+Nancy. Wall, he went with me to my office, and said he wanted another
+daguerreotype, as he&rsquo;d lost the first one. Now I&rsquo;m, pretty good at
+figgerin&rsquo;, and I&rsquo;ve thought that matter over until I&rsquo;ve come
+to this conclusion&mdash;<i>that man</i>&mdash;was&mdash;&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s
+father&mdash;the husband or something of Helleny Nichols! But what ails you?
+Are you faintin&rsquo;, too,&rdquo; he exclaimed, as he saw the death-like
+whiteness which had settled upon Durward&rsquo;s face and around his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me more, everything you know,&rdquo; gasped Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have told you all I know for certain,&rdquo; said Joel. &ldquo;The
+rest is only guess-work, but it looks plaguy reasonable. &rsquo;Leny&rsquo;s
+father, I&rsquo;ve heard was from South Car&rsquo;lina&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So was Mr. Graham,&rdquo; said Durward, more to himself than to Joel,
+who continued, &ldquo;And he&rsquo;s your step-father, ain&rsquo;t he&mdash;the
+husband of Lucy Temple, my cousin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, he arose to go, telling
+Joel he would see him again. Alone in his room, he sat down to think of the
+strange story he had heard. Gradually as he thought, his mind went back to the
+time when Mr. Graham first came home from Springfield. He was a little boy,
+then, five or six years of age, but he now remembered many things calculated to
+prove what he scarcely yet dared to hope. He recalled Mr. Graham&rsquo;s
+preparations to return, when he was taken suddenly ill. He knew that
+immediately atter his recovery he had gone northward. He remembered how sad he
+had seemed after his return, neglecting to play with him as had been his wont,
+and when to this he added Joel&rsquo;s story, together with the singularity of
+his father&rsquo;s conduct towards &rsquo;Lena, he could not fail to be
+convinced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She <i>is</i> innocent, thank heaven! I see it all now. Fool that I was
+to be so hasty,&rdquo; he exclaimed, his whole being seemed to undergo a sudden
+change as the joyous conviction flashed upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel Slocum, and ere
+the sun-setting he was far on his road home. Occasionally he felt a lingering
+doubt, as he wondered what possible motive his father could have had for
+concealment, but these wore away as the distance between himself and Kentucky
+diminished. As the train paused at one of the stations, he was greatly
+surprised at seeing John Jr. among the crowd gathered at the depot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?&rdquo; shouted Durward,
+leaning from the open window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life John Jr. bounded
+upon the platform, and was soon seated by the side of Durward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a great one, ain&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Here
+I&rsquo;ve been looking for you all over Christendom, to tell you the news.
+You&rsquo;ve got a new sister. Did you know it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;<i>Lena</i>! Is it true? <i>Is</i> it &rsquo;Lena?&rdquo; said
+Durward, and John replied by relating the particulars as far as he knew them,
+and ending by asking Durward if &ldquo;he didn&rsquo;t think he was
+sold!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk,&rdquo; answered Durward. &ldquo;I want to think, for I
+was never so happy in my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor I either,&rdquo; returned John Jr. &ldquo;So if you please you
+needn&rsquo;t speak to <i>me</i>, as I wish to think, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his companion of his
+engagement with Nellie&mdash;and he did, falling asleep soon after, and leaving
+Durward to his own reflections.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/>
+CONCLUSION.</h2>
+
+<p>
+We hope the reader does not expect us to describe the meeting between Durward
+and &rsquo;Lena, for we have not the least, or, at the most, only a faint idea
+of what took place. We only know that it occurred in the summer-house at the
+foot of the garden, whither &rsquo;Lena had fled at the first intimation of his
+arrival, and that on her return to the house, after an interview of two whole
+hours, there were on her cheeks traces of tears, which the expression of her
+face said were not tears of grief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you like my daughter?&rdquo; asked Mr. Graham, mischievously, at
+the same time laying his arm proudly about her neck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So well that I have asked her to become my wife, and she has promised to
+do so, provided we obtain your consent,&rdquo; answered Durward, himself
+throwing an arm around the blushing girl, who tried to escape, but he would not
+let her, holding her fast until his father&rsquo;s answer was given.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, &ldquo;Now, mother, we will hear
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Kind and affectionate as she tried to be toward &rsquo;Lena, Mrs. Graham had
+not yet fully conquered her olden prejudice, and had the matter been left
+wholly with herself, she would, perhaps, have chosen for her son a bride in
+whose veins <i>no plebeian blood</i> was flowing; but she well knew that her
+objections would have no weight, and she answered, that &ldquo;she should not
+oppose him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it is settled,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and four weeks from to-night
+I shall claim &rsquo;Lena for my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not so soon after grandma&rsquo;s death,&rdquo; &rsquo;Lena said,
+and Durward replied:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If grandma could speak, she would tell you not to wait!&rdquo; but
+&rsquo;Lena was decided, and the most she would promise was, that in the spring
+she would think about it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Six months,&rdquo; said Durward, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never wait so
+long!&rdquo; but he forbore pressing her further on the subject, knowing that
+he should have her in the house with him, which would in a great measure
+relieve the tedium of waiting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the autumn, his devotion to &rsquo;Lena furnished Carrie with a subject
+for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly-engaged people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I declare,&rdquo; said she, one evening after the departure of Durward,
+&rsquo;Lena, and Nellie, who had been spending the day at Maple Grove,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m perfectly disgusted, and if this is a specimen, I hope I shall
+never be engaged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t give yourself a moment&rsquo;s uneasiness,&rdquo; retorted
+John Jr., &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not the least idea that such a calamity will ever
+befall you, and years hence my grandchildren will read on some gravestone,
+&lsquo;Sacred to the memory of Miss Caroline Livingstone, aged 70. In single
+blessedness she lived&mdash;and in the same did die!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You think you are cunning, don&rsquo;t you,&rdquo; returned Carrie, more
+angry than she was willing to admit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had received the news of Durward&rsquo;s engagement much better than could
+have been expected, and after a little she took to quoting and cousining
+&rsquo;Lena, while John Jr. seldom let an opportunity pass of hinting at the
+very recent date Of her admiration for Miss Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Almost every day for several weeks after Durward&rsquo;s return, he looked for
+a visit from Joel Slocum, who did not make his appearance until some time
+toward the last of November. Then he came, claiming, and <i>proving</i>, his
+relationship with Mrs. Graham, who was terribly annoyed, and who, it was
+rumored, <i>hired</i> him to leave!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the winter, nothing of importance occurred, if we except the fact that a
+part of Mabel&rsquo;s fortune, which was supposed to have been lost, was found
+to be good, and that John Jr. one day unexpectedly found himself to be the
+lawful heir of fifty thousand dollars. Upon Mrs. Livingstone this circumstance
+produced a rather novel effect, renewing, in its original force, all her old
+affection for Mabel, who was now &ldquo;our dear little Meb.&rdquo; Many were
+the comparisons drawn between Mrs. John Jr. No. 1, and Mrs. John Jr. No. 2,
+that was to be, the former being pronounced far more lady-like and accomplished
+than the latter, who, during her frequent visits at Maple Grove, continually
+startled her mother-in-law elect by her loud, ringing laugh, for Nellie was
+very happy. Her influence, too, over John Jr. became ere long, perceptible in
+his quiet, gentle manner, and his abstinence from the rude speeches which
+heretofore had seemed a part of his nature.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham had proposed spending the winter in New Orleans, but to this
+Durward objected. He wanted &rsquo;Lena all to himself, he said, and as she
+seemed perfectly satisfied to remain where she was, the project was given up,
+Mrs. Graham contenting herself with anticipating the splendid entertainment she
+would give at the wedding, which was to take place about the last of March.
+Toward the first of January the preparations began, and if Carrie had never
+before felt a pang of envy, she did now, when she saw the elegant trousseau
+which Mr. Graham ordered for his daughter. But all such feelings must be
+concealed, and almost every day she rode over to Woodlawn, admiring this, going
+into ecstasies over that, and patronizingly giving her advice on all subjects,
+while all the time her heart was swelling with bitter disappointment. Having
+always felt so sure of securing Durward, she had invariably treated other
+gentlemen with such cool indifference that she was a favorite with but few, and
+as she considered these few her inferiors, she had more than once feared lest
+John Jr.&rsquo;s prediction concerning the <i>lettering</i> on her tombstone
+should prove true!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything but that,&rdquo; said she, dashing away her tears, as she
+thought how &rsquo;Lena had supplanted her in the affections of the only person
+she could ever love,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the parlor,&rdquo; said
+Corinda, putting her head in at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Since his unfortunate affair with Anna, the captain had avoided Maple Grove,
+but feeling lonely at Sunnyside, he had come over this morning to call. Finding
+Mrs. Livingstone absent, he had asked for Carrie, who was so unusually gracious
+that he wondered he had never before discovered how greatly superior to her
+sister she was! All his favorite pieces were sung to him, and then, with the
+patience of a martyr, the young lady seated herself at the backgammon board,
+playing game after game, until she could scarcely tell her men from his. On his
+way home the captain fell into a curious train of reflections, while Carrie,
+when asked by Corinda, if &ldquo;old marster was done gone,&rdquo; sharply
+reprimanded the girl, telling her &ldquo;it was very impolite to call anybody
+<i>old</i>, particularly one so young as Captain Atherton!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day the captain came again, and the next, and the next, until at last
+his former intimacy at Maple Grove seemed to be re-established. And all this
+time no one had an inkling of the true state of things, not even John Jr., who
+never dreamed it possible for his haughty sister, to grace Sunnyside as its
+mistress. &ldquo;But stranger things than that had happened and were happening
+every day,&rdquo; Carrie reasoned, as she sat alone in her room, revolving the
+propriety of answering &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; to a note which the captain had that
+morning placed in her hand at parting. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her
+face was very fair, and as yet untouched by a single mark or line. She thought
+of him, <i>bald</i>, <i>wrinkled</i>, <i>fat</i> and <i>forty-six</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never do it,&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Better live single
+all my days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment, the carriage of Mrs. Graham drew up, and from it alighted
+&rsquo;Lena, richly clad. The sight of her produced a reaction, and Carrie
+thought again. Captain Atherton was generous to a fault. He was able and
+willing to grant her slightest wish, and as his wife, she could compete with,
+if not outdo, &rsquo;Lena in the splendor of her surroundings. The pen was
+resumed, and Carrie wrote the words which sealed her destiny for life. This
+done, nothing could move her, and though her father entreated, her mother
+scolded, and John Jr. <i>swore</i>, it made no difference. &ldquo;She was old
+enough to choose for herself,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and she had done
+so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Mrs. Livingstone became convinced that her daughter was in earnest, she
+gave up the contest, taking sides with her. Like Durward, Captain Atherton was
+in a hurry, and it was decided that the wedding should take place a week before
+the time appointed for that of her cousin. Determining not to be outdone by
+Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Livingstone launched forth on a large scale, and there
+commenced between the two houses a species of rivalry extremely amusing to a
+looker on. Did Mrs. Graham purchase for &rsquo;Lena a costly silk, Mrs.
+Livingstone forthwith secured a piece of similar quality, but different
+pattern, for Carrie. Did Mrs. Graham order forty dollars&rsquo; worth of
+confectionery, Mrs. Livingstone immediately increased her order to fifty
+dollars. And when it was known that Mrs. Graham had engaged a Louisville French
+cook at two dollars per day, Mrs. Livingstone sent to Cincinnati, offering
+three for one!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Carrie had decided upon a tour to Europe, and the captain had given his
+consent, when it was reported that Durward and &rsquo;Lena were also intending
+to sail for Liverpool. In this dilemma there was no alternative save a trip to
+California or the Sandwich Islands! The former was chosen, Captain Atherton
+offering to defray Mrs. Livingstone&rsquo;s expenses if she would accompany
+them. This plan Carrie warmly seconded, for she knew her mother&rsquo;s
+presence would greatly relieve her from the society of her husband, which was
+<i>not</i> as agreeable to her as it ought to have been. But Mr. Livingstone
+refused to let his wife go, unless Anna came home and stayed with him while she
+was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He accordingly wrote to Anna, inviting her and Malcolm to be present at
+Carrie&rsquo;s wedding, purposely omitting the name of the bridegroom; and
+three days before the appointed time they came. It was dark when they arrived,
+and as they were not expected that night, they entered the house before any one
+was aware of their presence. John Jr. chanced to be in the hall, and the moment
+he saw Anna, he caught her in his arms, shouting so uproariously that his
+father and mother at once hastened to the spot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you forgive me, father ?&rdquo; Anna said, and Mr. Livingstone
+replied by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended his hand to Malcolm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Carrie?&rdquo; Anna said, and John Jr. replied, &ldquo;In
+the parlor, with her future spouse. Shall I introduce you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then recoiled in terror as
+she saw Captain Atherton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Carrie!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;It cannot be&mdash;&mdash;that
+I see you again!&rdquo; she added, as she met her sister&rsquo;s warning look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another moment and they were in each other&rsquo;s arms weeping bitterly, the
+one that her sister should thus throw herself away, and the other, because she
+was wretched. It was but for an instant, however, and then Carrie was herself
+again. Playfully presenting Anna to the Captain, she said, &ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t I
+good to take up with what you left!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no one smiled at this joke&mdash;the captain, least of all, and as Carrie
+glanced from him to Malcolm, she felt that her sister had made a happy choice.
+The next day &rsquo;Lena came, overjoyed to meet Anna, who more than any one
+else, rejoiced in her good fortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You deserve it all,&rdquo; she said, when they were alone, &ldquo;and if
+Carrie had one tithe of your happiness in store I should be satisfied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Carrie asked for no sympathy. &ldquo;It was no one&rsquo;s business whom
+she married,&rdquo; she said; and so one pleasant night in the early spring,
+they decked her in her bridal robes, and then, white, cold, and feelingless as
+a marble statue, she laid her hand in Captain Atherton&rsquo;s, and took upon
+her the vows which made her his forever. A few days after the ceremony, Carrie
+began to urge their immediate departure for California.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was no need of further delay,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;No one cared
+to see &rsquo;Lena married. Weddings were stupid things, anyway, and her mother
+could just as well go one time as another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Mrs. Livingstone hesitated, but when Carrie burst into a passionate
+fit of weeping, declaring &ldquo;she&rsquo;d kill herself if she had to stay
+much longer at Sunnyside and be petted by <i>that old fool</i>,&rdquo; she
+consented, and one week from the day of the marriage they started. In
+Carrie&rsquo;s eyes there was already a look of weary sadness, which said that
+the bitter tears were constantly welling up, while on her brow a shadow was
+resting, as if Sunnyside were a greater burden than she could bear. Alas, for a
+union without love! It seldom fails to end in misery, and thus poor Carrie
+found it. Her husband was proud of her, and, had she permitted, would have
+loved her after his fashion, but his affectionate advances were invariably
+repulsed, until at last he treated her with a cold politeness, far more
+endurable than his fawning attentions had been. She was welcome to go her own
+way, and he went his, each having in San Francisco their own suite of rooms,
+and setting up, as it were, a separate establishment. In this way they got on
+quite comfortably for a few weeks, at the end of which time Carrie took it into
+her capricious head to return to Maple Grove. She would never go back to
+Sunnyside, she said. And without a word of opposition the captain paid his
+bills, and started for Kentucky, where he left his wife at Maple Grove, she
+giving as a reason that &ldquo;ma could not spare her yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Far different from this were the future prospects of Durward and &rsquo;Lena,
+who with perfect love in their hearts were married, a week after the departure
+of Captain Atherton for California. Very proudly Durward looked down upon her
+as he placed the first husband&rsquo;s kiss on her brow, and in the soft brown
+eyes, brimming with tears, which she raised to his face, there was a world of
+tenderness, telling that theirs was a union of hearts as well as hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next night a small party assembled at the house of Mr. Douglass, in
+Frankfort, where Nellie was transformed into Nellie Livingstone. Perhaps it was
+the remembrance of the young girl to whom his vows had once before been
+plighted, that made John Jr. appear for a time as if he were in a dream. But
+the moment they rallied him upon the strangeness of his manner, he brightened
+up, saying that he was trying to get used to thinking that Nellie was really
+his. It had been decided that he should accompany Durward and &rsquo;Lena to
+Europe, and a day or two after his marriage he asked Mr. Everett to go too.
+Anna&rsquo;s eyes fairly danced with joy, as she awaited Malcolm&rsquo;s reply.
+But much as he would like to go, he could not afford it, and so he frankly
+said, kissing away the big tear which rolled down Anna&rsquo;s cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a smile John Jr. placed a sealed package in his sister&rsquo;s hand,
+saying to Malcolm, &ldquo;I have anticipated this and provided for it. I
+suppose you are aware that Mabel willed me all her property, which contrary to
+our expectations, has proved to be considerable. I know I do not deserve a cent
+of it, but as she had no nearer relative than Mr. Douglass, I have concluded to
+use it for the comfort of his daughter and for the good of others. I want you
+and Anna to join us, and I&rsquo;ve given her such a sum as will bear your
+expenses, and leave you more than you can earn dickering at law for three or
+four years. So, puss,&rdquo; turning to Anna, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s all settled.
+Now hurrah for the sunny skies of France and Italy, I&rsquo;ve talked with
+father about it, and he&rsquo;s willing to stay alone for the sake of having
+you go. Oh, don&rsquo;t thank me,&rdquo; he continued, as he saw them about to
+speak. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s poor little Meb to whom you are indebted. She loved
+Anna, and would willingly have her money used for this purpose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a little reflection Malcolm concluded to accept John&rsquo;s offer, and a
+happier party never stepped on board a steamer than that which, on the 15th of
+April, sailed for Europe, which they reached in safety, being at the last
+accounts in Paris, where they were enjoying themselves immensely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few words more, and our story is told. Just as Mr. Livingstone was getting
+tolerably well suited with his bachelor life, he was one morning surprised by
+the return of his wife and daughter, the latter of whom, as we have before
+stated, took up her abode at Maple Grove. Almost every day the old captain
+rides over to see her, but he generally carries back a longer face than he
+brings. The bald spot on his head is growing larger, and to her dismay Carrie
+has discovered a &ldquo;crow track&rdquo; in the corner of her eye. Frequently,
+after a war of words with her mother, she announces her intention of returning
+to Sunnyside, but a sight of the captain is sufficient to banish all such
+thoughts. And thus she lives, that most wretched of all beings, an unloving and
+unloved wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the absence of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Graham remain at Woodlawn,
+which, as it is the property of Durward, will be his own and
+&rsquo;Lena&rsquo;s home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jerry Langley has changed his occupation of driver for that of a brakeman on
+the railroad between Canandaigua and Niagara Falls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In conclusion we will say of our old friend, Uncle Timothy, that he joined
+&ldquo;the <i>Hindews</i>&rdquo; as proposed, was nominated for constable, and,
+sure of success, bought an old gig for the better transportation of himself
+over the town. But alas for human hopes&mdash;if funded upon politics&mdash;the
+whole American ticket was defeated at Laurel Hill, since which time he has gone
+over to the Republicans, to whom he has sworn eternal allegiance.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+THE END
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ’LENA RIVERS ***</div>
+<div style='text-align:left'>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Updated editions will replace the previous one&#8212;the old editions will
+be renamed.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
+law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
+so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
+States without permission and without paying copyright
+royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
+of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG&#8482;
+concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
+and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
+the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
+of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
+copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
+easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
+of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
+Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
+do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
+by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
+license, especially commercial redistribution.
+</div>
+
+<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br />
+<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br />
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+To protect the Project Gutenberg&#8482; mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase &#8220;Project
+Gutenberg&#8221;), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; License available with this file or online at
+www.gutenberg.org/license.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
+destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works in your
+possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
+by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
+or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.B. &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works if you follow the terms of this
+agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (&#8220;the
+Foundation&#8221; or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
+of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works. Nearly all the individual
+works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
+States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
+United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
+claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
+displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
+all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
+that you will support the Project Gutenberg&#8482; mission of promoting
+free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; name associated with the work. You can easily
+comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
+same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License when
+you share it without charge with others.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
+in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
+check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
+agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
+distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
+other Project Gutenberg&#8482; work. The Foundation makes no
+representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
+country other than the United States.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
+immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License must appear
+prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg&#8482; work (any work
+on which the phrase &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; appears, or with which the
+phrase &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; is associated) is accessed, displayed,
+performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
+</div>
+
+<blockquote>
+  <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+    other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+    whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+    of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+    at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+    are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
+    of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
+  </div>
+</blockquote>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work is
+derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
+contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
+copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
+the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
+redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase &#8220;Project
+Gutenberg&#8221; associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
+either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
+obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
+additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
+will be linked to the Project Gutenberg&#8482; License for all works
+posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
+beginning of this work.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg&#8482;.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; License.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
+any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
+to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg&#8482; work in a format
+other than &#8220;Plain Vanilla ASCII&#8221; or other format used in the official
+version posted on the official Project Gutenberg&#8482; website
+(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
+to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
+of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original &#8220;Plain
+Vanilla ASCII&#8221; or other form. Any alternate format must include the
+full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg&#8482; works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+provided that:
+</div>
+
+<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'>
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+        the use of Project Gutenberg&#8482; works calculated using the method
+        you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
+        to the owner of the Project Gutenberg&#8482; trademark, but he has
+        agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
+        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
+        within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
+        legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
+        payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
+        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
+        Section 4, &#8220;Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
+        Literary Archive Foundation.&#8221;
+    </div>
+
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+        you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+        does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+        License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
+        copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
+        all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+        works.
+    </div>
+
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
+        any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+        electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
+        receipt of the work.
+    </div>
+
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+        distribution of Project Gutenberg&#8482; works.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work or group of works on different terms than
+are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
+from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
+the Project Gutenberg&#8482; trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
+forth in Section 3 below.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
+contain &#8220;Defects,&#8221; such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
+or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
+other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
+cannot be read by your equipment.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the &#8220;Right
+of Replacement or Refund&#8221; described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
+with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
+with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
+lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
+or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
+opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
+the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
+without further opportunities to fix the problem.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you &#8216;AS-IS&#8217;, WITH NO
+OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
+damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
+violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
+agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
+limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
+unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
+remaining provisions.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works in
+accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
+production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
+including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
+the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
+or any Project Gutenberg&#8482; work, (b) alteration, modification, or
+additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg&#8482; work, and (c) any
+Defect you cause.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
+computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
+exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
+from people in all walks of life.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg&#8482;&#8217;s
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg&#8482; collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg&#8482; and future
+generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
+Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation&#8217;s EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
+U.S. federal laws and your state&#8217;s laws.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+The Foundation&#8217;s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
+Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
+to date contact information can be found at the Foundation&#8217;s website
+and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
+public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
+DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
+visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
+donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; concept of a library of electronic works that could be
+freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
+distributed Project Gutenberg&#8482; eBooks with only a loose network of
+volunteer support.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
+the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
+necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
+edition.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
+facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This website includes information about Project Gutenberg&#8482;,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/old/old/12835.txt b/old/old/12835.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..942a7ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/old/12835.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14083 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Lena Rivers, by Mary J. Holmes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: 'Lena Rivers
+
+Author: Mary J. Holmes
+
+Release Date: July 7, 2004 [EBook #12835]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'LENA RIVERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+'LENA RIVERS,
+
+
+BY
+
+MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
+
+
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+"TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE," "ENGLISH ORPHANS," "DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT,"
+"MARIAN GRAY," "ETHELYN'S MISTAKE," "CAMERON PRIDE," "EDNA BROWNING,"
+"WEST LAWN," "EDITH LYLE," ETC., ETC.
+
+
+
+MDCCCXCVII.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+If it be true, as some have said, that a _secret_ is safer in a
+_preface_ than elsewhere, it would be worse than folly for me to
+waste the "midnight oil," in the manufacture of an article which no
+one would read, and which would serve no purpose, save the adding of
+a page or so to a volume perhaps already too large. But I do not
+think so.  I wot of a few who, with a horror of anything savoring of
+_humbug_, wade industriously through a preface, be it never so
+lengthy, hoping therein to find the _moral_, without which the story
+would, of course, be valueless.  To such I would say, seek no
+further, for though I claim for "'Lena Rivers," a moral--yes, half a
+dozen morals, if you please--I shall not put them in the preface, as
+I prefer having them sought after, for what I have written I wish to
+have read.
+
+Reared among the rugged hills of the Bay State, and for a time
+constantly associated with a class of people known the wide world
+over as _Yankees_, it is no more than natural that I should often
+write of the places and scenes with which I have been the most
+familiar.  In my delineations of New England character I have aimed
+to copy from memory, and in no one instance, I believe, have I
+overdrawn the pictures; for among the New England mountains there
+lives many a "Grandma Nichols," a "Joel Slocum," or a "Nancy
+Scovandyke," while the wide world holds more than one '_Lena_, with
+her high temper, extreme beauty, and rare combination of those
+qualities which make the female character so lovely.
+
+Nearly the same remarks will also apply to my portraitures of
+Kentucky life and character, for it has been my good fortune to spend
+a year and a half in that state, and in my descriptions of country
+lanes and country life, I have with a few exceptions copied from what
+I saw.  _Mrs. Livingstone_ and _Mrs. Graham_ are characters found
+everywhere, while the impulsive _John Jr_., and the generous-hearted
+_Durward_, represent a class of individuals who belong more
+exclusively to the "sunny south."
+
+I have endeavored to make this book both a good and an interesting
+one, and if I have failed in my attempt, it is too late to remedy it
+now; and, such as it is, I give it to the world, trusting that the
+same favor and forbearance which have been awarded to my other works,
+will also be extended to this.
+
+M. J. H.
+
+BROCKPORT, N. Y., _October_, 1856.
+
+
+
+
+LENA RIVERS.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+'LENA.
+
+For many days the storm continued.  Highways were blocked up, while
+roads less frequented were rendered wholly impassable.  The oldest
+inhabitants of Oakland had "never seen the like before," and they
+shook their gray heads ominously as over and adown the New England
+mountains the howling wind swept furiously, now shrieking exultingly
+as one by one the huge forest trees bent before its power, and again
+dying away in a low, sad wail, as it shook the casement of some
+low-roofed cottage, where the blazing fire, "high piled upon the
+hearth," danced merrily to the sound of the storm-wind, and then,
+whirling in fantastic circles, disappeared up the broad-mouthed
+chimney.
+
+For nearly a week there was scarcely a sign of life in the streets of
+Oakland, but at the end of that time the storm abated, and the
+December sun, emerging from its dark hiding-place, once more looked
+smilingly down upon the white, untrodden snow, which covered the
+earth for miles and miles around.  Rapidly the roads were broken;
+paths were made on the narrow sidewalk, and then the villagers
+bethought themselves of their mountain neighbors, who might perchance
+have suffered from the severity of the storm.  Far up the mountain
+side in an old yellow farmhouse, which had withstood the blasts of
+many a winter, lived Grandfather and Grandmother Nichols, as they
+were familiarly called, and ere the sun-setting, arrangements were
+made for paying them a visit.
+
+Oakland was a small rural village, nestled among rocky hills, where
+the word fashion was seldom heard, and where many of the primitive
+customs of our forefathers still prevailed.  Consequently, neither
+the buxom maidens, nor the hale old matrons, felt in the least
+disgraced as they piled promiscuously upon the four-ox sled, which
+erelong was moving slowly through the mammoth drifts which lay upon
+the mountain road.  As they drew near the farmhouse, they noticed
+that the blue paper curtains which shaded the windows of Grandma
+Nichols' "spare room," were rolled up, while the faint glimmer of a
+tallow candle within, indicated that the room possessed an occupant.
+Who could it be?  Possibly it was _John_, the proud man, who lived in
+Kentucky, and who, to please his wealthy bride exchanged the plebeian
+name of Nichols, for that of _Livingstone_, which his high-born lady
+fancied was more aristocratic in its sounding!
+
+"And if it be John," said the passengers of the ox sled, with whom
+that gentleman was no great favorite, "if it be John, we'll take
+ourselves home as fast as ever we can."
+
+Satisfied with this resolution, they kept on their way until they
+reached the wide gateway, where they were met by Mr. Nichols, whose
+greeting they fancied was less cordial than usual.  With a simple
+"how d'ye do," he led the way into the spacious kitchen, which
+answered the treble purpose of dining-room, sitting-room, and
+cook-room.  Grandma Nichols, too, appeared somewhat disturbed, but
+she met her visitors with an air which seemed to say, she was
+determined to make the best of her trouble, whatever it might be.
+
+The door of the "spare room" was slightly ajar, and while the
+visitors were disrobing, one young girl, more curious than the rest,
+peered cautiously in, exclaiming as she did so, "Mother! mother!
+Helena is in there on the bed, pale as a ghost."
+
+"Yes, Heleny is in there," interrupted Grandma Nichols, who overheard
+the girl's remark.  "She got hum the fust night of the storm, and
+what's queerer than all, she's been married better than a year."
+
+"Married!  Married!  Helena married!  Who to?  Where's her husband?"
+asked a dozen voices in the same breath.
+
+Grandfather Nichols groaned as if in pain, and his wife, glancing
+anxiously toward the door of her daughter's room, said in reply to
+the last question, "That's the worst on't.  He was some grand rascal,
+who lived at the suthard, and come up here to see what he could do.
+He thought Heleny was handsome, I s'pose, and married her, making her
+keep it still because his folks in Car'lina wouldn't like it.  Of
+course he got sick of her, and jest afore the baby was born he gin
+her five hundred dollars and left her."
+
+A murmur of surprise ran round the room, accompanied with a look of
+incredulity, which Grandma Nichols quickly divined, and while her
+withered cheek crimsoned at the implied disgrace, she added in an
+elevated tone of voice, "It's true as the Bible.  Old Father
+Blanchard's son, that used to preach here, married them, and Heleny
+brought us a letter from him, saying it was true.  Here 'tis,--read
+it yourselves, if you don't b'lieve me;" and she drew from a side
+drawer a letter, on the back of which, the villagers recognized the
+well remembered handwriting of their former pastor.
+
+This proof of Helena's innocence was hardly relished by the clever
+gossips of Oakland, for the young girl, though kind-hearted and
+gentle, was far too beautiful to be a general favorite.  Mothers saw
+in her a rival for their daughters, while the daughters looked
+enviously upon her clear white brow, and shining chestnut hair; which
+fell in wavy curls about her neck and shoulders.  Two years before
+our story opens, she had left her mountain home to try the mysteries
+of millinery in the city, where a distant relative of her mother was
+living.  Here her uncommon beauty attracted much attention, drawing
+erelong to her side a wealthy young southerner, who, just freed from
+the restraints of college life, found it vastly agreeable making love
+to the fair Helena.  Simple-minded, and wholly unused to the ways of
+the world, she believed each word he said, and when at last he
+proposed marriage, she not only consented, but also promised to keep
+it a secret for a time, until he could in a measure reconcile his
+father, who he feared might disinherit him for wedding a penniless
+bride.
+
+"Wait, darling, until he knows you," said he, "and then he will
+gladly welcome you as his daughter."
+
+Accordingly, one dark, wintry night, when neither moon nor stars were
+visible, Helena stole softly from her quiet room at Mrs. Warren's,
+and in less than an hour was the lawful bride of Harry Rivers, the
+wife of the clergyman alone witnessing the ceremony.
+
+"I wish I could take you home at once," said young Rivers, who was
+less a rascal than a coward; "I wish I could take you home at once,
+but it cannot be.  We must wait awhile."
+
+So Helena went back to Mrs. Warren's, where for a few weeks she
+stayed, and then saying she was going home, she left and became the
+mistress of a neat little cottage which stood a mile or two from the
+city.  Here for several months young Rivers devoted himself entirely
+to her happiness, seeming to forget that there was aught else in the
+world save his "beautiful 'Lena," as he was wont to call her.  But at
+last there came a change.  Harry seemed sad, and absent-minded,
+though ever kind to Helena, who strove in vain to learn the cause of
+his uneasiness.
+
+One morning when, later than usual, she awoke, she missed him from
+her side; and on the table near her lay a letter containing the
+following:--
+
+
+"Forgive me, darling, that I leave you so abruptly.  Circumstances
+render it neccessary, but be assured, I shall come back again.  In
+the mean time, you had better return to your parents, where I will
+seek you.  Enclosed are five hundred dollars, enough for your present
+need.  Farewell.
+
+  "H. RIVERS."
+
+
+There was one bitter cry of hopeless anguish, and when Helena Rivers
+again awoke to perfect consciousness, she lay in a darkened room,
+soft footsteps passed in and out, kind faces, in which were mingled
+pity and reproach, bent anxiously over her, while at her side lay a
+little tender thing, her infant daughter, three weeks old.  And now
+there arose within her a strong desire to see once more her
+childhood's home, to lay her aching head upon her mother's lap, and
+pour out the tale of grief which was crushing the life from out her
+young heart.
+
+As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started for
+Oakland, taking the precaution to procure from the clergyman, who had
+married her, a letter confirming the fact.  Wretched and weary she
+reached her home at the dusk of evening, and with a bitter cry fell
+fainting in the arms of her mother, who having heard regularly from
+her, never dreamed that she was elsewhere than in the employ of Mrs.
+Warren.  With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man and his
+wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer more than once
+blessing the fearful storm which for a time, at least, would keep
+away the prying eyes of those who, they feared, would hardly credit
+their daughter's story.
+
+And their fears were right, for many of those who visited them on the
+night of which we have spoken, disbelieved the tale, mentally
+pronouncing the clergyman's letter a forgery, got up by Helena to
+deceive her parents.  Consequently, of the few who from time to time
+came to the old farmhouse, nearly all were actuated by motives of
+curiosity, rather than by feelings of pity for the young girl-mother,
+who, though feeling their neglect, scarcely heeded it.  Strong in the
+knowledge of her own innocence, she lay day after day, watching and
+waiting for one who never came.  But at last, as days glided into
+weeks, and weeks into months, hope died away, and turning wearily
+upon her pillow, she prayed that she might die; and when the days
+grew bright and gladsome in the warm spring sun, when the snow was
+melted from off the mountain tops, and the first robin's note was
+heard by the farmhouse door, Helena laid her baby on her mother's
+bosom, and without a murmur glided down the dark, broad river, whose
+deep waters move onward and onward, but never return.
+
+When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there came a
+reaction, and those who had been loudest in their condemnation, were
+now the first to hasten forward with offers of kindness and words of
+sympathy.  But neither tears nor regrets could recall to life the
+fair young girl, who, wondrously beautiful even in death, slept
+calmly in her narrow coffin, a smile of sadness wreathing her lips,
+as if her last prayer had been for one who had robbed her thus early
+of happiness and life.  In the bright green valley at the foot of the
+mountain, they buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp
+earth fall upon her grave, asked that he too might die.  But his
+wife, younger by several years, prayed to live--live that she might
+protect and care for the little orphan, who first by its young
+mother's tears, and again by the waters of the baptismal fountain,
+was christened HELENA RIVERS;--the '_Lena_ of our story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+JOHN.
+
+Ten years of sunlight and shadow have passed away, and the little
+grave at the foot of the mountain is now grass-grown and sunken.  Ten
+times have the snows of winter fallen upon the hoary head of
+Grandfather Nichols, bleaching his thin locks to their own whiteness
+and bending his sturdy frame, until now, the old man lay dying--dying
+in the same blue-curtained room, where years agone his only daughter
+was born, and where ten years before she had died.  Carefully did
+Mrs. Nichols nurse him, watching, weeping, and praying that he might
+live, while little 'Lena gladly shared her grandmother's vigils,
+hovering ever by the bedside of her grandfather, who seemed more
+quiet when her soft hand smoothed his tangled hair or wiped the cold
+moisture from his brow.  The villagers, too, remembering their
+neglect, when once before death had brooded over the mountain
+farmhouse, now daily came with offers of assistance.
+
+But one thing still was wanting.  John, their only remaining child,
+was absent, and the sick man's heart grew sad and his eyes dim with
+tears, as day by day went by, and still he did not come.  Several
+times had 'Lena written to her uncle, apprising him of his father's
+danger, and once only had he answered.  It was a brief, formal
+letter, written, evidently, under some constraint, but it said that
+he was coming, and with childish joy the old man had placed it
+beneath his pillow, withdrawing it occasionally for 'Lena to read
+again, particularly the passage, "Dear father, I am sorry you are
+sick."
+
+"Heaven bless him!  I know he's sorry," Mr. Nichols would say.  "He
+was always a good boy--is a good boy now.  Ain't he, Martha?"
+
+And mother-like, Mrs. Nichols would answer, "Yes," forcing back the
+while the tears which would start when she thought how long the "good
+boy" had neglected them, eighteen years having elapsed since he had
+crossed the threshold of his home.
+
+With his hand plighted to one of the village maidens, he had left
+Oakland to seek his fortune, going first to New York, then to Ohio,
+and finally wending his way southward, to Kentucky.  Here he
+remained, readily falling into the luxurious habits of those around
+him, and gradually forgetting the low-roofed farmhouse far away to
+the northward, where dwelt a gray-haired pair and a beautiful young
+girl, his parents and his sister.  She to whom his vows were plighted
+was neither graceful nor cultivated, and when, occasionally, her
+tall, spare figure and uncouth manners arose before him, in contrast
+with the fair forms around him, he smiled derisively at the thoughts
+of making her his wife.
+
+About this time there came from New Orleans a wealthy invalid, with
+his only daughter Matilda.  She was a proud haughty girl, whose
+disposition, naturally unamiable, was rendered still worse by a
+disappointment from which she was suffering.  Accidentally Mr.
+Richards, her father, made the acquaintance of John Nichols,
+conceiving for him a violent fancy, and finally securing him as a
+constant companion.  For several weeks John appeared utterly
+oblivious to the presence of Matilda who, accustomed to adulation,
+began at last to feel piqued at his neglect, and to strive in many
+ways to attract his attention.
+
+John, who was ambitious, met her advances more than half way, and
+finally, encouraged by her father, offered her his heart and hand.
+Under other circumstances, Matilda would undoubtedly have spurned him
+with contempt; but having heard that her recreant lover was about
+taking to himself a bride, she felt a desire, as she expressed it,
+"to let him know she could marry too."  Accordingly, John was
+accepted, on condition that he changed the name of Nichols, which
+Miss Richards particularly disliked, to that of Livingstone.  This
+was easily done, and the next letter which went to Oakland carried
+the news of John's marriage with the proud Matilda.
+
+A few months later and Mr. Richards died, leaving his entire property
+to his daughter and her husband.  John was now richer far than even
+in his wildest dreams he had ever hoped to be, and yet like many
+others, he found that riches alone could not insure happiness.  And,
+indeed, to be happy with Matilda Richards, seemed impossible.  Proud,
+avaricious, and overbearing, she continually taunted her husband with
+his entire dependence upon her, carefully watching him, lest any of
+her hoarded wealth should find its way to the scanty purse of his
+parents, of whom she always spoke with contempt.
+
+Never but once had they asked for aid, and that to help them rear the
+little 'Lena.  Influenced by his wife, John replied sneeringly,
+scouting the idea of Helena's marriage, denouncing her as his sister,
+and saying of her child, that the poor-house stood ready for such as
+she!  This letter 'Lena had accidentally found among her
+grandfather's papers, and though its contents gave her no definite
+impression concerning her mother, it inspired her with a dislike for
+her uncle, whose coming she greatly dreaded, for it was confidently
+expected that she, together with her grandmother, would return with
+him to Kentucky.
+
+"You'll be better off there than here," said her grandfather one day,
+when speaking of the subject.  "Your Uncle John is rich, and you'll
+grow up a fine lady."
+
+"I don't want to be a lady--I won't be a lady," said 'Lena
+passionately.  "I don't like Uncle John.  He called my mother a bad
+woman and me a little brat!  I hate him!" and the beautiful brown
+eyes glittering with tears flashed forth their anger quite as
+eloquently as language could express it.
+
+The next moment 'Lena was bending over her grandfather, asking to be
+forgiven for the hasty words which she knew had caused him pain.
+"I'll try to like him," said she, as the palsied hand stroked her
+disordered curls in token of forgiveness, "I'll try to like him,"
+adding mentally, "but I do hope he won't come."
+
+It would seem that 'Lena's wish was to be granted, for weeks glided
+by and there came no tidings of the absent one.  Daily Mr. Nichols
+grew weaker, and when there was no longer hope of life, his heart
+yearned more and more to once more behold his son; to hear again, ere
+he died, the blessed name of father.
+
+"'Lena," said Mrs. Nichols one afternoon when her husband seemed
+worse, "'Lena, it's time for the stage, and do you run down to the
+'turn' and see if your uncle's come; something tells me he'll be here
+to-night."
+
+'Lena obeyed, and throwing on her faded calico sunbonnet, she was
+soon at the "turn," a point in the road from which the village hotel
+was plainly discernible.  The stage had just arrived, and 'Lena saw
+that one of the passengers evidently intended stopping, for he seemed
+to be giving directions concerning his baggage.
+
+"That's Uncle John, I most know," thought she, and seating herself on
+a rock beneath some white birches, so common in New England, she
+awaited his approach.  She was right in her conjecture, for the
+stranger was John Livingstone, returned after many years, but so
+changed that the jolly landlord, who had known him when a boy, and
+with whom he had cracked many a joke, now hardly dared to address
+him, he seemed so cold and haughty.
+
+"I will leave my trunk here for a few days," said John, "and perhaps
+I shall wish for a room.  Got any decent accommodations?"
+
+"Wonder if he don't calculate to sleep to hum," thought the landlord,
+replying at the same instant, "Yes, sir, tip-top accommodations.
+Hain't more'n tew beds in any room, and nowadays we allers has a
+wash-bowl and pitcher; don't go to the sink as we used to when you
+lived round here."
+
+With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house and
+started up the mountain road, where 'Lena still kept her watch.  Oh,
+how that walk recalled to him the memories of other days, which came
+thronging about him as one by one familiar way-marks appeared,
+reminding him of his childhood, when he roamed over that
+mountain-side with those who were now scattered far and wide, some on
+the deep, blue sea, some at the distant west, and others far away
+across the dark river of death.  He had mingled much with the world
+since last he had traversed that road, and his heart had grown
+callous and indifferent, but he was not entirely hardened, and when
+at the "turn" in the road, he came suddenly upon the tall walnut
+tree, on whose shaggy bark his name was carved, together with that of
+another--a maiden--he started as if smitten with a heavy blow, and
+dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed "Oh that I were a boy again!"
+
+From her seat on the mossy rock 'Lena had been watching him.  She was
+very ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but
+quite ready to change the latter if she saw any indications of
+improvement in the person disliked.  For her uncle she had conceived
+a great aversion, and when she saw him approaching, thrusting aside
+the thistles and dandelions with his gold-headed cane, she mimicked
+his motions, wondering "if he didn't feel big because he wore a large
+gold chain dangling from his jacket pocket."
+
+But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion
+suddenly changed.  "A very bad man wouldn't cry," she thought, and
+springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, "I know you
+are my Uncle John, and I'm real glad you've come.  Granny thought you
+never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time."
+
+Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone would hardly
+have been more startled, for in form and feature 'Lena was exactly
+what her mother had been at her age.  The same clear complexion,
+large brown eyes, and wavy hair; and the tones of her voice, too, how
+they thrilled the heart of the strong man, making him a boy again,
+guiding the steps of his baby sister, or bearing her gently in his
+arms when the path was steep and stony.  It was but a moment,
+however, and then the vision faded.  His sister was dead, and the
+little girl before him was her child--the child of shame he believed,
+or rather, his wife had said it so often that he began to believe it.
+Glancing at the old-womanish garb in which Mrs. Nichols always
+arrayed her, a smile of mingled scorn and pity curled his lips, as he
+thought of presenting her to his fastidious wife and elegant
+daughters; then withdrawing the hand which she had taken, he said,
+"And you are 'Lena--'Lena Nichols they call you, I suppose."
+
+'Lena's old dislike began to return, and placing both hands upon her
+hips in imitation of her grandmother she replied, "No 'tain't 'Lena
+Nichols, neither.  It's 'Lena Rivers.  Granny says so, and the town
+clark has got it so on his book.  How are my cousins?  Are they
+pretty well?  And how is _Ant_?"
+
+Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at this
+little specimen of Yankeeism, in which he saw so much of his mother.
+Poor little 'Lena! how should she know any better, living as she
+always had with two old people, whose language savored so much of the
+days before the flood!  Some such thought passed through Mr.
+Livingstone's mind, and very civilly he answered her concerning the
+health of her cousins and aunt; proceeding next to question her of
+his father, who, she said, "had never seen a well day since her
+mother died."
+
+"Is there any one with him except your grandmother?" asked Mr.
+Livingstone; and Lena replied, "Aunt Nancy Scovandyke has been with
+us a few days, and is there now."
+
+At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that 'Lena
+observed it, and asked "if he knew Miss Scovandyke?"
+
+"I used to," said he, while 'Lena continued: "She's a nice woman, and
+though she ain't any connection, I call her aunt.  Granny thinks a
+sight of her."
+
+Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr.
+Livingstone, and changing the subject, he said, "What makes you say
+_Granny_, child?"
+
+'Lena blushed painfully.  'Twas the first word she had ever uttered,
+her grandmother having taught it to her, and encouraged her in its
+use.  Besides that, 'Lena had a great horror of anything which she
+fancied was at all "stuck up," and thinking an entire change from
+_Granny_ to _Grandmother_ would be altogether too much, she still
+persisted in occasionally using her favorite word, in spite of the
+ridicule it frequently called forth from her school companions.
+Thinking to herself that it was none of her uncle's business what she
+called her grandmother, she made no reply, and in a few moments they
+came in sight of the yellow farmhouse, which looked to Mr.
+Livingstone just as it did when he left it, eighteen years before.
+There was the tall poplar, with its green leaves rustling in the
+breeze, just as they had done years ago, when from a distant hill-top
+he looked back to catch the last glimpse of his home.  The well in
+the rear was the same--the lilac bushes in front--the tansy patch on
+the right and the gable-roofed barn on the left; all were there;
+nothing was changed but himself.
+
+Mechanically he followed 'Lena into the yard, half expecting to see
+bleaching upon the grass the same web of home-made cloth, which he
+remembered had lain there when he went away.  One thing alone seemed
+strange.  The blue paper curtains were rolled away from the "spare
+room" windows, which were open as if to admit as much air as possible.
+
+"I shouldn't wonder if grandpa was worse," said 'Lena, hurrying him
+along and ushering him at once into the sick-room.
+
+At first Mrs. Nichols did not observe him, for she was bending
+tenderly over the white, wrinkled face, which lay upon the small,
+scanty pillow.  John thought "how small and scanty they were," while
+he almost shuddered at the sound of his footsteps upon the uncarpeted
+floor.  Everything was dreary and comfortless, and his conscience
+reproached him that his old father should die so poor, when he
+counted his money by thousands.
+
+As he passed the window his tall figure obscured the fading daylight,
+causing his mother to raise her head, and in a moment her long, bony
+arms were twined around his neck.  The cruel letter, his long
+neglect, were all forgotten in the joy of once more beholding her
+"darling boy," whose bearded cheek she kissed again and again.  John
+was unused to such demonstrations of affection, except, indeed, from
+his little golden-haired Anna, who was _refined_ and _polished_, and
+all that, which made a vast difference, as he thought.  Still, he
+returned his mother's greeting with a tolerably good grace, managing,
+however, to tear himself from her as soon as possible.
+
+"How is my father?" he asked; and his mother replied, "He grew worse
+right away after 'Leny went out, and he seemed so put to't for
+breath, that Nancy went for the doctor----"
+
+Here a movement from the invalid arrested her attention and going to
+the bedside she saw that he was awake.  Bending over him she
+whispered softly, "John has come.  Would you like to see him?"
+
+Quickly the feeble arms were outstretched, as if to feel what could
+not be seen, for the old man's eyesight was dim with the shadows of
+death.
+
+Taking both his father's hands in his, John said, "Here I am, father;
+can't you see me?"
+
+"No, John, no; I can't see you."  And the poor man wept like a little
+child.  Soon growing more calm, he continued: "Your voice is the same
+that it was years ago, when you lived with us at home.  That hasn't
+changed, though they say your name has.  Oh, John, my boy, how could
+you do so?  'Twas a good name--my name--and you the only one left to
+bear it.  What made you do so, oh John, John?"
+
+Mr. Livingstone did not reply, and after a moment his father again
+spoke; "John, lay your hand on my forehead.  It's cold as ice.  I am
+dying, and your mother will be left alone.  We are poor, my son;
+poorer than you think.  The homestead is mortgaged for all it's worth
+and there are only a few dollars in the purse.  Oh, I worked so hard
+to earn them for her and the girl--Helena's child.  Now, John,
+promise me that when I am gone they shall go with you to your home in
+the west.  Promise, and I shall die happy."
+
+This was a new idea to John, and for a time he hesitated.  He glanced
+at his mother; she was ignorant and peculiar, but she was his mother
+still.  He looked at 'Lena, she was beautiful--he knew that, but she
+was odd and old-fashioned.  He thought of his haughty wife, his
+headstrong son and his imperious daughter.  What would they say if he
+made that promise, for if he made it he would keep it.
+
+A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke again:
+"Won't you give your old mother a home?"
+
+The voice was weaker than when it spoke before, and John knew that
+life was fast ebbing away, for the brow on which his hand was resting
+was cold and damp with the moisture of death.  He could no longer
+refuse, and the promise was given.
+
+The next morning, the deep-toned bell of Oakland told that another
+soul was gone, and the villagers as they counted the three score
+strokes and ten knew that Grandfather Nichols was numbered with the
+dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+PACKING UP.
+
+The funeral was over, and in the quiet valley by the side of his only
+daughter, Grandfather Nichols was laid to rest.  As far as possible
+his father's business was settled, and then John began to speak of
+his returning.  More than once had he repented of the promise made to
+his father, and as the time passed on he shrank more and more from
+introducing his "plebeian" mother to his "lady" wife, who, he knew,
+was meditating an open rebellion.
+
+Immediately after his father's death he had written to his wife,
+telling her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth matters
+over, so that his mother might at least have a decent reception.  In
+a violent passion, his wife had answered, that "she never would
+submit to it--never.  When I married you," said she, "I didn't
+suppose I was marrying the 'old woman,' young one, and all; and as
+for my having them to maintain, I will not, so _Mr. John Nichols_,
+you understand it."
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called her husband
+_Mr. John Nichols_, and when Mr. John Nichols was particularly angry,
+he did as he pleased, so in this case he replied that "he should
+bring home as many 'old women' and 'young ones' as he liked, and she
+might help herself if she could!"
+
+This state of things was hardly favorable to the future happiness of
+Grandma Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and deeming herself as good
+as anybody, never dreamed that her presence would be unwelcome to her
+daughter-in-law, whom she thought to assist in various ways, "taking
+perhaps the whole heft of the housework upon herself--though," she
+added, "I mean to begin just as I can hold out.  I've hearn of such
+things as son's wives shirkin' the whole on to their old mothers, and
+the minit 'Tilda shows any signs of that, I shall back out, I tell
+you."
+
+John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, and then
+burst into a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Livingstone's
+dismay at hearing herself called '_Tilda_.  Had John chosen, he could
+have given his mother a few useful hints with regard to her treatment
+of his wife, but such an idea never entered his brain.  He was a man
+of few words, and generally allowed himself to be controlled by
+circumstances, thinking that the easiest way of getting through the
+world.  He was very proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it would be
+to present his mother to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was
+in the future--many miles away--he wouldn't trouble himself about it
+now; so he passed his time mostly in rambling through the woods and
+over the hills, while his mother, good soul, busied herself with the
+preparations for her journey, inviting each and every one of her
+neighbors to "be sure and visit her if they ever came that way," and
+urging some of them to come on purpose and "spend the winter."
+
+Among those who promised compliance with this last request, was Miss
+Nancy Scovandyke, whom we have once before mentioned, and who, as the
+reader will have inferred, was the first love of John Livingstone.
+On the night of his arrival, she had been sent in quest of the
+physician, and when on her return she learned from 'Lena that he had
+come, she kept out of sight, thinking she would wait awhile before
+she met him.  "Not that she cared the snap of her finger for him,"
+the said, "only it was natural that she should hate to see him."
+
+But when the time did come, she met it bravely, shaking his hand and
+speaking to him as if nothing had ever happened, and while he was
+wondering how he ever could have fancied _her_, she, too, was
+mentally styling herself "a fool," for having liked "such a _pussy_,
+overgrown thing!"  Dearly did Miss Nancy love excitement, and during
+the days that Mrs. Nichols was packing up, she was busy helping her
+to stow away the "crockery," which the old lady declared should go,
+particularly the "blue set, which she'd had ever since the day but
+one before John was born, and which she intended as a part of 'Leny's
+settin' out.  Then, too, John's wife could use 'em when she had a
+good deal of company; 'twould save buyin' new, and every little
+helped!"
+
+"I wonder, now, if 'Tilda takes snuff," said Mrs. Nichols, one day,
+seating herself upon an empty drygoods box which stood in the middle
+of the floor, and helping herself to an enormous pinch of her
+favorite Maccaboy; "I wonder if she takes snuff, 'cause if she does,
+we shall take a sight of comfort together."
+
+"I don't much b'lieve she does," answered Miss Nancy, whose face was
+very red with trying to cram a pair of cracked bellows into the
+already crowded top of John's leathern trunk, "I don't b'lieve she
+does, for somehow it seems to me she's a mighty nipped-up thing, not
+an atom like you nor me."
+
+"Like enough," returned Mrs. Nichols, finishing her snuff, and wiping
+her fingers upon the corner of her checked apron; "but, Nancy, can
+you tell me how in the world I'm ever going to carry this _mop_?
+It's bran new, never been used above a dozen times, and I can't
+afford to give it away."
+
+At this point, John, who was sitting in the adjoining room, came
+forward.  Hitherto he had not interfered in the least in his mother's
+arrangements, but had looked silently on while she packed away
+article after article which she would never need, and which
+undoubtedly would be consigned to the flames the moment her back was
+turned.  The _mop_ business, however, was too much for him, and
+before Miss Nancy had time to reply, he said, "For heaven's sake,
+mother, how many traps do you propose taking, and what do you imagine
+we can do with a mop?  Why, I dare say not one of my servants would
+know how to use it, and it's a wonder if some of the little chaps
+didn't take it for a horse before night."
+
+"A _nigger_ ride my mop! _my new mop_!" exclaimed Mrs. Nichols,
+rolling up her eyes in astonishment, while Miss Nancy, turning to
+John, said, "In the name of the people, how do you live without mops?
+I should s'pose you'd rot alive!"
+
+"I am not much versed in the mysteries of housekeeping," returned
+John, with a smile; "but it's my impression that what little cleaning
+our floors get is done with a cloth."
+
+"Wall, if I won't give it up now," said Miss Nancy.  "As good an
+abolutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored folks wash the
+floor with a rag, on their hands and knees!  It can't be that you
+indulge a hope, if you'll do such things!"
+
+John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, he said,
+"I'm in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many useless things.
+_We_ don't want them.  Our house is full now, and besides that, Mrs.
+Livingstone is very particular about the style of her furniture, and
+I am afraid yours would hardly come up to her ideas of elegance."
+
+"That chist of drawers," said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an
+old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, "cost an ocean of money when 'twas
+new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, 'Tilda couldn't tell 'em
+from gold, unless she's seen more on't than I have, which ain't much
+likely, bein' I'm double her age."
+
+"The chest does very well for you, I admit," said John; "but we have
+neither use nor room for it, so if you can't sell it, why, give it
+away, or burn it, one or the other."
+
+Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith 'Lena was dispatched
+to Widow Fisher's, to see if she would take it at half price.  The
+widow had no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy
+was told "to keep it, and maybe she'd sometime have a chance to send
+it to Kentucky.  It won't come amiss, I know, s'posin' they be well
+on't.  I b'lieve in lookin' out for a rainy day.  I can teach 'Tilda
+economy yet," whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the room where
+John sat, whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the
+best way if reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.
+
+'Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the
+cause of her uncle's moodiness.  The more she saw of him the better
+she liked him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to
+cure herself of the peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he
+would only notice her a little, which he was not likely to do.  He
+seldom noticed any child, much less little 'Lena, who he fancied was
+ignorant as well as awkward; but he did not know her.
+
+One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, 'Lena
+approached him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather
+timidly, "Uncle, I wish you'd tell me something about my cousins."
+
+"What about them," he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon his
+feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her.
+
+"I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the best,"
+continued 'Lena.
+
+"You'll like Anna the best," said her uncle, and 'Lena asked, "Why!
+What sort of a girl is she?  Does she love to go to school and study?"
+
+"None too well, I reckon," returned her uncle, adding that "there
+were not many little girls who did."
+
+"Why _I_ do," said 'Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a moment his
+whittling, replied rather scornfully, "_You_!  I should like to know
+what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!"
+
+'Lena reddened, for she knew that, whether deservedly or not, she
+bore the reputation of being an excellent scholar, for one of her
+age, and now she rather tartly answered, "I study geography,
+arithmetic, grammar, and----" history, she was going to add, but her
+uncle stopped her, saying, "That'll do, that'll do.  You study all
+these?  Now I don't suppose you know what one of 'em is."
+
+"Yes, I do," said 'Lena, with a good deal of spirit.  "Olney's
+geography is a description of the earth; Colburn's arithmetic is the
+science of numbers: Smith's grammar teaches us how to speak
+correctly."
+
+"Why don't you do it then," asked her uncle.
+
+"Do what?" said 'Lena, and her uncle continued, "Why don't you make
+some use of your boasted knowledge of grammar?  Why, my Anna has
+never seen the inside of a grammar, as I know of, but she don't _talk
+like you do_."
+
+"Don't _what_, sir?" said 'Lena,
+
+"Don't _talk like you do_," repeated her uncle, while 'Lena's eyes
+fairly danced with mischief as she asked, "if that were good grammar."
+
+Mr. Livingstone colored, thinking it just possible that he himself
+might sometimes be guilty of the same things for which he had so
+harshly chided 'Lena, of whom from this time he began to think more
+favorably.  It could hardly be said that he treated her with any more
+attention, and still there was a difference which she felt, and which
+made her very happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+ON THE ROAD.
+
+At last the packing-up process came to an end, everything too poor to
+sell, and too good to give away, had found a place--some here, some
+there, and some in John's trunk, among his ruffled bosoms, collars,
+dickeys, and so forth.  Miss Nancy, who stood by until the last, was
+made the receiver of sundry cracked teacups, noseless pitchers, and
+iron spoons, which could not be disposed of elsewhere.
+
+And now every box and trunk was ready.  Farmer Truesdale's red wagon
+stood at the door, waiting to convey them to the depot, and nothing
+remained for Grandma Nichols, but to bid adieu to the old spot,
+endeared to her by so many associations.  Again and again she went
+from room to room, weeping always, and lingering longest in the one
+where her children were born, and where her husband and daughter had
+died.  In the corner stood the old low-post bedstead, the first she
+had ever owned, and now how vividly she recalled the time long years
+before, when she, a happy maiden, ordered that bedstead, blushing
+deeply at the sly allusion which the cabinet maker made to her
+approaching marriage.  _He_, too, was with her, strong and healthy.
+Now, he was gone from her side forever.  _His_ couch was a narrow
+coffin, and the old bedstead stood there, naked--empty.  Seating
+herself upon it, the poor old lady rocked to and fro, moaning in her
+grief, and wishing that she were not going to Kentucky, or that it
+were possible now to remain at her mountain home.  Summoning all her
+courage, she gave one glance at the familiar objects around her, at
+the flowers she had planted, and then taking 'Lena's hand, went down
+to the gate, where her son waited.
+
+He saw she had been weeping, and though he could not appreciate the
+cause of her tears, in his heart he pitied her, and his voice and
+manner were unusually kind as he helped her to the best seat in the
+wagon, and asked if she were comfortable.  Then his eye fell upon her
+dress, and his pity changed to anger as he wondered if she was wholly
+devoid of taste.  At the time of his father's death, he purchased
+decent mourning for both his mother and 'Lena; but these Mrs. Nichols
+pronounced "altogether too good for the nasty cars; nobody'd think
+any better of them for being rigged out in their best meetin' gowns."
+
+So the bombazine was packed away, and in its place she wore a dark
+blue and white spotted calico, which John could have sworn she had
+twenty years before, and which was not unlikely, as she never wore
+out a garment.  She was an enemy to long skirts, hence hers came just
+to her ankles, and as her black stockings had been footed with white,
+there was visible a dark rim.  Altogether she presented a rather
+grotesque appearance, with her oblong work-bag, in which were her
+snuff-box, brass spectacles and half a dozen "nutcakes," which would
+"save John's buying dinner."
+
+Unlike her grandmother's, 'Lena's dress was a great deal too long,
+and as she never wore pantalets, she had the look of a premature old
+woman, instead of a child ten summers old, as she was.  Still the
+uncommon beauty of her face, and the natural gracefulness of her
+form, atoned in a measure for the singularity of her appearance.
+
+In the doorway stood Miss Nancy, and by her side her nephew, Joel
+Slocum, a freckle-faced boy, who had frequently shown a preference
+for 'Lena, by going with her for her grandmother's cow, bringing her
+harvest apples, and letting her ride on his sled oftener than the
+other girls at school.  Strange to say, his affection was not
+returned, and now, notwithstanding he several times wiped both eyes
+and nose, on the end of which there was an enormous freck, 'Lena did
+not relent at all, but with a simple "Good-bye, Jo," she sprang into
+the wagon, which moved rapidly away.
+
+It was about five miles from the farmhouse to the depot, and when
+half that distance had been gone over, Mrs. Nichols suddenly seized
+the reins, ordering the driver to stop, and saying, "she must go
+straight back, for on the shelf of the north room cupboard she had
+left a whole paper of tea, which she couldn't afford to lose!"
+
+"_Drive on_," said Johny rather angrily, at the same time telling his
+mother that he could buy her a ton of tea if she wanted it.
+
+"But that was already bought, and 'twould have saved so much," said
+she, softly wiping away a tear, which was occasioned partly by her
+son's manner, and partly by the great loss she felt she sustained in
+leaving behind her favorite "old hyson."
+
+This _saving_ was a matter of which Grandma Nichols said so much,
+that John, who was himself slightly avaricious, began to regret that
+he ever knew the definition of the word _save_.  Lest our readers get
+a wrong impression of Mrs. Nichols, we must say that she possessed
+very many sterling qualities, and her habits of extreme economy
+resulted more from the manner in which she had been compelled to
+live, than from natural stinginess.  For this John hardly made
+allowance enough, and his mother's remarks, instead of restraining
+him, only made him more lavish of his money than he would otherwise
+have been.
+
+When Mrs. Nichols and 'Lena entered the cars, they of course
+attracted universal attention, which annoyed John excessively.  In
+Oakland, where his mother was known and appreciated, he could bear
+it, but among strangers, and with those of his own caste, it was
+different, so motioning them into the first unoccupied seat, he
+sauntered on with an air which seemed to say, "they were nothing to
+him," and finding a vacant seat at the other end of the car, he took
+possession of it.  Scarcely, however, had he entered into
+conversation with a gentleman near him, when some one grasped his
+arm, and looking up, he saw his mother, her box in one hand; and an
+enormous pinch of snuff in the other.
+
+"John," said she, elevating her voice so as to drown the noise of the
+cars, "I never thought on't till this minit, but I'd just as lief
+ride in the second-class cars as not, and it only costs half as much!"
+
+Mr. Livingstone colored crimson, and bade her go back, saying that if
+he paid the fare she needn't feel troubled about the cost.  Just as
+she was turning to leave, the loud ring and whistle, as the train
+neared a crossing, startled her, and in great alarm she asked if
+"somethin' hadn't bust!"
+
+John made no answer, but the gentleman near him very politely
+explained to her the cause of the disturbance, after which, she
+returned to her seat.  When the conductor appeared, he fortunately
+came in at the door nearest John, who pointed out the two, for whom
+he had tickets, and then turned again to converse with the gentleman,
+who, though a stranger, was from Louisville, Kentucky, and whose
+acquaintance was easily made.  The sight of the conductor awoke in
+Mrs. Nichols's brain a new idea, and after peering out upon the
+platform, she went rushing up to her son, telling him that: "the
+trunks, box, feather bed, and all, were every one on 'em left!"
+
+"No, they are not," said John; "I saw them aboard myself."
+
+"Wall, then, they're lost off, for as sure as you're born, there
+ain't one on 'em in here; and there's as much as twenty weight of new
+feathers, besides all the crockery!  Holler to 'em to stop quick!"
+
+The stranger, pitying Mr. Livingstone's chagrin, kindly explained to
+her that there was a baggage car on purpose for trunks and the like,
+and that her feather bed was undoubtedly safe.  This quieted her, and
+mentally styling him "a proper nice man," she again returned to her
+seat.
+
+"A rare specimen of the raw Yankee," said the stranger to John, never
+dreaming in what relation she stood to him.
+
+"Yes," answered John, not thinking it at all necessary to make any
+further explanations.
+
+By this time Mrs. Nichols had attracted the attention of all the
+passengers, who watched her movements with great interest.  Among
+these was a fine-looking youth, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who
+sat directly in front of 'Lena.  He had a remarkably open, pleasing
+countenance, while there was that in his eyes which showed him to be
+a lover of fun.  Thinking he had now found it in a rich form, he
+turned partly round, and would undoubtedly have quizzed Mrs. Nichols
+unmercifully, had not something in the appearance of 'Lena prevented
+him.  This was also her first ride in the cars, but she possessed a
+tact of concealing the fact, and if she sometimes felt frightened,
+she looked in the faces of those around her, gathering from them that
+there was no danger.  She knew that her grandmother was making
+herself ridiculous, and her eyes filled with tears as she whispered,
+"Do sit still, granny; everybody is looking at you."
+
+The young lad noticed this, and while it quelled in him the spirit of
+ridicule, it awoke a strange interest in 'Lena, who he saw was
+beautiful, spite of her unseemly guise.  She was a dear lover of
+nature, and as the cars sped on through the wild mountain scenery,
+between Pittsfield and Albany, she stood at the open window, her
+hands closely locked together, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes
+wide with wonder at the country through which they were passing.  At
+her grandmother's suggestion she had removed her bonnet, and the
+brown curls which clustered around her white forehead and neck were
+moved up and down by the fresh breeze which was blowing.  The youth
+was a passionate admirer of beauty, come in what garb it might, and
+now as he watched, he felt a strong desire to touch one of the glossy
+ringlets which floated within his reach.  There would be no harm in
+it, he thought--"she was only a little girl, and he was _almost a
+man_--had tried to shave, and was going to enter college in the
+fall."  Still he felt some doubts as to the propriety of the act, and
+was about making up his mind that he had better not, when the train
+shot into the "tunnel," and for an instant they were in total
+darkness.  Quick as thought his hand sought the brown curls, but they
+were gone, and when the cars again emerged into daylight, 'Lena's
+arms were around her grandmother's neck, trying to hold her down, for
+the old lady, sure of a _smash-up_ this time, had attempted to rise,
+screaming loudly for "_John_!"
+
+The boy laughed aloud--he could not help it; but when 'Lena's eyes
+turned reprovingly upon him, he felt sorry; and anxious to make
+amends, addressed himself very politely to Mrs. Nichols, explaining
+to her that it was a "tunnel" through which they had passed, and
+assuring her there was no danger whatever.  Then turning to 'Lena, he
+said, "I reckon your grandmother is not much accustomed to traveling."
+
+"No, sir," answered 'Lena, the rich blood dyeing her cheek at being
+addressed by a stranger.
+
+It was the first time any one had ever said "_sir_" to the boy, and
+now feeling quite like patronizing the little girl, he continued: "I
+believe old people generally are timid when they enter the cars for
+the first time."
+
+Nothing from 'Lena except a slight straightening up of her body, and
+a smoothing down of her dress, but the ice was broken, and erelong
+she and her companion were conversing as familiarly as if they had
+known each other for years.  Still the boy was not inquisitive--he
+did not ask her name, or where she was going, though he told her that
+his home was in Louisville, and that at Albany he was to take the
+boat for New York, where his mother was stopping with some friends.
+He also told her that the gentleman near the door, with dark eyes and
+whiskers, was his father.
+
+Glancing toward the person indicated, 'Lena saw that it was the same
+gentleman who, all the afternoon, had been talking with her uncle.
+He was noble looking, and she felt glad that he was the father of the
+boy--he was just such a man, she fancied, as ought to be his
+father--just such a man as she could wish her father to be--and then
+'Lena felt glad that the youth had asked her nothing concerning her
+parentage, for, though her grandmother had seldom mentioned her
+father in her presence, there were others ready and willing to inform
+her that he was a villain, who broke her mother's heart.
+
+When they reached Albany, the boy rose, and offering his hand to
+'Lena, said "I suppose I must bid you good-bye, but I'd like right
+well to go farther with you."
+
+At this moment the stranger gentleman came up, and on seeing how his
+son was occupied, said smilingly, "So-ho!  Durward, you always manage
+to make some lady acquaintance."
+
+"Yes, father," returned the boy called Durward, "but not always one
+like this.  Isn't she pretty," he added in a whisper.
+
+The stranger's eyes fell upon 'Lena's face, and for a moment, as if
+by some strange fascination, seemed riveted there; but the crowd
+pressed him forward, and 'Lena only heard him reply to his son, "Yes,
+Durward, very pretty; but hurry, or we shall lose the boat."
+
+The next moment they were gone.  Leaning from the window, 'Lena tried
+to catch another glimpse of him, but in vain.  He was gone--she would
+never see him again, she thought; and then she fell into a reverie
+concerning his home, his mother, his sisters, if he had any, and
+finally ended by wishing that she were his sister, and the daughter
+of his father.  While she was thus pondering, her grandmother, also,
+was busy, and when 'Lena looked round for her she was gone.  Stepping
+from the car, 'Lena espied her in the distance, standing by her uncle
+and anxiously watching for the appearance of her "great trunk, little
+trunk, band-box, and bag."  Each of these articles was forthcoming,
+and in a few moments they were on the ferry-boat crossing the blue
+waters of the Hudson, Mrs. Nichols declaring that "if she'd known it
+wasn't a bridge she was steppin' onto, she'd be bound they wouldn't
+have got her on in one while."
+
+"Do sit down," said 'Lena; "the other people don't seem to be afraid,
+and I'm sure we needn't."
+
+This Mrs. Nichols was more willing to do, as directly at her side was
+another old lady, traveling for the first time, frightened and
+anxious.  To her Mrs. Nichols addressed herself, announcing her firm
+belief that "she should be blew sky high before she reached Kentucky,
+where she was going to live with her son John, who she supposed was
+well off, worth twenty negroes or more; but," she added, lowering her
+voice, "I don't b'lieve in no such, and I mean he shall set 'em
+free--poor critters, duddin' from mornin' till night without a cent
+of pay.  He says they call him 'master,' but I'll warrant he'll never
+catch me a'callin' him so to one on 'em.  I promised Nancy Scovandyke
+that I wouldn't, and I won't!"
+
+Here a little _popcorn_ boy came 'round, which reminded Mrs. Nichols
+of her money, and that she hadn't once looked after it since she
+started.  Thinking this as favorable a time as she would have, she
+drew from her capacious pocket an old knit purse, and commenced
+counting out its contents, piece by piece.
+
+"Beware of pickpockets!" said some one in her ear, and with the
+exclamation of "Oh the Lord!" the purse disappeared in her pocket, on
+which she kept her hand until the boat touched the opposite shore.
+Then in the confusion and excitement it was withdrawn, the purse was
+forgotten, and when on board the night express for Buffalo it was
+again looked for, _it was gone_!
+
+With a wild outcry the horror-stricken matron sprang up, calling for
+John, who in some alarm came to her side, asking what she wanted.
+
+"I've lost my purse.  Somebody's stole it.  Lock the door quick, and
+search every man, woman, and child in the car!"
+
+The conductor, who chanced to be present, now came up, demanding an
+explanation, and trying to convince Mrs. Nichols how improbable it
+was that any one present had her money.
+
+"Stop the train then, and let me get off."
+
+"Had you a large amount?" asked the conductor.
+
+"Every cent I had in the world.  Ain't you going to let me get off?"
+was the answer.
+
+The conductor looked inquiringly at John, who shook his head, at the
+same time whispering to his mother not to feel so badly, as he would
+give her all the money she wanted.  Then placing a ten dollar bill in
+her hand, he took a seat behind her.  We doubt whether this would
+have quieted the old lady, had not a happy idea that moment entered
+her mind, causing her to exclaim loudly, "There, now, I've just this
+minute thought.  I hadn't but _five_ dollars in my purse; t'other
+fifty I sewed up in an old night-gown sleeve, and tucked it away in
+that satchel up there," pointing to 'Lena's traveling bag, which hung
+over her head.  She would undoubtedly have designated the very corner
+of said satchel in which her money could be found, had not her son
+touched her shoulder, bidding her be silent and not tell everybody
+where her money was, if she didn't want it stolen.
+
+Mrs. Nichols made no reply, but when she thought she was not
+observed, she arose, and slyly taking down the satchel, placed it
+under her.  Then seating herself upon it, she gave a sigh of relief
+as she thought, "they'd have to work hard to get it now, without her
+knowing it!" Dear old soul, when arrived at her journey's end, how
+much comfort she took in recounting over and over again the incidents
+of the robbery, wondering if it was, as John said, the very man who
+had so kindly cautioned her to beware of pickpockets, and who thus
+ascertained where she kept her purse.  Nancy Scovandyke, too, was
+duly informed of her loss, and charged when she came to Kentucky, "to
+look out on the ferry-boat for a youngish, good-looking man, with
+brown frock coat, blue cravat, and mouth full of white teeth."
+
+At Buffalo Mr. Livingstone had hard work to coax his mother on board
+the steamboat, but he finally succeeded, and as the weather chanced
+to be fine, she declared that ride on the lake to be the pleasantest
+part of her journey.  At Cleveland they took the cars for Cincinnati,
+going thence to Lexington by stage.  On ordinary occasions Mr.
+Livingstone would have preferred the river, but knowing that in all
+probability he should meet with some of his friends upon the boat, he
+chose the route via Lexington, where he stopped at the Phoenix, as
+was his usual custom.
+
+After seeing his mother and niece into the public parlor he left them
+for a time, saying he had some business to transact in the city.
+Scarcely was he gone when the sound of shuffling footsteps in the
+hall announced an arrival, and a moment after, a boy, apparently
+fifteen years of age, appeared in the door.  He was richly though
+carelessly dressed, and notwithstanding the good-humored expression
+of his rather handsome face, there was in his whole appearance an
+indescribable something which at once pronounced him to be a "fast"
+boy.  A rowdy hat was set on one side of his head, after the most
+approved fashion, while in his hand he held a lighted cigar, which he
+applied to his mouth when he saw the parlor was unoccupied, save by
+an "old woman" and a "little girl."
+
+Instinctively 'Lena shrank from him, and withdrawing herself as far
+as possible within the recess of the window, pretended to be busily
+watching the passers-by.  But she did not escape his notice, and
+after coolly surveying her for a moment, he walked up to her, saying,
+"How d'ye, polywog?  I'll be hanged if I know to what gender you
+belong--woman or _gal_--which is it, hey?"
+
+"None of your business," was 'Lena's ready answer.
+
+"Spunky, ain't you," said he, unceremoniously pulling one of the
+brown curls which Durward had so longed to touch.  "Seems to me your
+hair don't match the rest of you; wonder if 'tisn't somebody else's
+head set on your shoulders."
+
+"No, it ain't.  It's my own head, and you just let it alone,"
+returned 'Lena, growing more and more indignant, and wondering if
+this were a specimen of Kentucky boys.
+
+"Don't be saucy," continued her tormentor; "I only want to see what
+sort of stuff you are made of."
+
+"Made of _dirt_" muttered 'Lena.
+
+"I reckon you are," returned the boy; "but say, where _did_ you come
+from and who _do_ you live with?"
+
+"I came from Massachusetts, and I live with _granny_," said 'Lena,
+thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would perhaps let her
+alone.  But she was mistaken.
+
+Glancing at "_granny_," he burst into a loud laugh, and then placing
+his hat a little more on one side, and assuming a nasal twang, he
+said, "Neow dew tell, if you're from Massachusetts.  How dew you dew,
+little Yankee, and how are all the folks to hum?"
+
+Feeling sure that not only herself but all her relations were
+included in this insult, 'Lena darted forward hitting him a blow in
+the face, which he returned by puffing smoke into hers, whereupon she
+snatched the cigar from his mouth and hurled it into the street,
+bidding him "touch her again if he dared."  All this transpired so
+rapidly that Mrs. Nichols had hardly time to understand its meaning,
+but fully comprehending it now, she was about coming to the rescue,
+when her son reappeared, exclaiming, "_John_, John Livingstone, Jr.,
+how came you here?"
+
+Had a cannon exploded at the feet of John Jr., as he was called, he
+could not have been more startled.  He was not expecting his father
+for two or three days, and was making the most of his absence by
+having what he called a regular "spree."  Taking him altogether, he
+was, without being naturally bad, a spoiled child, whom no one could
+manage except his father, and as his father seldom tried, he was of
+course seldom managed.  Never yet had he remained at any school more
+than two quarters, for if he were not sent away, he generally ran
+away, sure of finding a champion in his mother, who had always petted
+him, calling him, "Johnny darling," until he one day very coolly
+informed her that she was "a silly old fool," and that "he'd thank
+her not to 'Johnny darling' him any longer."
+
+It would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr.  when
+'Lena was presented to him as his _cousin_, and Mrs. Nichols as his
+_grandmother_.  Something which sounded very much like an oath
+escaped his lips, as turning to his father he muttered, "Won't mother
+go into fits?"  Then, as he began to realize the ludicrousness of the
+whole affair, he exclaimed, "Rich, good, by gracious!" and laughing
+loudly, he walked away to regale himself with another cigar.
+
+Lena began to tremble for her future happiness, if this boy was to
+live in the same house with her.  She did not know that she had
+already more than half won his good opinion, for he was far better
+pleased with her antagonistical demonstrations, than he would have
+been had she cried or ran from him, as his sister Anna generally did
+when he teased her.  After a few moments here turned to the parlor,
+and walking up to Mrs. Nichols, commenced talking very sociably with
+her, calling her "Granny," and winking slyly at 'Lena as he did so.
+Mr. Livingstone had too much good sense to sit quietly by and hear
+his mother ridiculed by his son, and in a loud, stern voice he bade
+the young gentleman "behave himself."
+
+"Law, now," said Mrs. Nichols, "let him talk if he wants to.  I like
+to hear him.  He's the only grandson I've got."
+
+This speech had the effect of silencing John Jr.  quite as much as
+his father's command.  If he could tease his grandmother by talking
+to her, he would take delight in doing so, but if she _wanted_ him to
+talk--that was quite another thing.  So moving away from her, he took
+a seat near 'Lena, telling her her dress was "a heap too short," and
+occasionally pinching her, just to vary the sport!  This last,
+however, 'Lena returned with so much force that he grew weary of the
+fun, and informing her that he was going to a _circus_ which was in
+town that evening, he arose to leave the room.
+
+Mr. Livingstone, who partially overheard what he had said, stopped
+him and asked "where he was going?"
+
+Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that "he was
+confounded sleepy and was going to bed."
+
+"'Lena, where did he say he was going?" asked her uncle.
+
+'Lena trembled, for John Jr. had clinched his fist, and was shaking
+it threateningly at her.
+
+"Where did he say he was going?" repeated her uncle.
+
+Poor 'Lena had never told a lie in her life, and now braving her
+cousin's anger, she said, "To the circus, sir.  Oh, I wish you had
+not asked me."
+
+"You'll get your pay for that," muttered John Jr. sullenly reseating
+himself by his father, who kept an eye on him until he saw him safely
+in his room.
+
+Much as John Jr. frightened 'Lena with his threats, in his heart he
+respected her for telling the truth, and if the next morning on their
+way home in the stage, in which his father compelled him to take a
+seat, he frequently found it convenient to step on her feet, it was
+more from a natural propensity to torment than from any lurking
+feeling of revenge.  'Lena was nowise backward in returning his
+cousinly attentions, and so between an interchange of kicks, wry
+faces, and so forth, they proceeded toward "Maple Grove," a
+description of which will be given in another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+MAPLE GROVE.
+
+The residence of Mr. Livingstone, or rather of Mr. Livingstone's wife,
+was a large, handsome building, such as one often finds in Kentucky,
+particularly in the country.  Like most planters' houses, it stood at
+some little distance from the street, from which its massive walls,
+wreathed with evergreen, were just discernible.  The carriage road
+which led to it passed first through a heavy iron gate guarded by huge
+bronze lions, so natural and life-like, that Mrs. Nichols, when first
+she saw them, uttered a cry of fear.  Next came a beautiful maple
+grove, followed by a long, green lawn, dotted here and there with
+forest trees and having on its right a deep running brook, whose
+waters, farther on at the rear of the garden, were formed into a
+miniature fish-pond.
+
+The house itself was of brick--two storied, and surrounded on three
+sides with a double piazza, whose pillars were entwined with climbing
+roses, honey-suckle, and running vines, so closely interwoven as to
+give it the appearance of an immense summer-house.  In the spacious
+yard in front, tall shade trees and bright green grass were growing,
+while in the well-kept garden at the left, bloomed an endless variety
+of roses and flowering shrubs, which in their season filled the air
+with perfume, and made the spot brilliant with beauty.  Directly
+through the center of this garden ran the stream of which we have
+spoken, and as its mossy banks were never disturbed, they presented the
+appearance of a soft, velvety ridge, where each spring the starry
+dandelion and the blue-eyed violet grew.
+
+Across the brook two small foot-bridges had been built, both of which
+were latticed and overgrown by luxuriant grape-vines, whose dark, green
+foliage was now intermingled with clusters of the rich purple fruit.
+At the right, and somewhat in the rear of the building, was a group of
+linden trees, overshadowing the whitewashed houses of the negroes, who,
+imitating as far as possible the taste of their master, beautified
+their dwellings with hop-vines, creepers, hollyhocks and the like.
+Altogether, it was as 'Lena said, "just the kind of place which one
+reads of in stories," and which is often found at the "sunny south."
+The interior of the building corresponded with the exterior, for with
+one exception, the residence of a wealthy Englishman, Mrs. Livingstone
+prided herself upon having the best furnished house in the county;
+consequently neither pains nor money had been spared in the selection
+of the furniture, which was of the most costly kind.
+
+Carrie, the eldest of the daughters, was now about thirteen years of
+age.  Proud, imperious, deceitful, and self-willed, she was hated by
+the servants, and disliked by her equals.  Some thought her pretty.
+_She_ felt sure of it, and many an hour she spent before the mirror,
+admiring herself and anticipating the time when she would be a grown-up
+lady, and as a matter of course, a belle.  Her mother unfortunately
+belonged to that class who seem to think that the chief aim in life is
+to secure a "brilliant match," and thinking she could not commence too
+soon, she had early instilled into her favorite daughter's mind the
+necessity of appearing to the best possible advantage, when in the
+presence of wealth and distinction, pointing out her own marriage as a
+proof of the unhappiness resulting from unequal matches.  In this way
+Carrie had early learned that her father owed his present position to
+her mother's condescension in marrying him--that he was once a poor boy
+living among the northern hills--that his parents were poor, ignorant
+and vulgar--and that there was with them a little girl, their
+daughter's child, who never had a father, and whom she must never on
+any occasion call her cousin.
+
+All this had likewise been told to Anna, the youngest daughter, who was
+about 'Lena's age, but upon her it made no impression.  If her father
+was once poor, he was in her opinion none the worse for that--and if
+_he_ liked his parents, that was a sufficient reason why she should
+like them too, and if little 'Lena was an orphan, she pitied her, and
+hoped she might sometime see her and tell her so!  Thus Anna reasoned,
+while her mother, terribly shocked at her low-bred taste, strove to
+instill into her mind some of her own more aristocratic notions.  But
+all in vain, for Anna was purely democratic, loving everybody and
+beloved by everybody in return.  It is true she had no particular
+liking for books or study of any kind, but she was gentle and
+affectionate in her manner, and kindly considerate of other people's
+feelings.  With her father she was a favorite, and to her he always
+looked for sympathy, which she seldom failed to give--not in words, it
+is true, but whenever he seemed to be in trouble, she would climb into
+his lap, wind her arms around his neck, and laying her golden head upon
+his shoulder, would sit thus until his brow and heart grew lighter as
+he felt there was yet something in the wide world which loved and cared
+for him.
+
+For Carrie Mrs. Livingstone had great expectations, but Anna she feared
+would never make a "brilliant match."  For a long time Anna meditated
+upon this, wondering what a "brilliant match" could mean, and at last
+she determined to seek an explanation from Captain Atherton, a bachelor
+and a millionaire, who was in the habit of visiting them, and who
+always noticed and petted her more than he did Carrie.  Accordingly,
+the next time he came, and they were alone in the parlor, she broached
+the subject, asking him what it meant.
+
+Laughing loudly, the Captain drew her toward him, saying, "Why,
+marrying rich, you little novice.  For instance, if one of these days
+you should be my little wife, I dare say your mother would think you
+had made a brilliant match!" and the well-preserved gentleman of forty
+glanced complacently at himself in the mirror thinking how probable it
+was that his youthfulness would be unimpaired for at least ten years to
+come!
+
+Anna laughed, for to her his words then conveyed no serious meaning,
+but with more than her usual quickness she replied, that "she would as
+soon marry her grandfather."
+
+With Mrs. Livingstone the reader is partially acquainted.  In her youth
+she had been pretty, and now at thirty-eight she was not without
+pretensions to beauty, notwithstanding her sallow complexion and sunken
+eyes, Her hair, which was very abundant, was bright and glossy, and her
+mouth, in which the dentist had done his best, would have been
+handsome, had it not been for a certain draw at the corners, which gave
+it a scornful and rather disagreeable expression.  In her disposition
+she was overbearing and tyrannical, fond of ruling, and deeming her
+husband a monster of ingratitude if ever in any way he manifested a
+spirit of rebellion.  Didn't she marry him?  and now they were married,
+didn't her money support him?  And wasn't it exceedingly amiable in her
+always to speak of their children as _ours_!  But as for the rest,
+'twas _my_ house, _my_ servants, _my_ carriage, and _my_ horses.  All
+_mine_--"Mrs. John Livingstone's--Miss Matilda Richards that was!"
+
+Occasionally, however, her husband's spirit was roused, and then, after
+a series of tears, sick-headaches, and then spasms, "Miss Matilda
+Richards that Was" was compelled to yield her face for many days
+wearing the look of a much-injured, heart-broken woman.  Still her
+influence over him was great, else she had never so effectually
+weakened every tie which bound him to his native home, making him
+ashamed of his parents and of everything pertaining to them.  When her
+husband first wrote, to her that his father was dead and that he had
+promised to take charge of his mother and 'Lena, she new into a violent
+rage, which was increased ten-fold when she received his second letter,
+wherein he announced his intention of bringing them home in spite of
+her.  Bursting into tears she declared "she'd leave the house before
+she'd have it filled up with a lot of paupers.  Who did John Nichols
+think he was, and who did he think she was!  Besides that, where was he
+going to put them? for there wasn't a place for them that she knew of!"
+
+"Why, mother," said Anna who was pleased with the prospect of a new
+grandmother and cousin, "Why, mother, what a story.  There's the two
+big chambers and bedrooms, besides the one next to Carrie's and mine.
+Oh, do put them in there.  It'll be so nice to have grandma and cousin
+'Lena so near me."
+
+"Anna Livingstone!" returned the indignant lady, "Never let me hear you
+say grandma and cousin again."
+
+"But they be grandma and cousin," persisted Anna, while her mother
+commenced lamenting the circumstance which had made them so, wishing,
+as she had often done before, that she had never married John Nichols.
+
+"I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so," slyly whispered
+John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion.
+
+Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother's last remark
+awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, causing her to
+wonder whose little girl she would have been, her father's or mother's,
+in case they had each married some one else!  As there was no one whose
+opinion Anna dared to ask, the question is undoubtedly to this day,
+with her, unsolved.
+
+The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger of the day
+before was somewhat abated, and knowing from past experience that it
+was useless to resist her husband when once he was determined, she
+wisely concluded that as they were now probably on the road, it was
+best to try to endure, for a time, at least, what could not well be
+helped.  And now arose the perplexing question, "What should she do
+with them? where should she put them that they would be the most out of
+the way? for she could never suffer them to be round when she had
+company."  The chamber of which Anna had spoken was out of the
+question, for it was too nice, and besides that, it was reserved for
+the children of her New Orleans friends, who nearly every summer came
+up to visit her.
+
+At the rear of the building was a long, low room, containing a
+fireplace and two windows, which looked out upon the negro quarters and
+the hemp fields beyond.  This room, which in the summer was used for
+storing feather-beds, blankets, and so forth, was plastered, but minus
+either paper or paint.  Still it was quite comfortable, "better than
+they were accustomed to at home," Mrs. Livingstone said, and this she
+decided to give them.  Accordingly the negroes were set at work
+scrubbing the floor, washing the windows, and scouring the sills, until
+the room at least possessed the virtue of being clean.  A faded carpet,
+discarded as good for nothing, and over which the rats had long held
+their nightly revels, was brought to light, shaken, mended, and nailed
+down--then came a bedstead, which Mrs. Livingstone had designed as a
+Christmas gift to one of the negroes, but which of course would do well
+enough for her mother-in-law.  Next followed an old wooden
+rocking-chair, whose ancestry Anna had tried in vain to trace, and
+which Carrie had often proposed burning.  This, with two or three more
+chairs of a later date, a small wardrobe, and a square table, completed
+the furniture of the room, if we except the plain muslin curtains which
+shaded the windows, destitute of blinds.  Taking it by itself, the room
+looked tolerably well, but when compared with the richly furnished
+apartments around it, it seemed meager and poor indeed; "but if they
+wanted anything better, they could get it themselves.  They were
+welcome to make any alterations they chose."
+
+This mode of reasoning hardly satisfied Anna, and unknown to her mother
+she took from her own chamber a handsome hearth-rug, and carrying it to
+her grandmother's room, laid it before the fireplace.  Coming
+accidentally upon a roll of green paper, she, with the help of Corinda,
+a black girl, made some shades for the windows, which faced the west,
+rendering the room intolerably hot during the summer season.  Then, at
+the suggestion of Corinda, she looped back the muslin curtains with
+some green ribbons, which she had intended using for her "dolly's
+dress."  The bare appearance of the table troubled her, but by
+rummaging, she brought to light a cast-off spread, which, though soiled
+and worn, was on one side quite handsome.
+
+"Now, if we only had something for the mantel," said she; "it seems so
+empty."
+
+Corinda thought a moment, then rolling up the whites of her eyes,
+replied, "Don't you mind them little pitchers" (meaning vases) "which
+Master Atherton done gin you?  They'd look mighty fine up thar, full of
+sprigs and posies."
+
+Without hesitating a moment Anna brought the vases, and as she did not
+know the exact time when her grandmother would arrive, she determined
+to fill them with fresh flowers every morning.
+
+"There, it looks a heap better, don't it, Carrie?" said she to her
+sister, who chanced to be passing the door and looked in.
+
+"You must be smart," answered Carrie, "taking so much pains just for
+them; and as I live, if you haven't got those elegant vases that
+Captain Atherton gave you for a birthday present!  I know mother won't
+like it.  I mean to tell her;" and away she ran with the important news.
+
+"There, I told you so," said she, quickly returning.  "She says you
+carry them straight back and let the room alone."
+
+Anna began to cry, saying "the vases were hers, and she should think
+she might do what she pleased with them."
+
+"What did you go and blab for, you great for shame, you?" exclaimed
+John Jr., suddenly appearing in the doorway, at the same time giving
+Carrie a push, which set her to crying, and brought Mrs. Livingstone to
+the scene of action,
+
+"Can't my vases stay in here?  Nobody'll hurt 'em, and they'll look so
+pretty," said Anna.
+
+"Can't that hateful John behave, and let me alone?" said Carrie.
+
+"And can't Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks' business?"
+chimed in John Jr.
+
+"Oh Lordy, what a fuss," said Corinda, while poor Mrs. Livingstone,
+half distracted, took refuge under one of her dreadful headaches, and
+telling her children "to fight their own battles and let her alone,"
+returned to her room.
+
+"A body'd s'pose marster's kin warn't of no kind of count," said Aunt
+Milly, the head cook, to a group of sables, who, in the kitchen, were
+discussing the furniture of the "trump'ry room," as they were in the
+habit of calling the chamber set apart for Mrs. Nichols.  "Yes, they
+would s'pose they warn't of no kind o' count, the way miss goes on,
+ravin' and tarin' and puttin' 'em off with low-lived truck that we
+black folks wouldn't begin to tache with the tongs.  Massy knows ef my
+ole mother warn't dead and gone to kingdom come, I should never think
+o' sarvin' her so, and I don't set myself up to be nothin' but an old
+nigger, and a black one at that.  But Lor' that's the way with more'n
+half the white folks.  They jine the church, and then they think they
+done got a title deed to one of them houses up in heaven (that nobody
+ever built) sure enough.  Goin' straight thar, as fast as a span of
+race-horses can carry 'em.  Ki!  Won't they be disappointed, some on
+'em, and Miss Matilda 'long the rest, when she drives up, hosses all a
+reekin' sweat, and spects to walk straight into the best room, but is
+told to go to the kitchen and turn hoe-cakes for us niggers, who are
+eatin' at the fust table, with silver forks and napkins----?"
+
+Here old Milly stopped to breathe, and her daughter Vine, who had
+listened breathlessly to her mother's description of the "good time
+coming," asked "when these things come to pass, if Miss Carrie wouldn't
+have to swing the feathers over the table to keep off the flies,
+instead of herself?"
+
+"Yes, that she will, child," returned her mother; "Things is all gwine
+to be changed in the wink of your eye.  Miss Anna read that very tex'
+to me last Sunday and I knew in a minit what it meant.  Now thar's Miss
+Anna, blessed lamb.  She's one of 'em that'll wear her white gowns and
+stay in t'other room, with her face shinin' like an ile lamp!"
+
+While this interesting conversation was going on in the kitchen, John
+Jr., in the parlor was teasing his mother for money, with which to go
+up to Lexington the next day.  "You may just as well give it to me
+without any fuss," said he, "for if you don't, I'll get my bills at the
+Phoenix charged.  The old man is good, and they'll trust.  But then a
+feller feels more independent when he can pay down, and treat a friend,
+if he likes; so hand over four or five Vs."
+
+At first Mrs. Livingstone refused, but her head ached so hard and her
+"nerves trembled so," that she did not feel equal to the task of
+contending with John Jr., who was always sure in the end to have his
+own way.  Yielding at last to his importunities, she gave him fifteen
+dollars, charging him to "keep out of bad company and be a good boy."
+
+"Trust me for that," said he, and pulling the tail of Anna's pet
+kitten, upsetting Carrie's work-box, poking a black baby's ribs with
+his walking cane, and knocking down a cob-house, which "Thomas
+Jefferson" had been all day building, he mounted his favorite
+"Firelock," and together with a young negro, rode off.
+
+"The Lord send us a little peace now," said Aunt Milly, tossing her
+squalling baby up in the air, and telling Thomas Jefferson not to cry,
+"for his young master was done gone off."
+
+"And I hope to goodness he'll stay off a spell," she added, "for thar's
+ole Sam to pay the whole time he's at home, and if ever thar was a
+tickled critter in this world it's me, when he clar's out."
+
+"I'm glad, too," said Anna, who had been sent to the kitchen to stop
+the screaming, "and I wish he'd stay ever so long, for I don't take a
+bit of comfort when he's at home."
+
+"Great hateful!  I wish he didn't live here," said Carrie, gathering up
+her spools, thimble and scissors, while Mrs. Livingstone, feeling that
+his absence had taken a load from her shoulders, settled herself upon
+her silken lounge and tried to sleep.
+
+Amid all this rejoicing at his departure, John Jr.  put spurs to the
+fleet Firelock, who soon carried him to Lexington, where, as we have
+seen, he came unexpectedly upon his father, who, not daring to trust
+him on horseback, lest he should play the truant, took him into the
+stage with himself, leaving Firelock to the care of the negro.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+THE ARRIVAL.
+
+"Oh, mother, get up quick--the stage has driven up at the gate, and I
+reckon pa has come," said Anna, bursting into the room where her
+mother, who was suffering from a headache, was still in bed.
+
+Raising herself upon her elbow, and pushing aside the rich, heavy
+curtains, Mrs. Livingstone looked out upon the mud-bespattered
+vehicle, from which a leg, encased in a black and white stocking, was
+just making its egress.  "Oh, heavens!" said she, burying her face
+again in the downy pillows.  Woman's curiosity, however, soon
+prevailed over all other feelings, and again looking out she obtained
+a full view of her mother-in-law, who, having emerged from the coach,
+was picking out her boxes, trunks, and so forth.  When they were all
+found, Mr. Livingstone ordered two negroes to carry them to the side
+piazza, where they were soon mounted by three or four little darkies,
+Thomas Jefferson among the rest.
+
+"John, _John_" said Mrs. Nichols, "them niggers won't scent my
+things, will they?"
+
+"Don't talk, granny," whispered 'Lena, painfully conscious of the
+curious eyes fixed upon them by the bevy of blacks, who had come out
+to greet their master, and who with sidelong glances at each other,
+were inspecting the new comers.
+
+"Don't talk! why not?" said Mrs. Nichols, rather sharply.  "This is a
+free country I suppose."  Then bethinking herself, she added quickly,
+"Oh, I forgot, 'taint free _here_!"
+
+After examining the satchel and finding that the night gown sleeve
+was safe, Mrs. Nichols took up her line of march for the house,
+herself carrying her umbrella and band-box, which she would not
+intrust to the care of the negroes, "as like enough they'd break the
+umberell, or squash her caps."
+
+"The trumpery room is plenty good enough for 'em," thought Corinda,
+retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of
+her contempt.
+
+The moment 'Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, "Oh,
+mercy, which is the oldest?" and truly, poor 'Lena did present a
+sorry figure,
+
+Her bonnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had received an ugly
+crook in front, which neither her grandmother or uncle had noticed,
+and of which John Jr. would not tell her, thinking that the worse she
+looked the more fun he would have!  Her skirts were not very full,
+and her dress hung straight around her, making her of the same
+bigness from her head to her feet.  Her shoes, which had been given
+to her by one of the neighbors, were altogether too large, and it was
+with considerable difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as
+they were a present, Mrs. Nichols said "it was a pity not to get all
+the good out of them she could."
+
+In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Livingstone, moody,
+silent, and cross.  Behind them was John Jr., mimicking first 'Lena's
+gait and then his grandmother's.  The negroes, convulsed with
+laughter, darted hither and thither, running against and over each
+other, and finally disappearing, some behind the house and some into
+the kitchen, and all retaining a position from which they could have
+a full view of the proceedings.  On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie,
+the one with her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, and the other
+with her mouth open, astounded at the unlooked-for spectacle.
+
+"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?" groaned Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"Do?  Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your new relations:
+that's what I should do," answered John Jr., who, tired of mimicking,
+had run forward, and now rushed unceremoniously into his mother's
+sleeping-room, leaving the door open behind him.
+
+"John Livingstone, what do you mean?" said she, "shut that door this
+minute."
+
+Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he
+reached just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters.
+
+"This is Carrie, and this is Anna," said Mr. Livingstone, pointing to
+each one as he pronounced her name.
+
+Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols
+exclaimed, "Now I want to know if this is Car'line.  I'd no idee she
+was so big.  You pretty well, Car'line?"
+
+Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother's fingers,
+and with stately gravity replied that she was well.
+
+Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, "And this is Anny.
+Looks weakly 'pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she
+was fitty.  Never have fits, do you, dear?"
+
+"No, ma'am," answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from laughing
+outright.
+
+Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that
+she was sick, started for her room.
+
+"Sick?  Is your marm sick?" asked Mrs. Nichols of John Jr.  "Wall, I
+guess I'll go right in and sea if I can't do somethin' for her.  I'm
+tolerable good at nussin'."
+
+Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered unannounced
+into the presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, who, with a little
+shriek, covered her head with the bed-clothes.  Knowing that she
+meant well, and never dreaming that she was intruding, Mrs. Nichols
+walked up to the bedside, saying, "How de do, 'Tilda?  I suppose you
+know I'm your mother--come all the way from Massachusetts to live
+with you.  What is the matter?  Do you take anything for your
+sickness?"
+
+A groan was Mrs. Livingstone's only answer.
+
+"Little hystericky, I guess," suggested Mrs. Nichols, adding that
+"settin' her feet in middlin' hot water is good for that."
+
+"She is nervous, and the sight of strangers makes her worse.  So I
+reckon you'd better go out for the present," said Mr. Livingstone,
+who really pitied his wife.  Then calling Corinda, he bade her show
+his mother to her room.
+
+Corinda obeyed, and Mrs. Nichols followed her, asking her on the way
+"what her surname was, how old she was, if she knew how to read, and
+if she hadn't a good deal rather be free than to be a slave!" to
+which Corinda replied, that "she didn't know what a surname meant,
+that she didn't know how old she was, that she didn't know how to
+read, and that she didn't know whether she'd like to be free or not,
+but reckoned she shouldn't."
+
+"A half-witted gal that," thought Mrs. Nichols, "and I guess 'Tilda
+don't set much store by her."  Then dropping into the wooden
+rocking-chair and laying aside her bonnet, she for the first time
+noticed that 'Lena was not with her, and asked Corinda to go for her.
+
+Corinda complied, leaving the room just in time to stifle a laugh, as
+she saw Mrs. Nichols stoop down to examine the hearth-rug, wondering
+"how much it cost when 'twas new."
+
+We left 'Lena standing on the steps of the piazza.
+
+At a glance she had taken in the whole--had comprehended that there
+was no affinity whatever between herself and the objects around her,
+and a wild, intense longing filled her heart to be once more among
+her native hills.  She had witnessed the merriment of the blacks, the
+scornful curl of Carrie's lip, the half-suppressed ridicule of Anna,
+when they met her grandmother, and now uncertain of her own
+reception, she stood before her cousins not knowing whether to
+advance or run away.  For a moment there was an awkward silence, and
+then John Jr., bent on mischief, whispered to Carrie, "Look at that
+pinch in her bonnet, and just see her shoes!  Big as little
+sailboats!"
+
+This was too much for Lena.  She already disliked John Jr., and now,
+flying into a violent passion, she drew off her shoes, and hurling
+them at the young gentleman's head fled away, away, she knew not,
+cared not whither, so that she got out of sight and hearing.  Coming
+at last to the arbor bridge across the brook in the garden, she
+paused for breath, and throwing herself upon a seat, burst into a
+flood of tears.  For several minutes she sobbed so loudly that she
+did not hear the sound of footsteps upon the graveled walk.  Anna had
+followed her, partly out of curiosity, and partly out of pity, the
+latter of which preponderated when she saw how bitterly her cousin
+was weeping.  Going up to her she said, "Don t cry so, 'Lena.  Look
+up and talk.  It's Anna, your cousin."
+
+'Lena had not yet recovered from her angry fit, and thinking Anna
+only came to tease her, and perhaps again ridicule her bonnet, she
+tore the article, from her head, and bending it up double, threw it
+into the stream, which carried it down to the fish-pond, where for
+two or three hours it furnished amusement for some little negroes,
+who, calling it a crab, fished for it with hook and line!  For a
+moment Anna stood watching the bonnet as it sailed along down the
+stream, thinking it looked better there than on its owner's head, but
+wondering why 'Lena had thrown it away.  Then again addressing her
+cousin, she asked why she had done so?
+
+"It's a homely old thing, and I hate it," answered 'Lena, again
+bursting into tears.  "I hate everybody, and I wish I was dead, or
+back in Massachusetts, I don't care which!"
+
+With her impressions of the "Bay State," where her mother said folks
+lived on "cold beans and codfish," Anna thought she should prefer the
+first alternative, but she did not say so; and after a little she
+tried again to comfort 'Lena, telling her "she liked her, or at least
+she was going to like her a heap."
+
+"No, you ain't," returned 'Lena.  "You laughed at me and granny both.
+I saw you do it, and you think I don't know anything, but I do.  I've
+been through Olney's geography, and Colburn's arithmetic twice!"
+
+This was more than Anna could say.  She had no scholarship of which
+to boast; but she had a heart brimful of love, and in reply to
+'Lena's accusation of having laughed at her, she replied, "I know I
+laughed, for grandma looked so funny I couldn't help it.  But I won't
+any more.  I pity you because your mother is dead, and you never had
+any father, ma says."
+
+This made 'Lena cry again, while Anna continued, "Pa'll buy you some
+new clothes I reckon, and if he don't, I'll give you some of mine,
+for I've got heaps, and they'll fit you I most know.  Here's my
+mark--" pointing to a cut upon the door-post.  "Here's mine, and
+Carrie's and brother's.  Stand up and see if you don't measure like I
+do,"
+
+'Lena complied, and to Anna's great joy they were just of a height.
+
+"I'm so glad," said she.  "Now, come to my room and Corinda will fix
+you up mighty nice before mother sees you."
+
+Hand-in-hand the two girls started for the house, but had not gone
+far when they heard some one calling, "Ho, Miss 'Lena, whar is you?
+Ole miss done want you."  At the same time Corinda made her
+appearance round the corner of the piazza.
+
+"Here, Cora," said Anna.  "Come with me to my room; I want you."
+
+With a broad grin Corinda followed her young mistress, while 'Lena,
+never having been accustomed to any negro save the one with whom many
+New England children are threatened when they cry, clung closer to
+Anna's side, occasionally casting a timid glance toward the
+dark-browed girl who followed them.  In the upper hall they met with
+Carrie, who in passing 'Lena held back her dress, as if fearing
+contamination from a contact with her cousin's plainer garments.
+Painfully alive to the slightest insult, 'Lena reddened, while Anna
+said, "Never mind--that's just like Cad, but nobody cares for _her_."
+
+Thus reassured 'Lena followed on, until they reached Anna's room,
+which they were about to enter, when the shrill voice of Mrs. Nichols
+fell upon their ears, calling, "'Leny, 'Leny, where upon airth is
+she?"
+
+"Let's go to her first," said 'Lena, and leading the way Anna soon
+ushered her into her grandmother's room which, child as she was,
+'Lena readily saw was far different from the handsome apartments of
+which she had obtained a passing glance.
+
+But Mrs. Nichols had not thought of this--and was doubtless better
+satisfied with her present quarters than she would have been with the
+best furnished chamber in the house.  The moment her granddaughter
+appeared, she exclaimed, "'Leny Rivers, where have you been?  I was
+worried to death, for fear you might be runnin' after some of them
+paltry niggers.  And now whilst I think on't, I charge you never to
+go a nigh 'em; I'd no idee they were such half-naked, nasty critters."
+
+This prohibition was a novelty to Anna, who spent many happy hours
+with her sable-hued companions, never deeming herself the worse for
+it.  Her grandmother's first remark, however, struck her still more
+forcibly, and she immediately asked, "Grandma, what did you call
+'Lena, just now? 'Lena what?"
+
+"I called her by her name, 'Lena Rivers.  What should I call her?"
+returned Mrs. Nichols.
+
+"Why, I thought her name was 'Lena Nichols; ma said 'twas," answered
+Anna.
+
+Mrs. Nichols was very sensitive to any slight cast upon 'Lena's
+birth, and she rather tartly informed Anna, that "her mother didn't
+know everything," adding that "'Lena's father was Mr. Rivers, and
+there wasn't half so much reason why she should be called Nichols as
+there was why Anna should, for that was her father's name, the one by
+which he was baptized, the same day with Nancy Scovandyke, who's jest
+his age, only he was born about a quarter past four in the morning,
+and she not till some time in the afternoon!"
+
+"But where is Mr. Rivers?" asked Anna more interested in him than in
+the exact minute of her father's birth.
+
+"The Lord only knows," returned Mrs. Nichols.  "Little girls
+shouldn't ask too many questions."
+
+This silenced Anna, and satisfied her that there was some mystery
+connected with 'Lena.  The mention of Nancy Scovandyke reminded Mrs.
+Nichols of the dishes which that lady had packed away, and anxious to
+see if they were safe, she turned to 'Lena saying, "I guess we'll
+have time before dinner to unpack my trunks, for I want to know how
+the crockery stood the racket.  Anny, you run down and tell your pa
+to fetch 'em up here, that's a good girl."
+
+In her eagerness to know what those weather-beaten boxes contained,
+Anna forgot her scheme of dressing 'Lena, and ran down, not to call
+her father, but the black boy, Adam.  It took her a long time to find
+him, and Mrs. Nichols, growing impatient, determined to go herself,
+spite of 'Lena's entreaties that she would stay where she was.
+Passing down the long stairway, and out upon the piazza, she espied a
+negro girl on her hands and knees engaged in cleaning the steps with
+a cloth.  Instantly remembering her mop, she greatly lamented that
+she had left it behind--"'twould come so handy now," thought she, but
+there was no help for it.
+
+Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said,
+"Sissy, can you tell me where _John_ is?"
+
+Quickly "Sissy's" ivories became visible, as she replied, "We hain't
+got any such nigger as John."
+
+With a silent invective upon negroes in general, and this one in
+particular, Mrs. Nichols choked, stammered, and finally said, "I
+didn't ask for a _nigger_; I want your master, _John_!"
+
+Had the old lady been a Catholic, she would have crossed herself for
+thus early breaking her promise to Nancy Scovandyke.  As it was, she
+mentally asked forgiveness, and as the colored girl "didn't know
+where marster was," but "reckoned he had gone somewhar," she turned
+aside, and seeking her son's room, again entered unannounced.  Mrs.
+Livingstone, who was up and dressed, frowned darkly upon her visitor.
+But Mrs. Nichols did not heed it, and advancing forward, she said,
+"Do you feel any better, 'Tilda?  I'd keep kinder still to-day, and
+not try to do much, for if you feel any consarned about the
+housework, I'd just as lief see to't a little after dinner as not."
+
+"I have all confidence in Milly's management, and seldom trouble
+myself about the affairs of the kitchen," answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"Wall, then," returned her mother-in-law, nothing daunted, "Wall,
+then, mebby you'd like to have me come in and set with you a while."
+
+It would be impossible for us to depict Mrs. Livingstone's look of
+surprise and anger at this proposition.  Her face alternately flushed
+and then grew pale, until at last she found voice to say, "I greatly
+prefer being alone, madam.  It annoys me excessively to have any one
+round."
+
+"Considerable kind o' touchy," thought Mrs. Nichols, "but then the
+poor critter is sick, and I shan't lay it up agin her."
+
+Taking out her snuff-box, she offered it to her daughter, telling her
+that "like enough 'twould cure her headache."  Mrs. Livingstone's
+first impulse was to strike it from her mother's hand, but knowing
+how unladylike that would be, she restrained herself, and turning
+away her head, replied, "Ugh! no!  The very sight of it makes me
+sick."
+
+"How you do talk!  Wall, I've seen folks that it sarved jest so; but
+you'll get over it.  Now there was Nancy Scovandyke--did John ever
+say anything about her?  Wall, she couldn't bear snuff till after her
+disappointment--John told you, I suppose?"
+
+"No, madam, my husband has never told me anything concerning his
+eastern friends, neither do I wish to hear anything of them,"
+returned Mrs. Livingstone, her patience on the point of giving out.
+
+"Never told you nothin' about Nancy Scovandyke!  If that don't beat
+all!  Why, he was----"
+
+She was prevented from finishing the sentence, which would
+undoubtedly have raised a domestic breeze, when Anna came to tell her
+that the trunks were carried to her room.
+
+"I'll come right up then," said she, adding, more to herself than any
+one else, "If I ain't mistaken, I've got a little paper of saffron
+somewhere, which I mean to steep for 'Tilda.  Her skin looks desput
+jandissy!"
+
+When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife's room, he found her in a
+collapsed state of anger and mortification.
+
+"_John_ Nichols," said she, with a strong emphasis on the first word,
+which sounded very much like _Jarn_, "do you mean to kill me by
+bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room
+without knocking--calling me '_Tilda_, and prating about Nancy
+somebody----"
+
+John started.  His wife knew nothing of his _affaire du coeur_ with
+Miss Nancy, and for his own peace of mind 't was desirable that she
+should not.  Mentally resolving to give her a few hints, he
+endeavored to conciliate his wife, by saying that he knew "his mother
+was troublesome, but she must try not to notice her oddities."
+
+"I wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon me
+continually," returned his wife.  "I must either deep the doors
+locked, or live in constant terror."
+
+"It's bad, I know," said he, smoothing her glossy hair, "but then,
+she's old, you know.  Have you seen 'Lena?"
+
+"No, neither do I wish to, if she's at all like her grandmother,"
+answered Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"She's handsome," suggested Mr. Livingstone.
+
+"Pshaw! handsome!" repeated his wife, scornfully, while he replied,
+"Yes, handsomer than either of our daughters, and with the same
+advantages, I've no doubt she'd surpass them both."
+
+"Those advantages, then, she shall never have," returned Mrs.
+Livingstone, already jealous of a child she had only seen at a
+distance.
+
+Mr. Livingstone made no reply, but felt that he'd made a mistake in
+praising 'Lena, in whom he began to feel a degree of interest for
+which he could not account.  He did not know that way down in the
+depths of his heart, calloused over as it was by worldly selfishness,
+there was yet a tender spot, a lingering memory of his only sister
+whom 'Lena so strongly resembled.  If left to himself, he would
+undoubtedly have taken pride in seeing his niece improve, and as it
+was, he determined that she should at home receive the same
+instruction that his daughters did.  Perhaps he might not send her
+away to school.  He didn't know how that would be--his wife held the
+purse, and taking refuge behind that excuse, he for the present
+dismissed the subject.  (So much for marrying a _rich_ wife and
+nothing else.  This we throw in gratis!)
+
+Meantime grandma had returned to her room, at the door of which she
+found John Jr. and Carrie, both curious to know what was in those
+boxes, one of which had burst open and been tied up with a rope.
+
+"Come, children," said she, "don't stay out there--come in."
+
+"We prefer remaining here," said Carrie, in a tone and manner so
+nearly resembling her mother, that Mrs. Nichols could not refrain
+from saying, "chip of the old block!"
+
+"That's so, by cracky.  You've hit her this time, granny," exclaimed
+John Jr., snapping his fingers under Carrie's nose, which being
+rather long, was frequently a subject of his ridicule.
+
+"Let me be, John Livingstone," said Carrie, while 'Lena resolved
+never again to use the word "granny," which she knew her cousin had
+taken up on purpose to tease her.
+
+"Come, 'Lena, catch hold and help me untie this rope, I b'lieve the
+crockery's in here," said Mrs. Nichols to 'Lena, who soon opened the
+chest, disclosing to view as motley a variety of articles as is often
+seen.
+
+Among the rest was the "blue set," a part of her "setting out," as
+his grandmother told John Jr., at the same time dwelling at length
+upon their great value.  Mistaking Carrie's look of contempt for
+envy, Mrs. Nichols chucked her under the chin, telling her "May be
+there was something for her, if she was a good girl."
+
+"Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your head," said
+John Jr., vastly enjoying his sister's vexation.
+
+"Where does your marm keep her china?  I want to put this with it,"
+said Mrs. Nichols to Anna, who, uncertain what reply to make, looked
+at Carrie to answer for her.
+
+"I reckon mother don't want that old stuff stuck into her
+china-closet," said Carrie, elevating her nose to a height wholly
+satisfactory to John Jr., who unbuttoned one of his waistband buttons
+to give himself room to laugh.
+
+"Mortal sakes alive!  I wonder if she don't," returned Mrs. Nichols,
+beginning to get an inkling of Carrie's character, and the estimation
+in which her valuables were held.
+
+"Here's a nice little cupboard over the fireplace; I'd put them
+here," said 'Lena.
+
+"Yes," chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother and cousin;
+"yes, granny, put 'em there; the niggers are _awful critters_ to
+steal, and like enough you'd 'lose 'em if they sot in with marm's!"
+
+This argument prevailed.  The dishes were put away in the cupboard,
+'Lena thinking that with all his badness John Jr., was of some use
+after all.  At last, tired of looking on, Anna suggested to 'Lena,
+who did not seem to be helping matters forward much, that the should
+go and be dressed up as had been first proposed.  Readily divining
+her sister's intention, Carrie ran with it to her mother, who sent
+back word that "'Lena must mind her own affairs, and let Anna's
+dresses alone!"
+
+This undeserved thrust made 'Lena cry, while Anna declared "her
+mother never said any such thing," which Carrie understood as an
+insinuation that she had told a falsehood.  Accordingly a quarrel of
+words ensued between the two sisters, which was finally quelled by
+John Jr., who called to Carrie "to come down, as she'd got a letter
+from _Durward Bellmont_."
+
+Durward!  How that name made 'Lena's heart leap!  Was it _her_
+Durward--the boy in the cars?  She almost hoped not, for somehow the
+idea of his writing to Carrie was not a pleasant one.  At last
+summoning courage, she asked Anna who he was, and was told that he
+lived in Louisville with his stepfather, Mr. Graham, and that Carrie
+about two months before had met him in Frankfort at Colonel
+Douglass's, where she was in the habit of visiting.  "Colonel
+Douglass," continued Anna, "has got a right nice little girl whose
+name is Nellie.  Then there's Mabel Ross, a sort of cousin, who lives
+with them part of the time.  She's an orphan and a great heiress.
+You mustn't tell anybody for the world, but I overheard ma say that
+she wanted John to marry Mabel, she's so rich--but pshaw! he won't
+for she's awful babyish and ugly looking.  Captain Atherton is
+related to Nellie, and during the holidays she and Mabel are coming
+up to spend a week, and I'll bet Durward is coming too.  Cad teased
+him, and he said may be he would if he didn't go to college this
+fall.  I'll run down and see."
+
+Soon returning, she brought the news that it was as she had
+conjectured.  Durward, who was now travelling, was not going to
+college until the next fall and at Christmas he was coming to the
+country with his cousin.
+
+"Oh, I'm so glad," said Anna.  "We'll have a time, for ma'll invite
+them here, of course.  Cad thinks a heap of Durward, and I want so
+bad to see him.  Don't you?"
+
+'Lena made no direct reply, for much as she would like to see her
+_compagnon du voyage_, she felt an unwillingness to meet him in the
+presence of Carrie, who she knew would spare no pains to mortify her.
+Soon forgetting Durward, Anna again alluded to her plan of dressing
+'Lena, wishing "Cad would mind her own business."  Then, as a new
+idea entered her head, she brightened up, exclaiming, "I know what I
+can do.  I'll have Corinda curl your hair real pretty.  You've got
+beautiful hair.  A heap nicer than my yellow flax."
+
+'Lena offered no remonstrance, and Corinda, who came at the call of
+her young mistress, immediately commenced brushing and curling the
+bright, wavy hair which Anna had rightly called beautiful.  While
+this was going on, Grandma Nichols, who had always adhered to the
+good old puritanical custom of dining exactly at twelve o'clock,
+began to wonder why dinner was not forthcoming.  She had breakfasted
+in Versailles, but like many travelers, could not eat much at a
+hotel, and now her stomach clamored loudly for food.  Three times had
+she walked back and forth before what she supposed was the kitchen,
+and from which a savory smell of something was issuing, and at last
+determining to stop and reconnoiter, she started for the door.
+
+The northern reader at all acquainted with southern life, knows well
+that a kitchen there and a kitchen here are two widely different
+things--ours, particularly in the country, being frequently used as a
+dining-room, while a southern lady would almost as soon think of
+eating in the barn as in her cook-room.  Like most other planters,
+Mr. Livingstone's kitchen was separate and at some little distance
+from the main building, causing grandma to wonder "how the poor
+critters managed to carry victuals back and to when it was cold and
+slippery."
+
+When Aunt Milly, who was up to her elbows in dough, saw her visitor
+approaching, she exclaimed, "Lor'-a-mighty, if thar ain't ole miss
+coming straight into this lookin' hole!  Jeff, you quit that ar'
+pokin' in dem ashes, and knock Lion out that kittle; does you har?
+And you, Polly," speaking to a superannuated negress who was sitting
+near the table, "you just shove that ar' piece of dough, I done save
+to bake for you and me, under your char, whar she won't see it."
+
+Polly complied, and by this time Mrs. Nichols was at the door,
+surveying the premises, and thinking how differently she'd make
+things look after a little.
+
+"Does missus want anything?" asked Aunt Milly, and grandma replied,
+"Yes, I want to know if 'tain't nigh about _noon_."
+
+This is a term never used among the blacks, and rolling up her white
+eyes, Aunt Milly answered, "You done got me now, sartin, for this
+chile know nothin' what you mean more'n the deadest critter livin'."
+
+As well as she could, Mrs. Nichols explained her meaning, and Aunt
+Milly replied, "Oh, yes, yes, I know now.  'Is it most _dinner time?'
+Yes--dinner'll be done ready in an hour.  We never has it till two no
+day, and when we has company not till three."
+
+Confident that she should starve, Mrs. Nichols advanced a step or two
+into the kitchen, whereupon Aunt Milly commenced making excuses,
+saying, "she was gwine to clar up one of these days, and then if
+Thomas Jefferson and Marquis De Lafayette didn't quit that litterin'
+they'd cotch it"
+
+Attracted by the clean appearance of Aunt Polly, who, not having to
+work, prided herself upon always being neatly dressed, Mrs. Nichols
+walked up to her, and, to use a vulgar expression, the two old ladies
+were soon "hand-in-glove," Mrs. Nichols informing her of her loss,
+and how sorry Nancy Scovandyke would feel when she heard of it, and
+ending by giving her the full particulars of her husband's sickness
+and death.  In return Aunt Polly said that "she was born and bred
+along with ole Marster Richards, Miss Matilda's father, and that she,
+too, had buried a husband."
+
+With a deep sigh, Mrs. Nichols was about, to commiserate her, when
+Aunt Polly cut her short by saying, "'Twant of no kind o' count, as
+she never relished him much."
+
+"Some drunken critter, I warrant," thought Mrs. Nichols, at the same
+time asking what his name was.
+
+"Jeems," said Aunt Polly.
+
+This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked for the
+surname, "Jeems what?"
+
+"Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein' he 'longed to ole Marster Atherton,"
+said Polly.
+
+For a time Mrs. Nichols had forgotten her hunger but the habit of
+sixty years was not so easily broken and she now hinted so strongly
+of the emptiness of her stomach that Aunt Polly, emboldened by her
+familiarity, said, "I never wait for the rest, but have my cup of tea
+or coffee just when I feel like it, and if missus wouldn't mind
+takin' a bite with a nigger, she's welcome."
+
+"Say nothin' about it.  We shall all be white in heaven."
+
+"Dat am de trufe," muttered Milly, mentally assigning Mrs. Nichols a
+more exalted occupation than that of turning hoe-cakes!
+
+Two cups and saucers were forthwith produced, Milly acting as a
+waiter for fear Aunt Polly would leave her seat and so disclose to
+view the loaf of bread which had been hidden under the chair!  Some
+coffee was poured from the pot, which still stood on the stove, and
+then the little negroes, amused with the novelty of the thing, ran
+shouting and yelling that, "ole miss was eatin' in the kitchen 'long
+with Lion, Aunt Polly and the other dogs!"
+
+The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, thinking
+"what sights of comfort she should take with _Mrs. Atherton_," whom
+she pronounced to be "a likely, clever woman as ever was."
+
+Scarcely had she reached her room when the dinner-bell rang, every
+note falling like an ice-bolt on the heart of 'Lena, who, though
+hungry like her grandmother, still greatly dreaded the dinner,
+fearing her inability to acquit herself creditably.  Corinda had
+finished her hair, and Anna, looking over her wardrobe and coming
+upon the black dress which her father had purchased for her, had
+insisted upon 'Lena's wearing it.  It was of rather more modern make
+than any of her other dresses, and when her toilet was completed, she
+looked uncommonly well.  Still she trembled violently as Anna led her
+to the dining-room.
+
+Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made their
+appearance, but the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped in a
+rose-colored shawl, which John Jr., said "she wore to give a delicate
+tint to her yellow complexion."  She was in the worst of humors,
+having just been opening her husband's trunk, where she found the
+numerous articles which had been stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke.
+Very angrily she had ordered them removed from her sight, and at this
+very moment the little negroes in the yard were playing with the
+cracked bellows, calling them a "blubber," and filling them with
+water to see it run out!
+
+Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen 'Lena,
+and now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna
+said, "Mother, mother, this is 'Lena.  Look at her."
+
+Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which
+she was prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for 'Lena was
+not a child to be looked upon and despised.  Plain and humble as was
+her dress, there was something in her fine, open face, which at once
+interested and commanded respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father
+had felt it; and his mother felt it too, but it awoke in her a
+feeling of bitterness as she thought how the fair young girl before
+her might in time rival her daughters.  At a glance, she saw that
+'Lena was beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of
+intellect as of feature and form.
+
+"Yes," thought she, "husband was right when he said that, with the
+same advantages, she'd soon outstrip her cousins--but it shall never
+be--_never_," and the white teeth shut firmly together, as the cold,
+proud woman bowed a welcome.
+
+At this moment Mrs. Nichols appeared.  Stimulated by the example of
+'Lena, she, too, had changed her dress, and now in black bombazine,
+white muslin cap, and shining silk apron, she presented so
+respectable an appearance that her son's face instantly brightened.
+
+"Come, mother, we are waiting for you," said he, as she stopped on
+her way to ask Vine, the _fly girl_, "how she did, and if it wasn't
+hard work to swing them feathers."
+
+Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, "Dun know, miss."
+
+Taking her seat next to her son, Mrs. Nichols said when offered a
+plate of soup, "I don't often eat broth, besides that, I ain't much
+hungry, as I've just been takin' a bite with _Miss Atherton_?"
+
+"With whom?" asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in
+the same breath.
+
+"With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the
+kitchen," said Mrs. Nichols.
+
+The scowl on Mrs. Livingstone's face darkened visibly, while her
+husband, thinking it time to speak, said, "It is my wish, mother,
+that you keep away from the kitchen.  It does the negroes no good to
+be meddled with, and besides that, when you are hungry the servants
+will take you something."
+
+"Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably," muttered Carrie, with
+all the air of a young lady of twenty.
+
+"Hold on to your nose, Cad," whispered John Jr., thereby attracting
+his sister's attention to himself.
+
+By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared.
+
+"What a noble great feller.  Gobbler, ain't it?" asked Mrs. Nichols,
+touching the turkey with the knife.
+
+John Jr., roared, and was ordered from the table by his father, while
+'Lena, who stepped on her grandmother's toes to keep her from
+talking, was told by that lady "to keep her feet still."  Along with
+the desert came ice-cream, which Mrs. Nichols had never before
+tasted, and now fancying that she was dreadfully burned, she quickly
+deposited her first mouthful upon her plate.
+
+"What's the matter, grandma? Can't you eat it?" asked Anna.
+
+"Yes, I kin eat it, but I don't hanker arter it," answered her
+grandmother, pushing the plate aside.
+
+Dinner being over, Mrs. Nichols returned to her room, but soon
+growing weary, she started out to view the premises.  Coming suddenly
+upon a group of young negroes, she discovered her bellows, the water
+dripping from the nose, while a little farther on she espied 'Lena's
+bonnet, which the negroes had at last succeeded in catching, and
+which, wet as it was, now adorned the head of Thomas Jefferson!  In a
+trice the old lady's principles were forgotten, and she cuffed the
+negroes with a right good will, hitting Jeff, the hardest, and, as a
+matter of course, making him yell the loudest.  Out came Aunt Milly,
+scolding and muttering about "white folks tendin' to thar own
+business," and reversing her decision with regard to Mrs. Nichols'
+position in the next world.  Cuff, the watch-dog, whose kennell was
+close by, set up a tremendous howling, while John Jr., always on
+hand, danced a jig to the sound of the direful music.
+
+"For heaven's sake, husband, go out and see what's the matter," said
+Mrs. Livingstone, slightly alarmed at the unusual noise.
+
+John complied, and reached the spot just in time to catch a glimpse
+of John Jr.'s heels as he gave the finishing touch to his exploit,
+while Mrs. Nichols, highly incensed, marched from the field of battle
+with the bonnet and bellows, thinking "if them niggers was only her'n
+they'd catch it!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+MALCOLM EVERETT.
+
+It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to
+enumerate the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone
+were compelled to endure from their mother, who gradually came to
+understand her true position in the family.  One by one her ideas of
+teaching them economy were given up, as was also all hopes of ever
+being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her son's request,
+she had ceased to call "'Tilda."
+
+"Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone," said she, "but I shan't.
+I'll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she chooses."
+
+Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every
+time she heard it.  Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow
+a disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had
+requested his mother to keep it from his wife, and she, appreciating
+his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting the while the ill-fortune
+which had prevented Nancy from being her daughter-in-law, and
+dwelling frequently upon the comfort she should take were Nancy there
+in Matilda's place.  On the whole, however, she was tolerably
+contented; the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last,
+like most northern people, she fell in with the habits of those
+around her.  Still her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and
+many a letter, wonderful for its composition and orthography, found
+its way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote in return that "some time or
+other she should surely visit Kentucky," asking further if the "big
+bugs" didn't prefer eastern teachers for their children, and hinting
+at her desire to engage in that capacity when she came south!
+
+"Now, that's the very thing," exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding the
+letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting.  "Nancy's
+larnin' is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and Anny, and I mean
+to speak to John about it right away."
+
+"I wouldn't do any such thing," said 'Lena, seeing at a glance how
+such a proposal would be received.
+
+"Why not?" asked Mrs. Nichols, and 'Lena replied, "I don't think
+Nancy would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and besides that, they've
+engaged a teacher, a Mr. Everett, and expect him next week."
+
+"You don't say so?" returned Mrs. Nichols.  "I never hearn a word
+on't.  Where 'bouts is he from, and how much do they give him a week?"
+
+The latter 'Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that "she
+believed he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, New York."
+
+"Why, Nancy Scovandyke's sister lives there.  I wouldn't wonder if he
+knew her."
+
+"Very likely," returned Lena, catching her bonnet and hurrying off to
+ride with Captain Atherton and Anna.
+
+As we have once before observed, Anna was a great favorite with the
+captain, who had petted her until John Jr. teased her unmercifully,
+calling him her gray-haired lover, and the like.  This made Anna
+exceedingly sensitive, and now when the captain called for her to
+ride, as he frequently did, she refused to go unless the invitation
+was also extended to 'Lena, who in this way got many a pleasant ride
+around the country.  She was fast learning to like Kentucky, and
+would have been very happy had her aunt and Carrie been a little more
+gracious.  But the former seldom spoke to her, and the latter only to
+ridicule something which she said or did.
+
+Many and amusing were the disputes between the two girls concerning
+their peculiarities of speech, Carrie bidding 'Lena "quit her Yankee
+habit of eternally _guessing_," and 'Lena retorting that "she would
+when Carrie stopped her everlasting _reckoning_."  To avoid the
+remarks of the neighbors, who she knew were watching her narrowly,
+Mrs. Livingstone had purchased 'Lena two or three dresses, which,
+though greatly inferior to those worn by Carrie and Anna, were still
+fashionably made, and so much improved 'Lena's looks, that her
+manners improved, also, for what child does not appear to better
+advantage when conscious of looking well?  More than once had her
+uncle's hand rested for a moment on her brown curls, while his
+thoughts were traversing the past, and in fancy his fingers were
+again straying among the silken locks now resting in the grave.  It
+would seem as if the mother from her coffin was pleading for her
+child, for all the better nature of Mr. Livingstone was aroused; and
+when he secured the services of Mr. Everett, who was highly
+recommended both as a scholar and gentleman, he determined that 'Lena
+should share the same advantages with his daughters.  To this Mrs.
+Livingstone made no serious objection, for as Mr. Everett would teach
+in the house, it would not do to debar 'Lena from the privilege of
+attending his school; and as the highest position to which she could
+aspire was to be governess in some private family, she felt willing,
+she said, that she should have a chance of acquiring the common
+branches.
+
+And now Mr. Everett was daily expected.  Anna, who had no fondness
+for books, greatly dreaded his arrival, thinking within herself how
+many pranks she'd play off upon him, provided 'Lena would lend a
+helping hand, which she much doubted.  John Jr., too, who for a time,
+at least, was to be placed under Mr. Everett's instruction, felt in
+no wise eager for his arrival, fearing, as he told 'Lena that
+"between the 'old man' and the tutor, he would be kept a little too
+straight for a gentleman of his habits;" and it was with no
+particular emotions of pleasure that he and Anna saw the stage stop
+before the gate one pleasant morning toward the middle of November.
+Running to one of the front windows, Carrie, 'Lena, and Anna watched
+their new teacher, each after her own fashion commenting upon his
+appearance.
+
+"Ugh," exclaimed Anna, "what a green, boyish looking thing!  I reckon
+nobody's going to be afraid of him."
+
+"I say he's real handsome," said Carrie, who being thirteen years of
+age, had already, in her own mind, practiced many a little coquetry
+upon the stranger.
+
+"I like him," was 'Lena's brief remark.
+
+Mr. Everett was a pale, intellectual looking man, scarcely twenty
+years of age, and appearing still younger so that Anna was not wholly
+wrong when she called him boyish.  Still there was in his large black
+eye a firmness and decision which bespoke the man strong within him,
+and which put to flight all of Anna's preconceived notions of
+rebellion.  With the utmost composure he returned Mrs. Livingstone's
+greeting, and the proud lady half bit her lip with vexation as she
+saw how little he seemed awed by her presence.
+
+Malcolm Everett was not one to acknowledge superiority where there
+was none, and though ever polite toward Mrs. Livingstone, there was
+something in his manner which forbade her treating him as aught save
+an equal.  He was not to be trampled down, and for once in her life
+Mrs. Livingstone had found a person who would neither cringe to her
+nor flatter.  The children were not presented to him until dinner
+time, when, with the air of a young desperado, John Jr. marched into
+the dining-room, eying, his teacher askance, calculating his
+strength, and returning his greeting with a simple nod.  Mr. Everett
+scanned him from head to foot, and then turned to Carrie half smiling
+at the great dignity which she assumed.  With 'Lena and Anna he
+seemed better pleased, holding their hands and smiling down upon them
+through rows of teeth which Anna pronounced the whitest she had ever
+seen.
+
+Mr. Livingstone was not at home, and when his mother appeared, Mrs.
+Livingstone did not think proper to introduce her.  But if by this
+omission she thought to keep the old lady silent, she was mistaken,
+for the moment Mrs. Nichols was seated, she commenced with, "Your
+name is Everett, I b'lieve?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am," said he, bowing very gracefully toward her.
+
+"Any kin to the governor that was?"
+
+"No, ma'am, none whatever," and the white teeth became slightly
+visible for a moment, but soon disappeared.
+
+"You are from Rockford, 'Lena tells me?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am.  Have you friends there?"
+
+"Yes--or that is, Nancy Scovandyke's sister, Betsy Scovandyke that
+used to be, lives there.  May be you know her.  Her name is
+Bacon--Betsy Bacon.  She's a widder and keeps boarders."
+
+"Ah," said he, the teeth this time becoming wholly visible, "I've
+heard of Mrs. Bacon, but have not the honor of her acquaintance.  You
+are from the east, I perceive."
+
+"Law, now! how did you know that!" asked Mrs. Nichols, while Mr.
+Everett answered, "I _guessed_ at it," with a peculiar emphasis on
+the word guessed, which led 'Lena to think he had used it purposely
+and not from habit.
+
+Mr. Everett possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of making
+those around him both respect and like him, and ere six weeks had
+passed, he had won the love of all his pupils.  Even John Jr. was
+greatly improved, and Carrie seemed suddenly reawakened into a thirst
+for knowledge, deeming no task too long, and no amount of study too
+hard, if it won the commendation of her teacher.  'Lena, who
+committed to memory with great ease, and who consequently did not
+deserve so much credit for her always perfect lessons, seldom
+received a word of praise, while poor Anna, notoriously lazy when
+books were concerned, cried almost every day, because as she said,
+"Mr. Everett didn't like her as he did the rest, else why did he look
+at her so much, watching her all the while, and keeping her after
+school to get her lessons over, when he knew how she hated them."
+
+Once Mrs. Livingstone ventured to remonstrate, telling him that Anna
+was very sensitive, and required altogether different treatment from
+Carrie.  "She thinks you dislike her," said she, "and while she
+retains this impression, she will do nothing as far as learning is
+concerned; so if you do not like her, try and make her think you do!"
+
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Everett's dark eyes as he answered,
+"You may think it strange, Mrs. Livingstone, but of all my pupils I
+love Anna the best!  I know I find more fault with her, and am
+perhaps more severe with her than with the rest, but it's because I
+would make her what I wish her to be.  Pardon me, madam, but Anna
+does not possess the same amount of intellect with her cousin or
+sister, but by proper culture she will make a fine, intelligent
+woman."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone hardly relished being told that one child was
+inferior to the other, but she could not well help herself--Mr.
+Everett would say what he pleased--and thus the conference ended.
+From that time Mr. Everett was exceedingly kind to Anna, wiping away
+the tears which invariably came when told that she must stay with him
+in the school-room after the rest were gone; then, instead of seating
+himself in rigid silence at a distance until her task was learned, he
+would sit by her side, occasionally smoothing her long curls and
+speaking encouragingly to her as she pored over some hard rule of
+grammar, or puzzled her brains with some difficult problem in
+Colburn.  Erelong the result of all this became manifest.  Anna grew
+fonder of her books, more ready to learn, and--more willing to be
+kept after school!
+
+Ah, little did Mrs. Livingstone think what she was doing when she
+bade young Malcolm Everett make her warm-hearted, impulsive daughter
+_think_ he liked her!
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+SCHEMING.
+
+"Mother, where's 'Lena's dress?  Hasn't she got any?" asked Anna, one
+morning, about two weeks before Christmas, as she bent over a
+promiscuous pile of merinoes, delaines, and plaid silks, her own and
+Carrie's dresses for the coming holidays.  "Say, mother, didn't you
+buy 'Lena any?"
+
+Thus interrogated, Mrs. Livingstone replied, "I wonder if you think
+I'm made of money!  'Lena is indebted to me now for more than she can
+ever pay.  As long as I give her a home and am at so much expense in
+educating her, she of course can't expect me to dress her as I do
+you.  There's Carrie's brown delaine and your blue one, which I
+intend to have made over for her, and she ought to be satisfied with
+that, for they are much better than anything she had when she came
+here."
+
+And the lady glanced toward the spot where 'Lena sat, admiring the
+new things, in which she had no share, and longing to ask the
+question which Anna had asked for her, and which had now been
+answered.  John Jr., who was present, and who knew that Mr. Everett
+had been engaged to teach in the family long before it was known that
+'Lena was coming, now said to his cousin, who arose to leave, "Yes,
+'Lena, mother's a model of generosity, and you'll never be able to
+repay her for her kindness in allowing you to wear the girls' old
+duds, which would otherwise be given to the blacks, and in permitting
+you to recite to Mr. Everett, who, of course, was hired on your
+account."
+
+The slamming together of the door as 'Lena left the room brought the
+young gentleman's remarks to a close, and wishing to escape the
+lecture which he saw was preparing for him, he, too, made his exit.
+
+Christmas was coming, and with it Durward Bellmont, and about his
+coming Mrs. Livingstone felt some little anxiety.  Always scheming,
+and always looking ahead, she was expecting great results from this
+visit.  Durward was not only immensely wealthy, but was also
+descended on his father's side from one of England's noblemen.
+Altogether he was, she thought, a "decided catch," and though he was
+now only sixteen, while Carrie was but thirteen, lifelong impressions
+had been made at even an earlier period, and Mrs. Livingstone
+resolved that her pretty daughter should at least have all the
+advantages of dress with which to set off her charms.  Concerning
+Anna's appearance she cared less, for she had but little hope of her,
+unless, indeed--but 'twas too soon to think of that--she would wait,
+and perhaps in good time 't would all come round naturally and as a
+matter of course.  So she encouraged her daughter's intimacy with
+Captain Atherton, who, until Malcolm Everett appeared, was in Anna's
+estimation the best man living.  Now, however, she made an exception
+in favor of her teacher, "who," as she told the captain, "neither
+wore false teeth, nor kept in his pocket a pair of specks, to be
+slyly used when he fancied no one saw him."
+
+Captain Atherton coughed, colored, laughed, and saying that "Mr.
+Everett was a mash kind of a boy," swore eternal enmity toward him,
+and under the mask of friendship--watched!  Eleven years before, when
+Anna was a baby, Mrs. Livingstone had playfully told the captain, who
+was one day deploring his want of a wife, that if he would wait he
+should have her daughter.  To this he agreed, and the circumstance,
+trivial as it was, made a more than ordinary impression upon his
+mind; and though he as yet had no definite idea that the promise
+would ever be fulfilled, the little girl was to him an object of
+uncommon interest.  Mrs. Livingstone knew this, and whenever Anna's
+future prospects were the subject of her meditations, she generally
+fell back upon that fact as an item not to be despised.
+
+Now, however, her thoughts were turned into another and widely
+different channel.  Christmas week was to be spent by Durward
+Bellmont partly at Captain Atherton's and partly at her own house,
+and as Mrs. Livingstone was not ignorant of the effect a becoming
+dress has upon a pretty face, she determined that Carrie should, at
+least, have that advantage.  Anna, too, was to fare like her sister,
+while no thought was bestowed upon poor 'Lena's wardrobe, until her
+husband, who accompanied her to Frankfort, suggested that a certain
+pattern, which he fancied would be becoming to 'Lena should be
+purchased.
+
+With an angry scowl, Mrs. Livingstone muttered something about
+"spending so much money for other folks' young ones."  Then
+remembering the old delaines, and knowing by the tone of her
+husband's voice that he was in earnest, she quickly rejoined, "Why,
+'Lena's got two new dresses at home."
+
+Never doubting his wife's word, Mr. Livingstone was satisfied, and
+nothing more was said upon the subject.  Business of importance made
+it necessary for him to go for a few weeks to New Orleans, and he was
+now on his way thither, his wife having accompanied him as far as
+Frankfort, where he took the boat, while she returned home.  When
+'Lena left the room after learning that she had no part in the mass
+of Christmas finery, she repaired to the arbor bridge, where she had
+wept so bitterly on the first day of her arrival, and which was now
+her favorite resort.  For a time she sat watching the leaping waters,
+swollen by the winter rains, and wondering if it were not possible
+that they started at first from the pebbly spring which gushed so
+cool and clear from the mountain-side near her old New England home.
+This reminded her of where and what she was now--a dependent on the
+bounty of those who wished her away, and who almost every day of her
+life made her feel it so keenly, too.  Not one among them loved her
+except Anna, and would not her affection change as they grew older?
+Then her thoughts took another direction.
+
+Durward Bellmont was coming--but did she wish to see him?  Could she
+bear the sneering remarks which she knew Carrie would make concerning
+herself?  And how would he be affected by them?  Would he ask her of
+her father? and if so, what had she to say?
+
+Many a time had she tried to penetrate the dark mystery of her birth,
+but her grandmother was wholly non-committal.  Once, too, when her
+uncle seemed kinder than usual, she had ventured to ask him of her
+father, and with a frown he had replied, that "the least she knew of
+him the better!"  Still 'Lena felt sure that he was a good man, and
+that some time or other she would find him.
+
+All day long the clouds had been threatening rain, which began to
+fall soon after 'Lena entered the arbor, but so absorbed was she in
+her own thoughts, that she did not observe it until her clothes were
+perfectly dampened; then starting up, she repaired to the house.  For
+several days she had not been well, and this exposure brought on a
+severe cold, which confined her to her room for nearly two weeks.
+Meantime the dress-making process went on, Anna keeping 'Lena
+constantly apprised of its progress, and occasionally wearing in some
+article for her inspection.  This reminded 'Lena of her own wardrobe,
+and knowing that it would not be attended to while she was sick, she
+made such haste to be well, that on Thursday at tea-time she took her
+accustomed seat at the table.  After supper she lingered awhile in
+the parlor, hoping something would be said, but she waited in vain,
+and was about leaving, when a few words spoken by Carrie in an
+adjoining room caught her ear and arrested her attention.
+
+They were--"And so 'Lena came down to-night.  I dare say she thinks
+you'll set Miss Simpson at work upon my old delaine."
+
+"Perhaps so," returned Mrs. Livingstone, "but I don't see how Miss
+Simpson can do it, unless you put off having that silk apron
+embroidered."
+
+"I shan't do any such thing," said Carrie, glad of an excuse to keep
+'Lena out of the way.  "What matter is it if she don't come down when
+the company are here?  I'd rather she wouldn't, for she's so green
+and awkward, and Durward is so fastidious in such matters, that I'd
+rather he wouldn't know she's a relative of ours!  I know he'd tell
+his mother, and they say she is very particular about his associates."
+
+'Lena's first impulse was to defy her cousin to her face--to tell her
+she had seen Durward Bellmont, and that he didn't laugh at her
+either.  But her next thought was calmer and more rational.  Possibly
+under Carrie's influence he might make fun of her, and resolving on
+no condition whatever to make herself visible while he was in the
+house, she returned to her room, and throwing herself upon the bed,
+wept until she fell asleep.
+
+"When is Miss Simpson going to fix 'Lena's dress?" asked Anna, as day
+after day passed, and nothing was said of the brown delaine.
+
+For an instant Miss Simpson's nimble fingers were still, as she
+awaited the answer to a question which had occurred to her several
+times.  She was a kind-hearted, intelligent girl, find at a glance
+had seen how matters stood.  She, too, was an orphan, and her
+sympathies were all enlisted in behalf of the neglected 'Lena.  She
+had heard from Anna of the brown delaine, and in her own mind she had
+determined that it should be fitted with the utmost taste of which
+she was capable.
+
+Her speculations, however, were brought to a close by Mrs.
+Livingstone's saying in reply to Anna, that "'Lena seemed so wholly
+uninterested, and cared so little about seeing the company, she had
+decided not to have the dress fixed until after Christmas week."
+
+The fiery expression of two large, glittering eyes, which at that
+moment peered in at the door, convinced Miss Simpson that her
+employer had hardly told the truth, and she secretly determined that
+'Lena should have the dress whether she would or not.  Accordingly,
+the next time she and Anna were alone, she asked for the delaine,
+entrusting her secret to Anna, who, thinking no harm, promised to
+keep it from her mother.  But to get 'Lena fitted was a more
+difficult matter.  Her spirit was roused, and for a time she resisted
+their combined efforts.  At last, however, she yielded, and by
+working late at night in her own room, Miss Simpson managed to
+finished the dress, in which 'Lena really looked better than did
+either of her cousins in their garments of far richer materials.
+Still she was resolved not to go down, and Anna, fearing what her
+mother might say, dared not urge her very strongly hoping, though,
+that "something would turn up."
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Durward Bellmont, Nellie Douglass, and Mabel Ross had arrived at
+Captain Atherton's.  Mrs. Livingstone and her daughters had called
+upon them, inviting them to spend a few days at Maple Grove, where
+they were to meet some other young people "selected from the
+wealthiest families in the neighborhood," Mrs. Livingstone said, at
+the same time patting the sallow cheek of Mabel, whose reputed
+hundred thousand she intended should one day increase the importance
+of her own family.
+
+The invitation was accepted--the day had arrived, the guests were
+momentarily expected, and Carrie, before the long mirror, was
+admiring herself, alternately frowning upon John Jr., who was
+mimicking her "airs," and scolding Anna for fretting because 'Lena
+could not be induced to join them.  Finding that her niece was
+resolved not to appear, Mrs. Livingstone, for looks' sake, had
+changed her tactics, saying, "'Lena could come down if she chose--she
+was sure there was nothing to prevent."
+
+Knowing this, Anna had exhausted all her powers of eloquence upon her
+cousin.  But she still remained inexorable, greatly to the
+astonishment of her grandmother who for several days had been
+suffering from a rheumatic affection, notwithstanding which she
+"meant to hobble down if possible, for" said she, "I want to see this
+Durward Bellmont.  Matilda says he's got _Noble_ blood in him.  I
+used to know a family of Nobles in Massachusetts, and I think like as
+not he's some kin!"
+
+Carrie, to whom this remark was made, communicated it to her mother,
+who forthwith repaired to Mrs. Nichols' room, telling her "that 'twas
+a child's party," and hinting pretty strongly that she was neither
+wanted nor expected in the parlor, and would confer a great favor by
+keeping aloof.
+
+"Wall, wall," said Mrs. Nichols, who had learned to dread her
+daughter's displeasure, "I'd as lief stay up here as not, but I do
+want 'Lena to jine 'em.  She's young and would enjoy it."
+
+Without a word of answer Mrs. Livingstone walked away, leaving 'Lena
+more determined than ever not to go down.  When the evening at last
+arrived, Anna insisted so strongly upon her wearing the delaine, for
+fear of what might happen, that 'Lena consented, curling her hair
+with great care, and feeling a momentary thrill of pride as she saw
+how well she looked.
+
+"When we get nicely to enjoying ourselves," said Anna, "you come down
+and look through the glass door, for I do want you to see Durward,
+he's so handsome--but there's the carriage--I must go;" and away ran
+Anna down the stairs, while 'Lena flew to one of the front windows to
+see the company as they rode up.
+
+First came Captain Atherton's carriage, and in it the captain and his
+maiden sister, together with a pale, sickly-looking girl, whom 'Lena
+knew to be Mabel Ross.  Behind them rode Durward Bellmont, and at his
+side, on a spirited little pony was another girl, thirteen or
+fourteen years of age, but in her long riding-dress looking older,
+because taller.  'Lena readily guessed that this was Nellie Douglass,
+and at a glance she recognized the Durward of the cars--grown
+handsomer and taller since then, she thought.  With a nimble bound he
+leaped from his saddle, kissing his hand to Carrie, who with her
+sunniest smile ran past him to welcome Nellie.  A pang, not of
+jealousy, but of an undefined something, shot through 'Lena's heart,
+and dropping the heavy curtain, she turned away, while the tears
+gathered thickly in her large brown eyes.
+
+"Where's 'Lena?" asked Captain Atherton, of Anna, warming his red
+fingers before the blazing grate, and looking round upon the group of
+girls gathered near.  Glancing at her mother, Anna replied, "She says
+she don't want to come down."
+
+"Bashful," returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass asked, "who
+'Lena was," at the same time returning the _pinch_ which John Jr.
+had slyly given her as a mode of showing his preference, for Nellie
+_was_ his favorite.
+
+Fearful of Anna's reply, Mrs. Livingstone answered, carelessly,
+"She's the child of one of Mr. Livingstone's poor relations, and
+we've taken her awhile out of charity."
+
+At any other time John Jr.  would doubtless have questioned his
+mother's word, but now so engrossed was he with the merry, hoydenish
+Nellie, that he scarcely heard her remark, or noticed the absence of
+'Lena.  With the exception of his cousin, Nellie was the only girl
+whom John Jr. could endure--"the rest," he said, "were so stuck up
+and affected."
+
+For Mabel Ross, he seemed to have a particular aversion.  Not because
+she was so very disagreeable, but because his mother continually
+reminded him of what she hoped would one day be, "and this," he said,
+"was enough to make a 'feller' hate a girl."  So without considering
+that Mabel was not to blame, he ridiculed her unmercifully, calling
+her "a bundle of medicine," and making fun of her thin, sallow face,
+which really appeared to great disadvantage when contrasted with
+Nellie's bright eyes and round, rosy cheeks.
+
+When the guests were all assembled, Carrie, not knowing whether
+Durward Bellmont would relish plays, seated herself demurely upon the
+sofa, prepared to act the dignified young lady, or any other
+character she might think necessary.
+
+"Get up, Cad," said John Jr.  "Nobody's going to act like they were
+at a funeral; get up, and let's play something."
+
+As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and
+erelong the joyous shouts reached 'Lena, making her half wish that
+she, too, was there.  Remembering Anna's suggestion of looking
+through the glass door she stole softly down the stairs, and
+stationing herself behind the door, looked in on the scene.  Mr.
+Everett, usually so dignified, had joined in the game, claiming
+"forfeits" from Anna more frequently than was considered at all
+necessary by the captain, who for a time looked jealously on, and
+then declaring himself as young as any of them, joined them with a
+right good will.
+
+"Blind man's buff," was next proposed, and 'Lena's heart leaped up,
+for that was her favorite game.  John Jr. was first blinded, but he
+caught them so easily that all declared he could see, and loud were
+the calls for Durward to take his place.  This he willingly did, and
+whether he could see or not, he suffered them to pass directly under
+his hands, thus giving entire satisfaction.  On account of the heat
+of the rooms, Anna, on passing the glass door, threw it open, and the
+next time Durward came round he marched directly into the hall,
+seizing 'Lena, who was trying to hide.
+
+Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, "Anna, you are caught."
+
+"No, I ain't Anna; let me go," said 'Lena, struggling to escape.
+
+This brought all the girls to the spot, while Durward, snatching the
+muffler from his eyes, looked down with astonishment upon the
+trembling 'Lena, who would have escaped had she not been so securely
+hemmed in.
+
+"Ain't you ashamed, 'Lena, to be peeking?" asked Carrie, while
+Durward repeated--"'_Lena_!  '_Lena_!  I've seen her before in the
+cars between Springfield and Albany; but how came she here?"
+
+"She lives here--she's our cousin," said Anna, notwithstanding the
+twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not care to have the
+relationship exposed.
+
+"Your cousin," said Durward, "and where's the old lady who was with
+her?"
+
+"The one she called _granny_?" asked John Jr., on purpose to rouse up
+his fiery little cousin.
+
+"No, I don't call her _granny_, neither--I've quit it," said 'Lena,
+angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk, "she's up _stars_,
+sick with the rheumatism."
+
+"Good," said Durward, "but why are you not down here with us?"
+
+"I didn't want to come," was her reply; and Durward, leading her into
+the parlor, continued, "but now that you are here, you must stay."
+
+"Pretty, isn't she," said Nellie, as the full blaze of the chandelier
+fell upon 'Lena.
+
+"Rath-er," was Carrie's hesitating reply.
+
+She felt annoyed that 'Lena should be in the parlor, and provoked
+that Durward should notice her in any way, and at the first
+opportunity she told him "how much she both troubled and mortified
+them, by her vulgarity and obstinacy," adding that "she had a most
+violent temper."  From Nellie she had learned that Durward
+particularly disliked passionate girls, and for this reason she
+strove to give him the impression that 'Lena was such an one.  Once
+or twice she fancied him half inclined to disbelieve her, as he saw
+how readily 'Lena joined in their amusements, and how good-humoredly
+she bore John Jr.'s teasing, and then she hoped something would occur
+to prove her words true.  Her wish was gratified.
+
+The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young people to the
+house.  About ten o'clock the negro who had been to the post-office
+returned, bringing letters for the family, among which was one for
+'Lena, so curious in its shape and superscription, that even the
+negro grinned as he handed it out.  'Lena was not then present, and
+Carrie, taking the letter, exclaimed, "Now if this isn't the last
+specimen from Yankeedom.  Just listen,--" and she spelled out the
+direction--"_To Mis HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of
+woodford, Dorsey post offis, care of Mis nichals_."
+
+Unobserved by any one, 'Lena had entered the parlor in time to hear
+every word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy her, held out the
+letter, saying, "Here, _Helleny_, I _guess_ this came from down
+east," she darted forward, and striking the letter from Carrie's
+hands stamped upon it with her foot, declaring "she'd never open it
+in the world," and saying "they might do what they pleased with it
+for all of her."
+
+"Read it--may we read it?" eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to see
+'Lena doing such justice to her reputation.
+
+"Yes, read it!" almost screamed 'Lena, and before any one could
+interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and commenced reading,
+announcing, first, that it came from "Joel Slocum!"  It was as
+follows:
+
+
+"Dear Helleny, mebby you'll wonder when you see a letter from me, but
+I'll be hanged if I can help 'ritin', I am so confounded lonesome now
+you are gone, that I dun know nothing what to do with myself.  So I
+set on the great rock where the saxefax grows; and think, and think
+till it seems 's ef my head would bust open.  Wall, how do you git
+along down amongst them heathenish Kentucks & niggers?  I s'pose
+there ain't no great difference between 'em, is there?  When I git a
+little more larnin', I b'lieve I'll come down there to keep school.
+O, I forgot to tell you that our old line back cow has got a
+calf--the prettiest little critter--Dad has gin her to me, and I call
+her Helleny, I do, I swow!  And when she capers round she makes me
+think of the way you danced 'High putty Martin' the time you stuck a
+sliver in your heel--"
+
+
+Up to this point 'Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud shouts of
+her companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes burned within and
+flashed from her eyes.  And now springing forward, she caught the
+letter from Carrie's hand, and inflicting a long scratch upon her
+forehead, fled from the room.  Had not Durward Bellmont been present,
+Carrie would have flown after her cousin, to avenge the insult, and
+even now she was for a moment thrown off her guard, and starting
+forward, exclaimed, "the tigress!"
+
+Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, Durward gently
+wiped the blood from her white brow, saying "Never mind.  It is not a
+deep scratch."
+
+"I wish 'twas deeper," muttered John Jr.  "You'd no business to serve
+her so mean."
+
+An angry retort rose to Carrie's lips, but, just in time to prevent
+its utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, "It was too bad to tease
+her so, but we were all more or less to blame, and I'm not sure but
+we ought to apologize."
+
+Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she'd apologize to
+such as 'Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough to give
+Durward the impression that she was doing, her best to make amends
+for her fault.  Accordingly, the next time her cousin appeared in the
+parlor she was all smiles and affability, talking a great deal to
+'Lena, who returned very short but civil answers, while her face wore
+a look which Durward construed into defiance and hatred of everybody
+and everything.
+
+"Too passionate," thought he, turning from her to Carrie, whose
+voice, modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and musical, as
+she sported and laughed with her moody cousin, appearing the very
+essence of sweetness and amiability!
+
+Pity he could not have known how bitterly 'Lena had wept over her
+hasty action--not because _he_ witnessed it, but because she knew it
+was wrong!  Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which
+she laid on Carrie's work-box, and in which was written, "I am sorry,
+Carrie, that I hurt you so.  I didn't know what I was about, but I
+will try and not get so angry again."
+
+Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt with which Carrie
+perused this note; and when the two girls accidentally met in the
+upper hall, and 'Lena laid her hand gently on Carrie's arm, it is a
+thousand pities he was not present to see how fiercely she was
+repulsed, Carrie exclaiming, "Get out of my sight!  _I hate you_, and
+so do all of them downstairs, Durward in particular."
+
+Had he known all this he would have thought differently of 'Lena,
+who, feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept herself
+entirely aloof, never again appearing during the remainder of his
+stay.  Once Durward asked for her, and half laughingly Carrie
+replied, that "she had not yet recovered from her pouting fit."
+Could he have known her real occupation, he might have changed his
+mind again.  The stormy weather had so increased Mrs. Nichols'
+rheumatic complaint, that now, perfectly crippled, she lay as
+helpless as a child, carefully nursed by 'Lena and old Aunt Polly,
+who, spite of her own infirmities, had hobbled in to wait upon her
+friend.  Never but once did Mrs. Livingstone go near her mother's
+sick-room--"the smell of herbs made her faint," she said!  But to do
+her justice, we must say that she gave Polly unqualified permission
+to order anything she pleased for the invalid.
+
+Toward the close of the third day, the company left.  Nellie
+Douglass, who really liked 'Lena, and wished to bid her good-bye,
+whispered to John Jr., asking him to show her the way to his cousin's
+room.  No one except members of the family had ever been in Mrs.
+Nichols' apartment, and for a moment John Jr. hesitated, knowing well
+that Nellie could not fail to observe the contrast it presented to
+the other richly-furnished chambers.
+
+"They ought to be mortified--it'll serve 'em right," he thought, at
+last, and motioning Nellie to fallow him, he silently led the way to
+his grandmother's room, where their knock was answered by Aunt
+Polly's gruff voice, which bade them "come in."
+
+They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how greatly
+inferior was this room to the others around it.  In an instant her
+eye took in everything, and she readily comprehended the whole.
+
+"It isn't my doings, by a jug-full!" whispered John Jr., himself
+reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture which had
+never before seemed so meager and poor.
+
+On the humble bed, in a half-upright position, lay Mrs. Nichols,
+white as the snowy cap-border which shaded her face.  Behind her sat
+'Lena, supporting her head, and when Nellie entered, she was
+carefully pushing back the few gray locks which had fallen over the
+invalid's forehead, her own bright curls mingling with them, and
+resting, some on her neck, and some on her grandmother's shoulder.  A
+deep flush dyed her cheeks when she saw Nellie, who thought she had
+never looked upon a sight more beautiful.
+
+"I did not know your grandmother was ill," said she, coming forward
+and gently touching the swollen hand which lay outside the
+counterpane.
+
+Mrs. Nichols was not too ill to talk, and forthwith she commenced a
+history of her malady, beginning at the time she first had it when
+'Lena's mother was a year and a day old, frequently quoting Nancy
+Scovandyke, and highly entertaining Nellie, who listened until warned
+by the sound of the carriage, as it came round to the door, that she
+must go.
+
+"We are going back to Uncle Atherton's," said she, "but I wanted to
+bid you good-bye, and ask you to visit me in Frankfort with your
+cousins.  Will you do so?"
+
+This was wholly unexpected to 'Lena, who, without replying, burst
+info tears.  Nellie hardly knew what to do.  She seldom cried
+herself--she did not like to see others cry--and still she did not
+blame 'Lena, for she felt that she could not help it.  At last,
+taking her hand, she bade her farewell, asking if she should not
+carry a good-bye to the others.
+
+"Yes, to Mabel," said 'Lena.
+
+"And not Durward?" asked Nellie.
+
+With something of her old spirit 'Lena answered, "No, he hates
+me--Carrie says so."
+
+"Cad's a fool," muttered John Jr., while Nellie rejoined, "Durward
+never hated anybody, and even if he did, he would not say so--I mean
+to tell him;" and with another good-bye she was gone.
+
+On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and asked
+where she had been.
+
+"To bid 'Lena good-bye; don't you want to go too?" said Nellie.
+
+"Why, yes, if you are sure she won't scratch my eyes out," he
+returned, gayly, following his cousin.
+
+"I reckon I'd better tell 'Lena to come out into the hall--she may
+not want you in there," said John Jr., and hastening forward he told
+his cousin what was wanted.
+
+Oh, how 'Lena longed to go, but pride, and the remembrance of
+Carrie's words, prevented her, and coldly answering, "No, I don't
+wish to see him," she turned away to hide the tears and pain which
+those words had cost her.
+
+This visit to Grandma Nichols' room was productive of some good, for
+John Jr., did not fail of repeating to his mother the impression
+which he saw was made on Nellie's mind, adding, that "though Durward
+did not venture in, Nellie would of course tell him all about it.
+And then," said he, "I wouldn't give much for his opinion of your
+treatment of your mother."
+
+Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs.
+Livingstone demanded "what he'd have her do."
+
+"Do?" he repeated, "give grandmother a decent room, or else fix that
+one up, so it won't look like the old scratch had been having a
+cotillon there.  Paper and paint it, and make it look decent."
+
+Upon this last piece of advice Mrs. Livingstone resolved to act, for
+recently several vague rumors had reached her ear, touching her
+neglect of her mother-in-law, and she began herself to think it just
+possible that a little of her money would be well expended in adding
+to the comfort of her husband's mother.  Accordingly, as soon as Mrs.
+Nichols was able to sit up, her room underwent a thorough renovation,
+and though no great amount of money was expended upon it, it was
+fitted up with so much taste that the poor old lady, whom John Jr.,
+'Lena and Anna, had adroitly kept out of the way until her room was
+finished, actually burst into tears when first ushered into her
+light, airy apartment, in which everything looked so cheerful and
+pleasant.
+
+"'Tilda has now and then a good streak," said she, while Aunt Milly,
+who had taken a great deal of interest in the repairing of the room,
+felt inclined to change her favorite theory with regard to her
+mistress' future condition.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+FIVE YEARS LATER.
+
+And in the fair city of elms we again open the scene.  It was
+commencement at Yale, and the crowd which filled the old Center
+church were listening breathlessly to the tide of eloquence poured
+forth by the young valedictorian.
+
+Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and first
+in the esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously chosen to
+that post of honor, and as the gathered multitude hung upon his words
+and gazed upon his manly beauty, they felt mat a better choice could
+not well have been made.  At the right of the platform sat a group of
+ladies, friends, it would seem, of the speaker, for ever and anon his
+eyes turned in that direction, and as if each glance incited him to
+fresh efforts, his eloquence increased, until at last no sound save
+that of his deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the
+words of the young orator.  But when his speech was ended, there
+arose deafening shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in perfect
+showers at his feet.  Among them was one smaller and more elegant
+than the rest, and as if it were more precious, too, it was the first
+which Durward took from the floor.
+
+"See, Carrie, he gives you the preference," whispered one of the
+young ladies on the right, and Carrie Livingstone for she it was,
+felt a thrill of gratified pride, when she saw how carefully he
+guarded the bouquet, which during all the exercises she had made her
+especial care, calling attention to it in so many different ways that
+hardly any one who saw it in Durward's possession, could fail of
+knowing from what source it same.
+
+But then everybody said they were engaged--so what did it matter?
+Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and who while openly
+denying the engagement, teasingly hinted "that 'twas no fault of
+Cad's."
+
+For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had been
+inmates of the seminary in New Haven, and as they were now considered
+sufficiently accomplished to enter at once upon all the gayeties of
+fashionable life, John Jr. had come on "to see the elephant," as he
+said, and to accompany them home.  Carrie had fulfilled the promise
+of her girlhood, and even her brother acknowledged that she was
+handsome in spite of her _nose_, which like everybody's else, still
+continued to be the most prominent feature of her face.  She was
+proud, too, as well as beautiful, and throughout the city she was
+known as the "haughty southern belle," admired by some and disliked
+by many.  Among the students she was not half so popular as her
+unpretending sister, whose laughing blue eyes and sunny brown hair
+were often toasted, together with the classical brow and dignified
+bearing of Nellie Douglass, who had lost some of the hoydenish
+propensities of her girlhood, and who was now a graceful, elegant
+creature just merging into nineteen--the pride of her widowed father,
+and the idol still of John Jr., whose boyish preference had ripened
+into a kind of love such as only he could feel.
+
+With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face and dumpy
+little figure never receiving the least attention except from Durward
+Bellmont, who pitying her lonely condition, frequently left more
+congenial society for the sake of entertaining her.  Of any one else
+Carrie would have been jealous, but feeling sure that Mabel had no
+attraction save her wealth, and knowing that Durward did not care for
+that, she occasionally suffered him to leave her side, always feeling
+amply repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society
+for that of Mabel's.
+
+When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his preference for
+Carrie, Durward would sometimes laughingly refer them to the old
+worn-out story of the fox and the grapes, for to scarcely any one
+save himself did Carrie think it worth her while to be even gracious.
+This conduct was entirely at variance with her natural disposition,
+for she was fond of admiration, come from what source it might, and
+she would never have been so cold and distant to all save Durward,
+had she not once heard him say that "he heartily despised a _flirt_;
+and that no young lady could at all interest him if he suspected her
+of being a coquette."
+
+This, then, was the secret of her reserve.  She was resolved upon
+winning Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too great if in the
+end it secured the prize.  It is true there was one sophomore, a
+perfumed, brainless fop, from Rockford, N. Y., who, next to Durward,
+was apparently most in favor, but the idea of her entertaining even a
+shadow of a liking for Tom Lakin, was too ludicrous to be harbored
+for a moment, so his attentions went for naught, public opinion
+uniting in giving her to Mr. Bellmont.
+
+With the lapse of years, Anna, too, had greatly improved.  The
+extreme delicacy of her figure was gone, and though her complexion
+was as white and pure as marble, it denoted perfect health.  With
+John Jr. she was still the favorite sister, the one whom he loved the
+best.  "Carrie was too stiff and proud," he said, and though when he
+met her in New Haven, after a year's absence, his greeting was kind
+and brotherly, he soon turned from her to Anna and Nellie, utterly
+neglecting Mabel, who turned away to her chamber to cry, because no
+one cared for her.
+
+Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance of securing
+a wealthy bride, always finishing her discourse by speaking of Mr.
+Douglass' small income, and enlarging upon the immense wealth of
+Mabel Ross, whose very name had become disagreeable to John Jr.  At
+one time his father had hoped he, too, would enter college, but the
+young man derided the idea of his ever making a scholar, saying,
+however, more in sport than in earnest, that "he was willing to enter
+a store, or learn a _trade_, so that in case he was ever obliged to
+earn his own living, he would have some means of doing it;" but to
+this his mother would not listen.  He was her "darling boy," and "his
+hands, soft and white as those of a girl, should never become
+hardened and embrowned by labor!"  So, while his sisters were away at
+school, he was at home, hunting, fishing, riding, teasing his
+grandmother, tormenting the servants, and shocking his mother by
+threatening to make love to his cousin 'Lena, to whom he was at once
+a pest and a comfort, and who now claims a share of our attention.
+
+When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New Haven, Mr.
+Livingstone proposed that 'Lena should also accompany them, but this
+plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed with all her force, declaring that
+_her_ money should never be spent in educating the "beggarly
+relatives" of her husband, who in this, as in numerous other matters,
+was forced to yield the point.  As Mr. Everett's services were now no
+longer needed, he accepted the offer of a situation in the family of
+General Fontaine, a high-bred, southern gentleman, whose plantation
+was distant but half a mile from "Maple Grove;" and as he there
+taught a regular school, having under his charge several of the
+daughters of the neighboring planters, it was decided that 'Lena also
+should continue under his instruction.
+
+Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily routine of a
+fashionable boarding-school, 'Lena was storing her mind with useful
+knowledge, and though her accomplishments were not quite so showy as
+those of her cousins, they had in them the ring of the pure metal.
+Although her charms were as yet but partially developed, she was a
+creature of rare loveliness, and many who saw her for the first time,
+marveled that aught so beautiful could be real.  She had never seen
+Durward Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week, but many a
+time had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not
+define, as she read Anna's accounts of the flattering attentions
+which he paid to Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her with
+haughty contempt or cool indifference.
+
+But for this she did not care.  She knew she was loved by Anna, and
+liked by John Jr., and she hoped--nay, half believed--that she was
+not wholly indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any
+show of his affection, still in his heart admired and felt proud of
+her.  With his wife it was different.  She hated 'Lena--hated her
+because she was beautiful and talented, and because in her presence
+Carrie and Anna were ever in the shade.  Still her niece was too
+general a favorite in the neighborhood to allow of open hostility at
+home, and so the proud woman ground together her glittering
+teeth--_and waited_!
+
+Among the many who admired 'Lena, there was no one who gave her such
+full and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple
+Grove had been one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine.
+Gradually had she learned the estimation in which she was held by her
+son's wife, and she felt how bitter it was to eat the bread of
+dependence.  As far as she was able, 'Lena shielded her from the
+sneers of her aunt, who thinking she had done all that was required
+of her when she fixed their room, would for days and even weeks
+appear utterly oblivious of their presence, or frown darkly whenever
+chance threw them in her way.  She had raised no objection to 'Lena's
+continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett, who, she hoped, would not prove
+indifferent to her charms, fancying that in this way she would sooner
+be rid of one whom she feared as a rival of her daughters.
+
+But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire 'Lena,
+another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most
+carefully guarded was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport
+from the head it once adorned, and, now treasured as a sacred memento
+of the past.  Believing that it would be so because she wished it to
+be so, Mrs. Livingstone had more than once whispered to her female
+friends her surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry 'Lena, and at
+the time of which we are speaking, it was pretty generally understood
+that a strong liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed between
+them.
+
+Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat
+hands complacently, and while applying Twigg's Preparation to his
+hair, congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared
+was now out of his way.  Thinking, too, that 'Lena had conferred a
+great favor upon himself by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind,
+became exceedingly polite to her, making her little presents and
+frequently asking her to ride.  Whenever these invitations were
+accepted, they were sure to be followed by a ludicrous description to
+Anna, who laughed merrily over her cousin's letters, declaring
+herself half jealous of her "gray-haired lover," as she termed the
+captain.
+
+All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and fully
+discussed in the presence of Durward, who gradually received the
+impression that 'Lena was a flirt, a species of womankind which he
+held in great abhorrence.  Just before he left New Haven, he received
+a letter from his stepfather, requesting him to stop for a day or two
+at Captain Atherton's, where he would join him, as he wished to look
+at a country-seat near Mr. Livingstone's, which was now for sale.
+This plan gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her brother
+proposed that Durward should stop at their father's instead of the
+captain's, she seconded the invitation so warmly, that Durward
+finally consented, and word was immediately sent to Mrs. Livingstone
+to hold herself in readiness to receive Mr. Bellmont.
+
+"Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn," said Carrie, as in
+the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they were discussing the
+projected purchase.
+
+The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John Jr., who was
+present, and who felt just like teasing his sister, replied, "What do
+you care?  Mrs. Graham has no daughters, and she won't fancy such a
+chit as you, so it must be Durward's society that you so much desire,
+bit I can assure you that your nose will be broken when once he sees
+our 'Lena."
+
+Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech,
+while Durward asked if "Miss Rivers were so very handsome?"
+
+"_Handsome_!" repeated John.  "That don't begin to express it.  _Cad_
+is what I call _handsome_, but 'Lena is beautiful, more beautiful,
+most beautiful--now you have it superlatively.  Such complexion--such
+eyes--such hair--I'll be hanged if I haven't been more than half in
+love with her myself."
+
+"I really begin to tremble," said Durward, laughingly while Carrie
+rejoined, "You've only to make the slightest advance, and your love
+will be returned ten-fold, for 'Lena is very susceptible, and already
+encourages several admirers."
+
+"There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken," interrupted John
+Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, when Durward asked if
+"she ever left any _marks_ of her affection," referring to the
+scratch she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to
+speak, replied that "the _will_ and the _claws_ remained the same,
+though common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary."
+
+"That's downright slander," said John Jr., determined now upon
+defending his cousin, "'Lena has a high temper, I acknowledge, but
+she tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two years I've not seen
+her angry once, though she's had every provocation under heaven."
+
+"She knows _when_ and _where_ to be amiable," retorted Carrie.  "Any
+one of her admirers would tell the same story with yourself."
+
+At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the room, and
+Carrie, fearing she had said too much, immediately apologized to
+Durward, saying, "it was not often that she allowed herself to speak
+against her cousin, and that she should not have done so now, were
+not John so much blinded, that her mother, knowing Lena's ambitious
+nature, sometimes seriously feared the consequence.  I know," said
+she, "that John fancies Nellie, but 'Lena's influence over him is
+very great."
+
+Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: "I'm always sorry when I
+speak against 'Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn't prejudice any
+one against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would
+never have been uttered in the presence of a stranger.  She _is_
+handsome and agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I
+said."
+
+"I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause," was Durward's
+gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the room,
+the conversation ceased.
+
+Meanwhile 'Lena was very differently employed.  Nearly a year had
+elapsed since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with
+joy at the thought of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved.  Carrie
+was to her an object of indifference, rather than dislike, and
+ofttimes had she thought, "If she would only let me love her."  But
+it could not be, for there was no affinity between them.  Carrie was
+proud and overbearing--jealous of her high-spirited cousin, who, as
+John Jr. had said, strove hard to subdue her temper, and who now
+seldom resented Carrie's insults, except when they were leveled at
+her aged grandmother.
+
+As we have before stated, news' had been received at Maple Grove that
+Durward would accompany her cousins home.  Mr. Graham would, of
+course, join him there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were
+immediately commenced.  An unusual degree of sickness was prevailing
+among the female portion of Mrs. Livingstone's servants, and the very
+day before the company was expected, Aunt Milly, the head cook was
+taken suddenly ill.  Coaxing, scolding, and threatening were alike
+ineffectual.  The old negress would not say she was well when she
+wasn't, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick (_lazy_, as
+her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged to
+superintend the cookery.
+
+"Crosser than a bar," as the little darkies said, she flew back and
+forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the
+corners of her mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike
+at anything that came in her way.  As if there were a fatality
+attending her movements, she was unfortunate in whatever she
+undertook.  The cake was burned black, the custard curdled, the
+preserves were found to be working, the big preserve dish got broken,
+a thunder shower soured the cream, and taking it all in all, she
+really had trouble enough to disconcert the most experienced
+housekeeper.  Still, the few negroes able to assist, thought "she
+needn't be so fetch-ed cross."
+
+But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft
+to the charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed,
+listened in dismay to the disastrous accounts brought her from time
+to time from the kitchen, mentally congratulating herself the while
+upon not being within hearing of her mistress' tongue.  Once Mrs.
+Nichols attempted to help, but she was repulsed so angrily that 'Lena
+did not presume to offer her services until the day of their arrival,
+when, without a word, she repaired to the chambers, which she swept
+and dusted, arranging the furniture, and making everything ready for
+the comfort of the travelers.  Then descending to the parlors, she
+went through the same process there, filled the vases with fresh
+flowers, looped back the curtains, opened the piano, wheeled the sofa
+a little to the right, the large chair a little to the left, and then
+going to the dining-room, she set the table in the most perfect
+order, doing all so quietly that her aunt knew nothing of it until it
+was done.  Jake the coachman, had gone down to Frankfort after them,
+and as he was not expected to return until between three and four,
+dinner was deferred until that hour.
+
+From sunrise Mrs. Livingstone had worked industriously, until her
+face and temper were at a boiling heat.  The clock was on the point
+of striking three, and she was bending over a roasting turkey, when
+'Lena ventured to approach her, saying, "I have seen Aunt Milly baste
+a turkey many a time, and I am sure I can do it as well as she."
+
+"Well, what of it?" was the uncivil answer.
+
+'Lena's temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied: "Why, it
+is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would want to cool and
+dress yourself before they came.   I can see to the dinner, I know I
+can.  Please let me try."
+
+Somewhat mollified by her niece's kind manner, Mrs. Livingstone
+resigned her post and repaired to her own room, while 'Lena,
+confining her long curls to the top of her head and donning the wide
+check-apron which her aunt had thrown aside, set herself at work with
+a right good will.
+
+"What dat ar you say?" exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her woolly head
+from her pillow, and looking at the little colored girl, who had
+brought to her the news that "young miss was in de kitchen."  "What
+dat ar you tellin'?  Miss 'Leny pokin' 'mong de pots and kittles, and
+dis ole nigger lazin' in bed jes like white folks.  Long as 'twas ole
+miss, I didn't seer.  Good 'nough for her to roast, blister, and
+bile; done get used to it, case she's got to in kingdom come, no
+mistake--he!--he!  But little Miss 'Leny, it's too bad to bake her
+lamb's-wool hands and face, and all de quality comin': I'll hobble up
+thar, if I can stand."
+
+Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawling up to
+the kitchen, insisted upon taking 'Lena's place, saying, "she could
+sit in her chair and tell the rest what to do."
+
+For a time 'Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and weak,
+but the sound of wheels decided her.  Springing to the sideboard in
+the dining-room, she brought Aunt Milly a glass of wine, which
+revived her so much that she now felt willing to leave her.  By this
+time the carriage was at the door, and to escape unobserved was now
+her great object.  But this she could not do, for as she was crossing
+the hall, Anna espied her, and darting forward, seized her around the
+neck, at the same time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with
+Durward's eye upon her, _kissed_ her twice; then turning to him, she
+said, "I suppose you do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?"
+
+Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the
+strangeness of 'Lena's appearance, for as nearly as she could, she
+looked like a fright.  Bending over hot stoves and boiling gravies is
+not very beneficial to one's complexion, and 'Lena's cheeks, neck,
+forehead, and nose were of a purplish red--her hair was tucked back
+in a manner exceedingly unbecoming, while the broad check-apron,
+which came nearly to her feet, tended in nowise to improve her
+appearance.  She felt it keenly, and after returning Durward's
+salutation, she broke away before Anna or John, Jr., who were both
+surprised at her looks, had time to ask a question.
+
+Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but knowing
+that would disfigure her still more, she bathed her burning face and
+neck, brushed out her curls, threw on a simple muslin dress, and
+started for the parlor, of which Durward and Carrie were at that
+moment the only occupants.  As she was passing the outer door, she
+observed upon one of the piazza pillars a half-blown rose, and for a
+moment stopped to admire it.  Durward, who sat in a corner, did not
+see her, but Carrie did, and a malicious feeling prompted her to draw
+out her companion, who she felt sure was disappointed in 'Lena's
+face.  They were speaking of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and
+whom Carrie pronounced "perfectly beautiful," while Durward would
+hardly admit that she was even good-looking.
+
+"I am surprised at your taste," said Carrie, adding, as she noticed
+the proximity of her cousin, "I think she resembles 'Lena, and of
+course you'll acknowledge _she_ is beautiful."
+
+"She _was_ beautiful five years ago, but she's greatly changed since
+then," answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite satisfaction
+his words afforded Carrie, who replied, "You had better keep that
+opinion to yourself, and not express it before Captain Atherton or
+brother John."
+
+"Who takes my name in vain?" asked John Jr., himself appearing at a
+side door.
+
+"Oh, John," said Carrie, "we were just disputing about 'Lena.
+Durward does not think her handsome."
+
+"Durward be hanged!" answered John, making a feint of drawing from
+his pocket a pistol which was not there.  "What fault has he to find
+with 'Lena?"
+
+"A little too rosy, that's all," said Durward, laughingly, while John
+continued, "She _did_ look confounded red and dowdyish, for her.  I
+don't understand it myself."
+
+Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie's eye had all the
+while been resting, disappeared, and as there was no longer an
+incentive for ill-natured remarks, the amiable young lady adroitly
+changed the conversation.
+
+John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and started
+in pursuit, in the course of his search passing the kitchen, where he
+was instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, while bemoaning her own
+aches and pains, did not fail to tell him how "Miss 'Lena, like
+aborned angel dropped right out of 'tarnity, had been in thar,
+burning her skin to a fiery red, a-tryin' to get up a tip-top dinner."
+
+"So ho!" thought the young man, "that explains it;" and turning on
+his heel, he walked back to the house just as the last bell was
+ringing for dinner.
+
+On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assembled,
+except 'Lena.  She had excused herself on the plea of a severe
+headache, and now in her own room was chiding herself for being so
+much affected by a remark accidentally overheard.  What did she care
+if Durward did think her plain?  He was nothing to her, and never
+would be--and again she bathed her head, which really was aching
+sadly.
+
+"And so 'Lena's got the headache," said John Jr.  "Well, I don't
+wonder, cooking all the dinner as she did."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone's angry frown
+bade her son keep silence,
+
+Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.'s cardinal
+virtues, and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had told
+him, adding aside to Durward, "_This_ explains the extreme rosiness
+which so much offended your lordship.  When next you see her, you'll
+change your mind."
+
+Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he
+now presented her to Durward.  The _Noble's_ blood had long been
+forgotten, but grandma was never at a loss for a subject, and she
+commenced talking notwithstanding Carrie's efforts to keep her still.
+
+"Now I think on't, Car'line," said she at last, turning to her
+granddaughter, "now I think on't, what made you propose to have my
+dinner sent up to my room.  I hain't et there but once this great
+while, and that was the day General Fontaine's folks were here, and
+Matilda thought I warn't able to come down."
+
+Durward's half-concealed smile showed that he understood it all,
+while John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was talking,
+managed, to lead her on, until she reached her favorite theme--Nancy
+Scovandyke.  Here a look from her son silenced her, and as dinner was
+just then over, Durward missed of hearing that remarkable lady's
+history.
+
+Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the piazza,
+'Lena joined them.  Her headache had passed away, leaving her face a
+shade whiter than usual.  The flush was gone from her forehead and
+nose, but mindful of Durward's remark, the roses deepened on her
+cheek, which only increased her loveliness.
+
+"I acknowledge that I was wrong--your cousin _is_ beautiful,"
+whispered Durward to Carrie, who, mentally hating the beauty which
+had never before struck her so forcibly, replied in her softest
+tones, "I knew you would, and I hope you'll be equally ready to
+forgive her for winning hearts only to break them, for with that face
+how can she help it?"
+
+"A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry," answered Durward;
+"neither can I think Miss Rivers guilty of it.  At all events, I mean
+to venture a little nearer," and before Carrie could frame a
+reasonable excuse for keeping him at her side, he had crossed ever
+and taken a seat by 'Lena, with whom he was soon in the midst of an
+animated conversation, his surprise each moment increasing at the
+depth of intellect she displayed, for the beauty of her mind was
+equal to that of her person.  Had it not been for the remembrance of
+Carrie's insinuations, his admiration would have been complete.  But
+anything like coquetry he heartily despised, and one great secret of
+his liking for Carrie, was her evident freedom from that fault.  As
+yet he had seen nothing to condemn in 'Lena's conduct.  Wholly
+unaffected, she talked with him as she would have talked with any
+stranger, and still there was in her manner a certain coldness for
+which he could not account.
+
+"Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning," thought he, and in
+spite of his principles, he erelong found himself exerting all his
+powers to please and interest her.
+
+About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and
+simultaneously with his arrival, Mr. Everett came also.  Immediately
+remembering what he had heard, Durward, in his eagerness to watch
+'Lena, failed to note the crimson flush on Anna's usually pale cheek,
+as Malcolm bent over her with his low-spoken, tender words of
+welcome, and when the phthisicky captain, claiming the privilege of
+an old friend, kissed the blushing Anna, Durward in his blindness
+attributed the scornful expression of 'Lena's face to a feeling of
+unwillingness that any save herself should share the attentions even
+of the captain!  And in this impression he was erelong confirmed.
+
+Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed to keep
+Malcolm at a distance, while he himself wholly monopolized the young
+girl, who cast imploring glances toward her cousin, as if asking for
+relief.  Many a time, on similar occasions, had 'Lena claimed the
+attention of the captain, for the sake of leaving Anna free to
+converse with Malcolm, and now understanding what was wanted of her,
+she nodded in token that she would come to the rescue.  Just then,
+Mrs. Livingstone, who had kept an eye upon her niece, drew near, and
+as she seemed to want a seat; 'Lena instantly arose and offered hers,
+going herself to the place where the captain was sitting.  Erelong,
+her lively sallies and the captain's loud laugh began to attract Mrs.
+Livingstone's attention, and observing that Durward's eyes were
+frequently drawn that way, she thought proper to make some remarks
+concerning the impropriety of her niece's conduct.
+
+"I do wish," said she, apparently speaking more to herself than to
+Durward, "I do wish 'Lena would learn discretion, and let Captain
+Atherton alone, when she knows how much her behavior annoys Mr.
+Everett."
+
+"Is Mr. Everett anything to her!" asked Durward, half hoping that she
+would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted.
+
+"If he isn't he ought to be," answered Mrs. Livingstone, with an
+ominous shake of the head.  "Rumor says they are engaged, and though
+when questioned she denies it, she gives people abundant reason to
+think so, and yet every chance she gets, she flirts with Captain
+Atherton, as you see her doing now."
+
+"What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old man?"
+asked Durward, laughing at the very idea.
+
+"He is _rich_.  'Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious--there lies the
+secret," was Mrs. Livingstone's reply, and thinking she had said
+enough for the present, she excused herself, while she went to give
+orders concerning supper.
+
+John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left to himself,
+Durward had nothing to do but to watch 'Lena, who, as she saw
+symptoms of desertion in the anxious glances which the captain cast
+toward Anna, redoubled her exertions to keep him at her side, thus
+confirming Durward in the belief that she really was what her aunt
+and Carrie had represented her to be.  "Poor, proud, and ambitious,"
+rang in his ears, and as he mistook the mischievous look which 'Lena
+frequently sent toward Anna and Malcolm, for a desire to see how the
+latter was affected by her conduct, he thought "Fickle as fair," at
+the same time congratulating himself that he had obtained an insight
+into her real character, ere her exceeding beauty and agreeable
+manners had made any particular impression upon him.
+
+Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling piqued at his
+indifference, 'Lena in turn treated him so coldly, that even Carrie
+was satisfied with the phase which affairs had assumed, and that
+night, in the privacy of her mother's dressing-room, expressed her
+pleasure that matters were progressing so finely.
+
+"You've no idea, mother," said she, "how much he detests anything
+like coquetry.  Nellie Douglass thinks it's a kind of monomania with
+him, and I am inclined to believe it is so."
+
+"In that case," answered Mrs. Livingstone, "it behooves you, in his
+presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other
+gentlemen."
+
+"I haven't lived nineteen years for nothing," said Carrie, folding
+her soft white hands complacently one over the other.
+
+"Speaking of Nellie Douglass," continued Mrs. Livingstone, who had
+long desired this interview with her daughter, "speaking of Nellie,
+reminds me of your brother, who seems perfectly crazy about her."
+
+"And what if he does ?" asked Carrie, her thoughts far more intent
+upon Durward Bellmont than her brother.  "Isn't Nellie good enough
+for him?"
+
+"Yes, good enough, I admit," returned her mother, "but I think I can
+find a far more suitable match--Mabel Ross, for instance.  Her
+fortune is said to be immense, while Mr. Douglass is worth little or
+nothing."
+
+"When you bring about a union between John Livingstone Jr. and Mabel
+Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers to do anything,
+even to the marrying of Anna and Grandfather Atherton," answered
+Carrie, to whom her mother's schemes were no secret.
+
+"And that, too, I'll effect, rather than see her thrown away upon a
+low bred northerner, who shall never wed her--never;" and the haughty
+woman paced up and down her room, devising numerous ways by which her
+long cherished three-fold plan should be effected.
+
+The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his usual
+custom, and going out into the garden he came suddenly upon 'Lena.
+"This," said he, "is a pleasure which I did not expect when I rather
+unwillingly tore myself from my pillow."
+
+All the coldness of the night before was gone, but 'Lena could not so
+soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, that "she learned
+to rise early among the New England hills."
+
+"An excellent practice, and one which more of our young ladies would
+do well to imitate," returned Durward, at the same time speaking of
+the beautifying effect which the morning air had upon her complexion.
+
+'Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday concerning
+her plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that "any
+information regarding her personal appearance was wholly unnecessary,
+as she knew very well how she looked."
+
+Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment her again,
+walked on in silence at her side, while 'Lena, repenting of her hasty
+words, and desirous of making amends, exerted herself to be
+agreeable; and by the time the breakfast-bell rang, Durward mentally
+pronounced her "a perfect mystery," which he would take delight in
+unraveling!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+MR. AND MRS. GRAHAM.
+
+Breakfast had been some time over, when the roll of carriage wheels
+and a loud ring at the door, announced the arrival of Mr. Graham,
+who, true to his appointment with Durward, had come up to meet him,
+accompanied by Mrs. Graham.  This lady, who could boast of having
+once been the bride of an English lord, to say nothing of belonging
+to the "very first family of Virginia," was a sort of bugbear to Mrs.
+Livingstone, who, haughty and overbearing to her equals, was
+nevertheless cringing and cowardly in the presence of those whom she
+considered her superiors.  Never having seen Mrs. Graham, her ideas
+concerning her were quite elevated, and now when she came
+unexpectedly, it quite overcame her.  Unfortunately, too, she was
+this morning suffering from a nervous headache, the result of the
+excitement and late hours of the night before, and on learning that
+Mrs. Graham was in the parlor, she fell back in her rocking-chair,
+and between a groan and a sigh, declared her utter inability to see
+her at present, saying that Carrie must play the part of hostess
+until such time as she felt composed enough to undertake it.
+
+"Oh, I can't--I _shan't_--that ends it!" said Carrie, who, though a
+good deal dressed on Durward's account, still felt anxious to give a
+few more finishing touches to her toilet, and to see if her hair and
+complexion were all right, ere she ventured into the august presence
+ef her "mother-in-law elect," as she confidently considered Mrs.
+Graham.
+
+"Anna must go, then," persisted Mrs. Livingstone, who knew full well
+how useless it would be to press Carrie farther.  "Anna must
+go--where is she?  Call her, 'Lena."
+
+But Anna was away over the fields, enjoying with Mr. Everett a walk
+which had been planned the night previous, and when 'Lena returned
+with the intelligence that she was nowhere to be found, her aunt in
+great distress exclaimed, "Mercy me! what will Mrs. Graham think--and
+Mr. Livingstone, too, keeps running back and forth for somebody to
+entertain her.  What shall I do!  I can't go in looking so yellow and
+jaded as I now do!"
+
+'Lena's first thought was to bring her aunt's powderball, as the
+surest way of remedying the yellow skin, but knowing that such an act
+would be deeply resented, she quickly repressed the idea, offering
+instead to go herself to the parlor.
+
+"_You_!  What could _you_ say to her?" returned Mrs. Livingstone, to
+whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing.
+
+"I can at least answer her questions," returned 'Lena and after a
+moment her aunt consented, wondering the while how 'Lena, in her
+plain gingham wrapper and linen collar, could be willing to meet the
+fashionable Mrs. Graham.
+
+"But then," thought she, "she has so little sensibility, I don't
+s'pose she cares! and why should she?  Mrs. Graham will of course
+look upon her as only a little above a servant"--and with this
+complimentary reflection upon her niece, Mrs. Livingstone retired to
+her dressing-room, while 'Lena, with a beating heart and slightly
+heightened color, repaired to the parlor.
+
+On a sofa by the window sat Mrs. Graham, and the moment 'Lena's eye
+fell upon her, her fears vanished, while she could hardly repress a
+smile at the idea of being afraid of _her_.  She was a short, dumpy,
+florid looking woman, showily, and as 'Lena thought, _overdressed_
+for morning, as her person was covered with jewelry, which flashed
+and sparkled with every movement.  Her forehead was very low, and
+marked by a scowl of discontent which was habitual, for with
+everything to make her happy, Mrs. Graham was far from being so.
+Exceedingly nervous and fidgety, she was apt to see only the darker
+side, and when her husband and son, who were of exactly opposite
+temperaments, strove to laugh her into good spirits, they generally
+made the matter worse, as she usually reproached them with having no
+feeling or sympathy for her.
+
+Accustomed to a great deal of attention, she had fretted herself into
+quite a fever at Mrs. Livingstone's apparent lack of courtesy in not
+hastening to receive her, and when 'Lena's light step was heard in
+the hall, she turned toward the door with a frown which seemed to ask
+why she had not come sooner.  Durward, who was present immediately
+introduced his mother, at the same time admiring the extreme dignity
+of 'Lena's manner as she received the lady's greeting, apologizing
+for her aunt's non-appearance, saying "she was suffering from a
+severe headache, and begged to be excused for an hour or so."
+
+"Quite excusable," returned Mrs. Graham, at the same time saying
+something in a low tone about it's not being her wish to stop there
+so early, as she knew _she_ was not expected.
+
+"But perfectly welcome, nevertheless," 'Lena hastened to say,
+thinking that for the time being the reputation of her uncle's house
+was resting upon her shoulders.
+
+"I dare say," was Mrs. Graham's ungracious answer, and then her
+little gray, deep-set eyes rested upon 'Lena, wondering if she were
+"a governess or what?" and thinking it strange that she should seem
+so perfectly self-possessed.
+
+Insensibly, too, 'Lena's manner won upon her, for spite of her
+fretfulness, Mrs. Graham at heart was a kindly disposed woman.  Ill
+health and long years of dissipation had helped to make her what she
+was.  Besides this, she was not quite happy in her domestic
+relations, for though Mr. Graham possessed all the requisites of a
+kind and affectionate husband, he could not remove from her mind the
+belief that he liked others better then he did herself!  'Twas in
+vain that he alternately laughed at and reasoned with her on the
+subject.  She was not to be convinced, and so poor Mr. Graham, who
+was really exceedingly polite and affable to the ladies, was almost
+constantly provoking the green-eyed monster by his attentions to some
+one of the fair sex.  In spite of his nightly "Caudle" lectures, he
+_would_ transgress again and again, until his wife's patience was
+exhausted, and now she affected to have given him up, turning for
+comfort and affection toward Durward, who was her special delight,
+"the very apple of her eye--he was so much like his father, Sir
+Arthur, who during the whole year that she lived with him had never
+once given her cause for jealousy."
+
+Just before 'Lena entered the parlor Mr. Graham, had for a moment
+stepped out with Mr. Livingstone, but soon returning, he, too, was
+introduced to the young lady.  It was strange, considering 'Lena's
+uncommon beauty, that Mrs. Graham did not watch her husband's manner,
+but for once in her life she felt no fears, and looking from the
+window, she failed to note the sudden pallor which overspread his
+face when Mr. Livingstone presented to him "Miss Rivers--my niece."
+
+Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored
+face, whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers,
+while his pleasant, affable deportment universally won the friendship
+of ail who knew him.  And 'Lena was not an exception to the general
+rule, for the moment his warm hand grasped hers and his kindly
+beaming eye rested upon her, her heart went toward him as a friend,
+while she wondered why he looked at her so long and earnestly, twice
+repeating her name--"Miss Rivers--_Rivers_."
+
+From the first, 'Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom
+Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to
+apologize for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met
+before, she referred him to that time, saying "she thought it strange
+that he should remember her."
+
+"Old acquaintances--ah--indeed !" and little Mrs. Graham nodded and
+fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen
+cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl
+which was of too long standing to be smoothed.
+
+"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, "I had
+entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the
+cars when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago.  You were
+quite a little girl then"--turning to 'Lena.
+
+"Only ten," was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and
+anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward 'Lena, asking
+"how long she had lived in Kentucky--where she used to live--and
+where her mother was."
+
+At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone,
+suddenly stopped.
+
+"My mother is dead," answered 'Lena.
+
+"And your father?"
+
+"Gone to Canada!" interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors of
+'Lena's parentage, and who did not quite like his mother's being so
+inquisitive.
+
+Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while
+Mr. Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time
+before.  Here John Jr. appeared, and after being formally introduced,
+he seated himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial
+remark, and calling her '_Lena_.  It was well for Mr. Graham's after
+peace that his wife was just then too much engrossed with Durward to
+observe the effect which that name produced upon him.
+
+Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, "You were
+telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your
+yard--suppose we go and see it."
+
+The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon,
+Mr. Graham casually remarked, "Your niece is a fine-looking
+girl--'Lena, I think your son called her?"
+
+"Yes, or _Helena_, which was her mother's name."
+
+"And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?"
+
+"No, sir, Nichols.  I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,"
+returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at
+once.
+
+Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and
+keeping his face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose
+thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister was mentioned, were
+far back in the past.  When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head there
+were no traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very
+heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked back to the
+parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
+their respects to his lady.
+
+Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie's and
+'Lena's manner toward Mrs. Graham.  Even Durward noticed it, and
+while he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of
+the latter, who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had
+met his mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his
+life felt a kind of contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in
+an elegantly embroidered double-gown confined by a rich cord and
+tassels, which almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a
+fawning servility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady
+in question.  Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her
+wealth and her husband's station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if
+something were withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor
+her daughters rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was
+forgotten, for nothing could be more flattering than their
+attentions.  Both mother and daughter having the son in view, did
+their best, and when at last Mrs. Graham asked to be shown to her
+room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a servant, offered to conduct
+her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham laid her hand caressingly
+upon her shoulders, calling her a "dear little pet," and asking
+"where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!"
+
+A smothered laugh from John Jr.  and a certain low soft sound which
+he was in the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his
+sister of her _nose_, made the "bright, naughty eyes" flash so
+angrily, that even Durward noticed it, and wondered if 'Lena's temper
+had not been transferred to her cousin.
+
+"That young girl--'Lena, I think you call her--is a relative of
+yours," said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending the stairs.
+
+"Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose," answered Carrie.
+
+"She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers--does she belong
+to a Virginia family?"
+
+Carrie looked mysterious and answered, "I never knew anything of her
+father, and indeed, I reckon no one does"--then after a moment she
+added, "Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with
+which they could willingly dispense."
+
+"Very true," returned Mrs. Graham, "What a pity we couldn't all have
+been born in England.  There, dear, you can leave me now."
+
+Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her
+mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner.  "Old
+Milly," she said, "had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness,
+pretending she had got a _collapse_, as she called it."
+
+"Can't Hagar do," asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham's first
+dinner with them should be in style.
+
+"Yes, but she can't do everything--somebody must superintend her, and
+as for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the
+table, I won't."
+
+"Why not make 'Lena go into the kitchen--it won't hurt her to-day
+more than it did yesterday," suggested Carrie.
+
+"A good idea," returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door
+she called 'Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr.
+Graham, who, the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her
+side, and now seemed oblivious to all else save her.
+
+There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the
+expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well
+knew his mother's peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present,
+while at the same time he wondered that his father should appear so
+deeply interested in an entire stranger.
+
+"'Lena, I wish to speak with you," said Mrs. Livingstone, appearing
+at the door, and 'Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the room,
+while Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted
+manner, ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood
+thickly on his forehead.
+
+Meantime, 'Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without
+a word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was
+with difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt
+rising within her.  Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had
+the former _asked_ instead of commanded her to go, she would have
+done it willingly.  But now in quite a perturbed state of mind she
+bent over pastry and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until
+a pleasant voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw
+Anna, who had just returned from her walk, and who on learning how
+matters stood, declared her intention of helping too.
+
+"If there's anything I like, it's being in a muss," said she, and
+throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and
+fastening back her curls in imitation of 'Lena, she was soon up to
+her elbows in cooking--her dress literally covered with flour, eggs,
+and cream, and her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar
+brought from the china closet.  "There's a pie fit for a queen or
+Lady Graham either," said she, depositing in the huge oven her first
+attempt in the pie line.
+
+But alas! Malcolm Everett's words of love spoken beneath the
+wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna's ears, so it was
+no wonder she _salted_ the custard instead of sweetening it.  But no
+one noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both 'Lena and
+Hagar praised its white, uncurdled appearance.
+
+"Now we shall just have time to change our dresses," said Anna, when
+everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but 'Lena,
+knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward's
+distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing
+at the table.
+
+"I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed," said she, "and you must
+look after her a little, for I shall not come down."
+
+So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a
+great state of fermentation to know "who was below, and what the
+doin's was, I should of gone down," said she, "but I know'd 'Tilda
+would be madder'n a hornet."
+
+'Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then
+informing her that Mr. Bellmont's father and mother were there, she
+proceeded to make some alterations in her dress.  The handsome black
+silk and neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were
+donned, and then, staff in hand, the old lady started for the
+dining-room, 'Lena giving her numerous charges not to talk much, and
+on no account to mention her favorite topic--Nancy Scovandyke!
+
+"Nancy's as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live
+lord," was grandma's mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady,
+rustling in a heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her
+place at the table.
+
+Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her
+husband, through fear of her, perhaps, failed to give.  But not so
+with John Jr.  To be sure, he cared not a fig, on his grandmother's
+account, whether she were introduced or not, for he well knew she
+would not hesitate to make their acquaintance; but knowing how it
+would annoy his mother and Carrie, he called out, in a loud tone, "My
+grandmother, Mrs. Nichols--Mr. and Mrs. Graham."
+
+Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked "if anything stung
+him."
+
+"Yes--no,'' said he, at the same time indicating that it was not
+worth while to mind it.
+
+"Got stung, have you?" said Mrs. Nichols.  "Mebby 'twas a
+bumble-bee--seems 'sef I smelt one; but like enough it's the scent on
+Car'line's handkercher."
+
+Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on
+grandma, who, after a time, forgetful of 'Lena's caution, said, "I
+b'lieve they say you're from Virginny!"
+
+"Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,"' returned Mrs. Graham,
+clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.
+
+"Anywheres near Richmond?" continued Mrs. Nichols.
+
+"I was born in Richmond, madam."
+
+"Law, now I who knows but you're well acquainted with Nancy
+Scovandyke's kin."
+
+Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as
+she replied, "I've not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or
+any of her relatives."
+
+"Wall, she's a smart, likely gal, or woman I s'pose you'd call her,
+bein' she's just the age of my son."
+
+Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering 'Lena's charge, stopped, but
+John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by
+asking what relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.
+
+"'Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein' you've asked a civil
+question, 'tain't more'n fair for me to answer it.  Better'n forty
+year ago Nancy's mother's aunt----"
+
+"Which would be Miss Nancy's great-aunt," interrupted John Jr.
+
+"Bless the boy," returned the old lady, "he's got the Nichols' head
+for figgerin'.  Yes, Nancy's great-aunt though she was six years and
+two months younger'n Nancy's mother.  Wall, as I was sayin', she went
+off to Virginny to teach music.  She was prouder'n Lucifer, and after
+a spell she married a southerner, rich as a Jew, and then she never
+took no more notice of her folks to hum, than's ef they hadn't been.
+But the poor critter didn't live long to enjoy it, for when her first
+baby was born, she died.  'Twas a little girl, but her folks in
+Massachusetts have never heard a word whether she's dead or alive.
+Joel Slocum, that's Nancy's nephew, says he means to go down there
+some day, and look her up, but I wouldn't bother with 'em, for that
+side of the house always did feel big, and above Nancy's folks,
+thinkin' Nancy's mother married beneath her."
+
+Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during
+grandma's recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never
+once looking up, while her face and neck were literally spotted,
+either with heat, excitement or anger.  These spots at last attracted
+Mrs. Nichols' attention, causing her to ask the lady "if she warn't
+pestered with erysipelas."
+
+"I am not aware of it, madam," answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma
+replied, "It looks mighty like it to me, and I've seen a good deal
+on't, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less.  Now I
+think on't," she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion,
+"now I think on't, you look quite a considerable like Nancy--the same
+forehead and complexion--only she's a head taller.  Hain't you
+noticed it, John?"
+
+"No, I have not," answered John, at the same time proposing a change
+in the conversation, as he presumed "they had all heard enough of
+Nancy Scovandyke."
+
+At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna's pie.  John
+Jr. was the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he
+exclaimed, "Horror, mother, who made this pie?"
+
+Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that
+something was wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was
+busy at a side-table, she wondered "if there ever was any one who had
+so much trouble with servants as herself."
+
+Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would
+burst on poor Hagar's head, spoke out, "Hagar is not in the fault,
+mother--no one but myself is to blame.  _I_ made the pie, and must
+have put in salt instead of sugar."
+
+"You made the pie!" repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, "What business
+had you in the kitchen?  Pity we hadn't a few more servants, for then
+we should all be obliged to turn drudges."
+
+Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, "if
+it hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did 'Lena,
+who," he said, "worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning
+herself until she is ashamed to appear at the table."
+
+Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone
+hastened to explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that
+in her dilemma, 'Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of
+compliment, undoubtedly, that "her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to
+such work--indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles."
+
+An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face,
+and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, "if she thought it
+detracted from a young lady's worth, to be skilled in whatever
+pertained to the domestic affairs of a family."
+
+Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied,
+"Not at all--not at all.  I mean that my daughters shall learn
+everything, so that their husbands will find in them every necessary
+qualification."
+
+"Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or
+other," said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very
+interesting, while Anna retorted, "Of course we shall.  I wouldn't be
+an old maid for the world--I'd run away first!"
+
+And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company
+retired from the table.  For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked
+with a cane, limping even then.  Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his
+usual gallantry, offered her his arm, which she willingly accepted,
+casting a look of triumph upon her daughter-in-law, who apparently
+was not so well pleased.  So thorough had been grandma's training,
+that she did not often venture into the parlor without a special
+invitation from its mistress, but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led
+her in there as a matter of course, and placing her upon the sofa,
+seated himself by her side, and commenced questioning her concerning
+her former home and history.  Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt
+more communicative, and never before had she so attentive a listener.
+Particularly did he hang upon every word, when she told him of her
+Helena, of her exceeding beauty, her untimely death, and rascally
+husband.
+
+"Rivers--Rivers," said he, "what kind of a looking man was he?"
+
+"The Lord only knows--I never see him," returned Mrs. Nichols.  "But
+this much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old
+woman's curses can do him any harm, he's had mine a plenty of times."
+
+"You do wrong to talk so," said Mr. Graham, "for who knows how
+bitterly he may have repented of the great wrong done to your
+daughter."
+
+"Then why in the name of common sense don't he hunt up her child, and
+own her--he needn't be ashamed of 'Leny."
+
+"Very true," answered Mr. Graham.  "No one need be ashamed of her.  I
+should be proud to call her my daughter.  But as I was saying,
+perhaps this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first
+marriage a secret from his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited
+that now, after the lapse of years, he dares not tell her for fear of
+what might follow."
+
+"Then she's a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he's a cowardly
+puppy!  That's my opinion on 'em, and I'll tell 'em so, if ever I see
+'em!" exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath waxing warmer and warmer
+toward the destroyer of her daughter.
+
+Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite
+Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment,
+took some, slyly casting it aside when she did not see him.  This
+emboldened the old lady to offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly
+reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat talking to Carrie, who, on a
+low stool at her feet, was looking up into her face as if in perfect
+admiration.  Without deigning other reply than a haughty shake of the
+head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who
+muttered, "How disgusting!  But for pa's sake we tolerate it."
+
+Here 'Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh
+and blooming as a rose.  There was no vacant seat near except one
+between Durward and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter,
+she accepted.  A peculiar smile flitted over Carrie's face, which was
+noticed by Mrs. Graham, and attributed to the right cause.  Ere long
+Durward, John Jr., 'Lena and Anna, who had joined them, left the
+house, and from the window Carrie saw that they were amusing
+themselves by playing "Graces."  Gradually the sound of their voices
+increased, and as 'Lena's clear, musical laugh rang out above the
+rest, Mrs. Graham and Carrie looked out just in time to see Durward
+holding the struggling girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward of
+his having thrown the "grace hoop" upon her head.
+
+Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, "What kind of a
+girl is your cousin?" to which Carrie replied, "You have a fair
+sample of her," at the same time nodding toward 'Lena, who was
+unmercifully pulling John Jr.'s ears as a reward for his presumption.
+
+"Rather hoydenish, I should think," returned Mrs. Graham, secretly
+hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.
+
+At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat
+down in one of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm
+Everett, who naturally, and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna
+to himself, Durward observed this, and when he saw them walk away
+together, while 'Lena appeared wholly unconcerned, he began to think
+that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when she hinted of an
+engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett.  Knowing John Jr.'s
+straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he
+said, "Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other's
+society to ours."
+
+"Oh, yes," answered John.  "I saw that years ago, when Anna wasn't
+knee-high; and I'm glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine fellow."
+
+'Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt
+certain that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger
+than that of friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with
+Captain Atherton, the idea was too preposterous to be harbored for a
+single moment.  Once exonerated from these charges, it was strange
+how fast 'Lena rose in his estimation, and when John Jr., with a loud
+yawn, asked if they did not wish he would leave them alone, more in
+earnest than in fun Durward replied, "Yes, yes, do."
+
+"I reckon I will," said John, shaking down his tight pants, and
+pulling at his long coat sleeves.  "I never want anybody round when
+I'm with Nellie Douglass."
+
+So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and 'Lena alone.  That
+neither of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time
+which they remained together, for when more than an hour afterward
+Mrs. Graham proposed to Carrie to take a turn in the garden, she
+found the young couple still in the arbor, so wholly engrossed that
+they neither saw nor heard her until she stood before them.
+
+'Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a
+ride early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath,
+laid her hand on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come
+from 'Lena instead of her son, she said, "No, no, Miss Rivers,
+Durward can't go--he has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together
+with Carrie and Anna, whom I have asked to accompany me; so you see
+'twill be impossible for him to ride with you."
+
+"Unless she goes with us," interrupted Durward.  "You would like to
+visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?"
+
+"Oh, very much," was 'Lena's reply, while Mrs. Graham continued, "I
+am sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but our
+carriage will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded."
+
+"It has carried six many a time," said Durward, "and if she will go,
+I will take you on my lap, or anywhere."
+
+Of course 'Lena declined--he knew she would--and determined not to be
+outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, "I shan't
+release you from your engagement to ride with me.  We will start
+early and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no
+way interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast."
+
+Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but
+resolving not to leave them to finish their _tete-a-tete_, she threw
+herself upon one of the seats, and commenced talking to her son,
+while Carrie, burning with jealousy and vexation, started for the
+house, where she laid her grievances before her mother, who, equally
+enraged, declared her intention of "hereafter watching the vixen
+pretty closely."
+
+"And she's going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say.  Well,
+I fancy I can prevent that."
+
+"How?" asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, "You know she
+always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the
+Grattan woods, two miles away.  Of course she'll order Caesar to
+bring him up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order,
+bidding him say nothing to her about it.  He dare not disobey me, and
+when in the morning she asks for the pony, he can tell her just how
+it is."
+
+"Capital! capital!" exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there had
+been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the
+back parlor.
+
+"Whew!" thought the young man.  "Plotting, are they?  Well, I'll see
+how good I am at counterplotting."
+
+So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his
+servant, Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put
+in the lower stable instead of the one where she was usually kept;
+"and then in the morning, long before the sun is up," said he, "do
+you have her at the door for one of the young ladies to ride."
+
+"Yes, marster," answered Bill, looking around for his old straw hat.
+
+"Now, see how quick you can go," John Jr. continued, adding as an
+incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before
+old Caesar, who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give
+him ten cents.
+
+Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and
+without stopping to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon
+the run, returning in the course of an hour and claiming his reward,
+as Caesar had not yet got home.
+
+"All right," said John Jr., tossing him the silver.  "And now
+remember to keep your tongue between your teeth."
+
+Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of
+tattling about something which to him seemed of no consequence
+whatever, and he walked off, eying his dime, and wishing he could
+earn one so easily every day.
+
+Meantime John Jr. sought out 'Lena, to whom he said, "And so you are
+going to ride to-morrow morning?"
+
+"How did you know ?" she asked, and John, looking very wise, replied,
+that "little girls should not ask too many questions," adding, that
+as he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered
+Bill to have her at the door early in the morning.
+
+"Much obliged," answered 'Lena.  "I was about giving it up when I
+heard the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Caesar is so cross I
+hated to ask him to go for her; but now I'll say nothing to him about
+it."
+
+That night when Caesar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his
+mistress suddenly appeared, asking, "if he had received any orders to
+go for Fleetfoot."
+
+The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, "No, miss,
+and Lord knows I don't want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods
+to-night."
+
+"You needn't, either, and if any one tells you to go don't you do
+it," returned Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"Somebody's playin' possum, that's sartin," thought Bill, who was
+present, and began putting things together.  "Somebody's playin'
+possum, but they don't catch this child leakin'."
+
+"Have you told him?" whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the hall.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that "she presumed
+the ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Caesar about the
+pony."
+
+With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she
+commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to
+Woodlawn, dwelling upon it as if it had been a tour to Europe, and
+evidently exulting that 'Lena was to be left behind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+WOODLAWN.
+
+Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the eastern horizon,
+Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door saddled and
+waiting for its young rider, while near by it was Firelock, which
+Durward had borrowed of John Jr.  At last 'Lena appeared, and if
+Durward had admired her beauty before, his admiration was now greatly
+increased when he saw how well she looked in her neatly fitting
+riding dress and tasteful straw hat.  After bidding her good morning,
+he advanced to assist her in mounting, but declining his offer, she
+with one bound sprang into the saddle,
+
+"Jumps like a toad," said Bill.  "Ain't stiff and clumsy like Miss
+Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on."
+
+At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the clatter of
+their horses' hoofs arousing and bringing to the window Mrs. Graham,
+who had a suspicion of what was going on.  Pushing aside the silken
+curtain, she looked uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her
+son cared aught for the graceful creature at his side, and thinking
+if he did, how hard she would labor to overcome his liking.  Mrs.
+Graham was not the only one who watched them, for fearing lest Bill
+should not awake, John Jr.  had foregone his morning nap, himself
+calling up the negro, and now from his window he, too, looked after
+them until they entered upon the turnpike and were lost to view.
+Then, with some very complimentary reflections upon Lena's riding, he
+returned to his pillow, thinking to himself, "There's a girl worth
+having.  By Jove, if I'd never seen Nellie Douglass, and 'Lena wasn't
+my cousin, wouldn't I keep mother in the hysterics most of the time!"
+
+On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked 'Lena "where
+she wished to go."
+
+"Anywhere you please," said she, when, for reasons of his own, he
+proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn.
+
+'Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of
+satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family to
+visit Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it seemed like a
+perfect Eldorado.  It was a grand old building, standing on a cross
+road about three miles from the turnpike, and commanding quite an
+extensive view of the country around.  It was formerly owned by a
+wealthy Englishman, who spent his winters in New Orleans and his
+summers in the country.  The year before he had died insolvent,
+Woodlawn falling into the hands of his creditors, who now offered it
+for sale, together with the gorgeous furniture which still remained
+just as the family had left it.  To the left of the building was a
+large, handsome park, in which the former owner had kept a number of
+deer, and now as Durward and 'Lena rode up and down the shaded
+avenues, these graceful creatures would occasionally spring up and
+bound away with the fleetness of the wind.
+
+The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the
+former combining both the useful and the agreeable.  A luxurious
+grape-vine wreathed itself over the arched entrance, while the wide,
+graveled walks were bordered, some with box, and others with choice
+flowers, now choked and overgrown with weeds, but showing marks of
+great beauty, when properly tended and cared for.  At the extremity
+of the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the
+garden, was a summer house, fitted up with everything which could
+make it attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther
+on through the little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of
+the park, with many well-beaten paths winding through it and
+terminating finally at the side of a tiny sheet of water, which
+within a few years had forced itself through the limestone soil
+natural to Kentucky.
+
+Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting
+terms with the Livingstones; consequently, 'Lena had never before
+been at Woodlawn, and her admiration increased with every step, and
+when at last they entered the house and stood within the elegant
+drawing-rooms, it knew no bounds.  She remembered the time when she
+had thought her uncle's furniture splendid beyond anything in the
+world, but it could not compare with the magnificence around her, and
+for a few moments she stood as if transfixed with astonishment.
+Durward had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning
+the grounds, and now noticing her silence, he asked "what was the
+matter?"
+
+"Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove
+an illusion and fade away," said she.
+
+"Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw
+before?" he asked; and she replied, "Oh, yes, far more so," at the
+same time giving him a laughable description of her amazement when
+she first saw the inside of her uncle's house, and ending by saying,
+"But you can imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can
+judge pretty well what were my ideas of the world."
+
+Wishing to see if 'Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble
+mode of living Durward said, "I have never heard anything concerning
+your eastern home and how you lived there--will you please to tell
+me?"
+
+"There's nothing to tell which will interest you," answered 'Lena;
+but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade her
+commence.
+
+Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and
+now at his bidding 'Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its
+low-roof, bare walls, and oaken floors--of herself, when, a
+bare-footed little girl, she picked _huckleberries_ with _Joel
+Slocum_!  And then, in lower and more subdued tones, she spoke of her
+mother's grave in the valley, near which her beloved grandfather--the
+only father she had ever known--was now sleeping.  'Lena never spoke
+of her grandfather without weeping.  She could not help it.  Her
+tears came naturally, as they did when first they told her he was
+dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of the sofa, she sobbed
+like a child.
+
+Durward's sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to
+consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently
+toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her '_Lena_, and
+smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face.  As soon as
+possible 'Lena released herself from him, and drying her tears,
+proposed that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time
+for them to return home.  Accordingly, they passed on through room
+after room, 'Lena's quick eye taking in and appreciating everything
+which she saw, while Durward was no less lost in admiration of her,
+for speaking of herself so frankly as she had done.  Many young
+ladies, he well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their home
+was once in a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged
+mountains, and 'Lena's truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but
+many similar things connected with her early history, inspired him
+with a respect of her which he had never before felt for any young
+lady of his acquaintance.
+
+But little was said by either of them as they went over the house,
+until Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly
+asked his companion "how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?"
+
+Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have
+blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer,
+but 'Lena quickly replied, "Not at all," laughingly giving as an
+insuperable objection, "the size of the house and the number of
+windows she would have to wash!"
+
+With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home,
+and again mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which
+they reached just after the family had finished breakfast.  With the
+first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what
+might occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie,
+anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and 'Lena, cast wistful
+glances toward each other, he very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham
+"if her son had returned from his ride."
+
+"I've not seen him," answered the lady, her scowl deepening and her
+lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at
+ease.
+
+"Who's gone to ride?" asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied that
+Durward and 'Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that
+"they must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so
+long."
+
+This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept
+company with Mrs. Graham's scowl.  Chopping her steak into
+mince-meat, and almost biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her
+coffee, she at last found voice to ask, "what horse 'Lena rode!"
+
+"Fleetfoot, of course," said John Jr., at the same time telling his
+father he thought "he ought to give 'Lena a pony of her own, for she
+was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting
+old and clumsy."
+
+The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of
+Caesar, whom she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him
+with the calaboose, and anything else which came to her mind.  Old
+Caesar was taken by surprise, and being rather slow of speech, was
+trying to think of something to say, when John Jr., who had followed
+his mother, came to his aid, saying that "he himself had sent Bill
+for Fleetfoot," and adding aside to his mother, that "the next time
+she and Cad were plotting mischief he'd advise them to see who was in
+the back parlor!"
+
+Always ready to suspect 'Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately
+supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a
+reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide
+Caesar, 'Lena, or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the
+pause followed the example of his young master and stole away.  The
+tramp of horses' feet was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally
+resolving that Fleetfoot should be sold, repaired to the door in time
+to see Durward carefully lift 'Lena from her pony and place her upon
+the ground.  Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie were all standing upon
+the piazza, and as 'Lena came up the walk, her eyes sparkling and her
+bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed, "Isn't she
+beautiful?" at the same time asking her "where she had been."
+
+"To Woodlawn," answered 'Lena.
+
+"To Woodlawn!" repeated Mrs. Graham.
+
+"To Woodlawn!" echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the
+rear by exclaiming, "To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?"
+
+"The pony," answered 'Lena, as she passed into the house.
+
+Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. Livingstone
+said to her, in a low tone, "I would advise you to keep an eye upon
+your son, if he is at all susceptible, for there is no bound to
+'Lena's ambition."
+
+Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her little gray
+eye was a sufficient answer, and satisfied with the result of her
+caution, Mrs. Livingstone reentered the house.  Two hours afterward,
+the carriage stood at the door waiting to convey the party to
+Woodlawn.  It had been arranged that Mrs. Graham, Carrie, Anna, and
+Durward should ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham went on
+horseback.  Purposely, Carrie loitered behind her companions, who
+being first, of course took the back seat, leaving her the privilege
+of riding by the side of Durward.  This was exactly what she wanted,
+and leaning back on her elbow, she complacently awaited his coming.
+But how was she chagrined, when, in his stead, appeared Mr. Graham,
+who sprang into the carriage and took a seat beside her; saying to
+his wife's look of inquiry, that as John Jr. had concluded to go,
+Durward preferred riding on horseback with him, adding, in his
+usually polite way, "And I, you know, would always rather go with the
+ladies.  But where is Miss Rivers?" he continued.  "Why isn't she
+here?"
+
+"Simply because she wasn't invited, I suppose," returned his wife,
+detecting the disappointment in his face.
+
+"Not invited!" he repeated; "I didn't know as this trip was of
+sufficient consequence to need a special invitation.  I thought, of
+course, she was here----"
+
+"Or you would have gone on horseback," said his wife, ever ready to
+catch at straws.
+
+Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the truthful:
+answer--"Yes"--while he compromised the matter by saying that "the
+presence of three fair ladies ought to satisfy him."
+
+Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and during all the
+ride she was extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to Mr.
+Graham's lively sallies, and winning golden laurels in the opinion of
+Mrs. Graham, who secretly thought her husband altogether too
+agreeable.  As they turned into the long avenue which led to
+Woodlawn, and Carrie thought of the ride which 'Lena had enjoyed
+alone with its owner--for such was Durward reported to be--her heart
+swelled with bitterness toward her cousin, in whom she saw a dreaded
+rival.  But when they reached the house, and Durward assisted her to
+alight, keeping at her side while they walked over the grounds, her
+jealousy vanished, and with her sweetest smile she looked up into his
+face, affecting a world of childish simplicity, and making, as she
+believed, a very favorable impression.
+
+"I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as your cousin,"
+said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to be more intent on
+foreign subjects than the scenery around her.
+
+"Oh, no, I dare say not," returned Carrie.  "'Lena was never
+accustomed to anything until she came to Kentucky, and now I suppose
+she thinks she must go into ecstacies over everything, though I
+sometimes wish she wouldn't betray her ignorance quite so often."
+
+"According to her description, her home in Massachusetts was widely
+different from her present one," said Durward, and Carrie quickly
+replied, "I wonder now if she bored you with an account of her former
+home!  You must have been edified, and had a delightful ride, I
+declare."
+
+"And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss Rivers is, I
+think, an exceedingly agreeable companion," returned Durward,
+beginning to see the drift of her remarks.
+
+Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself from Carrie,
+he did not again return to her until it was time to go home.
+Meantime, at Maple Grove, Mrs. Livingstone, in the worst possible
+humor, was finding fault with poor 'Lena, accusing her of
+eavesdropping, and asking her if she did not begin to believe the old
+adage, that listeners never heard any good of themselves.  In perfect
+astonishment 'Lena demanded what she meant, saying she had never, to
+her knowledge, been guilty of listening.
+
+Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone declared herself
+"satisfied now, for a person who would listen and then deny it, was
+capable of almost anything."
+
+"What do you mean, madam ?" said 'Lena, her temper getting the
+ascendency.  "Explain yourself, for no one shall accuse me of lying
+without an attempt to prove it."
+
+With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, "I wonder what you can do!
+Will you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?"
+
+"Admirers!  What admirers?" asked 'Lena, and her aunt replied, "I'll
+give you credit for feigning the best of any one I ever saw, but you
+can't deceive me.  I know very well of your intrigues to entrap Mr.
+Bellmont.  But it is not strange that you should inherit something of
+your mother's nature; and you know what she was!"
+
+This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the glittering
+tears, which shone like diamonds, 'Lena sprang to her feet,
+exclaiming, "Yes, I do know what she was.  She was a far more worthy
+woman than you, and if in my presence you dare again breathe aught
+against her name, you shall rue it----"
+
+"That she shall, so help me heaven," murmured a voice near, which
+neither Mrs. Livingstone nor 'Lena heard, nor were they aware of any
+one's presence until Mr. Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway.
+
+At his wife's request he had exchanged places with his son, and
+riding on before the rest, had reached home first, being just in time
+to overhear the last part of the conversation between Mrs.
+Livingstone and 'Lena.  Instantly changing her manner, Mrs.
+Livingstone motioned her niece from the room, heaving a deep sigh as
+the door closed after her, and saying that "none but those who had
+tried it knew what a thankless job it was to rear the offspring of
+others."
+
+There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham's eyes, as he answered, "In
+your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is willing.  I have
+taken a great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would like to adopt her as my
+daughter.  I will speak to Mrs. Graham to-night."
+
+Much as she disliked 'Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for the world
+have her become an inmate of Mr. Graham's family, where she would be
+constantly thrown in Durward's way; and immediately changing her
+tactics, she replied, "I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my
+husband would not think of such a thing; neither should I be quite
+willing for her to leave us, much as she troubles me."
+
+Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house.  That night, after he
+had retired to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, pacing up
+and down the apartment, occasionally pausing to gaze out into the
+moonlit sky, and then resuming his measured tread.  At last nerving
+himself to brave the difficulty, he stopped before his wife, to whom
+he made known his plan of adopting 'Lena.
+
+"It seems hasty, I know," said he, "but she is just the kind of
+person I would like to have round--just such a one as I would wish my
+daughter to be if I had one.  In short, I like her, and with your
+consent I will adopt her as my own, and take her from this place
+where I know she's not wanted.  What say you, Lucy?"
+
+"Will you adopt the old woman too?" asked Mrs. Graham, whose face was
+turned away so as to hide its expression.
+
+"That is an after consideration," returned her husband, "but if you
+are willing, I will either take her to our home, or provide for her
+elsewhere--but come, what do you say?"
+
+All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little dumpling
+hands folded one within the other, the long transparent nails making
+deep indentures in the soft flesh, and her gray eyes emitting _green_
+gleams of scorn.  The answer her husband sought came at length, and
+was characteristic of the woman.  Hissing out the words from between
+her teeth, she replied, "When I take 'Lena Rivers into my family for
+my husband and son to make love to, alternately, I shall be ready for
+the lunatic asylum at Lexington."
+
+"And what objection have you to her?" asked Mr. Graham; to which his
+wife replied, "The very fact, sir, that you wish it, is a sufficient
+reason why I will not have her; besides that, you must misjudge me
+strangely if you think I'd be willing for my son to come daily in
+contact with a girl of her doubtful parentage."
+
+"What know you of her parentage?" said Mr. Graham, his lips turning
+slightly pale.
+
+"Yes, what do I know?" answered his wife.  "Her father, if she has
+any, is a rascal, a villain----"
+
+"Yes, yes, all of that," muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife
+continued, "And her mother a poor, low, mean, ignorant----"
+
+"Hold!" thundered Mr. Graham.  "You shall not speak so of any woman
+of whom you know nothing, much less of 'Lena Rivers' mother."
+
+"And pray what do you know of her--is she an old acquaintance?" asked
+Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner as much of insolence as
+possible.
+
+"I know," returned Mr. Graham, "that 'Lena's mother could be nothing
+else than respectable."
+
+"Undoubtedly; but of this be assured--the daughter shall never, by my
+permission, darken my doors," said Mrs. Graham, growing more and more
+excited, and continuing--"I know you of old, Harry Graham; and I know
+now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was so as to be near
+her, but it shan't be."
+
+In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself who had
+first suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that until within a day
+or two her husband and 'Lena were entire strangers.  But this made no
+difference.  She was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an
+hour she fretted and cried, declaring herself the most abused of her
+sex, and wishing she had never seen her husband, who, in his heart,
+warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving not to mention the
+offending 'Lena again in the presence of his wife.
+
+The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed; after which, Mr.
+and Mrs. Graham, together with Durward, returned to Louisville,
+intending to take possession of their new home about the first of
+October.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.
+
+As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were commenced for
+repairing Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in a style suited to
+the luxurious taste of its rightful owner, which, as report said, was
+in reality Durward.  He had conceived a fancy for the place five
+years before, when visiting in the neighborhood, and on learning that
+it was for sale, he had purchased it, at the suggestion of his
+mother, proposing to his father that for a time, at least, he should
+be its nominal possessor.  What reason he had for this he hardly knew
+himself, unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of
+great wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.
+
+And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved than was he.
+Courteous, kind-hearted, and generous almost to a fault, he gained
+friends wherever he went, and it was with some reason that Mrs.
+Graham thought herself blessed above mothers, in the possession of
+such a son.  "He is so like me," she would say, in speaking of his
+many virtues, when, in fact, there was scarcely anything in common
+between them, for nearly all of Durward's sterling qualities were
+either inherited from his own father, or the result of many years'
+companionship with his stepfather.  Possessed of the most exquisite
+taste, he exercised it in the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under
+his skillful management, began in a few weeks to assume a more
+beautiful appearance than it had ever before worn.
+
+Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out to see how
+matters were progressing, the latter usually accepting Mrs.
+Livingstone's pressing invitation to make her house his home.  This
+he was the more willing to do, as it threw him into the society of
+'Lena, who was fast becoming an object of absorbing interest to him.
+The more he saw of her, the more was his admiration increased, and
+oftentimes, when joked concerning his preference for Carrie, he
+smiled to think how people were deceived, determining, however, to
+keep his own secret until such time as he should be convinced that
+'Lena was all he could desire in a wife.  For her poverty and humble
+birth he cared nothing.  If she were poor, he was rich, and he
+possessed too much good sense to deem himself better than she,
+because the blood of a nobleman flowed in his veins.  He knew that
+she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could he be assured that she
+was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate a moment.
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone's insinuation that she was a heartless coquette,
+troubled him, and though he could not believe it without more proof
+than he had yet received, he determined to wait and watch, studying
+her character, the while, to see if there was in her aught of evil.
+In this state of affairs, it was hardly more than natural that his
+manner toward her should be rather more reserved than that which he
+assumed toward Carrie, for whom he cared nothing, and with whom he
+talked laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was out of
+his sight, and never suspecting how much importance she attached to
+his every word and look, construing into tokens of admiration the
+most casual remark, such as he would utter to any one.  This was of
+advantage to 'Lena, for, secure of their prize, both Mrs. Livingstone
+and Carrie, for a time, at least, ceased to persecute her, seldom
+speaking of her in Durward's presence, and, as a general thing,
+acting as though she were not in existence.
+
+John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of watching his
+mother and sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now withdrew his
+espionage, amusing himself, instead, by galloping three times a week
+over to Frankfort, the home of Nellie Douglass, and by keeping an eye
+upon Captain Atherton, who, as a spider would watch a fly, was lying
+in wait for the unsuspecting Anna.
+
+At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of Mrs.
+Graham, who came up early in October, bringing with her a larger
+train of house servants than was often seen in Woodford county.
+About three weeks after her arrival, invitations were issued for a
+party or "house warming," as the negroes termed it.  Nero, Durward's
+valet, brought the tiny notes to Mr. Livingstone's, giving them into
+the care of Carrie, who took them immediately to her mother's room.
+
+"It's Durward's handwriting," said she, glancing at the
+superscriptions, and reading as she did so--"Mr. and Mrs.
+Livingstone"--"Mr. John Livingstone, Jr."--"Miss Carrie
+Livingstone"--"Miss Anna Livingstone"--"_Miss 'Lena Rivers_;" and
+here she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked
+up inquiringly--"And as I live, one for _grandma_--'MRS. MARTHA
+NICHOLS!'"
+
+"Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for
+the billet.  "Yes, 'tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!--what can it mean?"
+
+A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant.  For once
+in his life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of being master in his
+own house, declaring that if Mrs. Nichols were not invited with the
+family, there should be no party at all.  Mrs. Graham saw that he was
+in earnest, and yielded the point, knowing that in all probability
+the old lady would not be permitted to attend.  Her husband had
+expected a like opposition with regard to 'Lena, but he was
+disappointed, for his wife, forgetting her declaration that 'Lena
+should never darken her doors and thinking it would not do to slight
+her, consented that, on her uncle's account, she should be invited.
+Accordingly, the notes were despatched, producing the effect we have
+seen.
+
+"How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!" said Carrie.  "It's bad
+enough to have 'Lena stuck in with us, for of course _she'll_ go."
+
+"Why of course?" asked Mrs. Livingstone.  "The invitations are at my
+disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two of them, no one will be
+blamed but Nero, who was careless and dropped them!  'Lena has
+nothing decent to wear, and I don't feel like expending much more for
+a person so ungrateful as she is.  You ought to have heard how
+impudent she was that time you all went to Woodlawn."
+
+Then followed a one-sided description of that morning's occurrence,
+Mrs. Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch of excitement,
+that before her recital was finished, she had determined at all
+events to keep back 'Lena's invitation, as a method of punishing her
+for her "insolence," as she termed it.
+
+"Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know," said she, "for she cannot
+endure her; and besides that, I don't think 'Lena expects to be
+invited, so there's no harm done."
+
+Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for a moment
+her better nature shrank from so mean a transaction, which might,
+after all, be found out, involving them in a still worse difficulty;
+but as the thought flashed upon her that possibly 'Lena might again
+attract Durward toward her, she assented, and they were about putting
+the notes aside, when John Jr.  came in, catching up his
+grandmother's note the first thing, and exclaiming, "Oh,
+_rich_!--_capital_!  I hope she'll go!" Then, before his mother could
+interpose a word, he darted away in quest of Mrs. Nichols, whose
+surprise was fully equal to that of Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie.
+
+"Now, you don't say I've got an invite," said she, leaving the
+darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mending, and wiping
+her steel-bowed spectacles.  "Come, 'Leny, you read it, that's a good
+girl."
+
+'Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin's hand, read that
+Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc.
+
+"But where's the invite?  That don't say anything about _me_!" said
+Mrs. Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug after all.
+
+As well as they could, 'Lena and John Jr.  explained it to her, and
+then, fully convinced that she was really invited, Mrs. Nichols began
+to wonder what she should wear, and how she should go, asking John
+"if he couldn't tackle up and carry her in the shay," as she called
+the single buggy.
+
+"Certainly," answered John Jr.  willing to do anything for the sake
+of the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother's
+attendance.
+
+'Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify her
+grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to the ridicule
+which her appearance at a fashionable party would call forth.
+Glancing reprovingly at her cousin, she said, "I wouldn't think of
+going, grandma, for you are lame and old, and there'll be so many
+people there, all strangers, too, that you won't enjoy it at all.
+Besides that, we'll have a nice time at home together---I'll read to
+you all the evening."
+
+"_We_," repeated John Jr.  "Pray, are you not going?"
+
+"Not without an invitation," said 'Lena smilingly.
+
+"True, true," returned her cousin.  "It's downstairs, I dare say.  I
+only stopped to look at this.  I'll go and get yours now."
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother's room,
+asking for "'Lena's card."
+
+"'Lena's card!  What do you mean?" said Mrs. Livingstone, looking up
+from the book she was reading, while Carrie for a moment suspended
+her needle-work.
+
+"'Lena's invitation; you know well enough what I mean," returned John
+Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the table, and failing to
+find the one for which he was seeking.
+
+"You'll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it's not here,"
+was Mrs. Livingstone's quiet answer.
+
+"Thunder!" roared John Jr., "'Lena not invited!  That's a smart
+caper.  But there's some mistake about it, I know.  Who brought them?"
+
+"Nero brought them," said Carrie, "and I think it is strange that
+grandmother should be invited and 'Lena left out.  But I suppose Mrs.
+Graham has her reasons.  She don't seem to fancy 'Lena much."
+
+"Mrs. Graham go to grass," muttered John Jr., leaving the room and
+slamming the door after him with great violence.
+
+'Twas a pity he did not look in one of the drawers of his mother's
+work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing note!  But he
+did not think of that.  He only knew that 'Lena was slighted, and for
+the next two hours he raved and fretted, sometimes declaring he would
+not go, and again wishing Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little
+suited to her round, fat proportions.
+
+"Wall, if they feel too big to invite 'Leny, they needn't expect to
+see me there, that's just all there is about it," said grandma,
+settling herself in her rocking-chair, and telling 'Lena "she
+wouldn't care an atom if she's in her place."
+
+But 'Lena did care.  No one likes to be slighted, and she was not an
+exception to the general rule.  Owing to her aunt's skillful
+management she had never yet attended a large party, and it was but
+natural that she should now wish to go.  But it could not be, and she
+was obliged to content herself with the hopes of a minute description
+from Anna; Carrie she would not trust, for she well knew that
+whatever she told would be greatly exaggerated.
+
+Mrs. Graham undoubtedly wished to give her friends ample time to
+prepare, for her invitations were issued nearly a week in advance.
+This suited Carrie, who had a longer time to decide upon what would
+be becoming, and when at last a decision was made, she could do
+nothing but talk about her dress, which really was beautiful,
+consisting of a pink and white silk, with an over-skirt of soft, rich
+lace.  This, after it was completed, was tried on at least half a
+dozen times, and the effect carefully studied before the long mirror.
+Anna, who cared much less for dress than her sister, decided upon a
+black flounced skirt and velvet basque.  This was Mr. Everett's
+taste, and whatever suited him suited her.
+
+"I do think it's too bad that 'Lena is not invited," said she one
+day, when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party.  "She would
+enjoy it so much.  I don't understand, either, why she is omitted,
+for Mr. Graham seemed to like her, and Durward too----"
+
+"A great ways off, you mean," interrupted Carrie.  "For my part, I
+see nothing strange in the omission.  It is no worse to leave her out
+than scores of others who will not be invited."
+
+"But to come into the house and ask all but her," said Anna.  "It
+does not seem right.  She is as good as we are."
+
+"That's as people think," returned Carrie, while John Jr., who was
+just going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at the door,
+exclaimed, "Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy yourself better than
+'Lena Rivers.  If you do, you are the only one that thinks so.  Why,
+you can't begin to compare with her, and it's a confounded shame that
+she isn't invited, and so I shall tell them if I have a good chance."
+
+"You'll look smart fishing for an invitation, won't you?" said
+Carrie, her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of her
+hearing almost before the words were uttered.
+
+Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in with
+Durward, who was bound for the same place.  After the usual greetings
+were exchanged, Durward said, "I suppose you are all coming on
+Thursday night?"
+
+"Yes," returned John Jr., "I believe the old folks, Cad, and Anna
+intend doing so."
+
+"But where's Miss Rivers?  Doesn't she honor us with her presence?"
+asked Durward, in some concern.
+
+John Jr.'s first impulse, as he afterwards said, was "to knock him
+off from his horse," but a second thought convinced him there might
+be some mistake; so he replied that "it was hardly to be supposed
+Miss Rivers would attend without an invitation--she wasn't quite so
+verdant as that!"
+
+"Without an invitation!" repeated Durward, stopping short in the
+road.  "'Lena not invited!  It isn't so!  I directed one to her
+myself, and gave it to Nero, together with the rest which were
+designed for your family.  He must have lost it.  I'll ask him the
+moment I get home, and see that it is all made right.  She must come,
+any way, for I wouldn't give----"
+
+Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished
+the sentence for him.
+
+"Wouldn't give a picayune for the whole affair without her--that's
+what you mean, and why not say so?  I speak right out about Nellie,
+and she isn't one half as handsome as 'Lena."
+
+"It isn't 'Lena's beauty that I admire altogether," returned Durward.
+"I like her for her frankness, and because I think her conduct is
+actuated by the best of principles; perhaps I am mistaken----"
+
+"No, you are not," again interrupted John Jr., "'Lena is just what
+she seems to be.  There's no deception in her.  She isn't one thing
+to-day and another to-morrow.  Spunky as the old Nick, you know, but
+still she governs her temper admirably, and between you and me, I
+know I'm a better man than I should have been had she never come to
+live with us.  How well I remember the first time I saw her," he
+continued, repeating to Durward the particulars of their interview in
+Lexington, and describing her introduction to his sisters.  "From the
+moment she refused to tell that lie for me, I liked her," said he,
+"and when she dealt me that blow in my face, my admiration was
+complete."
+
+Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he laughed
+heartily at John's description of his spirited cousin, thinking, too,
+how different was his opinion of her from that which his mother
+evidently entertained.  Still, if Mrs. Livingstone was prejudiced,
+John Jr. might also be somewhat biased, so he would not yet make up
+his mind; but on one thing he was resolved--she should be invited,
+and for fear of contingencies, he would carry the card himself.
+
+Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely questioned, and
+negro-like, called down all manner of evil upon himself "if he done
+drapped the note any whar.  'Strue as I live and breathe, Mas'r
+Bellmont," said he, "I done carried Miss 'Leny's invite with the
+rest, and guv 'em all to the young lady with the big nose!"
+
+Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might
+have believed him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that
+Nero had accidentally dropped it.  So he wrote another, taking it
+himself, and asking for "Miss Rivers."  Carrie, who was in the parlor
+and saw him coming up to the house, instantly flew to the glass,
+smoothing her collar, puffing out her hair a little more, pinching
+her cheek, which was not quite so red as usual, and wishing that she
+was alone.  But unfortunately, both Anna and 'Lena were present, and
+as there was no means of being rid of them, she retained her seat at
+the piano, carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when
+the door opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared.
+
+"If you please, Miss 'Lena," said the girl, "Marster Bellmont want to
+speak with you in the hall."
+
+"With 'Lena! How funny!" exclaimed Carrie.  "Are you sure it was
+'Lena?"
+
+"Yes, sure--he done ask for Miss Rivers."
+
+"Ask him in, why don't you?" said Carrie, suspecting his errand, and
+thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing "wonderfully
+pleased" that 'Lena was not intentionally neglected.  Before Corinda
+could reply, 'Lena had stepped into the hall, and was standing face
+to face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he asked if "she
+really believed they, intended to slight her," at the same time
+explaining how it came to his knowledge, and saying "he hoped she
+would not fail to attend."
+
+'Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely
+think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented,
+and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself
+if she were not there with the rest.
+
+"You feel better, now, don't you ?" said Carrie with a sneer, as
+'Lena re-entered the parlor.
+
+"Yes, a great deal," was 'Lena's truthful answer.
+
+"Oh, I'm real glad!" exclaimed Anna.  "I most knew 'twas a mistake
+all the time, and I did so want you to go.  What will you wear?  Let
+me see.  Why, you haven't got anything suitable, have you?"
+
+This was true, for 'Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she
+was beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came
+in, and to him Anna forthwith stated the case, saying 'Lena must have
+a new dress, and suggesting embroidered muslin.
+
+"How ridiculous!" muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano.
+"There's no time to make dresses now.  They should have invited her
+earlier."
+
+"Isn't Miss Simpson still here?" asked her father.
+
+Anna replied that she was, and then turning to 'Lena, Mr. Livingstone
+asked if "she wanted to go very much."
+
+The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when
+at supper that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was
+said that he had gone to Frankfort.
+
+"To Frankfort!" repeated his wife.  "What has he gone there for?"
+
+No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned home,
+bringing with him 'Lena's dress, which Anna pronounced "the sweetest
+thing she ever saw," at the same time running with it to her cousin.
+There was company in the parlor, which for a time kept down the
+gathering storm in Mrs. Livingstone's face, but the moment they were
+gone, and she was alone with her husband in their room, it burst
+forth, and in angry tones she demanded "what he meant by spending her
+money in that way, and without her consent?"
+
+Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her work-box, and
+opening the little drawer, held to view the missing note.  Then
+turning to his wife, whose face was very pale, he said, "This morning
+I made a discovery which exonerates Nero from all blame.  I
+understand it fully, and while I knew you were capable of almost
+anything, I must say I did not think you would be guilty of quite so
+mean an act.  Stay," he continued, as he saw her about to speak, "you
+are my wife, and as 'Lena is at last invited, your secret is safe,
+but remember, it must not be repeated.  You understand me, do you?"
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and
+astonishment--the first, that she was detected, and the last, that
+her husband dare assume such language toward her.  But he had her in
+his power--she knew that--and for a time it rendered her very docile,
+causing her to consult with Miss Simpson concerning the fitting of
+'Lena's dress, herself standing by when it was done, and suggesting
+one or two improvements, until 'Lena, perfectly bewildered, wondered
+what had come over her aunt, that she should be so unusually kind.
+Carrie, too, learning from her mother how matters stood, thought
+proper to change her manner, and while in her heart she hoped
+something would occur to keep 'Lena at home, she loudly expressed her
+pleasure that she was going, offering to lend her several little
+ornaments, and doing many things which puzzled 'Lena, who readily saw
+that she was feigning what she did not feel.
+
+Meanwhile, grandma, learning that 'Lena was invited, declared her
+intention of going.  "I shouldn't of gin up in the first on't," said
+she, "only I wanted to show 'em proper resentment; but now it's
+different, and I'll go, anyway--'Tilda may say what she's a mind to."
+
+It was in vain that 'Lena reasoned the case.  Grandma was decided,
+and it was not until both her son and daughter interfered, the one
+advising and the other commanding her to stay at home, that she
+yielded with a burst of tears, for grandma was now in her second
+childhood, and easily moved.  It was terrible to 'Lena to see her
+grandmother weep, and twining her arms around her neck, she tried to
+soothe her, saying, "she would willingly stay at home with her if she
+wished it."
+
+Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this.  "No, 'Leny,"
+said she, "I want you to go and enjoy yourself while you are young,
+for you'll sometime be old and in the way;" and the old creature
+covered her face with her shriveled hands and wept.
+
+But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, and
+drying her tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride and
+satisfaction which she felt when she saw how well the white muslin
+became 'Lena, who, John Jr., said, never looked so beautifully as she
+did when arrayed for the party.  Mr. Livingstone had not been sparing
+of his money when he purchased the party dress, which was a richly
+embroidered muslin, and fell in soft folds around 'Lena's graceful
+figure.  Her long flowing curls were intertwined with a few natural
+flowers, her only attempt at ornament of any kind, and, indeed,
+ornaments would have been sadly out of place on 'Lena'.
+
+It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple Grove reached
+Woodlawn, where they found a large company assembled, some in the
+drawing-rooms below, and others still lingering at the toilet in the
+dressing chamber.  Among these last were Nellie Douglass and Mabel
+Ross, the latter of whom Mrs. Livingstone was perfectly delighted to
+see, overwhelming her with caresses, and urging her to stop for
+awhile at Maple Grove.
+
+"I shall be so glad to have you with us, and the country air will do
+you so much good, that you must not refuse," said she, pinching
+Mabel's sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy hair, which,
+in contrast with the bandeau of pearls that she wore, looked dark as
+midnight.
+
+Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and
+there was something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone's _motherly_
+demeanor, that the heart of the young orphan warmed toward her, and
+tears glittered in her large, mournful eyes, the only beauty, save
+her hair, of which she could boast.  Very few had ever cared for poor
+Mabel, who, though warm-hearted and affectionate, required to be
+known in order to be appreciated, and as she was naturally shy and
+retiring, there were not many who felt at all acquainted with her.
+Left alone in the world at a very early age, she had never known what
+it was to possess a real, disinterested friend, unless we except
+Nellie Douglass, who, while there was nothing congenial between them,
+had always tried to treat Mabel as she herself would wish to be
+treated, were she in like circumstances.
+
+Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which they
+knew would accrue, for she was generous to a fault, bestowing with a
+lavish hand upon those whom she loved, and who had too often proved
+false, denouncing her as utterly spiritless and insipid.  So often
+had she been deceived, that now, at the age of eighteen, she had
+learned to distrust her fellow creatures, and oftentimes in secret
+would she weep bitterly over her lonely condition, lamenting the
+plain face and unattractive manners, which she fancied rendered her
+an object of dislike.  Still there was about her a depth of feeling
+of which none had ever dreamed, and it only required a skillful hand
+to mold her into an altogether different being.  She was, perhaps,
+too easily influenced, for in spite of her distrust, a pleasant word
+or kind look would win her to almost anything.
+
+Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the
+better accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel
+should believe her to be the best friend she had in the world.
+Accordingly, she now flattered and petted her, calling her "darling,"
+and "dearest," and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she
+consented, "provided Nellie Douglas were willing."
+
+"Oh, I don't care," answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing disposition
+poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it
+rather a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.
+
+So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs.
+Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, "Go down
+with me," at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her
+daughters, Nellie, and 'Lena.  In the hall they met with John Jr.  He
+had heard Nellie's voice, and stationing himself at the head of the
+stairs, was waiting her appearance.
+
+"Miss Ross," said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time
+indicating her willingness to give her into his care.
+
+But John Jr. would not take the hint.  Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he
+passed on toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie's train
+and drawing from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness.
+Mrs. Livingstone glanced backward just in time to see the look of
+affection with which her son regarded Nellie, as she placed her soft
+hand confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward smilingly into his
+face.  She dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with a
+mental invective against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and
+smoothing down the heavy folds of her _moire antique_, entered the
+drawing-room, which was brilliantly lighted, and filled with the
+beauty and fashion of Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.
+
+At the door they met Durward, who, as he took 'Lena's hand, said, "It
+is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after
+you."  This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides
+having her son and Nellie under her special cognizance, had also an
+eye upon her niece and Anna.  Her espionage of the latter, however,
+was not needed immediately, owing to her being straightway
+appropriated by Captain Atherton, who, in dainty white kids, and vest
+to match (the color not the material), strutted back and forth with
+Anna tucked under his arm, until the poor girl was ready to cry with
+vexation.
+
+When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham and Durward
+started for 'Lena, the latter reaching her first, and paying her so
+many little attentions, that the curiosity of others was aroused, and
+frequently was the question asked, "Who is she, the beautiful young
+lady in white muslin and curls?"
+
+Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in passing
+near her niece, she managed to whisper, "For heaven's sake don't show
+your ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. Bellmont's good nature any
+longer.  It's very improper to claim any one's attention so long, and
+you are calling forth remarks."
+
+Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to
+Durward, "How _can_ you resist such beseeching glances as those
+ladies send toward you?" nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie
+was one.
+
+'Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room in quest
+of some other shelter when Durward should relinquish her, as she felt
+he would surely do, but none presented itself.  Her uncle was playing
+the agreeable to Miss Atherton, Mr. Graham to some other lady, while
+John Jr. kept closely at Nellie's side, forgetful of all else.
+
+"What shall I do?" said 'Lena, unconsciously and half aloud.
+
+"Stay with me," answered Durward, drawing her hand further within his
+arm, and bending upon her a look of admiration which she could not
+mistake.
+
+Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who was highly
+incensed at her son's proceedings, and at last actually asked him "if
+he did not intend noticing anyone except Miss Rivers," adding, as an
+apology for her rudeness (for Mrs. Graham prided herself upon being
+very polite in her own house), "she has charms enough to win a dozen
+gallants, but there are others here who need attention from you.
+There's Miss Livingstone, you've hardly spoken with her to-night."
+
+Thus importuned, Durward released 'Lena and walked away, attaching
+himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possible, than did the
+old captain to Anna.  About this time Mr. Everett came.  He had been
+necessarily detained, and now, after paying his respects to the host
+and hostess, he started in quest of Anna, who was still held "in
+durance vile" by the captain.  But the moment she saw Malcolm, she
+uttered a low exclamation of joy, and without a single apology, broke
+abruptly away from her ancient cavalier, whose little watery eyes
+looked daggers after her for an instant; then consoling himself with
+the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her, do what she would,
+he walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her for a time of her
+charge, who was becoming rather tiresome.  Frequently, by nods,
+winks, and frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone tried to bring her son to a
+sense of his improper conduct in devoting himself exclusively to one
+individual, and neglecting all others.
+
+But her efforts were all in vain.  John Jr. was incorrigible, slyly
+whispering to Nellie, that "he had no idea of beauing a medicine
+chest."  This he said, referring to Mabel's ill health, for among his
+other oddities, John Jr. had a particular aversion to sickly ladies.
+Of course Nellie reproved him for his unkind remarks, at the same
+time warmly defending Mabel, "who," she said, "had been delicate from
+infancy, and suffered far more than was generally suspected."
+
+"Let her stay at home, then," was John Jr.'s answer, as he led Nellie
+toward the supper-room, which the company were just then entering.
+
+About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs.
+Livingstone being the first to propose going.  As she was ascending
+the stairs, John Jr. observed that Mabel was with her, and turning to
+'Lena, who now leaned on his arm, he said, "There goes the future
+Mrs. John Jr.--so mother thinks!"
+
+"Where?" asked 'Lena, looking around.
+
+"Why, there," continued John, pointing toward Mabel.  "Haven't you
+noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches over her?"
+
+"I saw them together," answered 'Lena, "and I thought it very kind in
+my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and I felt sorry for
+her.  She is going home with us, I believe.",
+
+"Going home with _us_!" repeated John Jr.  "In the name of the
+people, what is she going home with us for?"
+
+"Why," returned 'Lena, "your mother thinks the country air will do
+her good."
+
+"_Un_-doubtedly," said John, with a sneer.  "Mother's motives are
+usually very disinterested.  I wonder she don't propose to the old
+captain to take up _his_ quarters with us, so she can nurse him!"
+
+With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr.
+should be very polite toward Mabel, and when his mother asked him to
+help her into the carriage, he complied so ungraciously, that Mabel
+observed it, and looked wonderingly at her _patroness_ for an
+explanation.
+
+"Only one of his freaks, love--he'll get over it," said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while poor Mabel, sinking back amoung the cushions, wept
+silently, thinking that everybody hated her.
+
+When 'Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good-night, the
+former retained her hand, while he expressed his sorrow at her
+leaving so soon.  "I meant to have seen more of you," said he, "but
+you must visit us often--will you not?"
+
+Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham's observation,
+and the lecture which she that night read her offending spouse, had
+the effect to keep him awake until the morning was growing gray in
+the east.  Then, when he was asleep, he so far forgot himself and the
+wide-open ears beside him as actually to breathe the name of 'Lena in
+his dreams!
+
+Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspicions, and at
+the breakfast-table next morning, she gave her son a lengthened
+account of her husband's great sin in dreaming of a young girl, and
+that girl 'Lena Rivers.  Durward laughed heartily and then, either to
+tease his mother, or to make his father's guilt less heinous in her
+eyes, he replied, "It is a little singular that our minds should run
+in the same channel, for, I, too, dreamed of 'Lena Rivers!"
+
+Poor Mrs. Graham.  A double task was now imposed upon her--that of
+watching both husband and son; but she was accustomed to it, for her
+life, since her second marriage, had been one continued series of
+watching for evil where there was none.  And now, with a growing
+hatred toward 'Lena, she determined to increase her vigilance,
+feeling sure she should discover something if she only continued
+faithful to the end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+MABEL.
+
+The morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone's family were
+assembled in the parlor, discussing the various events of the
+previous night.  John Jr., 'Lena, and Anna declared themselves to
+have been highly pleased with everything, while Carrie in the worst
+of humors, pronounced it "a perfect bore," saying she never had so
+disagreeable a time in all her life, and ending her ill-natured
+remarks by a malicious thrust at 'Lena, for having so long kept Mr.
+Bellmont at her side.
+
+"I suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, but I
+think he showed his good taste by preferring 'Lena," said John Jr.;
+then turning toward the large easy-chair, where Mabel sat, pale,
+weary, and spiritless, he asked "how she had enjoyed herself."
+
+With the exception of his accustomed "good-morning," this was the
+first time he had that day addressed her, and it was so unexpected,
+that it brought a bright glow to her cheek, making John Jr. think she
+was "not so horribly ugly after all."
+
+But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, "that on
+account of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed anything of the kind."
+Then pressing her hand upon her forehead, she continued, "My head is
+aching dreadfully, as a punishment for last night's dissipation."
+
+Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching head, and
+now, with an impatient gesture, he was turning away, when his mother
+said, "Poor girl, she really looks miserable.  I think a ride would
+do her good.  Suppose you take her with you--I heard you say you were
+going to Versailles."
+
+If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horsemanship,
+she being a better rider, if possible; than 'Lena, and now, at Mrs.
+Livingstone's proposition, she looked up eagerly at John Jr., who
+replied,
+
+"Oh, hang it all! mother, I can't always be bothered with a girl;"
+then as he saw how Mabel's countenance fell, he continued, "Let 'Lena
+ride with her--she wants to, I know."
+
+"Certainly," said 'Lena, whose heart warmed toward the orphan girl,
+partly because she was an orphan, and partly because she saw that she
+was neglected and unloved.
+
+As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected his
+mother's object in detaining her as a guest.  So when 'Lena was
+proposed as a substitute she seemed equally well pleased, and the
+young man, as he walked off to order the ponies, mentally termed
+himself a bear for his rudeness; "for after all," thought he, "it's
+mother who has designs upon me, not Mabel.  She isn't to blame."
+
+This opinion once satisfactorily settled, it was strange how soon
+John Jr. began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her much more
+agreeable than he had at first supposed, and even acknowledging to
+'Lena that "she was a good deal of a girl, after all, were it not for
+her everlasting headaches and the smell of medicine," which he
+declared she always carried about with her.
+
+"Hush-sh," said 'Lena--"you shan't talk so, for she is sick a great
+deal, and she does not feign it, either."
+
+"Perhaps not," returned John Jr., "but she can at least keep her
+_miserable feelings_ to herself.  Nobody wants to know how many times
+she's been blistered and bled!"
+
+Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were somethings in Mabel which
+he liked, for no one could live long with her and not admire her
+gentleness and uncommon sweetness of disposition, which manifested
+itself in numerous little acts of kindness to those around her.
+Never before in her life had she been so constantly associated with a
+young gentleman, and as she was quite susceptible, it is hardly more
+than natural that erelong thoughts of John Jr. mingled in both her
+sleeping and waking dreams.  She could not understand him, but the
+more his changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in
+him, and her eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word from him,
+or fill with tears at the abruptness of his speeches; while he seemed
+to take special delight in seeing how easily he could move her from
+one extreme to the other.
+
+Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each change,
+and warily calculating its result.  Not once since Mabel became an
+inmate of her family had she mentioned her to her son, for she deemed
+it best to wait, and let matters take their course.  But at last,
+anxious to know his real opinion, she determined to sound him.
+Accordingly, one day when they were alone, she spoke of Mabel, asking
+him if he did not think she improved upon acquaintance, at the same
+time enumerating her many excellent qualities, and saying that
+whoever married her would get a prize, to say nothing of a fortune.
+
+Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. replied, "I
+dare say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome
+to them for all me."
+
+"I thought you liked Mabel," said his mother; and John answered, "So
+I do like her, but for pity's sake, is a man obliged to marry every
+girl he likes?  Mabel does very well to tease and amuse one, but when
+you come to the marrying part, why, that's another thing."
+
+"And what objection have you to her," continued his mother, growing
+very fidgety and red.
+
+"Several," returned John, "She has altogether too many aches and
+pains to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever; and last, but not
+least, I like somebody else.  So, mother mine, you may as well give
+up all hopes of that hundred thousand down in Alabama, for I shall
+never marry Mabel Ross, never."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very angry,
+and, in an elevated tone of voice, she said, "I s'pose it's Nellie
+Douglass you mean, but if you knew all of her that I do, I reckon----"
+
+Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something dreadful,
+if she would!  But John Jr. took no notice of her hints, and when he
+got a chance, he replied, "You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if
+Nellie will have me, I surely will have her."
+
+"Marry her, then," retorted his mother--"marry her with all her
+poverty, but for heaven's sake, don't give so much encouragement to a
+poor defenseless girl."
+
+Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he'd neither speak to nor look
+at her again, if common civilities were construed into encouragement,
+John Jr. strode out of the room, determining, as the surest method of
+ending the trouble, to go forthwith to Nellie, and in a plain,
+straight-forward way make her an offer of himself.  With him, to will
+was to do, and in about an hour he was descending the long hill which
+leads into Frankfort.  Unfortunately, Nellie had gone for a few weeks
+to Madison, and again mounting Firelock, the young man galloped back,
+reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper.  Not
+feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, the sight
+of his mother and Mabel, whom he believed were leagued against him,
+he repaired to the parlor, whistling loudly, and making much more
+noise than was at all necessary.
+
+"If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won't you be a little more quiet,
+for my head aches so hard to-night," said a languid voice, from the
+depths of the huge easy-chair which stood before the glowing grate.
+
+Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle of
+shawls, John Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up and her
+lips white as ashes, while the purple rings about her heavy eyes,
+told of the pain she was enduring.
+
+"Thunder!" was John's exclamation, as he strode from the room,
+slamming together the door with unusual force.
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of hot tea and
+a slice of toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find her sobbing
+like a child.  It did not take long for her to learn the cause, and
+then, as well as she could, she soothed her, telling her not to mind
+John's freaks--it was his way, and he always had a particular
+aversion to sick people, never liking to hear them talk of their
+ailments.  This hint was sufficient for Mabel, who ever after strove
+hard to appear well and cheerful in his presence.  But in no way, if
+he could help it, would he notice her.
+
+Next to Mrs. Livingstone, 'Lena was Mabel's best friend, and when she
+saw how much her cousin's rudeness and indifference pained her, she
+determined to talk with him about it, So the first time they were
+alone, she broached the subject, speaking very kindly of Mabel, and
+asking if he had any well-grounded reason for his uncivil treatment
+of her.  There was no person in the world who possessed so much
+influence over John Jr. as did 'Lena, and now, hearing her patiently
+through, he replied, "I know I'm impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I
+can help it.  She is so flat and silly, and takes every little
+attention from me as a declaration of love.  Still, I don't blame her
+as much as I do mother, who is putting her up to it, and if she'd
+only go home and mind her own business, I should like her well
+enough."
+
+"I don't understand you," said 'Lena, and her cousin continued; "Why,
+when Mabel first came here, I do not think she knew what mother was
+fishing for, so she was not so much at fault, but she does now----"
+
+"Are you sure?" interrupted 'Lena, and John Jr.  replied, "She's a
+confounded fool if she don't.  And what provokes me, is to think
+she'll still keep staying here, when modesty, if nothing else, should
+prompt her to leave.  You wouldn't catch Nellie doing so.  Why,
+she'll hardly come her at all, for fear folks will say she comes to
+see me, and that's why I like her so well."
+
+"I think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel," said Lena, "for I've
+no idea she's in love with you a bit more than I am.  I dare say she
+likes you well enough, for there's nothing in you to dislike."
+
+"Thank you," interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a
+kiss, a liberty he often took with her.
+
+"Behave, can't you?" said 'Lena, at the same time continuing--"No, I
+don't suppose Mabel is dying for you at all.  All of us girls like to
+receive attention from you gentlemen, and she's not an exception.
+Besides that, you ought to be polite to her, because she's your
+mother's guest, if for nothing else.  I don't ask you to love her,"
+said she, "but I do ask you to treat her well.  Kind words cost
+nothing, and they go far toward making others happy."
+
+"So they do," answered John, upon whom 'Lena's words were having a
+good effect.  "I've nothing under heaven against Mabel Ross, except
+that mother wants me to marry her; but if you'll warrant me that the
+young lady herself has no such intentions, why, I'll do my very best."
+
+"I'll warrant you," returned 'Lena, who really had no idea that Mabel
+cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satisfied with the
+result of her interview she started to leave the room.
+
+As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, "You are sure
+she don't care for me?"
+
+"Perfectly sure," was 'Lena's answer.
+
+"The plague, she don't," thought John, as the door closed upon 'Lena;
+and such is human nature, that the young man began to think that if
+Mabel didn't care for him, he'd see if he couldn't make her, for
+after all, there was something pleasant in being liked, even by Mabel!
+
+The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in the
+parlor, John Jr. joined them, and after wringing Carrie's nose,
+pulling 'Lena's and Anna's curls, he suddenly upset Mabel's work-box,
+at the same time slyly whispering to his cousin, "Ain't I coming
+round?"
+
+Abrupt as this proceeding, was, it pleased Mabel, who with the utmost
+good humor, commenced picking up her things, John Jr. assisting her,
+and managing once to bump his head against hers!  After this, affairs
+at Maple Grove glided on as smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could
+wish.  John and Mabel were apparently on the most amicable terms, he
+deeming 'Lena's approbation a sufficient reward for the many little
+attentions which he paid to Mabel, and she, knowing nothing of all
+that had passed, drinking in his every word and look, learning to
+live upon his smile, and conforming herself, as far as possible, to
+what she thought would best please him.
+
+Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone unfolded to
+Mabel her own wishes, saying she should be perfectly happy could she
+only call her "daughter," and hinting that such a thing "by wise
+management could easily be brought about."  With a gush of tears the
+orphan girl laid her head in Mrs. Livingstone's lap, mentally
+blessing her as her benefactress, and thanking the Giver of all good
+for the light and happiness which she saw dawning upon her pathway.
+
+"John is peculiar," said Mrs. Livingstone, "and if he fancied you
+liked him very much, it might not please him as well as indifference
+on your part."
+
+So, with this lesson, Mabel, for the first time in her life attempted
+to act as she did not feel, feigning carelessness or indifference
+when every pulse of her heart was throbbing with joy at some little
+attention paid her by John Jr., who could be very agreeable when he
+chose, and who, observing her apparent indifference, began to think
+that what 'Lena had said was true, and that Mabel really cared
+nothing for him.  With this impression he exerted himself to be
+agreeable, wondering how her many good qualities had so long escaped
+his observation.
+
+"There is more to her than I supposed," said he one day to 'Lena, who
+was commending him for his improved manner.  "Yes, a heap more than I
+supposed.  Why, I really like her!"
+
+And he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid aside, he, as is
+often the case, began to find virtues in her the existence of which
+he had never suspected.  Frequently, now, he talked, laughed, and
+rode with her, praising her horsemanship, pointing out some points
+wherein it might be improved, and never dreaming the while of the
+deep affection his conduct had awakened in the susceptible girl.
+
+"Oh, I am so happy," said she one day to 'Lena, who was speaking of
+her improved health.  "I never thought it possible for _me_ to be so
+happy.  I dreaded to come here at first, but now I shall never regret
+it, never."
+
+She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, adjusting the
+feathers to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her neatly fitting
+riding-dress, became her better than anything else.  The excitement
+of her words sent a deep glow to her cheek, while her large black
+eyes sparkled with unusual brilliancy.  She was going out with John
+Jr., who, just as she finished speaking, appeared in the doorway, and
+catching a glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, jocose way,
+"Upon my word, Meb, if you keep on, you'll get to be quite decent
+looking in time."
+
+'Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid her, and
+questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast forming
+belief that her affection for him was returned.
+
+"I can't expect him to do anything like other people, he's so odd,"
+thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which charmed her.
+
+At length Nellie, who had returned from Madison, and felt rather
+lonely, wrote to Mabel, asking her to come home.  This plan Mrs.
+Livingstone opposed, but Mabel was decided, and the week before
+Christmas was fixed upon for her departure.  John Jr., anxious to see
+Nellie, proposed accompanying her, but when the day came he was
+suffering from a severe cold, which rendered his stay in the house
+absolutely necessary.  So his mother, who had reasons of her own for
+doing so, went in his stead.  Carrie, who never had any fancy for
+Mabel, and only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite,
+merely offering her hand, and then resumed the novel she was reading,
+even before Mabel had left.  Anna and 'Lena bade her a more
+affectionate adieu, and then advancing toward John Jr., who, in his
+dressing-gown and slippers, reclined upon the sofa, she offered him
+her hand.
+
+As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young man
+accompanied her to the door, playfully claiming the privilege of
+taking leave just as his sister and cousin had done.
+
+"It's only me, you know," said he, imprinting upon her forehead a
+kiss which sent the rich blood to her neck and face.
+
+John Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with Nellie, while
+Mabel, simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the world, saw in it a
+world of meaning, and for a long time after the carriage roiled away
+from Maple Grove the bright glow on her cheek told of happy thoughts
+within.
+
+"Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?" asked Mrs.
+Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city.
+
+"No, madam," answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone continued, "That's
+strange.  He confessed to me that he--ah--he--loved you, and I
+supposed he intended telling you so; but bashfulness prevented, I
+dare say!"
+
+Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this down-right falsehood cost
+Mrs. Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied the case required
+it, and after a few twinges, her conscience felt easy, particularly
+when she saw how much satisfaction her words gave to her companion,
+to whom the improbability of the affair never occurred.  Could she
+have known how lightly John Jr. treated the matter, laughingly
+describing his leave-taking to his sisters and 'Lena, and saying,
+"Meb wasn't the worst girl in the world, after all," she might not
+have been so easily duped.
+
+But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion perfect.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+NELLIE AND MABEL.
+
+Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with
+articles of elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from
+being wealthy, still loved to surround his only daughter with
+everything which could increase her comfort.  So the best, the
+fairest, and the most Costly was always for her, his "darling
+Nellie," as he called her, when with bounding footsteps she flew to
+greet him on his return at night, ministering to his wants in a
+thousand ways, and shedding over his home such a halo of sunshine
+that ofttimes he forgot that he was a lonely widower, while in the
+features of his precious child he saw again the wife of his bosom,
+who years before had passed from his side forever.
+
+But not on him were Nellie's thoughts resting, as she sat there alone
+that afternoon.  She was thinking of the past--of John Livingstone,
+and the many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of
+words to tell her she was beloved.  And freely did her heart respond.
+That John Jr. was not perfect, she knew, but he was noble and
+generous, and so easily influenced by those he loved, that she knew
+it would be an easy task to soften down some of the rougher shades of
+his character.  Three times during her absence had he called,
+expressing so much disappointment, that with woman's ready instinct
+she more than half divined his intentions, and regretted that she was
+gone.  But Mabel was coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for
+so had 'Lena written, and Nellie's cheeks glowed and her heart beat
+high, as she thought of what might occur.  She knew well that in
+point of wealth she was not his equal, for though mingling with the
+first in the city, her father was poor--but one of John Jr.'s nature
+would never take that into consideration.  They had known each other
+from childhood, and he had always evinced for her the same preference
+which he now manifested.  Several weeks had elapsed since she had
+seen him, and now, rather impatiently, she awaited his arrival,
+
+"If you please, ma'am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the
+parlor," said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her
+reverie.
+
+"Mrs. Livingstone!" she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a
+mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, "Mrs.
+Livingstone!--and so _he_ has not come.  I wonder what's the matter!"
+and with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor, where,
+with rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs.
+Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of
+furniture, and her proud spirit whispering to herself, "Poverty,
+poverty."
+
+With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming
+her back, congratulated her upon her improved health and looks,
+saying, "the _air_ of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;" then
+turning toward Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning
+than the one she intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings,
+apologizing at the same time for the fire being so low.
+
+"Father is absent most of the day," said she; "and as I am much in my
+chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor."
+
+"Just as well," answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs.
+"One fire is _cheaper_ than two, and in these times I suppose it is
+necessary for some people to economize."
+
+Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her
+visitor.  After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking
+straight in Nellie's face.
+
+"My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold
+prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute."
+
+Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left
+the room.  When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible
+improvement in her health.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily
+in her chair, "Yes, Mabel isn't the same creature she was when she
+came to us, but then it's no wonder, for love, you know, will work
+miracles."
+
+No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming
+next.
+
+"Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you've no curiosity whatever.  Why
+don't you ask with whom Mabel is in love?"
+
+"Who is it?" laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the
+tassel of her blue silk apron.
+
+After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, "It may seem out of place
+for me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of
+excellent sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either
+party."
+
+"Certainly not," answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her
+tormentor continued: "Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you,
+both myself and husband are well pleased that it should be so.  From
+the moment I first saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for
+which I could not account, and if I were now to select my future
+daughter-in-law, I should prefer her to all others."
+
+Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and
+again Mrs. Livingstone spoke: "It may be a weakness, but I have
+always felt anxious that John should make a match every way worthy of
+him, both as to wealth and station.  Indeed, I would hardly be
+willing for him to marry one whose fortune is less than Mabel's.  But
+I need have no fears, for John has his own views on that subject, and
+though he may sometimes be attentive to girls far beneath him, he is
+pretty sure in the end to do as I think best!"
+
+Poor Nellie!  How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost
+to madness.  She did not stop to consider the improbability of what
+she heard.  Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all,
+for if John Jr. really loved her, as once she had fondly believed,
+had there not been a thousand opportunities for him to tell her so?
+At this moment Mabel reentered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of
+seeing to the dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither,
+until she found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden,
+where many and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where he
+would never sit again--so she thought, so she believed--and throwing
+herself upon one of the seats, she struggled hard to school herself
+to meet the worst--to conquer the bitter resentment which she felt
+rising within her toward Mabel, who had supplanted her in the
+affections of the only one she had ever loved.
+
+Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of
+calmer reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never
+suffering Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged her.  "She is an
+orphan--a lonely orphan," thought she, "and God forbid that through
+me one drop of bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy."
+
+With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional
+orders concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half
+shuddering when Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort
+pressing the little blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her
+own.  Dinner being over, Mrs. Livingstone, who had some other calls
+to make, took her leave, bidding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel,
+who clung to her as if she had indeed been her mother.
+
+"Good-bye, darling Meb," said she.  "I shall come for you to visit us
+erelong."  Turning to Nellie, she said, "Do take care of her health,
+which you know is now precious to more than one;" then in a whisper
+she added, "Remember that what I have told you is sacred."
+
+The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to
+the parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits
+contrasted painfully with the silence and sadness which lay around
+her heart.  That night, Mr. Douglass had some business in the city,
+and the two girls were left alone.  The lamps were unlighted, for the
+full golden moonlight, which streamed through the window-panes,
+suited better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the
+sofa, looked listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night.  Upon
+a little stool at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie's
+lap, and her hand searching in vain for another, which involuntarily
+moved farther and farther away, as hers advanced.
+
+At length she spoke: "Nellie, dear Nellie--there is something I want
+so much to tell you--if you will hear it, and not think me foolish."
+
+With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the
+sofa-cushion, came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon
+Mabel's brow, while Nellie's voice answered, softly and slow, "What
+is it, Mabel?  I will hear you."
+
+Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at
+the time when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother,
+chiding her for her tears, and threatening her with punishment if she
+did not desist.  "Since then," said she, "I have been so lonely--how
+lonely, none but a friendless orphan can know.  No one has ever loved
+me, or if for a time they seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and
+left me ten times more wretched than before.  I never once dreamed
+that--that Mr. Livingstone could care aught for one so ugly as I know
+I am.  I thought him better suited for you, Nellie.  (How cold your
+hand is, but don't take it away, for it cools my forehead.")
+
+The icy hand was not withdrawn, and Mabel continued: "Yes, I think
+him better suited to you, and when his mother told me that he loved
+me, and that he would, undoubtedly, one day make me his wife, it was
+almost too much for me to believe, but it makes me so happy--oh, so
+happy."
+
+"And he--he, too, told you that he loved you?" said Nellie, very low,
+holding her breath for the answer.
+
+"Oh, no--_he_ never told me in _words_.  'Twas his mother that told
+me--he only _acted_!"
+
+"And what did he do?" asked Nellie, smiling in spite of herself, at
+the simplicity of Mabel, who, without any intention of exaggerating,
+proceeded to tell what John Jr. had said and done, magnifying every
+attention, until Nellie, blinded as she was by what his mother had
+said, was convinced that, at all events, he was not true to herself.
+To be sure, he had never told her he loved her in words; but in
+actions he had said it many a time, and if he could do the same with
+Mabel, he must be false either to one or the other.  Always frank and
+open-hearted herself, Nellie despised anything like deception in
+others, and the high opinion she had once entertained for John Jr.,
+was now greatly changed.
+
+Still, reason as she would, Nellie could not forget so easily, and
+the hour of midnight found her restless and wakeful.  At length,
+rising up and leaning upon her elbow, she looked down upon the face
+of Mabel, who lay sleeping sweetly at her side.  Many and bitter were
+her thoughts, and as she looked upon her rival, marking her plain
+features and sallow skin, an expression of scorn flitted for an
+instant across her face.
+
+"And _she_ is preferred to me!" said she.  "Well, let it be so, and
+God grant I may not hate her."
+
+Erelong, better feelings came to her aid, and with her arms wound
+round Mabel's neck, as if to ask forgiveness for her unkind thoughts,
+she fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+MRS. LIVINGSTONE'S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.
+
+After leaving Mr. Douglass's, Mrs. Livingstone ordered her coachman
+to drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, where she was
+frequently in the habit of stopping, partly as a matter of
+convenience when visiting in town, and partly to learn the latest
+news of the day, for Mrs. Atkins was an intolerable gossip.  Without
+belonging exactly to the higher circles, she still managed to keep up
+a show of intimacy with them, possessing herself with their secrets,
+and kindly intrusting them to the keeping of this and that "dear
+friend."
+
+From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the amount of Mr.
+Douglass' property, and how he was obliged to economize in various
+ways, in order to keep up the appearance of style.  From her, too,
+had she learned how often her son was in the habit of calling there,
+and what rumor said concerning those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had
+learned, in return, that the ambitious lady had other views for John,
+and that anything which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to further the
+plans of her friend, would be gratefully received.  On this occasion
+she was at home, and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"It is such an age since I've seen you, that I began to fear you were
+offended at something," said she, as she led the way into a cozy
+little sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was blazing on the
+nicely painted hearth.  "Do sit down and make yourself as comfortable
+as you can, on such poor accommodations.  I have just finished dinner
+but will order some for you."
+
+"No, no," exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, "I dined at Mr.
+Douglass's--thank you."
+
+"Ah, indeed," returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal relieved, for
+to tell the truth, her larder, as was often the case, was rather
+empty.  "Dined at Mr. Douglass's!  Of course, then, nothing which I
+could offer you could be acceptable, after one of his sumptuous
+meals.  I suppose Nellie brought out all her mother's old silver, and
+made quite a display.  It's a wonder to me how they hold their heads
+so high, and folks notice them as they do, for between you and me, I
+shouldn't be surprised to hear of his failing any minute."
+
+"Is it possible?" said Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"Why, yes," returned Mrs. Atkins.  "There's nothing to prevent it,
+they say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of Nellie, who seems
+to be doing her best."
+
+"Has she any particular one in view?" asked Mrs. Livingstone, and
+Mrs. Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone's aversion to the match,
+replied, "Why, you know she tried to get your son----"
+
+"But didn't succeed," interrupted Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"No, didn't succeed.  You are right.  Well, now it seems she's
+spreading sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison----"
+
+Mrs. Livingstone's eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose one word,
+she drew her chair nearer to her friend, who proceeded; "He's a rich
+bachelor--brother to Mary Wilbur, Nellie's most intimate friend.
+You've heard of her?"
+
+"Yes, yes," returned Mrs. Livingstone.   "Hasn't Nellie been visiting
+her?"
+
+"Her or her brother," answered Mrs. Atkins.  "Mary's health is poor,
+and you know it's mighty convenient for Nellie to go there, under
+pretense of staying with her,"
+
+"Exactly," answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied smile, and
+another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, after a moment,
+continued: "The brother came home with Nellie, stayed over Sunday,
+rode out with her Monday, indorsed ever so many notes for her father,
+so I reckon, and then went home.  If that don't mean something, then
+I'm mistaken"--and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice
+of cake.
+
+After an hour's confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone told of
+Mabel's prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks who were at Mr.
+Graham's party praised 'Lena Rivers' beauty, and predicted a match
+between her and Mr. Bellmont, the former rose to go; and calling upon
+one or two others, and by dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them
+to say "they shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie
+Douglas," she started for home, exulting to think how everything
+seemed working together for her good, and how, in the denouement,
+nothing particular could be laid to her charge.
+
+"I told Nellie no falsehood," thought she.  "I did not say John loved
+Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else for her to infer.
+And it has commenced operating, too.  I could see it in the spots on
+her face and neck, when I was talking.  Nellie's a fine girl, though,
+but too poor for the Livingstones;" and with this conclusion, she
+told the coachman to drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach
+home.
+
+Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, grandma and all,
+assembled in the parlor, and with them Durward Bellmont.  His arm was
+thrown carelessly across the back of 'Lena's chair, while he
+occasionally bent forward to look at a book of prints which she was
+examining.  The sight of him determined her to wait a little ere she
+retailed her precious bit of gossip to her son.  He was Nellie's
+cousin, and as such, would in all probability repeat to her what he
+heard.  However communicative John Jr. might be in other respects,
+she knew he would never discuss his heart-troubles with any one, so,
+upon second thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until they were
+alone.
+
+Durward and 'Lena, however, needed watching, and by a little
+maneuvering, she managed to separate them, greatly to the
+satisfaction of Carrie, who sat upon the sofa, one foot bent under
+her, and the other impatiently tapping the carpet.  From the moment
+Durward took his seat by her cousin, she had appeared ill at ease,
+and as he began to understand her better, he readily guessed that her
+silent mood was owing chiefly to the attentions he paid to 'Lena, and
+not to a nervous headache, as she said, when her grandmother,
+inquiring the cause of her silence, remarked, that "she'd been
+chipper enough until Mr. Bellmont came in."
+
+But he did not care.  He admired 'Lena, and John Jr. like, it made
+but little difference with him who knew it.  Carrie's freaks, which
+he plainly saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs.
+Livingstone he had no suspicion whatever.  Consequently, when she
+sent 'Lena from the room on some trifling errand, herself
+appropriating the vacated seat, he saw in it no particular design,
+but in his usual pleasant way commenced talking with Carrie, who
+brightened up so much that grandma asked "if her headache wasn't
+e'en-a'most well!"
+
+When 'Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise
+visit to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays.  "We'll
+invite Mr. Everett, and all go down.  What do you say, girls?" said
+he, turning toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning 'Lena quite as much
+as either of them.
+
+"Capital,' answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm
+instantly passing before her mind.
+
+"I should like it very much," said Carrie, visions of a ride with
+Durward crossing her mind.
+
+"And I too," said 'Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.'s shoulder, as
+if he would of course be her escort.
+
+Carrie's ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly
+insolent tone, she said, "How do you know you are included?"
+
+'Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at Carrie's
+manner, prevented her by saying "Of course I meant Miss Rivers, and I
+will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me, either on
+horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers."
+
+In a very graceful manner 'Lena accepted the invitation saying that
+"she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she
+usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in
+any other way."
+
+"Fleetfoot sold! what's that for?" asked Anna; and her mother
+replied, "We've about forty horses on our hands now, and as Fleetfoot
+was seldom used by any one except 'Lena, your father thought we
+couldn't afford to keep him."
+
+She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever
+since the morning when 'Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward,
+Fleetfoot's fate had been decreed.  Repeatedly had she urged the sale
+upon her husband, who, wearied with her importunity, at last
+consented, selling him to a neighboring planter, who had taken him
+away that very day.
+
+"That's smart," said John Jr. looking at his father, who had not
+spoken.  "What is 'Lena going to ride, I should like to know."
+
+'Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her.
+"Isn't there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?"
+
+"Certainly," answered his father, compelled now to speak; "plenty of
+feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled.  Perhaps
+we'll get 'Lena a better and younger horse."
+
+This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to 'Lena's
+eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat looking
+into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing
+around her.
+
+"That reminds me of Christmas gifts," said Durward, anxious to change
+the conversation.  "I wonder how many of us will get one?"
+
+Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the
+door, asking Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly,
+the superannuated negress, who will be remembered as having nursed
+Mrs. Nichols during her attack of rheumatism, and for whom grandma
+had conceived a strong affection.  For many days she had been very
+ill, causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder "what old niggers wanted to
+live for, bothering everybody to death."
+
+The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with
+her from Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but
+the root was there still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly's
+illness she had been revolving in her mind the momentous question,
+whether she would not be most guilty if Polly were suffered to die in
+bondage.
+
+"I promised Nancy Scovandyke," said she, "that I'd have some on 'em
+set free, but I'll be bound if 'taint harder work than I s'posed
+'twould be."
+
+Still Aunt Polly's freedom lay warm at grandma's heart and now when
+she was mentioned together with "Christmas gifts," a bright idea
+entered her mind,
+
+"John," said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the medicine,
+"John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since I've been
+here?"
+
+"I believe not," was his answer.
+
+"Wall," continued grandma, "bein's the fashion, I want you to give me
+somethin' this Christmas, will you?"
+
+"Certainly," said he, "what is it?"
+
+Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then--she would
+wait until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here
+the conversation ended.  Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling
+'Lena he should call for her on Thursday.
+
+"That's a plaguy smart feller," said grandma, as the door closed upon
+him; "and I kinder think he's got a notion after 'Leny."
+
+"Ridiculous!" muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added, "Just
+reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!"
+
+"Shut up your head," growled John Jr.  "You are only angry because he
+asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself.  I reckon he knows
+what he's about."
+
+"I reckon he does, too!" said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar
+smile, which nettled 'Lena more than any open attack would have done.
+
+With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the
+parlor, and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her
+opportunity for telling him what she had heard.  Taking a light from
+the table, he was about retiring, when she said, "I learned some news
+to-day which a little surprised me."
+
+"Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose," answered John, still
+advancing toward the door.
+
+"Partly from her, and partly from others," said his mother, adding,
+as she saw him touch the door-knob, "It's about Nellie Douglass."
+
+This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he
+asked, "What of her?"
+
+"Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of," said Mrs.
+Livingstone, "only people in Frankfort think she's going to be
+married."
+
+"_I_ think so, too," was John's mental reply, while his verbal one
+was, "Married!  To whom?"
+
+"Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?"
+
+"Yes, she's been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham's party."
+
+"Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, who they say
+is very attentive to Nellie.  He came home with her from Madison,
+staying at her father's the rest of the week, and paying her
+numberless attentions, which----"
+
+"_I don't believe it_," interrupted John Jr., striking his fist upon
+the table, to which he had returned.
+
+"Neither did I, at first," said his mother, "but I heard it in so
+many places that there must be something in it.  And I'm sure it's a
+good match.  He is rich, and willing, they say, to help her father,
+who is in danger of failing any moment."
+
+Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jealous,
+particularly of those whom he loved very much, and now suddenly
+remembering to have heard Nellie speak in high terms of Robert
+Wilbur, he began to feel uneasy, lest what his mother had said were
+true.  She saw her advantage, and followed it up until, in a fit of
+anger, he rushed from the room and repaired to his own apartment,
+where for a time he walked backward and forward, chafing like a caged
+lion, and wishing all manner of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed
+false to him.
+
+He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such a pitch,
+that he determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, to demand of
+Nellie if what he had heard were true!  Upon cooler reflection,
+however, he concluded not to make a "perfect fool of himself," and
+plunging into bed, he fell asleep, as what man will not be his
+trouble what it may.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
+
+The sunlight of a bright Christmas morning had hardly dawned upon the
+earth, when from many a planter's home in the sunny south was heard
+the joyful cry of "Christmas Gift," "Christmas Gift," as the negroes
+ran over and against each other, hiding ofttimes, until some one came
+within hailing distance, when their loud "Christmas Gift" would make
+all echo again.  On this occasion, every servant at Maple Grove was
+remembered, for Anna and 'Lena had worked both early and late in
+preparing some little present, and feeling amply compensated for
+their trouble, when they saw how much happiness it gave.  Mabel, too,
+while she stayed, had lent a helping hand, and many a blessing was
+that morning invoked upon her head from the hearts made glad by her
+generous gifts.  Carrie, when asked to join them, had turned
+scornfully away, saying "she'd plenty to do, without working for
+niggers; who could not appreciate it."
+
+So all her leisure hours were spent in embroidering a fine cambric
+handkerchief, intended as a present for Mrs. Graham, and which with a
+delicate note was, the evening previous, sent to Woodlawn, with
+instructions to have it placed next morning on Mrs. Graham's table.
+Of course Mrs. Graham felt in duty bound to return the compliment,
+and looking over her old jewelry, she selected a diamond ring which
+she had formerly worn, but which was now too small for her fat chubby
+fingers.  This was immediately forwarded to Maple Grove, reaching
+there just as the family were rising from the breakfast-table.
+
+"Oh, isn't it beautiful--splendid--magnificent!" were Carrie's
+exclamations, while she praised Mrs. Graham's generosity, secretly
+wondering if "Durward did not have something to do with it."
+
+On this point she was soon set right, for the young man himself
+erelong appeared, and after bidding them all a "Merry Christmas,"
+presented Anna with a package which, on being opened, proved to be a
+large and complete copy of Shakspeare, elegantly bound, and bearing
+upon its heavy golden clasp the words "Anna Livingstone, from
+Durward,"
+
+"This you will please accept from me," said he.  "Mother, I believe,
+has sent Carrie something, and if 'Lena will step to the door, she
+will see her gift from father, who hopes it will give her as much
+pleasure to accept it, as it does him to present it."
+
+"What can it be?" thought Carrie, rising languidly from the sofa, and
+following 'Lena and her sister to the side door, where stood one of
+Mr. Graham's servants, holding a beautiful gray pony, all nicely
+equipped for riding.
+
+Never dreaming that this was intended for 'Lena, Carrie looked
+vacantly around, saying, "Why, where is it?  I don't see anything."
+
+"Here," said Durward, taking the bridle from the negro's hand, and
+playfully throwing it across 'Lena's neck, "Here it is--this pony,
+which we call Vesta.  Vesta, allow me to introduce you and your new
+mistress, Miss 'Lena, to each other," and catching her up, as if she
+had been a feather, he placed her in the saddle.  Then, at a peculiar
+whistle, the well-trained animal started off upon an easy gallop,
+bearing its burden lightly around the yard, and back again to the
+piazza.
+
+"Do you like her ?" he asked of 'Lena, extending his arms to lift her
+down.
+
+For a moment 'Lena could not speak, her heart was so full.  But at
+last, forcing down her emotion, she replied, "Oh, very, very much;
+but it isn't for me, I know--there must be some mistake.   Mr. Graham
+never intended it for me."
+
+"Yes, he did," answered Durward.   "He has intended it ever since the
+morning when you and I rode to Woodlawn.  A remark which your cousin
+John made at the table, determined him upon him buying and training a
+pony for you.  So here it is, and as I have done my share toward
+teaching her, you must grant me the favor of riding her to Frankfort
+day after to-morrow."
+
+"Thank you, thank you--you and Mr. Graham too--a thousand times,"
+said 'Lena, winding her arms around the neck of the docile animal,
+who did her best to return the caress, rubbing her face against
+'Lena, and evincing her gentleness in various ways.
+
+By this time Mr. Livingstone had joined them, and while he was
+admiring the pony, Durward said to him, "I am commissioned by my
+father to tell you that he will defray all the expense of keeping
+Vesta."
+
+"Don't mention such a thing again," hastily interposed Mr.
+Livingstone.  "I can keep fifty horses, if I choose, and nothing will
+give me more pleasure than to take care of this one for 'Lena, who
+deserves it if any one does."
+
+"That's my Christmas gift from you, uncle, isn't it?" asked 'Lena,
+the tears gushing from her shining, brown eyes.  "And now please may
+I return it?"
+
+"Certainly," said he, and with a nimble spring she caught him around
+the neck, imprinting upon his lips the first and only kiss she had
+ever given him; then, amid blushes and tears, which came from a heart
+full of happiness, she ran away upstairs followed by the envious eyes
+of Carrie, who repaired to her mother's room, where she stated all
+that had transpired--"How Mr. Graham had sent 'Lena a gray pony--how
+she had presumed to accept it--and how, just to show off before Mr.
+Bellmont, she had wound her arms around its neck, and then actually
+_kissed pa_!"
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was equally indignant with her daughter, wondering
+if Mr. Graham had lost his reason, and reckoning his wife knew
+nothing about Vesta!  But fret as she would, there was no help for
+it.  Vesta belonged to 'Lena--Mr. Livingstone had given orders to
+have it well-cared for--and worse than all the rest, 'Lena was to
+accompany Durward to Frankfort.  Something must be done to meet the
+emergency, but what, Mrs. Livingstone didn't exactly know, and
+finally concluded to wait until she saw Mrs. Graham.
+
+Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised Christmas
+gift, which was nothing less than "the freedom of old Aunt Polly."
+
+"You won't refuse me, John, I know you won't," said she, laying her
+bony hand on his.  "Polly's arnt her freedom forty times over, even
+s'posin' you'd a right to her in the fust place which I and Nancy
+Scovandyke both doubt; so now set down like a man, make out her free
+papers, and let me carry 'em to her right away."
+
+Without a word Mr. Livingstone complied with his mother's request,
+saying, as he handed her the paper, "It's not so much the fault of
+the south as of the north that every black under heaven is not free."
+
+Grandma looked aghast.  Her son, born, brought up, and baptized in a
+purely orthodox atmosphere, to hold such treasonable opinions in
+opposition to everything he'd ever been taught in good old
+Massachusetts!  She was greatly shocked, but thinking she could not
+do the subject justice, she said, "Wall, wall, it's of no use for you
+and I to arger the pint, for I don't know nothin' what I want to say,
+but if Nancy Scovandyke was here, she'd convince you quick, for she's
+good larnin' as any of the gals nowadays."
+
+So saying, she walked away to Polly's cabin.  The old negress was
+better to-day, and attired in the warm double-gown which Mabel had
+purchased and 'Lena had made, she sat up in a large, comfortable
+rocking-chair which John Jr. had given her at the commencement of her
+illness, saying it was "his Christmas gift in advance." Going
+straight up to her, grandma laid the paper in her lap, bidding her
+"read it and thank the Lord."
+
+"Bless missus' dear old heart," said Aunt Polly, "I can't read a
+word."
+
+"Sure enough," answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the paper she
+read it through, managing to make the old creature comprehend its
+meaning.
+
+"Praise the Lord! praise Master John, and all the other apostles!"
+exclaimed Aunt Polly, clasping together her black, wrinkled hands,
+while tears of joy coursed their way down her cheeks.  "The breath of
+liberty is sweet--sweet as sugar," she continued, drawing long
+inspirations as if to make up for lost time.
+
+Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having made her an
+humble instrument in contributing so much to another's happiness.
+
+"Set down," said Aunt Polly, motioning toward a wooden bottomed
+chair; "set down, and let's us talk over this great meracle, which
+I've prayed and rastled for mighty nigh a hundred times, without
+havin' an atom of faith that 'twould ever be."
+
+So Mrs. Nichols sat down, and for nearly an hour the old ladies
+talked, the one of her newly-found freedom, and the other of her
+happiness in knowing that "'twasn't for nothin' she was turned out of
+her old home and brought away over land and sea to Kentucky."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+FRANKFORT.
+
+Thursday morning came, bright, sunshiny and beautiful, and at about
+ten o'clock 'Lena, dressed and ready for her ride, came down to the
+parlor, where she found John Jr. listlessly leaning upon the table
+with his elbows, and drumming with his fingers.
+
+"Come, cousin," said she, "why are you not ready?"
+
+"Ready for what?" he answered, without raising his head.
+
+"Why, ready for our visit," replied Lena, at the same time advancing
+nearer, to see what ailed him.
+
+"All the visit I make to-day won't hurt me, I reckon," said he;
+pushing his hat a little more to one side and looking up at 'Lena,
+who, in some surprise, asked what he meant.
+
+"I mean what I say," was his ungracious answer; "I've no intention
+whatever of going to Frankfort."
+
+"Not going?" repeated 'Lena.  "Why not?  What will Carrie do?"
+
+"Stick herself in with you and Durward, I suppose," said John Jr.,
+just as Carrie entered the room, together with Mr. Bellmont, Malcolm,
+and Anna.
+
+"Not going?--of course then I must stay at home, too," said Carrie,
+secretly pleased at her brother's decision.
+
+"Why of course?" asked Durward, who, in the emergency, felt
+constrained to offer his services to Carrie though he would greatly
+have preferred 'Lena's company alone.  "The road is wide enough for
+three, and I am fully competent to take charge of two ladies.  But
+why don't you go?" turning to John Jr.
+
+"Because I don't wish to.  If it was anywhere in creation but there,
+I'd go," answered the young man; hastily leaving the room to avoid
+all further argument.
+
+"He does it just to be hateful and annoy me," said Carrie, trying to
+pout, but making a failure, for she had in reality much rather go
+under Durward's escort than her brother's.
+
+The horses were now announced as ready, and in a few moments the
+little party were on their way, Carrie affecting so much fear of her
+pony that Durward at last politely offered to lead him a while.  This
+would of course bring him close to her side, and after a little
+well-feigned hesitation, she replied, "I am sorry to trouble you, but
+if you would be so kind----"
+
+'Lena saw through the ruse, and patting Vesta gently, rode on in
+advance, greatly to the satisfaction of Carrie, and greatly to the
+chagrin of Durward, who replied to his loquacious companion only in
+monosyllables.  Once, indeed, when she said something concerning
+'Lena's evident desire to show off her horsemanship, he answered
+rather coolly, that "he'd yet to discover in Miss Rivers the least
+propensity for display of any kind."
+
+"You've never lived with her," returned Carrie, and here the
+conversation concerning 'Lena ceased.
+
+Meantime, Nellie Douglass was engaged in answering a letter that
+morning received from Mary Wilbur.  A few years before, Mary had
+spent some months in Mr. Douglass's family, conceiving a strong
+affection for Nellie, whom she always called her sister, and with
+whom she kept up a regular correspondence.  Mary was an orphan,
+living with her only brother Robert, who was a bachelor of thirty or
+thirty-five.  Once she had ventured to hope that Nellie would indeed
+be to her a sister, but fate had decreed it otherwise, and her
+brother was engaged to a lady whom he found a school-girl in
+Montreal, and who was now at her own home in England.  This was
+well-known to Nellie, but she did not deem it a matter of sufficient
+importance to discuss, so it was a secret in Frankfort, where Mr.
+Wilbur's polite attentions to herself was a subject of considerable
+remark.  For a long time Mary had been out of health, and the family
+physician at last said that nothing could save her except a sea
+voyage, and as her brother was about going to Europe to consummate
+his marriage, it was decided that she should accompany him.  This she
+was willing to do, provided Nellie Douglass would go too.
+
+"It would be much pleasanter," she said, "having some female
+companion besides her attendant, and then, too, Nellie had relatives
+in England;" so she urged her to accompany them, offering to defray
+all expenses for the pleasure of her society.
+
+Since Nellie's earliest recollection, her fondest dreams had been of
+England, her mother's birthplace; and now when so favorable an
+opportunity for visiting it was presented, she felt strongly tempted
+to say "Yes."  Still, she would give Mary no encouragement until she
+had seen her father and John Jr., the latter of whom would influence
+her decision quite as much as the former.  But John Jr. no longer
+loved her--she was sure of that--and with her father's consent she
+had half determined to go.  Still she was undecided, until a letter
+came from Mary, urging her to make up her mind without delay, as they
+were to sail the 15th of January.
+
+"Brother is so sensitive concerning his love affairs," wrote Mary,
+"that whether you conclude to join us or not, you will please say
+nothing about his intended marriage."
+
+Nellie had seated herself to answer this letter, when a servant came
+up, saying that "Marster Bellmont, all the Livingstones, and a heap
+more were downstars, and had sent for her."
+
+She was just writing, "I will go," when this announcement came, and
+quickly suspending her pen, she thought, "He's come, at last.  It may
+all be a mistake.  I'll wait."  With a beating heart she descended to
+the parlor, where she politely greeted Mr. Everett and Durward, and
+then anxiously glanced around for the missing one.  Mabel, who felt a
+similar disappointment, ventured to inquire for him, in a low tone,
+whereupon Carrie replied, loudly enough for Nellie to hear, "Oh, pray
+don't speak of that bear.  Why, you don't know how cross he's been
+ever since--let me see--ever since you came away.  He doesn't say a
+civil word to anybody, and I really wish you'd come back before he
+kills us all.'
+
+"Did you invite him to come ?" said Nellie.
+
+"To be sure we did," answered Carrie, "and he said, 'anywhere in
+creation but there.'"
+
+Nellie needed no further confirmation, and after conversing awhile
+with her guests, she begged leave to be excused for a few moments,
+while she finished a letter of importance, which must go out in the
+next mail.  Alone in her room, she wavered, but the remembrance of
+the words, "anywhere in creation but there," decided her, and with a
+firm hand she wrote to Mary that she would go.  When the letter was
+finished and sent to the office, Nellie returned to her visitors, who
+began to rally her concerning the important letter which must be
+answered.
+
+"Now, coz," said Durward, pulling her down upon the sofa by his side,
+"now, coz, I claim a right to know something about this letter.  Was
+it one of acceptance or rejection?"
+
+"Acceptance, of course," answered Nellie, who, knowing no good reason
+why her intended tour should be kept a secret, proceeded to speak of
+it, telling how they were to visit Scotland, France, Switzerland, and
+Italy, and almost forgetting, in her enthusiasm, how wretched the
+thought of the journey made her.
+
+"And Miss Wilbur's brother is to be your escort--he is unmarried, I
+believe?" said Durward, looking steadily upon the carpet.
+
+In a moment Nellie would have told of his engagement, and the object
+of his going, but she remembered Mary's request in time, and the
+blush which the almost committed mistake called to her cheek, was
+construed by all into a confession that there was something between
+her and Mr. Wilbur.
+
+"That accounts for John's sudden churlishness," thought 'Lena,
+wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so.
+
+"Oh, I see it all," exclaimed Mabel.  "I understand now what has made
+Nellie so absent-minded and restless these many days.  She was making
+up her mind to become Mrs. Wilbur, while I fancied she was offended
+with me."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," answered Nellie, without smiling in the
+least.  "Mary Wilbur wishes me to accompany her to Europe, and I
+intend doing so.  Her brother is nothing to me, nor ever will be."
+
+"Quite a probable story," thought Mr. Everett, without forming his
+reflections into words.
+
+Toward the middle of the afternoon, a violent ringing of the
+door-bell, and a heavy tramp in the hall, announced some new arrival,
+and Nellie was about opening the parlor door, when who should appear
+but John Jr.!  From his room he had watched the departure of the
+party, one moment wishing he was with them, and the next declaring
+he'd never go to Frankfort again so long as he lived!  At length
+inclination getting the ascendency of his reason, he mounted
+Firelock, and rushing furiously down the 'pike, never once slackened
+his speed until the city was in sight.
+
+"I dare say she'll think me a fool," thought he, "tagging her round,
+but she needn't worry.  I only want to show her how little her pranks
+affect me."
+
+With these thoughts he could not fail to meet Nellie otherwise than
+coldly, while she received him with equal indifference, calling him
+Mr. Livingstone, and asking if he were cold, with other questions,
+such as any polite hostess would ask of her guest.  But her
+accustomed smile and usual frankness of manner were gone, and while
+John Jr. felt it keenly, he strove under a mask of indifference, to
+conceal his chagrin.  Mabel seemed delighted to see him, and for want
+of something better to do, he devoted himself to her, calling her
+Meb, and teasing her about her "Indian locks," as he called her
+straight, black hair.  Could he have seen the bitter tears which
+Nellie constantly forced back, as she moved carelessly among her
+guests, far different would have been his conduct.  But he only felt
+that she had been untrue to him, and in his anger he was hardly
+conscious of what he was doing.
+
+So when Mabel said to him, "Nellie is going to Europe with Mr. Wilbur
+and Mary," he replied, "Glad of it--hope she'll"--be drowned, he
+thought--"have a good time," he said--and Nellie, who heard all,
+never guessed how heavily the blow had fallen, or that the hand so
+suddenly placed against his heart, was laid there to still the wild
+throbbing which he feared she might hear.
+
+When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked when she was
+going, and how long she intended to be gone.  "What! so soon?" said
+he, when told that she sailed the 15th of January, and other than
+that, not a word did he say to Nellie concerning her intended visit,
+until just before they left for home.  Then for a moment he stood
+alone with her in the recess of a window.  There was a film upon his
+eyes as he looked upon her, and thought it might be for the last
+time.  There was anguish, too, in his heart, but it did not mingle in
+the tones of his voice, which was natural, and, perhaps, indifferent,
+as he said, "Why do you go to Europe, Nellie?"
+
+Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced up into
+his face, but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest they should
+betray themselves, were resting upon Mabel, who, on a stool across
+the room, was petting and caressing a kitten.  'Twas enough, and
+carelessly Nellie answered, "Because I want to; what do you suppose?"
+
+Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked away to
+where Mabel sat, and commenced teasing her and her kitten, while
+Nellie, maddened with herself, with him, with everybody,
+precipitately left the room, and going to her chamber hastily, and
+without a thought as to what she was doing, gathered together every
+little token which John Jr. had given her, together with his notes
+and letters, written in his own peculiar and scarcely legible hand.
+Tying them in a bundle, she wrote with unflinching nerve, "Do thou
+likewise," and then descending to the hall, laid it upon the
+hat-stand, managing, as he was leaving, to place it unobserved in his
+hand.  Instinctively he knew what it was, glanced at the three words
+written thereon, and in a cold, sneering voice, replied, "I will,
+with pleasure."  And thus they parted.
+
+
+
+
+thought as to what she was doing, gathered together every little token
+which John Jr. had given her, together with his notes and letters,
+written in his own peculiar and scarcely legible hand.  Tying them in a
+bundle, she wrote with unflinching nerve, "Do thou likewise," and then
+descending to the hall, laid it upon the hat-stand, managing, as he was
+leaving, to place it unobserved in his hand.  Instinctively he knew
+what it was, glanced at the three words written thereon, and in a cold,
+sneering voice, replied, "I will, with pleasure."  And thus they parted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+THE DEPARTURE.
+
+"John, how would you like to take a trip to New York--the city, I
+mean?" said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks
+following the events narrated in the last chapter.
+
+"Well enough--why do you ask?" answered John.
+
+"Because," said his father, "I have to-day received a letter which
+makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are
+fond of traveling, I had rather you would go.  You had better start
+immediately--say to-morrow."
+
+John Jr. started from his chair.  To-morrow she left her home--the 15th
+she sailed.  He might see her again, though at a distance, for she
+should never know he followed her!  Since that night in Frankfort he
+had not looked upon her face, but he had kept his promise, returning to
+her everything--everything except a withered rose-bud, which years
+before, when but a boy, he had twined among the heavy braids of her
+hair, and which she had given back to him, playfully fastening it in
+the button-hole of his roundabout!  How well he remembered that day.
+She was a little romping girl, teasing him unmercifully about his _flat
+feet_ and _big hands_, chiding him for his _negro slang_, as she termed
+his favorite expressions, and with whatever else she did, weaving her
+image into his heart's best and noblest affections, until he seemed to
+live only for her, But now 'twas changed--terribly changed.  She was no
+longer "his Nellie," the Nellie of his boyhood's love; and with a
+muttered curse and a tear, large, round, and hot, such as only John Jr.
+could shed, he sent her back every memento of the past, all save that
+rose-bud, with which he could not part, it seemed so like his early
+hopes--withered and dead.
+
+Nellie was alone, preparing for her journey, when the box containing
+the treasures was handed her.  Again and again she examined to see if
+there were not one farewell word, but there was nothing save, "Here
+endeth the first lesson!" followed by two exclamation points, which
+John Jr. had dashed off at random.  Every article seemed familiar to
+her as she looked them over, and everything was there but one--she
+missed the rose-bud--and she wondered at the omission for she knew he
+had it in his possession.  He had told her so not three months before.
+Why, then, did he not return it?  Was it a lingering affection for her
+which prompted the detention?  Perhaps so, and down in Nellie's heart
+was one warm, bright spot, the memory of that bud, which grew green and
+fresh again, as on the day when first it was torn from its parent stem.
+
+When it was first known at Maple Grove, that Nellie was going to
+Europe, Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in the future the full consummation
+of her plans, proposed that Mabel should spend the period of Nellie's
+absence with her.  But to this Mr. Douglass would not consent.
+
+"He could not part with both his daughters," he said, and Mabel decided
+to remain, stipulating that 'Lena, of whom she was very fond, should
+pass a portion of the time with her.
+
+"All the time, if she chooses," said Mr. Douglass, who also liked
+'Lena, while Nellie, who was present, immediately proposed that she
+should take music lessons of Monsieur Du Pont, who had recently come to
+the city, and who was said to be a superior teacher.  "She is fond of
+music," said she, "and has always wanted to learn, but that aunt of
+hers never seemed willing; and this will be a good opportunity, for she
+can use my piano all the time if she chooses."
+
+"Capital!" exclaimed Mabel, generously thinking how she would pay the
+bills, and how much she would assist 'Lena, for Mabel was an excellent
+musician, singing and playing admirably.
+
+When this plan was proposed to 'Lena, she objected, for two reasons.
+The first, that she could not leave her grandmother, and second, that
+much as she desired the lessons, she would not suffer Mabel to pay for
+them, and she had no means of her own.  On the first point she began to
+waver, when Mrs. Nichols, who was in unusually good health, insisted
+upon her going.
+
+"It will do you a sight of good," said she, "and there's no kind of use
+why you should stay hived up with me.  I'd as lief be left alone as
+not, and I shall take comfort thinkin' you're larnin' to play the
+pianner, for I've allus wondered 'Tildy didn't set you at Car'line's.
+So, go," the old lady continued, whispering in 'Lena's ear, "Go, and
+mebby some day you'll be a music teacher, and take care of us both."
+
+Still, 'Lena hesitated at receiving so much from Mabel, who, after a
+moment's thought, exclaimed, "Why, I can teach you myself!  I should
+love to dearly.  It will be something to occupy my mind; and my
+instructors have frequently said that I was capable of teaching
+advanced pupils, if I chose.  You'll go now, I know"--and Mabel plead
+her cause so well, that 'Lena finally consented, saying she should come
+home once a week to see her grandmother.
+
+"A grand arrangement, I must confess," said Carrie, when she heard of
+it.  "I should think she sponged enough from her connections, without
+living on other folks, and poor ones, too, like Mr. Douglass."
+
+"How ridiculous you talk," said John Jr., who was present.  "You'd be
+perfectly willing to spend a year at Mr. Graham's, or Mr. Douglass's
+either, if he had a son whom you considered an eligible match.  Then as
+to his being so poor, that's one of Mother Atkins' yarns, and she knows
+everybody's history, from Noah down to the present day.  For 'Lena's
+sake I am glad to have her go, though heaven knows what I shall do
+without her."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone, too, was secretly pleased, for she would thus be more
+out of Durward's way, and the good lady was again becoming somewhat
+suspicious.  So when her husband objected, saying 'Lena could take
+lessons at home if she liked, she quietly overruled him, giving many
+good reasons why 'Lena should go, and finally saying that if Mrs.
+Nichols was very lonely without her, she might spend her evenings in
+the parlor when there was no company present!  So it was decided that
+'Lena should go, and highly pleased with the result of their call, Mr.
+Douglass and Mabel returned to Frankfort.
+
+At length the morning came when Nellie was to start on her journey.
+Mr. Wilbur had arrived the night before, together with his sister,
+whose marble cheek and lusterless eye even then foretold the lonely
+grave which awaited her far away 'neath a foreign sky.  Durward and Mr.
+Douglass accompanied them as far as Cincinnati, where they took the
+cars for Buffalo.  Just before it rolled from the depot, a young man
+closely muffled, who had been watching our party, sprang into a car
+just in the rear of the one they had chosen, and taking the first
+vacant seat, abandoned himself to his own thoughts, which must have
+been very absorbing, as a violent shake was necessary, ere he heeded
+the call of "Your ticket, sir."
+
+Onward, onward flew the train, while faster and faster Nellie's tears
+were dropping.  They had gushed forth when she saw the quivering chin
+and trembling lips of her gray-haired father, as he bade his only child
+good-bye, and now that he was gone, she wept on, never heeding her
+young friend, who strove in vain to call her attention to the fast
+receding hills of Kentucky, which she--Mary--was leaving forever.
+Other thoughts than those of her father mingled with Nellie's tears,
+for she could not forget John Jr., nor the hope cherished to the last
+that he would come to say farewell.   But he did not.  They had parted
+in coldness, if not in anger, and she might never see him again.
+
+"Come, cheer up, Miss Douglass; I cannot suffer you to be so sad," said
+Mr. Wilbur, placing himself by Nellie, and thoughtlessly throwing his
+arm across the back of the seat, while at the same time he bent
+playfully forward to peep under her bonnet.
+
+And Nellie did look up, smiling through her tears, but she did not
+observe the flashing eyes which watched her through the window at the
+rear of the car.  Always restless and impatient of confinement, John
+Jr. had come out for a moment upon the platform, ostensibly to take the
+air, but really to see if it were possible to get a glimpse of Nellie.
+She was sitting not far from the door, and he looked in, just in time
+to witness Mr. Wilbur's action, which he of course construed just as
+his jealousy dictated.
+
+"Confounded fool!" thought he.  "_I_ wouldn't hug Nellie in the cars in
+good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!"
+
+And returning to his seat; he wondered which was the silliest, "for
+Nellie to run off with Mr. Wilbur, or for himself to run after her.
+Six of one and half a dozen of the other, I reckon," said he; at the
+same time wrapping himself in his shawl, he feigned sleep at every
+station, for the sake of retaining his entire seat, and sometimes if
+the crowd was great, going so far as to snore loudly!
+
+And thus they proceeded onward, Nellie never suspecting the close
+espionage kept upon her by John Jr., who once in the night, at a
+crowded depot, passed so closely to her that he felt her warm breath on
+his cheek.  And when, on the morning of the 15th, she sailed, she
+little thought who it was that followed her down to the water's edge,
+standing on the last spot where she had stood, and watching with a
+swelling heart the vessel which bore her away.
+
+"I'm nothing better than a walking dead man, now," said he, as he,
+retraced his steps back to his hotel.  "Nellie's gone, and with her all
+for which I lived, for she's the only girl except 'Lena who isn't a
+libel on the sex--or, yes--there's Anna--does as well as she knows
+how--and there's Mabel, a little simpleton, to be sure, but amiable and
+good-natured, and on the whole, as smart as they'll average.  'Twas
+kind in her, anyway, to offer to pay 'Lena's music bills."
+
+And with these reflections, John Jr. sought out the men whom he had
+come to see, transacted his business, and then started for home, where
+he found his mother in unusually good spirits.  Matters thus far had
+succeeded even beyond her most sanguine expectations.  Nellie was gone
+to Europe, and the rest she fancied would be easy.  'Lena, too, was
+gone, but the result of this was not what she had hoped.  Durward had
+been at Maple Grove but once since 'Lena left, while she had heard of
+his being in Frankfort several times.
+
+"Something must be done"--her favorite expression and in her difficulty
+she determined to call upon Mrs. Graham, whom she had not seen since
+Christmas.  "It is quite time she knew about the gray pony, as well as
+other matters," thought she, and ordering the carriage, she set out one
+morning for Woodlawn, intending to spend the day if she found its
+mistress amiably disposed, which was not always the case.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+THE VISIT.
+
+Mrs. Graham reclined upon a softly-cushioned sofa, her tasteful lace
+morning-cap half falling from her head, and her rich cashmere gown
+flowing open, so as to reveal the flounced cambric skirt which her
+sewing-girl had sat up till midnight to finish.  A pair of delicate
+French slippers pinched rather than graced her fat feet, one of which
+angrily beat the carpet, as if keeping time to its mistress' thoughts.
+Nervous and uncomfortable was the lady of Woodlawn this morning, for she
+had just passed through a little conjugal scene with her husband, whom
+she had called a _brute_, lamenting the dispensation of Providence which
+took from her "her beloved Sir Arthur, who always thought whatever she
+said was right," and ending by throwing herself in the most theatrical
+manner upon the sofa in the parlor, where, with both her blood and
+temper at a boiling heat, she lay, when her waiting-maid, but recently
+purchased, announced the approach of a carriage.
+
+"Mercy," exclaimed the distressed lady, "whose is it?  I hope no one
+will ask for me."
+
+"Reckon how it's Marster Livingstone's carriage, 'case thar's Tom on the
+box," answered the girl, who had her own private reason for knowing Tom
+at any distance.
+
+"Mrs. Livingstone, I'll venture to say," groaned Mrs. Graham, burying
+her lace cap and flaxen hair still farther in the silken cushions.
+"Just because I stopped there a few days last summer, she thinks she
+must run here every week; and there's no way of escaping her.  Do shut
+that blind; it lets in so much light.  There, would you think I'd been
+crying?"
+
+"Lor, no," returned the stupid servant, "Lor, no; I should sooner think
+your eyes and face were swelled with _pisen_."
+
+"The Lord help me," exclaimed Mrs. Graham, "you don't begin to know as
+much as poor Charlotte did.  She was a jewel, and I don't see anything
+what she wanted to die for, just as I had got her well trained; but
+that's all the thanks I ever get for my goodness.  Now go quick, and
+tell her I've got an excruciating headache."
+
+"If you please, miss," said the girl, trying in vain to master the big
+word, "if you please, give me somethin' shorter, 'case I done forgit
+that ar, sartin'."
+
+"Fool!  Idiot!" exclaimed Mrs. Graham, hurling, for want of something
+better, one of her satin slippers at the woolly head, which dodged out
+of the door in time to avoid it.
+
+"Is your mistress at home?" asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Martha,
+uncertain what answer she was to make, replied, "Yes--no--I dun know,
+'case she done driv me out afore I know'd whether she was at home or
+not."
+
+"Martha, show the lady this way," called out Mrs. Graham, who was
+listening.  "Ah, Mrs. Livingstone, is it you.  I'm glad to see you,"
+said she, half rising and shading her swollen eyes with her hand, as if
+the least effort were painful.  "You must excuse my dishabille, for I am
+suffering from a bad headache, and when Martha said some one had come, I
+thought at first I could not see them, but you are always welcome.  How
+have you been this long time, and why have you neglected me so, when you
+know how I must feel the change from Louisville, where I was constantly
+in society, to this dreary neighborhood?" and the lady lay back upon the
+sofa, exhausted with and astonished at her own eloquence.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was quite delighted with her friend's unusual
+cordiality, and seating herself in the large easy-chair, began to make
+herself very agreeable, offering to bathe Mrs. Graham's aching head,
+which kind offer the lady declined, bethinking herself of sundry gray
+hairs, which a close inspection would single out from among her flaxen
+tresses.
+
+"Are your family all well?" she asked; to which Mrs. Livingstone replied
+that they were, at the same time speaking of her extreme loneliness
+since Mabel left them.
+
+"Ah, you mean the little dark-eyed brunette, whom I saw with you at my
+party.  She was a nice-looking girl--showed that she came of a good
+family.  I think everything of that.  I believe I'd rather Durward would
+marry a poor aristocrat, than a wealthy plebeian--one whose family were
+low and obscure."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone wondered what she thought of her family, the
+Livingstones.  The Richards' blood she knew was good, but the Nichols'
+was rather doubtful.  Still, she would for once make the best of it, so
+she hastened to say that few American ladies were so fortunate as Mrs.
+Graham had been in marrying a noble man.  "In this country we have no
+nobility, you know," said she, "and any one who gets rich and into good
+society, is classed with the first."
+
+"Yes, I know," returned Mrs. Graham, "but in my mind there's a great
+difference.  Now, Mr. Graham's ancestors boast of the best blood of
+South Carolina, while my family, everybody knows, was one of the first
+in Virginia, so if Durward had been Mr. Graham's son instead of Sir
+Arthur's, I should be just as proud of him, just as particular whom he
+married."
+
+"Certainly," answered Mrs. Livingstone, a little piqued, for there was
+something in Mrs. Graham's manner which annoyed her--"certainly--I
+understand you.  I neither married a nobleman, nor one of the best
+bloods of South Carolina, and still I should not be willing for my son
+to marry--let me see--well, say 'Lena Rivers."
+
+"'Lena Rivers !" repeated Mrs. Graham--"why, I would not suffer Durward
+to look at her, if I could help it.  She's of a horridly low family on
+both sides, as I am told."
+
+This was a home thrust which Mrs. Livingstone could not endure quietly,
+and as she had no wish to defend the royalty of a family which she
+herself despised, she determined to avenge the insult by making her
+companion as uncomfortable as possible.  So she said, "Perhaps you are
+not aware that your son's attentions to this same 'Lena Rivers, are
+becoming somewhat marked."
+
+"No, I was not aware of it," and the greenish-gray eyes fastened
+inquiringly upon Mrs. Livingstone, who continued: "It is nevertheless
+true, and as I can appreciate your feelings, I thought it might not be
+out of place for me to warn you."
+
+"Thank you," returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself upon her elbow,
+"Thank you---but do you know anything positive?  What has Durward done?"
+
+"'Lena is in Frankfort now, at Mr. Douglass's," answered Mrs.
+Livingstone, "and your son is in the constant habit of visiting there;
+besides that, he invited her to ride with him when they all went to
+Frankfort--'Lena upon the gray pony which your husband gave her as a
+Christmas present."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone had touched the right spot.  'Twas the first intimation
+of Vesta which Mrs. Graham had received, and now sitting bolt upright,
+she demanded what Mrs. Livingstone meant.  "My husband give 'Lena Rivers
+a pony!  Harry Graham do such a thing!  It can't be possible.  There
+must be some mistake."
+
+"I think not," returned Mrs. Livingstone.  "Your son came over with it,
+saying 'it was a present from his father, who sent it, together with his
+compliments.'"
+
+Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, groaning, and
+pronouncing herself wholly heart-broken.  "I knew he was bad," said she,
+"but I never dreamed it had come to this.  And I might have known it,
+too, for from the moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a
+crazy creature.  Talks about her in his sleep--wants me to adopt
+her--keeps his eyes on her every minute when he's where she is; and to
+crown all, without consulting me, his lawful wife, he has made her a
+present, which must have cost more than a hundred dollars!  And she
+accepted it--the vixen!"
+
+"That's the worst feature in the case," said Mrs. Livingstone.  "I have
+always been suspicious of 'Lena, knowing what her mother was, but I must
+confess I did not think her quite so presumptuous as to accept so costly
+a present from a gentleman, and a married one, too.  But she has a
+peculiar way of making them think what she does is right, and neither my
+husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keeping Vesta.
+Carrie wouldn't have done such a thing."
+
+"Indeed she wouldn't.  She is too well-bred for that," said Mrs. Graham,
+who had been completely won by Carrie's soft speeches and fawning manner.
+
+This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, who
+straightway proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by pulling 'Lena
+down.  Accordingly, every little thing which she could remember, and
+many which she could not, were told in an aggravated manner, until quite
+a case was made out, and 'Lena would never have recognized herself in
+the artful, designing creature which her aunt kindly pictured her to be.
+
+"Of course," said she, "if you ever repeat this, you will not use my
+name, for as she is my husband's niece it will not look well in me to be
+proclaiming her vices, except in cases where I think it my duty."
+
+Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own reflections to make a
+reply, and as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her company was hardly desired,
+she soon arose to go, asking Mrs. Graham "why she did not oftener visit
+Maple Grove."
+
+When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make others so, too,
+and to her friend's question she answered, "I may as well be plain as
+not, and to tell you the truth, I should enjoy visiting you very much,
+were it not for one thing.  That mother of yours----"
+
+"Of my husband's," interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs. Graham
+continued just where she left off.
+
+"Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a resemblance to some
+down-east creature or other--what is her name--Sco--Sco--Scovandyke;
+yes, that's it--Scovandyke.  Of course it's not pleasant for me to be
+told every time I meet your mother----"
+
+"Mr. Livingstone's mother," again interrupted the lady.
+
+"That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that families
+of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken."
+
+"Certainly, certainly," said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that "she was
+herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols's vulgarity, but her husband
+insisted that she should come to the table, so what could she do?"
+
+And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about
+her husband's mother, the two amiable ladies parted.
+
+Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham entered the room,
+finding his wife, who had heard his footsteps, in violent hysterics.  He
+had seen her so too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the
+bellrope, when she found voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself
+who was killing her by inches, and that the sooner she was dead, the
+better she supposed he would like it.  "But, for my sake," she added, in
+a kind of howl, between crying and scolding, "do try to behave yourself
+during the short time I have to live, and not go to giving away ponies,
+and mercy knows what."
+
+Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except
+through the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked him,
+he was at a great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all became
+plain, and on the whole, he felt glad that the worst was over.  He would
+not acknowledge, even to himself, that he was afraid of his wife, still
+he had a little rather she would not always know what he did.  He
+supposed, as a matter of course, that she would, earlier or later, hear
+of his present to 'Lena, and he well knew that such an event would
+surely be followed by a storm, but after what had taken place between
+them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for he had thought
+her wrath nearly expended.  But Mrs. Graham was capable of great
+things--as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband with his
+preference for 'Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did
+herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.
+
+"Say," she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a slipper),
+"say--I will be answered.  Don't you like 'Lena better than you do me?"
+
+Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated
+question, he at length replied, "God knows I've far more reason to love
+her than I have you."  At the same moment he left the room, in time to
+avoid a sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who
+did not expect such an answer, had fallen.
+
+"Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?" he thought, as he wiped the drops
+of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of his
+spirit.  Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew
+calmer, and cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what
+he was) whispered, "Wait yet awhile.  Anything for domestic peace."
+
+So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking
+how his conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him
+far than his own life.  While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his
+wife lay upon her sofa, Durward entered the parlor and began
+good-humoredly to rally his mother upon her wobegone face, asking what
+was the matter now.
+
+"Oh, you poor boy, you," she sobbed, "you'll soon have no mother to go
+to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather, who alone
+will be to blame for making you an orphan!"
+
+Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too, and
+while he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of
+which he was becoming weary.  He knew there had been a jar in the
+morning, but he had supposed that settled, and now, when he found his
+mother ten times worse than ever, he felt half vexed, and said, "Do be a
+woman mother, and not give way to such fancies.  I really wonder father
+shows as much patience with you as he does, for you make our home very
+unpleasant; and really," he continued, in a laughing tone, "if this goes
+on much longer, I shall, in self-defense, get me a wife and horns of my
+own."
+
+"And if report is true, that wife will be 'Lena Rivers," said Mrs.
+Graham, in order to try him.
+
+"Very likely--I can't tell what may be," was his answer; to which Mrs.
+Graham replied, "that it would be extremely pleasant to marry a bride
+with whom one's father was in love."
+
+"How ridiculous!" Durward exclaimed.  "As though my father cared aught
+for 'Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable manners."
+
+"But, he's acknowledged it.  He's just told me, 'God knew he loved her
+better than he did me.'  What do you think of that?"
+
+"Did Mr. Graham say that?" asked Durward, looking his mother directly in
+her face.
+
+"Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it's not a
+secret either.  Others know it and talk about it.  Think of his giving
+her that pony."
+
+Durward was taken by surprise.  Knowing none of the circumstances, he
+felt deeply pained at his father's remark.  He had always supposed he
+liked 'Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his
+own wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life
+Durward distrusted his father.  Still, 'Lena was not to blame; there was
+comfort in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side,
+admiring her more and more, and learning each time he saw her to love
+her better.  And she--she dared not confess to herself how dear he was
+to her--she dared not hope her affection was returned.  She could not
+think of the disappointment the future might bring, so she lived on the
+present, waiting anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the
+things which she thought would please him best.
+
+True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon
+the piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who
+should walk in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying "he had been
+hired by von nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in
+musique."
+
+'Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her
+sharing in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was
+overruled by his wife.
+
+"'Twas my uncle, was it not?" she asked of Du Pont, who replied, "I
+promised not to tell.  He say, though, he connected with mademoiselle."
+
+And 'Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his wife's
+account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du Pont as a
+teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her willingness to assist
+her whenever it was necessary.  Naturally fond of music, 'Lena's
+improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified Durward
+appeared, she redoubled her exertions, practicing always five, and
+sometimes six hours a day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+A FATHER'S LOVE.
+
+When it was known at Maple Grove that 'Lena was taking lessons of Du
+Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first
+proposed, paid the bills.
+
+"Mighty kind in her, and no mistake," said John Jr., throwing aside
+the stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to
+himself that "Mabel was a nice girl, after all."
+
+The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he
+suddenly wondered why he had never thought to call upon 'Lena.  "To
+be sure, I'll feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know
+she is not there, but it's lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I'm
+bound to do something."
+
+So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no
+regrets from his mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had
+been intolerably cross and fault-finding.  He found a servant in the
+door, so he was saved the trouble of ringing, and entering
+unannounced, walked noiselessly to the parlor-door, which was ajar.
+'Lena, as usual, sat at the piano, wholly absorbed, while over her
+bent Mabel, who was assisting her in the lesson, speaking
+encouragingly, and patiently helping her through all the difficult
+places.  Mabel's health was improved since first we saw her, and
+though she was still plain--ugly, many would say--there was something
+pleasing in her face, and in the expression of her black, eyes, which
+looked down so kindly upon 'Lena.  John Jr. noticed it, and never
+before had Mabel appeared to so good advantage to him as she did at
+that moment, as he watched her through the open door.
+
+At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, 'Lena said, "I know I
+should never learn if it were not for you," at the same time winding
+her arm about Mabel's neck and kissing her glowing cheek.
+
+"Let me have a share of that," exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward
+and clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his
+presence.
+
+With a gay laugh they shook him off, and 'Lena, leading him to the
+sofa, sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and
+her grandmother.  John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed
+to ask if there had come any tidings of the absent one; but he would
+not--she had left him of her own accord, and he had sworn never to
+inquire for her.  So he sat gazing dreamily upon her piano, the chair
+she used to occupy and the books she used to read, until 'Lena,
+either divining his thoughts, or fancying he would wish to know,
+said, "We've not heard from Nellie since she left us."
+
+"You didn't expect to, so soon, I suppose," was John's indifferent
+reply.
+
+"Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship.  I wish they'd
+taken a steamer instead of a sailing vessel," said 'Lena.
+
+"I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could
+have with Nellie, looking out upon the sea," was John's answer, while
+Mabel quickly rejoined, that "he had chosen a sailing vessel solely
+on Mary's account."
+
+In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment
+after, Durward was ushered into the parlor.  "He was in town on
+business," he said, "and thought he would call."
+
+Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time
+admitting Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also
+found it convenient to call.  Involuntarily Durward glanced toward
+'Lena, but her face was as calm and unruffled as if the visitor had
+been her uncle.
+
+"All right there," thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her, he
+fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat
+disconcerted when he saw him there.  Mentally blaming himself for the
+distrust which he felt rising within him, he still determined to
+watch, and judge for himself how far his mother's suspicions were
+correct.  Taking up a book which lay near, he pretended to be
+reading, while all the time his thoughts were elsewhere.  It was
+'Lena's lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont came in, appearing both
+pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.
+
+"I hope you don't expect me to expose my ignorance before all these
+people," said 'Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.
+
+"Suppose we adjourn to another room," said Mabel, leading the way and
+followed by John Jr. only.
+
+Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on
+observing that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed
+his seat and book, poring over the latter as intently as if it had
+not been wrong side up!
+
+"Does monsieur incline to stay," asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took
+his station at the end of the piano.
+
+"Certainly," answered Mr. Graham, "unless Miss Rivers insists upon my
+leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much
+interest I take in her progress."
+
+So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed
+upon 'Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his
+book was watching him.  Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all
+seemed mingled in the expression of his face, and as Durward watched,
+he felt that there was a something which he could not fathom.
+
+"I never knew he was so fond of music," thought he--"I mean to put
+him to the test."
+
+Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was
+an excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best
+pieces--"something lively and new which will wake us up," said he.
+
+Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she
+was habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking
+her seat at the piano, she brought out sounds far different from
+those of a new performer.  But Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not
+heed it, his eyes and ears being alone for 'Lena.  Seating himself
+near her, he commenced talking to her in an undertone, apparently
+oblivious to everything else around him, and it was not until Durward
+twice asked how he liked Mabel's playing, that he heard a note.
+Then, starting up and going toward the instrument, he said, "Ah, yes,
+that was a fine march, ('twas the 'Rainbow Schottish,' then new,)
+please repeat it, or something just like it!"
+
+Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off
+into a spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr.
+Graham, who seemed in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece
+of white paper which lay upon the piano, and of which Durward managed
+to get possession, finding thereon the name, "Helena Nichols," to
+which was added that of "Rivers," the Nichols being crossed out.  It
+would seem as if both father and son were determined each to outstay
+the other, for hour after hour went by and neither spoke of leaving,
+although John Jr. had been gone some time.  At last, as the sun was
+setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his father contemplated
+spending the night; "and if so," said he, with a meaning in his
+manner, "where shall I tell my mother I left you?"
+
+This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to
+start, adding, that "he could not find it in his heart to tear him
+away from two so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the
+weakness of his own youth."
+
+"In your second youth, now, I fancy," thought Durward, watching him
+as he bade 'Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much
+longer he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.
+
+"Does she see as I do, or not?" thought he, as he took the hand his
+father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes,
+which returned his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a
+little child.
+
+"All right here," again thought Durward, slightly pressing the soft,
+warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw
+how quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Durward," said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city, "I have
+a request to make of you."
+
+"Well."
+
+The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham
+again spoke.
+
+"You know your mother as well as I do----"
+
+"Well."
+
+Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; "You know how groundlessly
+jealous she is of me--and it may be just as well for her not to know
+that----"
+
+Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.
+
+"Just as well for her not to know that you've spent the afternoon
+with 'Lena Rivers; is that it?"
+
+"That's it--yes--yes"--answered Mr. Graham, adding, ere Durward had
+time to utter the angry words which he felt rising within him, "I
+wish you'd marry 'Lena."
+
+This was so sudden--so different from anything which Durward had
+expected, that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little
+time ere he answered,
+
+"Perhaps I shall."
+
+"I wish you would," continued Mr. Graham, "I'd willingly give every
+dollar I'm worth for the privilege of calling her my daughter."
+
+Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think.  If his father
+had an undue regard for 'Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife
+of another, and that other his son?  Was it his better and nobler
+nature struggling to save her from evil, which prompted the wish?
+Durward hoped so--he believed so; and the confidence which had so
+recently been shaken was fully restored, when, by the light of the
+hall lamp at home, he saw how white and almost ghostly was the face
+which, ere they entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon
+him, asking him "to be careful."
+
+Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of
+Mrs. Livingstone's call, and now, though she had not seen her husband
+for several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head,
+meantime, and replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a
+much-injured-woman way, as provoking as it was uncalled for.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+"Father's suggestion was a good one," thought Durward, when he had
+retired to rest.  "'Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the world.
+I will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of danger."
+
+But what should he do with her?  Should he bring her there to
+Woodlawn, where scarcely a day passed without some domestic storm?
+No, his home should be full of sunlight, of music and flowers, where
+no angry word or darkening frown could ever find entrance; and thus
+dreaming of a blissful future, when 'Lena should be his bride, he
+fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+JOEL SLOCUM.
+
+In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an individual
+who, though not a very important personage, is still in some degree
+connected with our story.  On the night when Durward and his father
+were riding home from Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the
+exception of grandma, were as usual assembled in the parlor.  John
+Jr. had returned, and purposely telling his mother and Carrie whom he
+had left with 'Lena, had succeeded in putting them both into an
+uncomfortable humor, the latter secretly lamenting the mistake which
+she had committed in suffering 'Lena to stay with Mabel.  But it
+could not be remedied now.  There was no good reason for calling her
+home, and the lady broke at least three cambric-needles in her
+vigorous jerks at the handkerchief she was hemming.
+
+A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and Carrie
+straightened up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, who had
+called on his way home, but the voice was strange, and rather
+impatiently she waited.
+
+"Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?" asked the stranger of the
+negro who answered the summons.
+
+"Yes, sir," answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance.
+
+"And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?"
+
+The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young
+man to walk in.
+
+"Wall, guess I will," said he, advancing a few steps toward the
+parlor door.  Then suddenly halting, he added, more to himself than
+to the negro, "Darned if I don't go the hull figger, and send in my
+card as they do to Boston."
+
+So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and bending his
+knee for a table, he wrote with sundry nourishes, "Mr. Joel Slocum,
+Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts."
+
+"There, hand that to your _boss_," said he, "and tell him I'm out in
+the entry."  At the same time he stepped before the hat-stand,
+rubbing up his oily hair, and thinking "Mr. Joel Slocum would make an
+impression anywhere."
+
+"Who is it, Ben ?" whispered Carrie.
+
+"Dunno, miss," said the negro, passing the card to his master, and
+waiting in silence for his orders.
+
+"Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts," slowly read Mr.
+Livingstone, wondering where he had heard that name before.
+
+"Who?" simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their mother
+looked wonderingly up.
+
+Instantly John Jr. remembered 'Lena's love-letter, and anticipating
+fun, exclaimed, "Show him in, Ben--show him in."
+
+While Ben is showing him in, we will introduce him more fully to our
+readers, promising that the picture is not overdrawn, but such as we
+saw it in our native state.  Joel belonged to that extreme class of
+Yankees with which we sometimes, though not often meet.  Brought up
+among the New England mountains, he was almost wholly ignorant of
+what really belonged to good manners, fancying that he knew
+everything, and sneering at those of his acquaintance who, being of a
+more quiet turn of mind, were content to settle down in the home of
+their fathers, caring little or nothing for the world without.  But
+as for him, "he was bound," he said, "to see the elephant, and if his
+brothers were green enough to stay tied to their mother's apron
+strings, they might do it, but he wouldn't.  No, _sir_! he was going
+to make something of himself."
+
+To effect this, about two years before the time of which we are
+speaking, he went to Boston to learn the art of daguerreotype-taking,
+in which he really did seem to excel, returning home with some money,
+a great deal of vanity, and a strong propensity to boast of what he
+had seen.  Recollections of 'Lena, his early, and, as he
+sentimentally expressed it, "his undying, all-enduring" love, still
+haunted him, and at last he determined upon a tour to Kentucky,
+purchasing for the occasion a rather fantastic suit, consisting of
+greenish pants, blue coat, red vest, and yellow neck-handkerchief.
+These he laid carefully by in his trunk until he reached Lexington,
+where he intended stopping for a time, hanging out a naming sign,
+which announced his presence and capabilities.
+
+After spending a few days in the city, endeavoring to impress its
+inhabitants with a sense of his consequence, and mentally styling
+them all "Know Nothings," be-cause they did not seem to be more
+affected, he one afternoon donned his best suit, and started for Mr.
+Livingstone's, thinking he should create a sensation there, for
+wasn't he as good as anybody?  Didn't he learn his trade in Boston,
+the very center and source of all the _isms_ of the day, and ought
+not Mr. Livingstone to feel proud of such a guest, and wouldn't 'Lena
+stare when she saw him so much improved from what he was when they
+picked _checkerberries_ together?
+
+With this comfortable opinion of himself, it is not at all probable
+that he felt any misgivings when Ben ushered him at once into the
+presence of Mr. Livingstone's family, who stared at him in unfeigned
+astonishment.  Nothing daunted, he went through with the five changes
+of a bow, which he had learned at a dancing-school, bringing himself
+up finally in front of Mr. Livingstone, and exclaiming,
+
+"How-dy-do?--Mr. Livingstone, I 's'pose, it comes more natural to say
+cousin John, I've heard Miss Nichols and Aunt Nancy talk of you since
+I was knee high, and seems as how you must be related.  How is the
+old lady, and Helleny, too?  I don't see 'em here, though I thought,
+at fust, this might be her," nodding to Anna.
+
+Mr. Livingstone was confounded, while his wife had strong intentions
+of ordering the intruder from the room, but John Jr. had no such
+idea.  He liked the fun, and now coming forward, said, "Mr. Slocum,
+as your card indicates, allow me the pleasure of presenting you to my
+mother--and sisters," at the same time ringing the bell, he ordered a
+servant to go for his grandmother.
+
+"Ah, ladies, how-dy-do?  Hope you are well till we are better
+acquainted," said Joel, bowing low, and shaking out the folds of his
+red silk handkerchief, strongly perfumed with peppermint.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while Anna
+said, "Good-evening, Mr. Slocum."
+
+Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone's silence, Joel turned to John
+Jr., saying, "Don't believe she heard you--deaf, mebby?"
+
+John Jr. nodded, and at that moment grandma appeared, in a great
+flurry to know who wanted to see her.
+
+Instantly seizing her hand, Joel exclaimed, "Now Aunt Martha, if this
+ain't good for sore eyes.  How _do_ you do ?"
+
+"Pretty well, pretty well," she returned, "but you've got the better
+of me, for I don't know more'n the dead who you be."
+
+"Now how you talk," said Joel.  "If this don't beat all my fust
+wife's relations.  Why, I should have known you if I'd met you in a
+porridge-pot.  But then, I s'pose I've altered for the better since I
+see you.  Don't you remember Joel Slocum, that used to have kind of a
+snickerin' notion after Helleny?"
+
+"Why-ee, I guess I do," answered grandma, again seizing his hand.
+"Where did you come from, and why didn't your Aunt Nancy come with
+you?
+
+"'Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke's sister's boy.  Caroline and Anny,
+this is Joel; you've heard tell of him."
+
+"I've been introduced, thank you," said Joel, taking a seat near
+Carrie, who haughtily gathered up the ample folds of her dress, lest
+it should be polluted.
+
+"Bashful critter, but she'll get over it by the time she's seen as
+much of the world as I have," soliloquized Joel; at the same time
+thinking to make some advances, he hitched a little nearer, and
+taking hold of a strip of embroidery on which she was engaged, he
+said, "Now, du tell, if they've got to workin' with floss way down
+here.  Waste of time, I tell 'em, this makin' holes for the sake of
+sewin' 'em up.  But law!" he added, as he saw the deepening scowl on
+Carrie's face, "wimmin may jest as well by putterin' about that as
+anything else, for their time ain't nothin' moren' an old settin'
+hen's."
+
+This speech called forth the first loud roar in which John Jr. had
+indulged since Nellie went away, and now settling back in his chair,
+he gave vent to his feelings in peals of laughter, in which Joel also
+joined, thinking he'd said something smart.  When at last he'd
+finished laughing, he thought again of 'Lena, and turning to Mrs.
+Livingstone, asked where she was, raising his voice to a high key on
+account of her supposed deafness.
+
+"Did you speak to me?" asked the lady, with a look which she meant
+should annihilate him, and in a still louder tone Joel repeated his
+question, asking Anna, aside, if her mother had ever tried
+"McAllister's All-Healing Ointment," for her deafness, saying it had
+"nighly cured his grandmother when she was several years older than
+Mrs. Livingstone."
+
+"Much obliged for your prescription, which, fortunately, I do not
+need," said Mrs. Livingstone, angrily, while Joel thought, "how
+strange it was that deaf people would always hear in the wrong time!"
+
+"Mother don't seem inclined to answer your question concerning
+'Lena," said John Jr., "so I will do it for her.  She is in
+Frankfort, taking music lessons.  You used to know her, I believe."
+
+"Lud, yes!  I chased her once with a streaked snake, and if she
+didn't put 'er through, then I'm no 'Judge.  Takin' music lessons, is
+she?  I'd give a fo' pence to hear her play."
+
+"Are you fond of music?" asked John Jr., in hopes of what followed.
+
+"Wall, I wouldn't wonder much if I was," answered Joel, taking a
+tuning-fork from his pocket and striking it upon the table.  "I've
+kep' singin' school one term, besides leadin' the Methodis' choir in
+Slocumville: so I orto know a little somethin' about it."
+
+"Perhaps you play, and if so, we'd like to hear you," continued John
+Jr., in spite of the deprecating glance cast upon him by Carrie.
+
+"Not such a dreadful sight," answered Joel, sauntering toward the
+piano and drumming a part of "Auld Lang Syne."  "Not such a dreadful
+sight, but I guess these girls do.  Come, girls, play us a jig, won't
+you?"
+
+"Go, Cad, it won't hurt you," whispered John, but Carrie was
+immovable, and at last, Anna, who entered more into her brother's
+spirit, took her seat at the instrument, asking what he would have.
+
+"Oh, give us 'Money Musk,' 'Hail Columby,' 'Old Zip Coon,' or
+anything to raise a feller's ideas."
+
+Fortunately, Anna's forte lay in playing old music, which she
+preferred to more modern pieces, and, Joel was soon beating time to
+the lively strains of "Money Musk."
+
+"Wall, I declare," said he, when it was ended, "I don't see but what
+you Kentucky gals play most as well as they do to hum.  I didn't
+s'pose many on you ever seen a pianner.  Come," turning to Carrie,
+"less see what you can do.  Mebby you'll beat her all holler," and he
+offered his hand to Carrie, who rather petulantly said she "must be
+excused."
+
+"Oh, get out," he continued.  "You needn't feel so bashful, for I
+shan't criticise you very hard.  I know how to feel fer new
+beginners."
+
+"Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?" asked Mr. Livingstone,
+pitying Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the performance.
+
+"No, I hain't, and I'm hungrier than a bear," answered Joel,
+whereupon Mrs. Nichols, thinking he was her guest, arose, saying she
+would see that he had some.
+
+When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone's wrath
+boiled over.
+
+"That's what comes of harboring your relatives," said she, looking
+indignantly upon her husband, and adding that she hoped "the insolent
+fellow did not intend staying all night, for if he did he couldn't."
+
+"Do you propose turning him into the street?" asked Mr. Livingstone,
+looking up from his paper.
+
+"I don't propose anything, except that he won't stay in my house, and
+you needn't ask him."
+
+"I hardly think an invitation is necessary, for I presume he expects
+to stay," returned Mr. Livingstone; while John Jr. rejoined, "Of
+course he does, and if mother doesn't find him a room, I shall take
+him in with me, besides going to Frankfort with him to-morrow."
+
+This was enough, for Mrs. Livingstone would do almost anything rather
+than have her son seen in the city with that specimen.  Accordingly,
+when the hour for retiring arrived, she ordered Corinda to show him
+into the "east chamber," a room used for her common kind of visitors,
+but which Joel pronounced "as neat as a fiddle."
+
+The next morning he announced his intention of visiting Frankfort,
+proposing to grandma that she should accompany him, and she was about
+making up her mind to do so, when 'Lena and Mabel both appeared in
+the yard.  They had come out for a ride, they said, and finding the
+morning so fine, had extended their excursion as far as Maple Grove,
+sending their servant back to tell where they were going.  With his
+usual assurance, Joel advanced toward 'Lena, greeting her tenderly,
+and whispering in her ear that "he found she was greatly improved as
+well as himself," while 'Lena wondered in what the improvement
+consisted.  She had formerly known him as a great, overgrown,
+good-natured boy, and now she saw him a "conceited gawky." Still, her
+manner was friendly toward him, for he had come from her old home,
+had breathed the air of her native hills, and she well remembered
+how, years ago, he had with her planted and watered the flowers which
+he told her were still growing at her mother's grave.
+
+And yet there was something about her which puzzled Joel, who felt
+that the difference between them was great.  He was disappointed, and
+the declaration which he had fully intended making was left until
+another time, when, as he thought, "he shouldn't be so confounded shy
+of her."  His quarters, too, at Maple Grove were not the most
+pleasant, for no one noticed him except grandma and John Jr., and
+with the conviction that "the Kentuckians didn't know what politeness
+meant," he ordered his horse after dinner, and started back to
+Lexington, inviting all the family to call and "set for their
+picters," saying that "seein' 'twas them, he'd take 'em for half
+price."
+
+As he was leaving the piazza, he turned back, and drawing a large,
+square case from his pocket, passed it to 'Lena, saying it was a
+daguerreotype of her mountain home, which he had taken on purpose for
+her, forgetting to give it to her until that minute.  The look of joy
+which lighted up 'Lena's face made Joel almost repent of not having
+said to her what he intended to, but thinking he would wait till next
+time, he started off, his heart considerably lightened by her warm
+thanks for his thoughtfulness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+THE DAGUERREOTYPE.
+
+"Look, grandmother!--a picture of our old home.  Isn't it natural?"
+exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.
+
+Yes, it was natural, and the old lady's tears gushed forth the moment
+she looked upon it.  There was the well, the garden, the gate
+partially open, the barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the
+curtain of the west window rolled up as it was wont to be, while on
+the doorstep, basking in the warm sunshine, lay a cat, which Mrs.
+Nichols' declared was hers.
+
+"John ought to see this," said she, wiping the tears from her eyes,
+and turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting
+her son, together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called.
+"Look here, John," said she, calling him to her side--"Do you
+remember this?"
+
+The deep flush which mounted to John's brow, showed that he did, and
+his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: "It is our old
+home in Massachusetts.  There's the room where John and Helleny both
+were born, and where Helleny and her father died.  Oh, it seems but
+yesterday since she died, and they carried her out of this door, and
+down the road, there--do you see?"
+
+This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or
+not, made no answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon
+the prospect beyond, which for him had no attractions then.  The
+sight of that daguerreotype had stirred up many bitter memories, and
+for some time he stood gazing vacantly through the window, and
+thinking--who shall say of what?  It would seem that the
+daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination for him, for after it
+had been duly examined and laid down, he took it in his hand,
+inspecting it minutely, asking where it was taken, and if it would be
+possible to procure a similar one.
+
+"I have a fancy for such scenes," said he, "and would like to have
+just such a picture.  Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say.
+He can take one from this, I suppose.  I mean to see him;" and with
+his usual good-morning, he departed.
+
+Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort,
+determining, if a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer
+'Lena his heart and fortune.
+
+He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day.  For a
+time they conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which
+was entirely foreign from that which lay nearest Durward's heart.  At
+last the conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward
+had heard.
+
+"I really think, 'Lena," said he, laughingly, "that you ought to
+patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the
+sake of seeing you.  Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for
+me, will you?"
+
+Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls,
+'Lena answered lightly, "Oh, no, no.  I have never had my picture
+taken in my life, and I shan't begin with Joel."
+
+"Never had it taken!" repeated Durward, in some surprise.
+
+"No, never," said 'Lena, and Durward continued drawing her nearer to
+him, "It is time you had, then.  So have it taken for me.  I mean
+what I say," he continued, as he met the glance of her merry eyes.
+"There is nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except,
+indeed the original, which you will not refuse me, when I ask it,
+will you?"
+
+'Lena's mirth was all gone--she knew he was in earnest now.  She felt
+it in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her waist; she saw it
+in his eye, and heard it in the tones of his voice.  But what should
+she say?  Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon
+her cheek; and an inaudible answer trembled on her lips, when
+noiselessly through the door came _Mr. Graham_, starting when he saw
+their position, and offering to withdraw if he was intruding.  'Lena
+was surprised and excited, and springing up, she laid her hand upon
+his arm as he was about to leave the room, bidding him stay and
+saying he was always welcome there.
+
+So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which 'Lena had
+ever seen, Durward left--left without receiving an answer to his
+question, or even referring to it again, though 'Lena accompanied him
+to the door, half dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it.  But he
+did not, and wishing her much pleasure in his father's company, he
+walked away, writing in his heart bitter things against _him_, not
+her.  On his way home he fell in with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like,
+had taken a little too much wine, and was very talkative.
+
+"Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers," said he.  "She be von fine
+girl.  What relation be she to Monsieur Graham?"
+
+"None whatever.  Why do you ask?"
+
+"Because he pay her musique lessons and----"
+
+Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he kept back Mr.
+Graham's assertion that he was a near relative, adding in its place,
+that "he thought probable he related; but you no tell," said he, "for
+Monsieur bid me keep secret and I forgot."
+
+Here, having reached a cross-road, they parted, and again Durward
+wrote down bitter things against his father, for what could be his
+object in wishing it kept a secret that he was paying for 'Lena's
+lessons, or why did he pay for them at all--and did 'Lena know it?
+He thought not, and for a time longer was she blameless in his eyes.
+
+On reaching home he found both the parlor and drawing-room deserted,
+and upon inquiry learned that his mother was in her own room.
+Something, he could hardly tell what, prompted him to knock for
+admission, which being granted, he entered, finding her unusually
+pale, with the trace of tears still upon her cheek.  This of itself
+was so common an occurrence, that he would hardly have observed it
+had not there been about her a look of unfeigned distress which he
+had seldom seen before.
+
+"What's the matter, mother?" said he, advancing toward her; "What has
+happened to trouble you?"
+
+Without any reply, Mrs. Graham placed in his hand a richly-cased
+daguerreotype, and laying her head upon the table, sobbed aloud.  A
+moment Durward stood transfixed to the spot, for on opening the case,
+the fair, beautiful face of 'Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon
+him!
+
+"Where did you get this, mother?--how came you by it?" he asked, and
+she answered, that in looking through her husband's private drawer,
+the key of which she had accidentally found in his vest pocket, she
+had come upon it, together with a curl of soft chestnut-brown hair
+which she threw across Durward's finger, and from which he recoiled
+as from a viper's touch.
+
+For several minutes not a word was spoken by either, and then Mrs.
+Graham, looking him in the face, said, "You recognize that
+countenance, of course?"
+
+"I do," he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Durward was
+terribly moved.
+
+Twice had 'Lena asserted that never in her life had her daguerreotype
+been taken, and yet he held it in his hands; there was no mistaking
+it--the same broad, open brow--the same full, red lips--the same
+smile--and more than all, the same clustering ringlets, though
+arranged a little differently from what she usually wore them, the
+hair on the picture being combed smoothly over the forehead, while
+'Lena's was generally brushed up after the style of the prevailing
+fashion.  Had Durward examined minutely, he might have found other
+points of difference, but he did not think of that.  A look had
+convinced him that 'twas 'Lena--his 'Lena, he had fondly hoped to
+call her.  But that was over now--she had deceived him--told him a
+deliberate falsehood--refused him her daguerreotype and given it to
+his father, whose secrecy concerning it indicated something wrong.
+His faith was shaken, and yet for the sake of what she had been to
+him, he would spare her good name.  He could not bear to hear the
+world breathe aught against her, for possibly she might be innocent;
+but no, there was no mistaking the falsehood, and Durward groaned in
+bitterness as he handed the picture to his mother, bidding her return
+it where she found it.  Mrs. Graham had never seen her son thus
+moved, and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm, asking,
+"why he was so affected--what she was to him?"
+
+"Everything, everything," said he, laying his face upon the table.
+"'Lena Rivers was all the world to me.  I loved her as I shall never
+love again."
+
+And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his mother
+all--how he had that very morning gone to Frankfort with the
+intention of offering 'Lena his hand--how he had partially done so,
+when they were interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, he did not
+say whom.
+
+"Thank heaven for your escape.  I can bear your father's conduct, if
+it is the means of saving you from her," exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while
+her son continued: "And now, mother, I have a request to make of
+you--a request which you must grant.  I have loved 'Lena too well to
+cease from loving her so soon.  And though I can never again think to
+make her my wife, I will not hear her name lightly spoken by the
+world, who must never know what we do.  Promise me, mother, to keep
+secret whatever you may know against her."
+
+"Do you think me bereft of my senses," asked Mrs. Graham petulantly,
+"that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every one?"
+
+"No, no, mother," he answered, "but you are easily excited, and say
+things you had better not.  Mrs. Livingstone bears 'Lena no good
+will, you know, and sometimes when she is speaking disparagingly of
+her, you may be thrown off your guard, and tell what you know.  But
+this must not be.  Promise me, mother, will you?"
+
+Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly about his
+mouth as he asked this of his mother who, mentally congratulating
+herself upon her son's escape, promised what he asked, at the same
+time repeating to him all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone
+concerning 'Lena, until Durward interrupted her with, "Stop, stop,
+I've heard enough.  Nothing which Mrs. Livingstone could say would
+have weighed a straw, but the conviction of my own eyes and ears have
+undeceived me, and henceforth 'Lena and I are as strangers."
+
+Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of her son's
+marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and though she felt
+indignant toward her husband so peculiar was her nature that she
+would not have had matters otherwise if she could and when Durward,
+who disliked _scenes_, suggested the propriety of her not speaking to
+his father on the subject at present he assented, saying that it
+would be more easy for her to refrain, as she was intending to start
+for Louisville on the morrow.
+
+"I've been contemplating a visit there for some time and before Mr.
+Graham left home this morning, I had decided to go," said she, at the
+same time proposing that Durward should accompany her.
+
+To this consented willingly, for in the first shock of his
+disappointment, a change of place and scene was what he most desired.
+The hot blood of the south, which burned in his veins, seemed all on
+fire, and he felt that he could not, for the present, at least be
+daily associated with his stepfather.  An absence of several days, he
+thought, might have the effect of calming him down.  It was
+accordingly decided that he should on the morrow, start with her for
+Louisville, to be gone two weeks; and with this understanding they
+parted, Durward going to his own chamber, there to review the past
+and strive, if possible, to efface from his heart every memory of
+'Lena, whom he had loved so well.  But 'twas all in vain; he could
+not so soon forget her and far into the hours of night he sat alone
+striving to frame some excuse for her conduct.  The fact that his
+father possessed her daguerreotype might possibly be explained,
+without throwing censure upon her; but the falsehood--never; and with
+the firm conviction that she was lost to him forever, he at last
+retired to rest, just as the clock in the ball below proclaimed the
+hour of midnight.
+
+Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind the probable
+result of a letter which, in the heat of passion, she had that day
+dispatched to 'Lena, accusing her of "marring the domestic peace of a
+hitherto happy family," and while she cast some reflections upon her
+birth, commanding her never, under any circumstances, "to venture
+into her presence!"
+
+This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward's
+return, and as she well knew how much he would disapprove of it, she
+resolved not to tell him, secretly hoping 'Lena would keep her own
+counsel.  "Base creature!" said she, "to give my husband her
+likeness--but he shall never see it again;" and with stealthy step
+she advanced toward the secret drawer, which she again opened, and
+taking from it both daguerreotype and ringlet, locked it, replacing
+the key in the pocket where she found it.  Then seizing the long,
+bright curl, she hurled it into the glowing grate, shuddering as she
+did so, and trembling, as if she really knew a wrong had been done to
+the dead.
+
+Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated features, which
+now seemed to regard her mournfully, as if reproaching her for what
+she had done.  No part of the dress was visible--nothing except the
+head and neck, which was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut
+curls, whose companion so recently lay seething and scorching on the
+burning coals.
+
+There was a footstep without--her husband had returned--and quick as
+thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while Mrs. Graham, forcing
+down her emotion, took up a book, which she seemed to be intently
+reading when her husband entered.  After addressing to her a few
+commonplace remarks, all of which she answered civilly, he went to
+the wardrobe, and on pretense of looking for his knife, which, he
+said he believed he left in his vest pocket, he took out the key, and
+then carelessly proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his wife
+watching him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation
+when he saw that his treasure was gone.  Again and again was his
+drawer searched, but all to no purpose, and casting an anxious glance
+toward his wife, whose face, for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he
+commenced walking the floor in a very perturbed state of mind, his
+wife exulting in his discomfiture, and thinking herself amply avenged
+for all that she had endured.
+
+At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day
+received from South Carolina, containing the news of the death of a
+distant relative, who had left him some property.  "It is not
+necessary for me to be there in person," said he, "but still I should
+like to visit my old home once more.  What do you think of it?"
+
+"Go, by all means," said she, glad of anything which would place
+distance between him and 'Lena.  "No one can attend to your business
+one-half as well as yourself.  When will you start if you go?"
+
+"Immediately--before your return from Louisville--unless you wish to
+accompany me."
+
+"I'm afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather not," said
+she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him to wonder what had come
+over her.
+
+"You can do as you choose," said he, "but I should be glad of your
+company."
+
+"No, I thank you," was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, wondered
+what had come over him.
+
+The next morning the carriage came up to the door to convey Mrs.
+Graham and Durward to Frankfort.  The latter was purposely late, and
+he did not see his father until he came down, traveling-bag in hand,
+to enter the carriage.  Then Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise,
+"where he was going?"
+
+"With my mother to Louisville, sir," answered Durward, stiffly.  "I
+am not willing she should travel alone, if you are;" and he sprang
+into the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive off ere another
+word could be spoken.
+
+"Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!--my usual
+luck!" mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the house, and sure of no
+prying eyes, recommenced his search for the daguerreotype, which was
+nowhere to be found.  Could she have found it?  Impossible! for it
+was not in her jealous nature to have held her peace; and again he
+sought for it, but all to no purpose, and finally thinking he must
+have taken it with him and lost it, he gave it up, mourning more for
+the loss of the curl, which could never, never be replaced, while the
+picture might be found.
+
+"Why do I live so?" thought he, as he nervously paced the room.  "My
+life is one of continual fear and anxiety, but it shall be so no
+longer.  I'll tell her all when she returns.  I'll brave the world,
+dare her displeasure, take 'Lena home, and be a man."
+
+Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that he should
+keep it, he started for Versailles, where he had an engagement with a
+gentleman who transacted business for him in Lexington.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
+
+Mabel had gone out, and 'Lena sat alone in the little room adjoining
+the parlor which Mr. Douglass termed his library, but which Nellie
+had fitted up for a private sewing-room.  It was 'Lena's favorite
+resort when she wished to be alone, and as Mabel was this morning
+absent, she had retired thither, not to work, but to think--to recall
+every word and look of Durward's, to wonder when and how he would
+repeat the question, the answer to which had been prevented by Mr.
+Graham.
+
+Many and blissful were her emotions as she sat there, wondering if it
+were not a bright dream, from which she would too soon awaken, for
+could it be that one so noble, so good, and so much sought for as
+Durward Bellmont had chosen her, of all others, to be his bride?
+Yes, it must be so, for he was not one to say or act what he did not
+mean; he would come that day and repeat what he had said before; and
+she blushed as she thought what her answer would be.
+
+There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered, bringing her a
+letter, which she eagerly seized, thinking it was from him.  But
+'twas not his writing, though bearing the post-mark of Versailles.
+Hastily she broke the seal, and glancing at the signature, turned
+pale, for it was "Lucy Graham," his mother, who had written, but for
+what, she could not guess.  A moment more and she fell back on the
+sofa, white and rigid as a piece of marble.  'Twas a cruel and
+insulting letter, containing many dark insinuations, which she, being
+wholly innocent; could not understand.  She knew indeed, that Mr.
+Graham had presented her with Vesta, but was there anything wrong in
+that?  She did not think so, else she had never taken her.  Her
+uncle, her cousin, and Durward, all three approved of her accepting
+it, the latter coming with it himself--so it could not be that; and
+for a long time Lena wept passionately, resolving one moment to
+answer the letter as it deserved determining, the next, to go herself
+and see Mrs. Graham face to face; and then concluding to treat it
+with silent contempt, trusting that Durward would erelong appear and
+make it all plain between them.
+
+At last, about five o'clock, Mabel returned, bringing the
+intelligence that Mrs. Graham was in the city, at the Weisiger House,
+where she was going to remain until the morrow.  She had met with an
+accident, which prevented her arrival in Frankfort until the train
+which she was desirous of taking had left.
+
+"Is her husband with her?" asked 'Lena, to which Mabel replied, that
+she understood she was alone.
+
+"Then I'll see her and know what she means," thought 'Lena,
+trembling, even then, at the idea of venturing into the presence of
+the cold, haughty woman.
+
+     *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Supper was over at the Weisiger House, and in a handsome private
+parlor Mrs. Graham lay, half asleep, upon the sofa, while in the
+dressing-room adjoining Durward sat, trying to frame a letter which
+should tell poor 'Lena that their intimacy was forever at an end.
+For hours, and until the last gleam of daylight had faded away, he
+had sat by the window, watching each youthful form which passed up
+and, down the busy street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her who once
+had made his world.  But his watch was in vain, and now he had sat
+down to write, throwing aside sheet after sheet, as he thought its
+beginning too cold, too harsh, or too affectionate.  He was about
+making up his mind not to write at all, but to let matters take their
+course, when a knock at his mother's door, and the announcement that
+a lady wished to see her arrested his attention.
+
+"Somebody want to see me?  Just show her up," said Mrs. Graham,
+smoothing down her flaxen hair, and wiping from between her eyes a
+spot of powder which the opposite mirror revealed.
+
+In a moment the visitor entered--a slight, girlish form, whose
+features were partially hidden from view by a heavy lace veil, which
+was thrown over her satin hood.  A single glance convinced Mrs.
+Graham that it was a lady, a well-bred lady, who stood before her,
+and very politely she bade her be seated.
+
+Rather haughtily the proffered chair was declined, while the veil was
+thrown aside, disclosing to the astonished gaze of Mrs. Graham the
+face of 'Lena Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, while her dark eyes
+grew darker with the intensity of her feelings.
+
+"'Lena Rivers! why came you here?" she asked, while at the mention of
+that name Durward started to his feet, but quickly resumed his seat,
+listening with indescribable emotions to the sound of a voice which
+made every nerve quiver with pain.
+
+"You ask me why I am here, madam," said 'Lena.  "I came to seek an
+explanation from you--to know of what I am accused--to ask why you
+wrote me that insulting letter--me, an orphan girl, alone and
+unprotected in the world, and who never knowingly harmed you or
+yours."
+
+"Never harmed me or mine!" scornfully repeated Mrs. Graham.  "Don't
+add falsehood to your other sins--though, if you'll lie to my son,
+you of course will to me, his mother."
+
+"Explain yourself, madam, if you please," exclaimed 'Lena, her olden
+temper beginning to get the advantage of her.
+
+"And what if I do not please?" sneeringly asked Mrs. Graham.
+
+"Then I will compel you to do so, for my good name is all I have, and
+it shall not be wrested from me without an effort on my part to
+preserve it," answered 'Lena.
+
+"Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help you.  I am
+sure it would be very ungentlemanly in him to desert you, now," said
+Mrs. Graham, her manner conveying far more meaning than her words.
+
+'Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly distinct
+as she replied, "Will you explain yourself, or will you not?  What
+have I done, that you should treat me thus?"
+
+"Done?  Done enough, I should think!  Haven't you whiled him away
+from me with your artful manners?  Has he ever been the same man
+since he saw you?  Hasn't he talked of you in his sleep? made you
+most valuable presents which a true woman would have refused? and in
+return, haven't you bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together
+with a lock of your hair, on which you no doubt pride yourself, but
+which to me and my son seem like so many coiling serpents?"
+
+'Lena had sat down.  She could stand no longer, and burying her face
+in her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had finished.  Then,
+lifting up her head, she replied in a voice far more husky than the
+one in which she before had spoken--"You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs.
+Graham, for as I hope for heaven, I never entertained a feeling for
+your husband which I would not have done for my own father, and
+indeed, he has seemed to me more like a parent than a friend----"
+
+"Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,"
+interrupted Mrs. Graham.
+
+'Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but continued: "I
+know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it was wrong, and if it
+was, I will make amends by immediately returning her, for much as I
+love her, I shall never use her again."
+
+"But the daguerreotype?" interrupted Mrs. Graham, anxious to reach
+that point.  "What have you to say about the daguerreotype?  Perhaps
+you will presume to deny that, too."
+
+Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched 'Lena, whose dark
+brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, "It is false, madam.  You
+know it is false.  I never yet have had my picture taken."
+
+"But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?"
+
+"Again I repeat, that is false!" said 'Lena, while Mrs. Graham,
+strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, "I can prove it,
+miss."
+
+"I defy you to do so," said 'Lena, strong in her own innocence.
+
+"Shall I show it to her, Durward," asked Mrs. Graham, and 'Lena,
+turning suddenly round, became for the first time conscious of his
+presence.
+
+With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly toward him,
+asking him, in piteous tones, to save her from his mother.  Durward
+would almost have laid down his life to prove her innocent, but he
+felt that could not be.  So he made her no reply, and in his eye she
+read that he, too, was deceived.  With a low, wailing moan she again
+covered her face with her hands, while Mrs. Graham repeated her
+question, "Shall I show it to her?"
+
+Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and he
+answered, "Why do you ask, when you know you cannot do so?"
+
+Oh, how joyfully 'Lena started up; he did not believe it, after all,
+and if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that was which she
+gave to Durward, who returned her no answering glance, save one of
+pity; and again that wailing cry smote painfully on his ear.  Taking
+the case from her pocket, Mrs. Graham advanced toward 'Lena, saying,
+"Here, see for yourself, and then deny it if you can."
+
+But 'Lena had no power to take it.  Her faculties seemed benumbed and
+Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded brow stood leaning against
+the mantel, construed her hesitation into guilt, which dreaded to be
+convicted.
+
+"Why don't you take it?" persisted Mrs. Graham.  "You defied me to
+prove it, and here it is.  I found it in my husband's private drawer,
+together with one of those long curls, which last I burned out of my
+sight."
+
+Durward shuddered, while 'Lena involuntarily thought of the mass of
+wavy tresses which they had told her clustered around her mother's
+face, as she lay in her narrow coffin.  Why thought she of her mother
+then?  Was it because they were so strangely alike, that any allusion
+to her own personal appearance always reminded her of her lost
+parent?  Perhaps so.  But to return to our story 'Lena would have
+sworn that the likeness was not hers, and still an undefined dread
+crept over her, preventing her from moving.
+
+"You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist you," said
+Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case and holding to view
+the picture, on which with wondering eyes, 'Lena gazed in
+astonishment.
+
+"It is I--it is; but oh, heaven, how came he by it?" she gasped, and
+the next moment she fell fainting at Durward's feet.
+
+In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, "Pray,
+don't touch her--she does it for effect."
+
+But he knew better.  He knew there was no feigning the corpse-like
+pallor of that face, and pushing his mother aside, he took the
+unconscious girl in his arms, and bearing her to the sofa, laid her
+gently upon it, removing her hand and smoothing back from her cold
+brow the thick, clustering curls which his mother had designated as
+"coiling serpents."
+
+"Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants," said he,
+to his mother, who had seized the bell-rope.  "Bring some water from
+your bedroom, and we will take charge of her ourselves."
+
+There was something commanding in the tones of his voice, and Mrs.
+Graham, now really alarmed at the deathly appearance of 'Lena,
+hastened to obey.  When he was alone, Durward bent down, imprinting
+upon the white lips a burning kiss--the first he had ever given her.
+In his heart he believed her unworthy of his love, and yet she had
+never seemed one-half so dear to him as at that moment, when she lay
+there before him helpless as an infant, and all unmindful of the
+caresses which he lavished upon her.  "If it were indeed death;" he
+thought, "and it had come upon her while yet she was innocent, I
+could have borne it, but now I would I had never seen her;" and the
+tears which fell like rain upon her cheek, were not unworthy of the
+strong man who shed them.  The cold water with which they profusely
+bathed her face and neck, restored her, and then Durward, who could
+bear the scene no longer, glided silently into the next room.
+
+When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting 'Lena,
+asked "what she thought about it now?"
+
+"Please don't speak to me again, for I am very, very wretched," said
+'Lena softly, while Mrs. Graham continued: "Have you nothing to offer
+in explanation?"
+
+"Nothing, nothing--it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was
+dead," answered 'Lena, sobbing passionately.
+
+"Better wish to live and repent," said Mrs. Graham, beginning to read
+her a long sermon on her duty, to which 'Lena paid no attention, and
+the moment she felt that she could walk, she arose to go.
+
+The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass lived not far
+away, Mrs. Graham did not deem an escort necessary.  But Durward
+thought differently.  He could not walk with her side by side, as he
+had often done before, but he would follow at a distance, to see that
+no harm came near her.  There was no danger of his being discovered,
+for 'Lena was too much absorbed in her own wretchedness to heed aught
+about her, and in silence he walked behind her until he saw the door
+of Mr. Douglass's house close upon her.  Then feeling that there was
+an inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, where
+he found his mother exulting over the downfall of one whom, for some
+reason, she had always disliked.
+
+"Didn't she look confounded, though, when I showed her the picture?"
+said she; to which Durward replied, by asking "when and why she sent
+the letter."
+
+"I did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it,
+either," was Mrs. Graham's crusty answer, whereupon the conversation
+was dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the subject was not
+again resumed during their stay in Louisville.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+It would be impossible to describe 'Lena's emotion as she returned to
+the house.  Twice in the hall was she obliged to grasp at the
+banister to keep from falling, and knowing that such excessive
+agitation would be remarked, she seated herself upon the stairs until
+she felt composed enough to enter the parlor.  Fortunately, Mabel was
+alone, and so absorbed in the fortunes of "Uncle True and little
+Gerty," as scarcely to notice 'Lena at all.  Once, indeed, as she sat
+before the grate so motionless and still, Mabel looked up, and
+observing how white she was, asked what was the matter.
+
+"A bad headache," answered 'Lena, at the same time announcing her
+intention of retiring.
+
+"Alone in her room, her feelings gave way, and none save those who
+like her have suffered, can conceive of her anguish, as prostrate
+upon the floor she lay, her long silken curls falling about her white
+face, which looked ghastly and haggard by the moonlight that fell
+softly about her, as if to soothe her woe.
+
+"What is it," she cried aloud--"this dark mystery, which I cannot
+explain."
+
+The next moment she thought of Mr. Graham.  He could explain it--he
+must explain it.  She would go to him the next day, asking him what
+it meant.  She felt sure that he could make it plain, for suspicious
+as matters looked, she exculpated him from any wrong intention toward
+her.  Still she could not sleep, and when the gray morning light
+crept in, it found her too much exhausted to rise.
+
+For several days she kept her room, carefully attended by Mabel and
+her grandmother, who, at the first intimation of her illness,
+hastened down to nurse her.  Every day did 'Lena ask of Mr. Douglass
+if Mr. Graham had been in the city, saying that the first time he
+came she wished to see him.  Days, however, went by, and nothing was
+seen or heard from him, until at last John Jr.; who visited her
+daily, casually informed her that Mr. Graham had been unexpectedly
+called away to South Carolina.  A distant relative of his had died,
+bequeathing him a large property, which made it necessary for him to
+go there immediately; so without waiting for the return of his wife,
+he had started off, leaving Woodlawn alone.
+
+"Gone to South Carolina!" exclaimed 'Lena.  "When will he return?"
+
+"Nobody knows.  He's away from home more than half the time, just as
+I should be if Mrs. Graham were my wife," answered John Jr., at the
+same time playfully remarking that 'Lena need not look so blank, as
+it was not Durward who had gone so far.
+
+For an instant 'Lena resolved to tell him everything and ask him what
+to do, but knowing how impetuous he was when at all excited, she
+finally decided to keep her own secret, determining, however, to
+write to Mr. Graham, as soon as she was able.  Just before John Jr.
+left her, she called him to her side, asking him if he would do her
+the favor of seeing that Vesta was sent back to Woodlawn, as she did
+not wish for her any longer.
+
+"What the plague is that for--has mother been raising a row?" asked
+John Jr., and 'Lena replied, "No, no, your mother has nothing to do
+with it.  I only want Vesta taken home.  I cannot at present tell you
+why, but I have a good reason, and some time, perhaps, I'll explain.
+You'll do it, won't you?"
+
+With the determination of questioning Durward as to what had
+happened, John Jr. promised, and when Mrs. Graham and her son
+returned from Louisville, they found Vesta safely stabled with their
+other horses, while the saddle with its tiny slipper hung upon a
+beam, and seemingly looked down with reproach upon Durward, who
+turned away with a bitter pang as he thought of the morning when he
+first took it to Maple Grove.
+
+The next day was dark and rainy, precluding all outdoor exercise, and
+weary, sad, and spiritless, Durward repaired to the library, where,
+for an hour or more, he sat musing dreamily of the past--of the
+morning, years ago, when first he met the little girl who had since
+grown so strongly into his love, and over whom so dark a shadow had
+fallen.  A heavy knock at the door, and in a moment John Jr.
+appeared, with dripping garments and a slightly scowling face.  There
+was a faint resemblance between him and 'Lena, manifest in the soft,
+curling hair and dark, lustrous eyes.  Durward had observed it
+before--he thought of it now--and glad to see any one who bore the
+least resemblance to her, he started up, exclaiming, "Why,
+Livingstone, the very one of all the world I am glad to see."
+
+John made no reply, but shaking the rain-drops from his overcoat,
+which he carelessly threw upon the floor, he took a chair opposite
+the grate, and looking Durward fully in the face, said, "I've come
+over, Bellmont, to ask you a few plain, unvarnished questions, which
+I believe you will answer truthfully.  Am I right?"
+
+"Certainly, sir--go on," was Durward's reply.
+
+"Well, then, to begin, are you and 'Lena engaged?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you been engaged?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Do you ever expect to be engaged?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you quarreled?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home?"
+
+"I suppose I do."
+
+"Will you tell me?"
+
+"No, sir," said Durward, determined, for 'Lena's sake, that no one
+should wring from him the secret.
+
+John Jr. arose, jammed both hands into his pockets--walked to the
+window--made faces at the weather--walked back to the grate--made
+faces at that--kicked it--and then turning to Durward, said, "There's
+the old Nick to pay, somewhere."
+
+Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct questions.
+
+"I tell you, there's the old Nick to pay, somewhere," continued John,
+raising his voice.  "I knew it all the while 'Lena was sick.  I read
+it in her face when I told her Mr. Graham had gone south----"
+
+A faint sickness gathered around Durward's heart, and John Jr.
+proceeded: "She wouldn't tell me, and I've come to you for
+information.  Will you give it to me?"
+
+"No, sir," said Durward.  "The nature of our trouble is known only to
+ourselves and one other individual, and I shall never divulge the
+secret."
+
+"Is that other individual my mother?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Is it Cad?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Had they any agency in the matter?"
+
+"None, whatever, that I know of."
+
+"Then I'm on the wrong track, and may as well go home," said John
+Jr., starting for the door, where he stopped, while he added, "If,
+Bellmont, I ever do hear of your having misled me in this matter----"
+He did not finish the sentence in words, but playfully producing a
+revolver, he departed.  The next moment he was dashing across the
+lawn, the mud flying in every direction, and himself thinking how
+useless it was to try to unravel a love quarrel.
+
+In the meantime, 'Lena waited impatiently for an answer to the letter
+which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day glided by, and
+still no tidings came.  At last, as if everything had conspired
+against her, she heard that he was lying dangerously ill of a fever
+at Havana, whither he had gone in quest of an individual whose
+presence was necessary in the settlement of the estate.
+
+The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, also
+contained a request that she would come to him immediately, and
+within a few days after its receipt, she started for Cuba, together
+with Durward, who went without again seeing 'Lena.
+
+They found him better than they expected.  The danger was past, but
+he was still too weak to move himself, and the physician said it
+would be many weeks ere he was able to travel.  This rather pleased
+Mrs. Graham than otherwise.  She was fond of change, and had often
+desired to visit Havana, so now that she was there, she made the best
+of it, and for once in her life enacted the part of a faithful,
+affectionate wife.
+
+Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham spoke of
+"Helena," imploring her forgiveness for his leaving her so long, and
+promising to return.  Sometimes he spoke of her as being dead, and in
+piteous accents he would ask of Durward to bring him back his
+"beautiful 'Lena," who was sleeping far away among the New England
+mountains.
+
+One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, he
+brought one directed to Mr. Graham, which had been forwarded from
+Charleston, and which bore the post-marks of several places, it
+having been sent hither and thither, ere it reached its place of
+destination.  It was mailed at Frankfort, Kentucky, and in the
+superscription Durward readily recognized the handwriting of 'Lena.
+
+"Worse and worse," thought he, now fully assured of her worthlessness.
+
+For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this act he
+instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might contain, it was
+not for him to read it.  But what should he do with it?  Must he give
+it to his mother who already had as much as she could bear?  No,
+'twas not best for her to know aught about it, and as the surest
+means of preventing its doing further trouble, he destroyed
+it--burned it to ashes--repenting the next moment of the deed,
+wishing he had read it, and feeling not that he had wronged the dead,
+as his mother did when she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had
+done a wrong to 'Lena.
+
+In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, leaving his
+father and mother to travel leisurely from place to place, as the
+still feeble state of the former would admit.  'Lena, who had
+returned from Frankfort, trembled lest he should come to Maple Grove,
+but he seemed equally desirous of avoiding a meeting, and after
+lingering about Woodlawn for several days, he suddenly departed for
+Louisville, where, for a time, we leave him, while we follow the
+fortunes of others connected with our story.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+JOHN JR. AND MABEL.
+
+Time and absence had gradually softened John Jr.'s feelings toward
+Nellie.  She was not married to Mr. Wilbur--possibly she never would
+be--and if on her return to America he found her the same, he would
+lose no time in seeing her, and, if possible, secure her to himself.
+Such was the tenor of his thoughts, as on one bright morning in June
+he took his way to Lexington, whither he was going on business for
+his father.  Before leaving the city, he rode down to the depot, as
+was his usual custom, reaching there just as the cars bound for
+Frankfort were rolling away.  Upon the platform of the rear car stood
+an acquaintance of his, who called out, "Halloo, Livingstone, have
+you heard the news?"
+
+"News, no.  What news?" asked John Jr., following after the fast
+moving train.
+
+"Bob Wilbur and Nellie Douglass are married," screamed the young man,
+who, having really heard of Mr. Wilbur's marriage, supposed it must
+of course be with Nellie.
+
+John Jr. had no doubt of it, and for a moment his heart fainted
+beneath the sudden blow.  But he was not one to yield long to
+despair, and soon recovering from the first shock, he raved in
+uncontrollable fury, denouncing Nellie as worthless, fickle, and good
+for nothing, mentally wishing her much joy with her husband, who in
+the same breath he hoped "would break his confounded neck," and
+ending his tirade by solemnly vowing to offer himself to the first
+girl he met, whether black or white!
+
+Full of this resolution he put spurs to Firelock and sped away over
+the turnpike, looking neither to the right nor the left, lest a
+chance should offer for the fulfillment of his vow.  It was the dusk
+of evening when he reached home, and giving his horse into the care
+of a servant, he walked with rapid strides into the parlor, starting
+back as he saw _Mabel Ross_, who, for a few days past, had been
+visiting at Maple Grove.
+
+"There's no backing out," thought he.  "It's my destiny, and I'll
+meet it like a man.  Nellie spited me, and I'll let her know how good
+it feels."
+
+"Mabel," said he, advancing toward her, "will you marry me? Say yes
+or no quick."
+
+This was not quite the kind of wooing which Mabel had expected.
+'Twas not what she read of in novels, but then it was in keeping with
+the rest of John Jr.'s conduct, and very frankly and naturally she
+answered "Yes."
+
+"Very well," said he, beginning to feel better already, and turning
+to leave the room--"Very well, you fix the day, and arrange it all
+yourself, only let it be very soon, for now I've made up my mind, I'm
+in a mighty hurry."
+
+Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in earnest or not,
+asked "if she should speak to the minister, too."
+
+"Yes, no," said he.  "Just tell mother, and she'll fix it all right.
+Will you?"
+
+And he walked away, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, except that he
+was engaged.  Engaged!  The very idea seemed to add new dignity to
+_him_, while it invested Mabel with a charm she had not hitherto
+possessed.  John Jr. liked everything that belonged to him
+exclusively, and Mabel now was his--his wife she would be--and when
+next he met her in the drawing-room, his manner toward her was
+unusually kind, attracting the attention of his mother, who wondered
+at the change.  One after another the family retired, until there was
+no one left in the parlor except Mabel and Mrs. Livingstone, who, as
+her husband chanced to be absent, had invited her young visitor to
+share her room.  When they were alone, Mabel, with many blushes and a
+few tears, told of all that had occurred, except, indeed, of John's
+manner of proposing, which she thought best not to confide to a third
+person.
+
+Eagerly Mrs. Livingstone listened, mentally congratulating herself
+upon the completion of her plan without her further interference,
+wondering the while how it had been so suddenly brought about, and
+half trembling lest it should prove a failure after all.  So when
+Mabel spoke of John Jr.'s wish that the marriage should be
+consummated immediately, she replied, "Certainly--by all means.
+There is no necessity for delay.  You can marry at once, and get
+ready afterwards.  It is now the last of June.  I had thought of
+going to Saratoga in July, and a bride is just the thing to give
+eclat to our party."
+
+"But," answered Mabel, who hardly fancied a wedding without all the
+usual preparations, which she felt she should enjoy so much, "I
+cannot think of being married until October, when Nellie perhaps will
+be here."
+
+Nellie's return was what Mrs. Livingstone dreaded, and very
+ingeniously she set herself at work to put aside Mabel's objections,
+succeeding so far that the young girl promised compliance with
+whatever she should think proper.  The next morning, as John Jr. was
+passing through the hall, she called him into her room, delicately
+broaching the subject of his engagement, saying she knew he could not
+help loving a girl possessed of so many excellent qualities as Mabel
+Ross.  Very patiently John Jr. heard her until she came to speak of
+love.  Then, in much louder tones than newly engaged men are apt to
+speak of their betrothed, he exclaimed, "Love!  Fudge!  If you think
+I'm marrying Mabel for love, you are greatly mistaken, I like her,
+but love is out of the question."
+
+"Pray what are you marrying her for?  Her property?"
+
+"Property!" repeated John, with a sneer, "I've seen the effect of
+marrying for property, and I trust I'm not despicable enough to try
+it for myself.  No, madam, I'm not marrying her for money--but to
+spite Nellie Douglass, if you must know the reason.  I've loved her
+as I shall never again love womankind, but she cheated me.  She's
+married to Robert Wilbur, and now I've too much spirit to have her
+think _I_ care.  If she can marry, so can I--she isn't the only girl
+in the world--and when I heard what she had done, I vowed I'd offer
+myself to the first female I saw.  As good or bad luck would have it,
+'twas Mabel, who you know said yes, of course, for I verily believe
+she likes me far better than I deserve.  What kind of a husband I
+shall make, the Lord only knows, but I'm in for it.  My word is
+passed, and the sooner you get us tied together the better, but for
+heaven's sake, don't go to making a great parade.  Mabel has no
+particular home.  She's here now, and why not let the ceremony take
+place here.  But fix it to suit yourselves, only don't let me hear
+you talking about it, for fear I'll get sick of the whole thing."
+
+This was exactly what Mrs. Livingstone desired.  She had the day
+before been to Frankfort herself, learning from Mrs. Atkins of Mr.
+Wilbur's marriage with the English girl.  She knew her son was
+deceived, and it was highly necessary that he should continue so.
+She felt sure that neither her daughters, Mabel, nor 'Lena knew of
+Mr. Wilbur's marriage, and she resolved they should not.  It was
+summer, and as many of their city friends had left Frankfort for
+places of fashionable resort, they received but few calls; and by
+keeping them at home until the wedding was over, she trusted that all
+would be safe in that quarter.  Durward, too, was fortunately absent,
+so she only had to deal with Mabel and John Jr.  The first of these
+she approached very carefully, casually telling her of Mr. Wilbur's
+marriage, and then hastily adding, "But pray don't speak of it to any
+one, as there are special reasons why it should not at present be
+discussed.  Sometime I may tell you the reason."
+
+Mabel wondered why so small a matter should be a secret, but Mrs.
+Livingstone had requested her to keep silence and that was a
+sufficient reason why she should do so.  The next step was to win her
+consent for the ceremony to take place there, and in the course of
+three weeks, saying that it was her son's wish.  But on this point
+she found more difficulty than she had anticipated, for Mabel shrank
+from being married at the house of his father.
+
+"It didn't look right," said she, "and she knew Mr. Douglass would
+not object to having it there."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone knew so, too, but there was too much danger in such
+an arrangement, and she replied, "Of course not, if you request it,
+but will it be quite proper for you to ask him to be at all that
+trouble when Nellie is gone, and there is no one at home to
+superintend?"
+
+So after a time Mabel was convinced, thinking, though, how
+differently everything was turning out from what she expected.  Three
+weeks from that night was fixed upon for the bridal, to which but few
+were to be invited, for Mrs. Livingstone did not wish to call forth
+remark.
+
+"Everything should be done quietly and in order," she said, "and
+then, when autumn came, she would give a splendid party in honor of
+the bride."
+
+Mr. Douglass, when told of the coming event by Mrs. Livingstone, who
+would trust no one else, expressed much surprise, saying he greatly
+preferred that the ceremony should take place at his own house.
+
+"Of course," returned the oily-tongued woman, "of course you had, but
+even a small wedding party is a vast amount of trouble, and in
+Nellie's absence you would be disturbed.  Were she here I would not
+say a word, but now I insist upon having it my own way, and indeed, I
+think my claim upon Mabel is the strongest."
+
+Silenced, but not quite convinced, Mr. Douglass said no more,
+thinking, meanwhile, that if he only _could_ afford it, Mabel should
+have a wedding worthy of her.  But he could not; he was poor, and
+hence Mrs. Livingstone's arguments prevailed the more easily.
+Fortunately for her, John Jr. manifested no inclination to go out at
+all.  A kind of torpor seemed to have settled upon him, and day after
+day he remained at home, sometimes in a deep study in his own room,
+and sometimes sitting in the parlor, where his very unlover-like
+deportment frequently brought tears to Mabel's eyes, while Carrie
+loudly denounced him as the most clownish fellow she ever saw.
+
+"I hope you'll train him, Mabel," said she, "for he needs it.  He
+ought to have had Nellie Douglass.  She's a match for him.  Why
+didn't you have her, John?"
+
+With a face dark as night, he angrily requested Carrie "to mind her
+own business," saying "he was fully competent to take charge of
+himself, without the interference of either wife or sister."
+
+"Oh, what if he should look and talk so to me!" thought Mabel,
+shuddering as a dim foreboding of her sad future came over her.
+
+'Lena who understood John Jr. better than any one else, saw that all
+was not right.  She knew how much he had loved Nellie; she believed
+he loved her still; and why should he marry another?  She could not
+tell, and as he withheld his confidence from her, appearing unusually
+moody and cross, she dared not approach him.  At last, having an idea
+of what she wanted, and willing to give her a chance, he one day,
+when they were alone, abruptly asked her what she thought of his
+choice.
+
+"If you ask me what I think of Mabel," said she, "I answer that I
+esteem her very highly, and the more I know her the better I love
+her.  Still, I never thought she would be your wife."
+
+"Ah--indeed!--never thought she would, hey?" answered John, beginning
+to grow crusty, and elevating his feet to the top of the mantel.
+"You see now what _thought_ did; but what is your objection to her?"
+
+"Nothing, nothing," returned 'Lena.  "Mabel is amiable, gentle, and
+confiding, and will try to be a good wife."
+
+"What the deuce are you grumbling for, then?" interrupted John Jr.
+"Do you want me yourself?  If you do, just say the word, and it shall
+be done!  I'm bound to be married, and I'd sooner have you than
+anybody else.  Come, what do you say?"
+
+'Lena smiled, while she disclaimed any intention toward her cousin,
+who, resuming the position which in his excitement he had slightly
+changed, continued: "I have always dealt fairly with you, 'Lena, and
+now I tell you truly, I have no particular love for Mabel, although I
+intend making her my wife, and heartily wish she was so now."
+
+'Lena started, and clasping John's arm, exclaimed, "Marry Mabel and
+not love her!  You cannot be in earnest.  You will not do her so
+great a wrong--you shall not."
+
+"I don't know how you'll help it, unless you meddle with what does
+not concern you," said John.  "I am doing her no wrong, I never told
+her I loved her--never acted as though I did, and if she is content
+to have me on such terms, it's nobody's business.  She loves me half
+to death, and if the old adage be true that love begets love, I shall
+learn to love her, and when I do I'll let you know."
+
+So saying, the young man shook down his pants, which had become
+disarranged, and walked away, leaving 'Lena to wonder what course she
+had better pursue.  Once she resolved on telling Mabel all that had
+passed between them, but the next moment convinced her that, as he
+had said, she would be meddling, so she decided to say nothing,
+silently hoping that affairs would turn out better than she feared.
+
+It was Mabel's wish that 'Lena and Anna should be her bridesmaids,
+Durward and Malcolm officiating as groomsmen, and as Mr. Bellmont was
+away, she wrote to him requesting his attendance, but saying she had
+not yet mentioned the subject to 'Lena.  Painful as was the task of
+being thus associated with 'Lena, Durward felt that to refuse might
+occasion much remark, so he wrote to Mabel that "he would comply with
+her request, provided Miss Rivers were willing."
+
+"Of course she's willing," said Mabel to herself, at the same time
+running with the letter to 'Lena, who, to her utter astonishment, not
+only refused outright, but also declined giving any particular reason
+for her doing so.  "Carrie will suit him much better than I," said
+she, but unfortunately, Carrie, who chanced to be present, half
+hidden in the recess of a window, indignantly declined "going
+Jack-at-a-pinch" with any one, so Mabel was obliged to content
+herself with Anna and Mr. Everett.
+
+But here a new difficulty arose, for Mrs. Livingstone declared that
+the latter should not be invited, and Anna, in a fit of anger,
+insisted that if _he_ were not good enough to be present, neither was
+she, and she should accordingly remain in her own room.  Poor Mabel
+burst into tears, and when, a few moments afterward, John Jr.
+appeared, asking what ailed her, she hid her face in his bosom and
+sobbed like a child.  Then, frightened at her own temerity, for he
+gave her no answering caress, she lifted up her head, while with a
+quizzical expression John Jr. said, "So-ho, Meb, seems to me you've
+taken to crying on my jacket a little in advance.  But what's the
+matter?"
+
+In a few words Mabel told him how everything went wrong, how neither
+'Lena, Carrie, nor Anna would be her bridesmaids, and how Anna
+wouldn't see her married because Malcolm was not invited.
+
+"I can manage that," said John Jr.  "Mr. Everett _shall_ be invited,
+so just shut up crying, for if there's anything I detest, it's a
+woman's sniveling;" and he walked off thinking he had begun just as
+he meant to hold out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+THE BRIDAL.
+
+'Twas Mabel's wedding night, and in one of the upper rooms of Mr.
+Livingstone's house she stood awaiting the summons to the parlor.
+They had arrayed her for the bridal; Mrs. Livingstone, Carrie, 'Lena,
+Anna, and the seamstress, all had had something to do with her
+toilet, and now they had left her for a time with him who was so soon
+to be her husband.  She knew--for they had told her--she was looking
+uncommonly well.  Her dress, of pure white satin, was singularly
+becoming; pearls were interwoven in the heavy braids of her raven
+hair; the fleecy folds of the rich veil, which fell like a cloud
+around her, swept the floor.  In her eye there was an unusual sparkle
+and on her cheek an unwonted bloom.
+
+Still Mabel was not happy.  There was a heavy pain at her heart--a
+foreboding of coming evil--and many an anxious glance she cast toward
+the stern, silent man, who, with careless tread, walked up and down
+the room, utterly regardless of her presence, and apparently absorbed
+in bitter reflections.  Once only had she ventured to speak, and
+then, in childlike simplicity, she had asked him "how she looked."
+
+"Well enough," was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he
+continued his walk.
+
+The tears gathered in Mabel's eyes--she could not help it; drop after
+drop they came, falling upon the marble table, until John Jr., who
+saw more than he pretended, came to her side, asking "why she wept."
+
+Mabel was beginning to be terribly afraid of him, and for a moment
+she hesitated, but at length, summoning all her courage, she wound
+her arms about his neck, and in low, earnest tones said, "Tell me
+truly, do you wish to marry me?"
+
+"And suppose I do not?" he asked, with the same stony composure.
+
+Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, and
+answered, "Then would I die rather than wed you!"
+
+There was something in her appearance and attitude peculiarly
+attractive to John Jr.  Never in his life had he felt so much
+interested in her, and drawing her toward him and placing his arm
+around her, he said, gently, "Be calm, little Meb, you are nervous
+to-night.  Of course I wish you to be my wife, else I had not asked
+you.  Are you satisfied?"
+
+The joyous glance of the dark eyes lifted so confidingly to his, was
+a sufficient answer, and as if conscious of the injustice he was
+about to do her, John Jr. bent for an instant over her slight figure,
+mentally resolving, that so far as in him lay he would be true to his
+trust.  There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Livingstone herself
+looked in, pale, anxious, and expectant.  Mr. Douglass, who was among
+the invited guests, had arrived, and _must_ have an interview with
+John Jr. ere the ceremony.  'Twas in vain she attempted politely to
+waive his request.  He _would_ see him, and distracted with fear, she
+had at last conducted him into the upper hall, and out upon an open
+veranda, where in the moonlight he awaited the coming of the
+bridegroom, who, with some curiosity, approached him, asking what he
+wanted.
+
+"It may seem strange to you," said Mr. Douglass, "that I insist upon
+seeing you now, when another time might do as well, but I believe in
+having a fair understanding all round."
+
+"Meddling old rascal!" exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, who, of course,
+was within hearing, bending her ears so as not to lose a word.
+
+But in this she was thwarted, for drawing nearer to John Jr., Mr.
+Douglass said, so low as to prevent her catching anything further,
+save the sound of his voice:
+
+"I do not accuse you of being at all mercenary, but such things have
+been, and there has something come to my knowledge to-day, which I
+deem it my duty to tell you, so that hereafter you can neither blame
+me nor Mabel."
+
+"What is it?" asked John Jr., and Mr. Douglass replied, "To be brief,
+then, Mabel's large fortune is, with the exception of a few
+thousands, of which I have charge, all swept away by the recent
+failure of the Planters' Bank, in which it was invested.  I heard of
+it this morning, and determined on telling you, knowing that if you
+loved her for herself, it would make no difference, while if you
+loved her for her money, it were far better to stop here."
+
+Nothing could have been further from John's thoughts than a desire
+for Mabel's wealth, which, precious as it seemed in his mother's
+eyes, was valueless to him, and after a moment's silence, in which he
+was thinking what a rich disappointment it would be to his mother,
+who, he knew, prized Mabel only for her money, he exclaimed, "Good,
+I'm glad of it.  I never sought Mabel's hand for what there was in
+it, and I'm more ready to marry her now than ever.  But," he added,
+as a sudden impulse of good came over him, "She need not know it; it
+would trouble her uselessly, and for the present we'll keep it from
+her."
+
+John Jr. had always been a puzzle to Mr. Douglass, who by turns
+censured and admired him, but now there was but one feeling in his
+bosom toward him, and that was one of unbounded respect.  With a warm
+pressure of the hand he turned away, thinking, perchance, of his fair
+young daughter, who, far away o'er the Atlantic waves, little dreamed
+of the scene on which that summer moon was shining.  As the
+conference ended; Mrs. Livingstone, who had learned nothing, glided,
+from her hiding-place, eagerly scanning her son's face to see if
+there was aught to justify her fears.  But there was nothing, and
+with her heart beating at its accustomed pace, she descended the
+stairs in time to meet Durward, who, having reached Woodlawn that
+day, had not heard of 'Lena's decision.
+
+"This way, Marster Bellmont--upstars is the gentleman's room," said
+the servant in attendance, and ascending the stairs, Durward met with
+Anna, asking her for her cousin.
+
+"In there--go in," said Anna, pointing to a half-open door, and then
+hurrying away to meet Malcolm, whose coming she had seen from the
+window.
+
+Hesitatingly, Durward approached the chamber indicated, and as his
+knock met with no response, he ventured at last to enter unannounced
+into the presence of 'Lena, whom he had not met since that
+well-remembered night.  Tastefully attired for the wedding in a
+simple white muslin, she sat upon a little stool with her face buried
+in the cushions of the sofa.  She had heard his voice in the lower
+hall, and knowing she must soon meet him, she had for a moment
+abandoned herself to the tumult of bitter thoughts, which came
+sweeping over her in that trying hour.  She was weeping--he knew that
+by the trembling of her body--and for an instant everything was
+forgotten.
+
+Advancing softly toward her, he was about to lay his hand upon those
+clustering curls which fell unheeded around her, when the thought
+that from among them had been cut the hated tress which his mother
+had cast into the flames, arrested his hand, and he was himself
+again.  Forcing down his emotion, he said, calmly, "Miss Rivers," and
+starting quickly to her feet, 'Lena demanded proudly what he would
+have, and why he was there.
+
+"Pardon me," said he, as he marked her haughty bearing and glanced at
+her dress, which was hardly in accordance with that of a bridesmaid;
+"I supposed I was to be groomsman--am I mistaken?"
+
+"So far as I am concerned you are, sir.  I knew nothing of Mabel's
+writing to you, or I should have prevented it, for after what has
+occurred, you cannot deem me weak enough to lend myself to such an
+arrangement."
+
+And 'Lena walked out of the room, while Durward looked after her in
+amazement, one moment admiring her spirit, and the next blaming Mabel
+for not informing him how matters stood.  "But there's no help for it
+now," thought he, as he descended the stairs and made his way into
+the parlor, whither 'Lena had preceded him.
+
+And thus ended an interview of which 'Lena had thought so much,
+hoping and praying that it might result in a reconciliation.  But it
+was all over now--the breach was wider than ever--with half-benumbed
+faculties she leaned on the window, unconscious of the earnest desire
+he felt to approach her, for there was about her a strange
+fascination which it required all his power to resist.
+
+When at last all was in readiness, a messenger was dispatched to John
+Jr., who, without a word, offered his arm to Mabel, and descending
+the broad staircase, they stood within the parlor in the spot which
+had been assigned them.  Once during the ceremony he raised his eyes,
+encountering those of 'Lena, fixed upon him so reproachfully that
+with a scowl he turned away.  Mechanically he went through with his
+part of the service, betraying no emotion whatever, until the solemn
+words which made them one were uttered.  Then, when it was over--when
+he was bound to her forever--he seemed suddenly to awake from his
+apathy and think of what he had done.  Crowding around him, they came
+with words of congratulation--all but 'Lena, who tarried behind, for
+she had none to give.  Wretched as she was herself, she pitied the
+frail young bride, whose half-joyous, half-timid glances toward the
+frigid bridegroom, showed that already was she sipping from the
+bitter cup whose very dregs she was destined to drain.
+
+In the recess of a window near to John Jr., Mr. Douglass and Durward
+stood, speaking together of Nellie, and though John shrank from the
+sound of her name, his hearing faculties seemed unusually sharpened,
+and he lost not a word of what they were saying.
+
+"So Nellie is coming home in the autumn, I am told," said Durward,
+"and I am glad of it, for I miss her much.  But what is it about Mr.
+Wilbur's marriage.  Wasn't it rather unexpected?"
+
+"No, not very.  Nellie knew before she went that he was engaged to
+Miss Allen, but at his sister's request she kept it still.  He found
+her at a boarding-school in Montreal, several years ago."
+
+"Will they remain in Europe?"
+
+"For a time, at least, until Mary is better--but Nellie comes home
+with some friends from New Haven, whom she met in Paris;" then in a
+low tone Mr. Douglass added, "I almost dread the effect of this
+marriage upon her, for I am positive she liked him better than anyone
+else."
+
+The little white, blue-veined hand which rested on that of John Jr.,
+was suddenly pressed so spasmodically, that Mabel looked up
+inquiringly in the face which had no thought for her, for Mr.
+Douglass's words had fallen upon him like a thunderbolt, crushing him
+to the earth, and for a moment rendering him powerless.  Instantly he
+comprehended it all.  He had deceived himself, and by his impetuous
+haste lost all that he held most dear on earth.  There was a cry of
+faintness, a grasping at empty space to keep from falling, and then
+forth into the open air they led the half-fainting man, followed by
+his frightened bride, who tenderly bathed his damp, cold brow,
+unmindful how he shrank from her, shuddering as he felt the touch of
+her soft hand, and motioning her aside when she stooped to part from
+his forehead the heavy locks of his hair.
+
+That night, the pale starlight of another hemisphere kept watch over
+a gentle girl, who 'neath the blue skies of sunny France, dreamed of
+her distant home across the ocean wave; of the gray-haired man, who,
+with every morning light and evening shade, blessed her as his child;
+of another, whose image was ever present with her, whom from her
+childhood she had loved, and whom neither time nor distance could
+efface from her memory.
+
+Later, and the silvery moon looked mournfully down upon the white,
+haggard face and heavy bloodshot eye of him who counted each long,
+dreary hour as it passed by, cursing the fate which had made him what
+he was, and unjustly hardening his heart against his innocent
+unsuspecting wife.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+MARRIED LIFE.
+
+For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabel with at
+least a show of attention, but he was not one to act long as he did
+not feel.  Had Nellie been, indeed, the wife of another, he might in
+time have learned to love Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence
+only served to remind him of what he had lost, and at last he began
+to shun her society, never seeming willing to be left with her alone,
+and either repulsing or treating with indifference the many little
+acts of kindness which her affectionate nature prompted.  To all this
+Mabel was not blind, and when once she began to suspect her true
+position, it was easy for her to fancy slights where none were
+intended.
+
+Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one of
+constant unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, which
+had been much improved, began to fail.  Her old racking headaches
+returned with renewed force, confining her for whole days to her
+room, where she lay listening in vain for the footsteps which never
+came, and tended only by 'Lena, who in proportion as the others
+neglected her, clung to her more and more.  The trip to Saratoga was
+given up, John Jr. in the bitterness of his disappointment bitterly
+refusing to go, and saying there was nothing sillier than for a
+newly-married couple to go riding around the country, disgusting
+sensible people with their fooleries.  So with a burst of tears Mabel
+yielded and her bridal tour extended no further than Frankfort,
+whither her husband _did_ once accompany her, dining out even then
+with an old schoolmate whom he chanced to meet, and almost forgetting
+to call at Mr. Douglass's for Mabel when it was time to return home.
+
+Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which shipwrecked
+entirely the poor bride's happiness.  By some means or other it at
+last came to Mrs. Livingstone's knowledge that Mabel's fortune was
+not only all gone, but that her son had known it in time to prevent
+his marrying her.  Owing to various losses her own property had for a
+few years past been gradually diminishing, and when she found that
+Mabel's fortune, which she leaned upon as an all-powerful prop, was
+swept away, it was more than she could bear peaceably; and in a fit
+of disappointed rage she assailed her son, reproaching him with
+bringing disgrace upon the family by marrying a poor, homely, sickly
+girl, who would be forever incurring expense without any means of
+paying it!  For once, however, she found her match, for in good round
+terms John Jr. bade her "go to thunder," his favorite point of
+destination for his particular friends, at the same time saying, "he
+didn't care a dime for Mabel's money.  It was you," said he, "who
+kept your eye on that, aiding and abetting the match, and now that
+you are disappointed, I'm heartily glad of it."
+
+"But who is going to pay for her board," asked Mrs. Livingstone.
+"You've no means of earning it, and I hope you don't intend to sponge
+out of me, for I think I've enough paupers on my hands already!"
+
+"_Board_!" roared John Jr. in a towering passion.  "While you thought
+her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything else; and since she
+has become poor, I do not think her appetite greatly increased.  You
+taunt me, too, with having no means of earning my own living.  Whose
+fault is it?--tell me that.  Haven't you always opposed my having a
+profession?  Didn't you _pet_ and _baby_ 'Johnny' when a boy, keeping
+him always at your apron strings, and now that he's a man, he's not
+to be turned adrift.  No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel, too, just
+as long as I please."
+
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned her battery
+upon poor Mabel, treating her with shameful neglect, intimating that
+she was in the way; that the house was full, and that she never
+supposed John was going to settle down at home for her to support; he
+was big enough to look after himself, and if he chose to marry a wife
+who had nothing, why let them go to work, as other folks did.
+
+Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what was meant,
+for John Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowledge of her loss,
+requesting his mother to do the same in such decided terms, that,
+hint as strongly as she pleased, she dared not tell the whole, for
+fear of the storm which was sure to follow.  All this was not, of
+course, calculated to add to Mabel's comfort, and day by day she grew
+more and more unhappy, generously keeping to herself, however, the
+treatment which she received from Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of his
+mother," thought she, so the secret was kept, though she could not
+always repress the tears which would start when she thought how
+wretched she was.
+
+We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was anything
+particularly annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying woman, and
+now, when he so often found Mabel indisposed or weeping, he grew more
+morose and fault-finding, sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying
+to provoke him, when, in fact, she had used every means in her power
+to conciliate him.  Again, conscience-smitten, he would lay her
+aching head upon his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing
+temples, would soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always
+awoke refreshed, and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made
+her suffer.  At such times, John would resolve never again to treat
+her unkindly, but alas! his resolutions were too easily broken.  Had
+he married Nellie, a more faithful, affectionate husband there could
+not have been.  But now it was different.  A withering blight had
+fallen upon his earthly prospects, and forgetting that he alone was
+to blame, he unjustly laid the fault upon his innocent wife, who, as
+far as she was able, loved him as deeply as Nellie herself could have
+done.
+
+One morning about the first of September, John Jr.  received a note,
+informing him that several of his young associates were going on a
+three days' hunting excursion, in which they wished him to join.  In
+the large easy-chair, just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported
+by pillows and saturated with camphor, while around her eyes were the
+dark rings which usually accompanied her headaches.  Involuntarily
+John Jr. glanced toward her.  Had it been Nellie, all the pleasures
+of the world could not have induced him to leave her, but Mabel was
+altogether another person, and more for the sake of seeing what she
+would say, than from any real intention of going, he read the note
+aloud; then carelessly throwing it aside, he said, "Ah, yes, I'll go.
+It'll be rare fun camping out these moonlight nights."
+
+Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him out of her
+sight, and now, at the first intimation of his leaving her, her lip
+began to tremble, while tears filled her eyes and dropped upon her
+cheeks.  This was enough, and mentally styling her "a perfect cry
+baby," he resolved to go at all hazards.
+
+"I don't think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly," said
+Anna, who was present.
+
+"I want to know if little Anna's got so she can dictate me, too,"
+answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that "he reckoned
+Mabel would get over her bad feelings quite as well without him as
+with him."
+
+More for the sake of opposition than because she really cared,
+Carrie, too, chimed in, saying that "he was a pretty specimen of a
+three months' husband," and asking "how he ever expected to answer
+for all of Mabel's tears and headaches."
+
+"Hang her tears and headaches," said he, beginning to grow angry.
+"She can get one up to order any time, and for my part, I am getting
+heartily tired of the sound of aches and pains."
+
+"Please _don't_ talk so," said Mabel, pressing her hands upon her
+aching head, while 'Lena sternly exclaimed, "Shame on you, John
+Livingstone.  I am surprised at you, for I did suppose you had some
+little feeling left."
+
+"Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but I am happy to
+say it is entirely lost on me," said John, leaving the room and
+shutting the door with a bang, which made every one of Mabel's nerves
+quiver anew.
+
+"What a perfect brute," said Carrie, while 'Lena and Anna drew nearer
+to Mabel, the one telling her "she would not care," and the other
+silently pressing the little hand which instinctively sought hers, as
+if sure of finding sympathy.
+
+At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately Carrie gave
+a detailed account of her brother's conduct, at the same time
+referring her mother for proof to Mabel's red eyes and swollen face.
+
+"I never interfere between husband and wife," said Mrs. Livingstone
+coolly, "but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of advice.  Without
+being at all personal, I would say that few women have beauty enough
+to afford to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have
+patience enough to bear with a woman who is forever whining and
+complaining, first of this and then of that.  I don't suppose that
+John is so much worse than other people, and I think he bears up
+wonderfully, considering his disappointment."
+
+Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to stare at
+each other in silence, wondering what she meant.  Since her marriage,
+Mabel had occupied the parlor chamber, which connected with a cozy
+little bedroom and dressing-room adjoining.  These had at the time
+been fitted up and furnished in a style which Mrs. Livingstone
+thought worthy of Mabel's wealth, but now that she was poor, the case
+was altered, and she had long contemplated removing her to more
+inferior quarters.  "She wasn't going to give her the very best room
+in the house.  No, indeed, she wasn't--wearing out the carpets,
+soiling the furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy."
+
+She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would not do to
+approach him on the subject, so she waited, determining to carry out
+her plans the very first time he should be absent, thinking when it
+was once done, he would submit quietly.  On hearing that he had gone
+off on a hunting excursion, she thought, "Now is my time," and
+summoning to her assistance three or four servants, she removed
+everything belonging to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small and not
+remarkably convenient room which the former had occupied previous to
+his marriage.
+
+"What are you about?" asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked
+in.
+
+"About my business," answered Mrs. Livingstone.  I'm not going to
+have my best things all worn out, and if this was once good enough
+for John to sleep in, it is now."
+
+"But will Mabel like it?" asked Anna, a little suspicious that her
+sister-in-law's rights were being infringed.
+
+"Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not," said Mrs. Livingstone.
+"If she don't like it, all she has to do is to go away."
+
+"Lasted jest about as long as I thought 'twood," said Aunt Milly,
+when she heard what was going on.  "Ile and crab-apple vinegar won't
+mix, nohow, and if before the year's up old miss don't worry the life
+out of that poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a picked
+chicken, my name ain't Milly Livingstone."
+
+The other negroes agreed with her.  Constantly associated with the
+family, they saw things as they were, and while Mrs. Livingstone's
+conduct was universally condemned, Mabel was a general favorite.
+After Mrs. Livingstone had left the room, Milly, with one or two
+others, stole up to reconnoiter.
+
+"Now I 'clar' for't," said Milly, "if here ain't Marster John's
+bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right out in far sight, and
+Miss Mabel comin' in here to sleep.  'Pears like some white folks
+hain't no idee of what 'longs to good manners.  Here, Corind, put the
+jack in thar, the fish-line thar, the backy thar, and heave that ar
+other thrash out o'door," pointing to some geological specimens which
+from time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which his mother had not
+thought proper to molest.
+
+Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed good taste,
+began to make some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture,
+and under her supervision the room began to present a more cheerful
+and inviting aspect.
+
+"Get out with yer old airthen candlestick," said she, turning up her
+broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand.  "What's
+them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if 'tain't to use.
+Go, Corind, and fetch 'em."
+
+But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the
+precaution to bring them in the tongs, so that in the _denouement_
+she could stoutly deny having even "tached 'em, or even had 'em in
+her hands!" (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral
+training.)
+
+When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied.
+Had she been consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her
+reasons for wishing her to take another room, she would have
+consented willingly, but to be thus summarily removed without a
+shadow of warning, hardly came up to her ideas of justice.  Still,
+there was no help for it, and that night the bride of three months
+watered her lone pillow with tears, never once closing her heavy
+eyelids in sleep until the dim morning light came in through the open
+window, and the tread of the negroes' feet was heard in the yard
+below.  Then, for many hours, the weary girl slumbered on,
+unconscious of the ill-natured remarks which her non-appearance was
+eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said "it was strange what airs
+some people would put on; perhaps Mistress Mabel fancied her
+breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her until such
+time as she chose to appear, but she'd find herself mistaken, for the
+servants had enough to do without waiting upon her, and if she
+couldn't come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until dinner time."
+
+'Lena and Milly, however, thought differently.  Softly had the latter
+stolen up to her cousin's room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn
+face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had
+come all too soon.
+
+"Let her sleep; it will do her good," said 'Lena, adjusting the
+bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not
+disturb her, she left the chamber.
+
+An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly
+preparing a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black
+tea, were to be slyly conveyed to Mabel, who was now awake.
+
+"Reckon thar don't nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the
+roost," said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner
+of her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who,
+not having seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking
+the world was not, after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet
+a few left who cared for her.
+
+Her headache of the day before still remained, and 'Lena suggested
+that she should stay in her room, saying that she would herself see
+that every necessary attention was paid her.  This she could the more
+readily do, as Mrs. Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her
+husband.  That afternoon, as Mabel lay watching the drifting clouds
+as they passed and repassed before the window, her ear suddenly
+caught the sound of horses' feet.  Nearer and nearer they came, until
+with a cry of delight she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for
+very joy--for John Jr. had come home!  She could not be mistaken, and
+if there was any lingering doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for
+she heard his voice in the hall below, his footsteps on the stairs.
+He was coming, an unusual thing, to see her first.
+
+But how did he know she was there, in his old room?  He did not know
+it; he was only coming to put his rifle in its accustomed place, and
+on seeing the chamber filled with the various paraphernalia of a
+woman's toilet, he started, with the exclamation, "What the deuce!  I
+reckon I've got into the wrong pew," and was going away, when Mabel
+called him back.  "Meb, you here?" said he.  "_You_ in this little
+tucked-up hole, that I always thought too small for me and my traps!
+What does it mean?"
+
+Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband's voice, and
+knowing from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with
+her, the sense of injustice done her by his mother burst out, and
+throwing her arms around his neck, she told him everything connected
+with her removal, asking what his mother meant by saying, "she should
+never get anything for their board," and begging him "to take her
+away where they could live alone and be happy."
+
+Since he had left her, John Jr. had _thought_ a great deal, the
+result of which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner
+than he at first intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently,
+and if possible win back the respect of 'Lena, which he knew he had
+lost.  To his companions, who urged him to remain, he replied that
+"he had left his wife sick, and he could not stay longer."
+
+It cost him a great effort to say "my wife," for never before had he
+so called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and
+bidding his young friends adieu, he started for home with the same
+impetuous speed which usually characterized his riding.  He had fully
+expected to meet Mabel in the parlor, and was even revolving in his
+own mind the prospect of kissing her, provided 'Lena were present.
+"That'll prove to her," thought he, "that I am not the hardened
+wretch she thinks I am; so I'll do it, if Meb doesn't happen to be
+all bound up in camphor and aromatic vinegar, which I can't endure,
+anyway."
+
+Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old
+room, where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment
+he scarcely knew what to say.  By the time, however, that she had
+finished her story, his mind was pretty well made up.
+
+"And so it's mother's doings, hey?" said he, violently pulling the
+bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda
+appeared in answer to his summons.
+
+"How many blacks are there in the kitchen?" he asked.
+
+"Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly," answered Corinda.
+
+"Very well.  Tell every man of them to come up here, quick."
+
+Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and
+adding that "Marster John looked mighty black in the face", and she
+reckoned some on 'em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of
+what might happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of
+cake which, in her mistress' absence, she had stolen!  Aunt Milly's
+first thought was of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of
+impressing upon Corinda a sense of what she might expect if in any
+way she implicated her, she gave her a cuff in advance, bidding her
+"be keerful how she blabbed", then heading the sable group, she
+repaired to the chamber, where John Jr. was awaiting them.
+
+Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said,
+"Take hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where
+they came from."
+
+"Don't, oh don't," entreated Mabel, but laying his hand over her
+mouth, John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the
+negroes "to be quick."
+
+At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt
+Milly, comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her
+mistress had her match in her son, set to work with a right good
+will, and when about dusk Mrs. Livingstone came home, she was
+astonished at seeing a light in the parlor chamber, while
+occasionally she could discern the outline of a form moving before
+the window.  What could it mean?  Perhaps they had company, and
+springing from the carriage she hastened into the house, meeting
+'Lena in the hall, and eagerly asking who was in the front chamber.
+
+"I believe," said 'Lena, "that my cousin is not pleased with the
+change, and has gone back to the front room."
+
+"The impudent thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her
+son's return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to
+Mabel.
+
+Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing
+open the door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands
+crammed in his pockets and legs crossed, was leaning against the
+mantel, waiting and ready for whatever might occur.
+
+"John Livingstone!" she gasped in her surprise.
+
+"That's my name," he returned, quietly enjoying her look of amazement.
+
+"What do you mean?" she continued.
+
+"Mean what I say," was his provoking answer.
+
+"What have you been about?" was her next question, to which he
+replied, "Your eyesight is not deficient--you can see for yourself."
+
+Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon
+Mabel, abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist,
+bidding her "confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone,
+as she was not in the least to blame."
+
+"Your wife!" repeated Mrs. Livingstone--"very affectionate you've
+grown, all at once.  Perhaps you've forgotten that you married her to
+spite Nellie, who you then believed was the bride of Mr. Wilbur, but
+you surely remember how you fainted when you accidentally learned
+your mistake."
+
+A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pillows,
+prevented Mrs. Livingstone from any further remarks, and satisfied
+with the result of her visit, she walked away, while John Jr.,
+springing to the bedside, bore his young wife to the open window,
+hoping the cool night air would revive her.  But she lay so pale and
+motionless in his arms, her head resting so heavily upon his
+shoulder, that with a terrible foreboding he laid her back upon the
+bed, and rushing to the door, shouted loudly, "Help--somebody--come
+quick--Mabel is dead, I know she is."
+
+'Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when
+she saw the marble whiteness of Mabel's face.
+
+"I didn't kill her, 'Lena.  God knows I didn't.  Poor little Meb,"
+said John Jr., quailing beneath 'Lena's rebuking glance, and bending
+anxiously over the slight form which looked so much like death.
+
+But Mabel was not dead.  'Lena knew it by the faint fluttering of her
+heart, and an application of the usual remedies sufficed, at last, to
+restore her to consciousness.  With a long-drawn sigh her eyes
+unclosed, and looking earnestly in 'Lena's face, she said, "Was it a
+dream, 'Lena?  Tell me, was it all a dream?"--then, as she observed
+her husband, she added, shudderingly, "No, no, not a dream.  I
+remember it all now.  And I wish I was dead."
+
+Again 'Lena's rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, advancing
+nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her white brow, saying,
+softly, "Poor, poor Meb."
+
+There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while the hot
+tears gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, "Forgive me, John, I
+couldn't help it.  I didn't know it, and now, if you say so, I'll go
+away, alone--where you'll never see me again."
+
+She comprehended it all.  Her mother-in-law had rudely torn away the
+veil, and she saw why she was there--knew why he had sought her for
+his wife--understood all his coldness and neglect; but she had no
+word of reproach for him, her husband, and from the depths of her
+crushed heart she forgave him, commiserating him as the greater
+sufferer.
+
+"May be I shall die," she whispered, "and then----"
+
+She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John
+Jr. understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as
+it did, he felt half inclined to declare, with his usual
+impulsiveness, that it should never be; but the rash promise was not
+made, and it was far better that it should not be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+THE SHADOW.
+
+Mabel's nerves had received too great a shock to rally immediately, and
+as day after day went by, she still kept her room, notwithstanding the
+very pointed hints of her mother-in-law that "she was making believe
+for the sake of sympathy."  Why didn't she get up and go out
+doors--anybody would be sick to be flat on their back day in and day
+out; or did she think she was spiting her by showing what muss she
+could keep the "best chamber" in if she chose?
+
+This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Livingstone's
+dissatisfaction.  Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, she would not
+yield without an attempt at making Mabel, at least, as uncomfortable in
+mind as possible.  Accordingly, almost every day when her son was not
+present, she conveyed from the room some nice article of furniture,
+substituting in its place one of inferior quality, which was quite good
+enough, she thought, for a penniless bride.
+
+"'Pears like ole miss goin' to make a clean finish of her dis time,"
+said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress' daily depredations.  "Ole
+Sam done got title deed of her, sure enough.  Ki! won't she ketch it in
+t'other world, when he done show her his cloven foot, and won't she
+holler for old Milly to fotch her a drink of water? not particular
+then--drink out of the bucket, gourd-shell, or anything; but dis
+nigger'll 'sign her post in de parlor afore she'll go."
+
+"Why, Milly," said 'Lena, who overheard this colloquy, "don't you know
+it's wrong to indulge in such wicked thoughts?"
+
+"Bless you, child," returned the old negress, "she 'sarves 'em all for
+treatin' that poor, dear lamb so.  I'd 'nihilate her if I's Miss Mabel."
+
+"No, no, Milly," said Aunt Polly, who was present.  "You must heap
+coals of fire on her head."
+
+"Yes, yes, that's it--she orto have 'em," quickly responded Milly,
+thinking Polly's method of revenge the very best in the world, provided
+the coals were "bilin' hot," and with this reflection she started
+upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel she had been preparing for
+the invalid.
+
+Several times each day Grandma Nichols visited Mabel's room, always
+prescribing some new tea of herbs, whose healing qualities were
+wonderful, having effected cures in every member of Nancy Scovandyke's
+family, that lady herself, as a matter of course, being first included.
+And Aunt Milly, with the faithfulness characteristic of her race, would
+seek out each new herb, uniting with it her own simple prayer that it
+might have the desired effect.  But all in vain, for every day Mabel
+became weaker, while her dark eyes grew larger and brighter, anon
+lighting up with joy as she heard her husband's footsteps in the hall,
+and again filling with tears as she glanced timidly into his face, and
+thought of the dread reality.
+
+"Maybe I shall die," was more than once murmured in her sleep, and John
+Jr., as often as he heard those words, would press her burning hands,
+and mentally reply, "Poor little Meb."
+
+And all this time no one thought to call a physician, until Mr.
+Livingstone himself at last suggested it.  At first he had felt no
+interest whatever in his daughter-in-law, but with him force of habit
+was everything, and when she no longer came among them, he missed
+her--missed her languid steps upon the stairs and her childish voice in
+the parlor.  At last it one day occurred to him to visit her.  She was
+sleeping when he entered the room, but he could see there had been a
+fearful change since last he looked upon her, and without a word
+concerning his intentions, he walked to the kitchen, ordering one of
+his servants to start forthwith for the physician, whose residence was
+a few miles distant.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone was in the front parlor when he returned, in company
+with Doctor Gordon, and immediately her avaricious spirit asked who
+would pay the bill, and why was he sent for.  Mabel did not need
+him--she was only babyish and spleeny--and so she told the physician,
+who, however, did not agree with her.  He did not say that Mabel would
+die, but he thought so, for his experienced eye saw in her infallible
+signs of the disease which had stricken down both her parents, and to
+which, from her birth, she had been a prey.  Mabel guessed as much from
+his manner, and when again he visited her, she asked him plainly what
+he thought.
+
+She was young--a bride--surrounded apparently by everything which could
+make her happy, and the physician hesitated, answering her evasively,
+until she said, "Do not fear to tell me truly, for I want to die.  Oh,
+I long to die," she continued, passionately clasping her thin white
+hands together.
+
+"That is an unusual wish in one so young," answered the physician, "but
+to be plain with you, Mrs. Livingstone, I think consumption too deeply
+seated to admit of your recovery.  You may be better, but never well.
+Your disease is hereditary, and has been coming on too long."
+
+"It is well," was Mabel's only answer, as she turned wearily upon her
+side and hid her face in the pillows.
+
+For a long time she lay there, thinking, weeping, and thinking again,
+of the noisome grave through which she must pass, and from which she
+instinctively shrank, it was so dark, so cold, and dreary.  But Mabel
+had trusted in One who she knew would go with her down into the lone
+valley--whose arm she felt would uphold her as she crossed the dark,
+rolling stream of death; and as if her frail bark were already safely
+moored upon the shores of the eternal river, she looked back dreamily
+upon the world she had left, and as she saw what she felt would surely
+be, she again murmured through her tears, "It is well."
+
+That night, when John Jr. came up to his room, he appeared somewhat
+moody and cross, barely speaking to Mabel, and then walking up and down
+the room with the heavy tread which always indicated a storm within.
+He had that day been to Frankfort, hearing that Nellie was really
+coming home very soon--very possibly she was now on her way.  Of course
+she would visit Mabel, when she heard she was sick, and of course he
+must meet her face to face, must stand with her at the bedside of _his
+wife_ and that wife Mabel.  In his heart he did not accuse the latter
+of feigning her illness, but he wished she would get well faster, so
+that Nellie need not feel obliged to visit her.  She could at least
+make an effort--a great deal depended upon that--and she had now been
+confined to her room three or four weeks.
+
+Thus he reflected as he walked, and at last his thoughts formed
+themselves into words.  Stopping short at the foot of the bed, he said
+abruptly and without looking her in the face, "How do you feel tonight?"
+
+The stifled cough which Mabel tried to suppress because it was
+offensive to him, brought a scowl to his forehead, and in imagination
+he anticipated her answer, "I do not think I am any better."
+
+"And I don't believe you try to be," sprang to his lips, but its
+utterance was prevented by a glance at her face, which by the
+flickering lamplight looked whiter than ever.
+
+"Nellie is coming home in a few weeks," he said at length, with his
+usual precipitancy.
+
+'Twas the first time Mabel had heard that name since the night when her
+mother-in-law had rang it in her ears, and now she started so quickly,
+that the offending cough could not be forced back, and the coughing fit
+which followed was so violent that John Jr., as he held the bowl to her
+quivering lips, saw that what she had raised was streaked with blood.
+But he was unused to sickness, and he gave it no farther thought,
+resuming the conversation as soon as she became quiet.
+
+"To be plain, Meb," said he, "I want you to hurry and get well before
+Nellie comes--for if you are sick she'll feel in duty bound to visit
+you, and I'd rather face a loaded cannon than her."
+
+Mabel was too much exhausted to answer immediately, and she lay so long
+with her eyes closed that John Jr., growing impatient, said, "Are you
+asleep, Meb?"
+
+"No, no," said she, at the same time requesting him to take the vacant
+chair by her side, as she wished to talk with him.
+
+John Jr. hated to be talked to, particularly by her, for he felt that
+she had much cause to reproach him; but she did not, and as she
+proceeded, his heart melted toward her in a manner which he had never
+thought possible.  Very gently she spoke of her approaching end as sure.
+
+"You ask me to make haste and be well," said she, "but it cannot be.  I
+shall never go out into the bright sunshine again, never join you in
+the parlor below, and before the cold winds of winter are blowing, I
+shall be dead.  I hope I shall live until Nellie comes, for I must see
+her, I must make it right between her and you.  I must tell her to
+forgive you for marrying me when you loved only her; and she will
+listen--she won't refuse me, and when I am gone you'll be happy
+together."
+
+John Jr. did not speak, but the little hand which nervously moved
+toward him was met more than half-way, and thus strengthened, Mabel
+continued: "You must sometimes think and speak of Mabel when she is
+dead.  I do not ask you to call me wife.  I do not wish it, but you
+must forget how wretched I have made you, for oh, I did not mean it,
+and had I sooner known what I do now, I would have died ere I had
+caused you one pang of sorrow."
+
+Afterward, when it was too late, John Jr. would have given worlds to
+recall that moment, that he might tell the broken-hearted girl how
+bitterly he, too, repented of all the wrong he had done her; but he did
+not say so then--he could only listen, while he mentally resolved that
+if Mabel were indeed about to die, he would make the remainder of her
+short life happy, and thus atone, as far as possible, for the past.
+But alas for John Jr., his resolutions were easily broken, and as days
+and weeks went by, and there was no perceptible change in her, he grew
+weary of well-doing, absenting himself whole days from the sick-room,
+and at night rather unwillingly resuming his post as watcher, for Mabel
+would have no one else.
+
+Since Mabel's illness he had occupied the little room adjoining hers,
+and often when in the still night he lay awake, watching the shadow
+which the lamp cast upon the wall, and thinking of her for whom the
+light was constantly kept burning, his conscience would smite him
+terribly, and rising up, he would steal softly to her bedside to see if
+she were sleeping quietly.  But anon he grew weary of this, too; the
+shadow on the wall troubled him, it kept him awake; it was a continual
+reproach, and he must be rid of it, somehow.  He tried the experiment
+of closing his door, but Mabel knew the moment he attempted it, and he
+could not refuse her when she asked him to leave it open.
+
+John Jr. grew restless, fidgety, and nervous.  Why need the lamp be
+kept burning?  He could light it when necessary; or why need he sleep
+there, when some one else would do as well?  He thought of 'Lena--she
+was just the one, and the next day he would speak to her.  To his great
+joy she consented to relieve him awhile, provided Mabel were willing;
+but she was not, and John Jr. was forced to submit.  He was not
+accustomed to restraint, and every night matters grew worse and worse.
+The shadow annoyed him exceedingly.  If he slept, he dreamed that it
+kept a glimmering watch over him, and when he awoke, he, in turn,
+watched over that, until the misty day-light came to dissipate the
+phantom.
+
+About this time several families from Frankfort started for New
+Orleans, where they were wont to spend the winter, and irresistibly,
+John Jr. became possessed of a desire to visit that city, too.  Mabel
+would undoubtedly live until spring, now that the trying part of autumn
+was past and there could be no harm in his leaving her for awhile, when
+he so much needed rest.  Accordingly, 'Lena was one day surprised by
+his announcing his intended trip.
+
+"But you cannot be in earnest," she said; "you surely will not leave
+Mabel now."
+
+"And why not?" he asked.  "She doesn't grow any worse, and won't until
+spring, and this close confinement is absolutely killing me!  Why, I've
+lost six pounds in six months, and you'll see to her, I know you will.
+You're a good girl, and I like you, if I did get angry with you, weeks
+ago when I went a hunting."
+
+'Lena knew he ought not to go, and she tried hard to convince him of
+the fact, telling him how much pleasure she had felt in observing his
+improved manner toward Mabel, and that he must not spoil it now.
+
+"It's no use talking," said he, "I'm bent on going somewhere.  I've
+tried to be good, I know, but the fact is, I can't stay _put_.  It
+isn't my nature.  I shan't tell Meb till just before I start, for I
+hate scenes."
+
+"And suppose she dies while you are gone?" asked 'Lena.
+
+John was beginning to grow impatient, for he knew he was wrong, and
+rather tartly he answered, as he left the room, "Give her a decent
+burial, and present the bill to mother!"
+
+"The next morning, as 'Lena sat alone with Mabel, John Jr. entered,
+dressed and ready for his journey.  But he found it harder telling his
+wife than he had anticipated.  She looked unusually pale this morning.
+The sallowness of her complexion was all gone, and on either cheek
+there burned a round, bright spot.  'Lena had just been arranging her
+thick, glossy hair, and now, wholly exhausted, she reclined upon her
+pillows, while her large black eyes, unnaturally bright, sparkled with
+joy at the sight of her husband.  But they quickly filled with tears
+when told that he was going away, and had come to say good-bye.
+
+"It's only to New Orleans and back," he said, as he saw her changing
+face.  "I shan't be gone long, and 'Lena will take care of you a heap
+better than I can."
+
+"It isn't that," answered Mabel, wiping her tears away.  "Don't go,
+John.  Wait a little while.  I'm sure it won't be long."
+
+"You are nervous," said he, playfully lapping her white cheek.  "You're
+not going to die.  You'll live to be grandmother yet, who knows?  But I
+must be off or lose the train.  Good bye, little Meb," grasping her
+hand, "Good-bye, 'Lena.  I'll bring you both something nice--good-bye."
+
+When she saw that he was going, Mabel asked him to come back to her
+bedside just for one moment.  He could not refuse, and winding her
+long, emaciated arms around his neck, she whispered, "Kiss me once
+before you go.  I shall never ask it again, and 'twill make me happier
+when you are gone."
+
+"A dozen times, if you like," said he, giving her the only husband's
+kiss she had ever received.
+
+For a moment longer she detained him, while she prayed silently for
+heaven's blessing on his wayward head, and then releasing him, she bade
+him go.  Had he known of all that was to follow, he would not have left
+her, but he believed as he said, that she would survive the winter, and
+with one more kiss upon her brow, where the perspiration was standing
+thickly, he departed.  The window of Mabel's room commanded a view of
+the turnpike, and when the sound of horses' feet was heard on the lawn,
+she requested 'Lena to lead her to the window, where she stood watching
+him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight.
+
+"'Tis the last time," said she, "and he will never know how much this
+parting cost me."
+
+That night, as they were alone in the gathering twilight, Mabel said,
+"If I die before Nellie comes I want you to tell her how it all
+happened, and that she must forgive him, for he was not to blame."
+
+"I do not understand you," said 'Lena, and then, in broken sentences,
+Mabel told what her mother-in-law had said, and how terribly John was
+deceived.  "Of course he couldn't love me after that," said she, "and
+it's right that I should die.  He and Nellie were made for each other,
+and if the inhabitants of heaven are allowed to watch over those they
+loved on earth, I will ask to be always near them.  You will tell her,
+won't you?"
+
+'Lena promised, adding that she thought Mabel would see Nellie herself
+as she was to sail from Liverpool the 20th, and a few days proved her
+conjecture correct.  Entering Mabel's room one morning about a week
+after John's departure, she brought the glad news that Nellie had
+returned, and would be with them to-morrow.
+
+The next day Nellie came, but she, too, was changed.  The roundness of
+her form and face was gone; the rose had faded from her cheek, and her
+footsteps were no longer light and bounding as of old.  She knew of
+John Jr.'s absence or she would not have come, for she could not meet
+him face to face.  She had heard, too, of his treatment of Mabel, and
+while she felt indignant toward him, she freely forgave his innocent
+wife, who she felt had been more sinned against than sinning.
+
+With a faint cry Mabel started from her pillow, and burying her face on
+Nellie's neck, wept like a child.  "You do not hate me," she said at
+last, "or you would not have come so soon."
+
+"Hate you?--no," answered Nellie.  "I have no cause for hating _you_."
+
+"And you will stay with me until I die--until he comes home--and
+forgive him, too," Mabel continued.
+
+"I can promise the first, but the latter is harder," said Nellie, her
+cheeks burning with anger as she gazed on the wreck before her.
+
+"But you must, you will," exclaimed Mabel, rapidly telling all she
+knew; then falling back upon the pillow, she added, "You'll forgive him
+Nellie?"
+
+As time passed on, Mabel grew weaker and weaker, clinging closer to
+Nellie as she felt the dark shadow of death creeping gradually over her.
+
+"If he'd only come," she would say, "and I could place your hand in his
+before I died."
+
+But it was not to be.  Day after day John Jr. lingered, dreading to
+return, for he knew Nellie was there, and he could not meet her, he
+thought, at the bedside of Mabel.  So he tarried until a letter from
+'Lena, which said that Mabel would die, decided him, and rather
+reluctantly he started homeward.  Meantime Mabel, who knew nothing of
+her loss, conceived the generous idea of willing all her possessions to
+her recreant husband.
+
+"Perhaps he'll think more kindly of me," said she to his father, to
+whom she first communicated her plan, and Mr. Livingstone felt that he
+could not undeceive her.
+
+Accordingly, a lawyer was summoned from Frankfort, and the will duly
+drawn up, signed, sealed, and delivered into the hands of Mr.
+Livingstone, whose wife, with a mocking laugh, bade him "guard it
+carefully, it was so valuable."
+
+"It shows her goodness of heart, at least," said he, and possibly Mrs.
+Livingstone thought so, too, for from that time her manner softened
+greatly toward her daughter-in-law.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+It was midnight at Maple grove.  On the table, in its accustomed place,
+the lamp was burning dimly, casting the shadow upon the wall, whilst
+over the whole room a darker shadow was brooding.  The window was open,
+and the cool night air came softly in, lifting the masses of raven hair
+from off the pale brow of the dying.  Tenderly above her Nellie and
+'Lena were bending.  They had watched by her many a night, and now she
+asked them not to leave her, not to disturb a single one--she would
+rather die alone.
+
+The sound of horses' hoofs rang out on the still air, but she did not
+heed it.  Nearer and nearer it came, over the lawn, up the graveled
+walk, through the yard, and Nellie's face blanched to an unnatural
+whiteness as she thought who that midnight-rider was.  Arrived in
+Frankfort only an hour before, he had hastened forward, impelled by a
+something he could not resist.  From afar he had caught the glimmering
+light, and he felt he was not too late.  He knew how to enter the
+house, and on through the wide hall and up the broad staircase he came,
+until he stood in the chamber, where before him another guest had
+entered, whose name was Death!
+
+Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay _his_
+wife--_her_ rival--the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom, and
+the pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him.
+
+"Mabel!  She is dead!" was all he uttered, and falling upon his knees,
+he buried his face in the pillow, while half scornfully, half
+pityingly, Nellie gazed upon him.
+
+There was much of bitterness in her heart toward him, not for the wrong
+he had done her, but for the sake of the young girl, now passed forever
+away.  'Lena felt differently.  His silent grief conquered all
+resentment, and going to his side, she told him how peacefully Mabel
+had died--how to the last she had loved and remembered him, praying
+that he might be happy when she was gone,
+
+"Poor little Meb, she deserved a better fate," was all he said, as he
+continued his kneeling posture, until the family and servants, whom
+Nellie had summoned, came crowding round, the cries of the latter
+grating on the ear, and seeming sadly out of place for her whose short
+life had been so dreary, and who had welcomed death as a release from
+all her pain.
+
+It was Mrs. Livingstone's wish that Mabel should be arrayed in her
+bridal robes, but with a shudder at the idle mockery, John Jr.
+answered, "No," and in a plain white muslin, her shining hair arrayed
+as she was wont to wear it, they placed her in her coffin, and on a
+sunny slope where the golden sunlight and the pale moonbeams latest
+fell, and where in spring the bright green grass and the sweet wild
+flowers are earliest seen, laid her down to steep.
+
+That night, when all around was still, John Jr.  lay musing sadly of
+the past.  His affection for Mabel had been slight and variable, but
+now that she was gone, he missed her.  The large easy-chair, with its
+cushions and pillows, was empty, and as he thought of the pale, dark
+face and aching head he had so often seen reclining there, and which he
+would never see again, he groaned in bitterness of spirit, for well he
+knew that he had helped to break the heart now lying cold and still
+beneath the coffin-lid.  There was no shadow on the wall, for the lamp
+had gone out with the young life for whom it had been kept burning, but
+many a shadow lay dark and heavy across his heart.
+
+With the sun-setting a driving rain had come on, and as the November
+wind went howling past the window, and the large drops beat against the
+casement, he thought of the lonesome little grave on which that rain
+was falling; and shuddering, he hid his face in the pillows, asking to
+be forgiven, for he knew that all too soon that grave was made, and he
+had helped to make it.  At last, long after the clock had told the hour
+of midnight, he arose, and lighting the lamp which many a weary night
+had burned for _her_, he placed it where the shadow would fall upon the
+wall as it had done of old.  It was no longer a phantom to annoy him,
+and soothed by its presence, he fell asleep, dreaming that Mabel had
+come back to bring him her forgiveness, but when he essayed to touch
+her, she vanished from his sight, and there was nothing left save that
+shadow on the wall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+MRS. GRAHAM'S RETURN.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn, the former remaining
+but a day and night, and then, without once seeing 'Lena, departing
+for Europe, where business, either fancied or real, called him.
+Often, when lying weary and sick in Havana, had he resolved on
+revealing to his wife the secret which he felt was wearing his life
+away, but the cowardice of his nature seemed increased by physical
+weakness, and from time to time was the disclosure postponed, while
+the chain of evidence was fearfully lengthening around poor 'Lena, to
+whom Mrs. Graham had transferred the entire weight of her displeasure.
+
+Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she was ever
+ready to forgive when she saw any indications of reform on his part,
+and as during all their journey he had never once given her cause for
+offense, she began to attribute his former delinquencies wholly to
+'Lena; and when he proposed a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned
+it, hoping that time and absence would remove from his mind all
+thoughts of the beautiful girl, who she thought was her rival.
+Still, though she would not confess it, in her heart she did not
+believe 'Lena guilty except so far as a desire to attract Mr.
+Graham's attention would make her so.
+
+For this belief she had a good and potent reason.  The daguerreotype
+which had caused so much trouble was still in her possession, guarded
+carefully from her husband, who never suspecting the truth, supposed
+he had lost it.  Frequently had Mrs. Graham examined the picture,
+each time discovering some point of difference between it and its
+supposed original.  Still she never for a moment doubted that it was
+'Lena, until an event occurred which convinced her of the contrary,
+leaving her, meantime, more mystified than ever.
+
+On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day
+in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first
+individual whom they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel
+Slocum.  Not finding his business as profitable in Lexington as he
+could wish, he had recently removed to Cincinnati.  Here his aspiring
+mind had prompted him to board at the Burnet House, until he'd seen
+the "Ohio elephant," when he intended retiring to one of the cheaper
+boarding-houses.  The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a grin of recognition
+became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very long and
+very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either
+water or brush.
+
+"Who is that loafer who seems to know you?" asked Mrs. Graham,
+directing her husband's attention toward Joel.
+
+Mr. Graham replied that "he had once seen him in Lexington, and that
+he took daguerreotypes."
+
+The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one
+of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang,
+"Now you don't say this is you.  And this is your old woman, I
+s'pose.  Miss Graham, how-dy-du?  Darned if you don't look like Aunt
+Nancy, only she's lean and you are squatty.  S'posin' you give me a
+call and get your picters taken.  I didn't get an all-killin' sight
+of practice in Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn't know
+enough to patternize me, and 'taint a tarnation sight better here;
+but you," turning to Mr. Graham, "employed me once, and pretended to
+be suited."
+
+Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to
+Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made
+an excuse for leaving her awhile.  Looking from the window a moment
+after, Mrs. Graham saw him walking down the street in close
+conversation with Joel, who, by the way of showing his importance,
+lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met.  Instantly her
+curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion of
+his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction
+that there was something in his possession which he did not wish her
+to see.  Once, when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust
+something into his pocket, appearing so much confused that she
+resolved to ferret out the secret.
+
+Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he
+was asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his
+pockets, found a daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw
+was a _fac-simile_ of the one she had in her possession.  The
+arrangement of the hair--everything--was the same, and utterly
+confounded, she stood gazing first at one and then at the other,
+wondering what it meant.  Could 'Lena be in the city?  She thought
+not, and even if she were, the last daguerreotype was not so much
+like her, she fancied, as the first.  At all events, she did not dare
+secrete it as she had done its companion, and stealthily returning it
+to its place, she crept back to bed.
+
+The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel
+was buried that day.  Of course 'Lena could not have been absent from
+home.  Mrs. Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the
+conviction came upon her that another than 'Lena was the original of
+the daguerreotypes.  And yet she was not generous enough to tell
+Durward so.  She knew he was deceived--she wished him to remain
+so--and to effect it, she refrained from seeking an explanation from
+her husband, fearing lest 'Lena should be proved innocent.  Her
+husband knew there was a misunderstanding between Durward and 'Lena,
+and if she were to ask him about the pictures, he would, she thought,
+at once suspect the cause of that misunderstanding, and as a matter
+of course, exonerate 'Lena from all blame.  The consequence of this
+she foresaw, and therefore she resolved upon keeping her own counsel,
+satisfied if in the end she prevented Durward from making 'Lena his
+wife.
+
+To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter
+almost constantly before Durward's mind, frequently referring to
+'Lena's agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had started
+for Europe.  She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very
+day of her husband's departure.  'Lena had not met the lady before,
+since that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she
+returned her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her
+seat near the window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was
+seated with Carrie.
+
+She did not know before of Mrs. Graham's return, and when her aunt
+casually asked, "Did your husband come back with you?" she
+involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came,
+sent the blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes
+sparkled with joy.   She should see him--he would explain
+everything--and she should be guiltless in Durward's sight.  This was
+the cause of her joy, which was quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs.
+Graham's adding,
+
+"But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three
+months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business."
+
+The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, which did
+not escape the observation or either mother or son, the latter of
+whom had watched her from the first, noting each change, and
+interpreting it according to his fears.
+
+"'Lena, 'Lena, how have I been deceived!" was his mental cry as she
+precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who asked what was
+the matter, that she was faint and dizzy.  Death had been but
+yesterday within their walls, and as if softened by its presence,
+Mrs. Livingstone actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that
+"constant watching with poor, dear Mabel had impaired her health."
+
+"Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her," returned Mrs.
+Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost on Mrs. Livingstone,
+was noticed by Durward, who soon proposed leaving.
+
+On their way home, his mother asked if he observed 'Lena when Mr.
+Graham was mentioned.
+
+Without saying that he did, Durward replied, "I noticed your remark
+to Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to
+say a word which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon 'Lena.
+Her reputation as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say
+aught against it."
+
+"I won't, I won't," answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to conciliate her
+son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had first
+supposed.
+
+'Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of
+Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to
+expressions which would have operated unfavorably against the young
+girl, and when at last circumstances occurred which gave her, as she
+thought, liberty to free her mind, she was only too willing to do so.
+Of those circumstances, in which others besides 'Lena were concerned,
+we will speak in another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.
+
+Malcolm Everett's engagement with General Fontaine had expired, and
+as was his original intention, he started for New York, first seeking
+an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, of whom he asked their
+daughter Anna in marriage, at the same time announcing the startling
+fact that they had been engaged for more than a year.  "I do not ask
+you for her now," said he, "for I am not in a situation to support
+her as I would wish to, but that time will come ere long, I trust,
+and I can assure you that her happiness shall be the first object of
+my life."
+
+There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett.  He was unused
+to that, and as an equal meets an equal, he met them, made known his
+request, and then in silence awaited their answer.  Had Mrs.
+Livingstone been less indignant, there would undoubtedly have ensued
+a clamorous call for hartshorn and vinaigrette, but as it was, she
+started up, and confronting the young man, she exclaimed, "How dare
+you ask such a thing?  _My_ daughter marry _you_!"
+
+"And why not, madam?" he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone
+continued: "_You_, a low-born Yankee, who have been, as it were, an
+hireling.  _You_ presume to ask for _my_ daughter!"
+
+"I do," he answered calmly, with a quiet smile, ten-fold more
+tantalizing than harsh words would have been, "I do.  Can I have her
+with your consent?"
+
+"Never, so long as I live.  I'd sooner see her dead than wedded to
+vulgar poverty."
+
+"That is your answer.  Very well," said Malcolm, bowing stiffly.
+"And now I will hear yours," turning to Mr. Livingstone, who replied,
+that "he would leave the matter entirely with his wife--it was
+nothing to him--he had nothing personal against Mr. Everett--he
+rather liked him than otherwise, but he hardly thought Anna suited to
+him, she had been brought up so differently;" and thus evasively
+answering, he walked away.
+
+"Cowardly fool!" muttered Mrs. Livingstone, as the door closed upon
+him.  "If I pretended to be a man, I'd be one;" then turning to
+Malcolm, she said, "Is there anything further you wish to say?"
+
+"Nothing," he replied.  "I have honorably asked you for your
+daughter.  You have refused her, and must abide the consequence."
+
+"And pray what may that be?" she asked, and he answered: "She will
+soon be of an age to act for herself, and though I would far rather
+take her with your consent, I shall not then hesitate to take her
+without, if you still persist in opposing her."
+
+"There is the door," said Mrs. Livingstone rising.
+
+"I see it, madam," answered Malcolm, without deigning to move.
+
+"Oblige me by passing out," continued Mrs. Livingstone.  "Insolent
+creature, to stand here threatening to elope with my daughter, who
+has been destined for another since her infancy."
+
+"But she shall never become the bride of that old man," answered
+Malcolm.  "I know your schemes.  I've seen them all along, and I will
+frustrate them, too."
+
+"You cannot," fiercely answered Mrs. Livingstone.  "It shall be ere
+another year comes round, and when you hear that it is so, know that
+you hastened it forward;" and the indignant lady, finding that her
+opponent was not inclined to move, left the room herself, going in
+quest of Anna, whom she determined to watch for fear of what might
+happen.
+
+But Anna was nowhere to be found, and in a paroxysm of rage she
+alarmed the household, instituting a strict search, which resulted in
+the discovery of Anna beneath the same sycamore where Malcolm had
+first breathed his vows, and whither she had repaired to await the
+decision of her parents.
+
+"I expected as much," said she, when told of the result, "but it
+matters not.  I am yours, and I'll never marry another."
+
+The approach of the servants prevented any further conversation, and
+with a hurried adieu they parted.  A few days afterward, as Mrs.
+Livingstone, sat in her large easy-chair before the glowing grate,
+Captain Atherton was announced, and shown at once into her room.  To
+do Mrs. Livingstone justice, we must say that she had long debated
+the propriety of giving Anna, in all the freshness of her girlhood,
+to a man old as her father, but any hesitancy she had heretofore
+felt, had now vanished.  The crisis had come, and when the captain,
+as he had two or three times before done, broached the subject,
+urging her to a decision, she replied that she was willing, provided
+Anna's consent could be gained.
+
+"Pho! that's easy enough," said the captain, complacently rubbing
+together his fat hands and smoothing his colored whiskers--"Bring her
+in here, and I'll coax her in five minutes."
+
+Anna was sitting with her grandmother and 'Lena, when word came that
+her mother wished to see her, the servant adding, with a titter, that
+"Mas'r Atherton thar too."
+
+Instinctively she knew why she was sent for, and turning white as
+marble, she begged her cousin to go with her.  But 'Lena refused,
+soothing the agitated girl, and begging her to be calm.  "You've only
+to be decided," said she, "and it will soon be over.  Captain
+Atherton, I am sure, will not insist when he sees how repugnant to
+your feelings it is."
+
+But Anna knew her own weakness--she could never say, in her mother's
+presence, what she felt--and trembling like an aspen, she descended
+the stairs, meeting in the lower hall her brother, who asked what was
+the matter.
+
+"Oh, John, John," she cried, "Captain Atherton is in there with
+mother, and they have sent for me.  What shall I do?"
+
+"Be a woman," answered John Jr.  "Tell him _no_ in good broad
+English, and if the old fellow insists, I'll blow his brains out!"
+
+But the Captain did not insist.  He was too cunning for that, and
+when, with a burst of tears, Anna told him she could not be his wife
+because she loved another, he said, good-humoredly, "Well, well,
+never mind spoiling those pretty blue eyes.  I'm not such an old
+savage as you think me.  So we'll compromise the matter this way.  If
+you really love Malcolm, why, marry him, and on your bridal day I'll
+make you a present of a nice little place I have in Frankfort; but
+if, on the other hand, Malcolm proves untrue, you must promise to
+have me.  Come, that's a fair bargain.  What do you say?"
+
+"Malcolm will never prove untrue," answered Anna.
+
+"Of course not," returned the captain.  "So you are safe in
+promising.'
+
+"But what good will it do you?" queried Anna.
+
+"No good, in particular," said the captain.  "It's only a whim of
+mine, to which I thought you might perhaps agree, in consideration of
+my offer."
+
+"I do--I will," said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad after all.
+
+"There's mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch," said John
+Jr., when he learned from Anna the result of the interview.
+
+But week after week glided by.  Mrs. Livingstone's persecutions
+ceased, and she sometimes herself handed to Anna Malcolm's letters,
+which came regularly, and when about the first of March Captain
+Atherton himself went off to Washington, Anna gave her fears to the
+wind, and all the day long went singing about the house, unmindful of
+the snare laid for her unsuspecting footsteps.  At length Malcolm's
+letters suddenly ceased, and though Anna wrote again and again, there
+came no answer.  Old Caesar, who always carried and brought the mail
+for Maple Grove, was questioned, but he declared he "done got none
+from Mas'r Everett," and suspicion in that quarter was lulled.
+Unfortunately for Anna, both her father and John Jr. were now away,
+and she had no counselor save 'Lena, who once, on her own
+responsibility, wrote to Malcolm, but with a like success, and Anna's
+heart grew weary with hope deferred.  Smilingly Mrs. Livingstone
+looked on, one moment laughing at Anna for what she termed
+love-sickness, and the next advising her to be a woman, and marry
+Captain Atherton.  "He was not very old--only forty-three--and it was
+better to be an old man's darling than a young man's slave!"
+
+Thus the days wore on, until one evening just as the family were
+sitting down to tea they were surprised by a call from the captain,
+who had returned that afternoon, and who, with the freedom of an old
+friend, unceremoniously entered the supper-room, appropriating to
+himself the extra plate which Mrs. Livingstone always had upon the
+table.  Simultaneously with him came Caesar, who having been to the
+post-office, had just returned, bringing, besides other things, a
+paper for Carrie, from her old admirer, Tom Lakin, who lived in
+Rockford, at which place the paper was printed.  Several times had
+Tom remembered Carrie in this way, and now carelessly glancing at the
+first page, she threw it upon the floor, whence it was taken by Anna,
+who examined it more minutely glancing, as a matter of course, to the
+marriage notices.
+
+Meantime the captain, who was sitting by 'Lena, casually remarked,
+"Oh, I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in Washington."
+
+"Mr. Everett--Malcolm Everett?" said 'Lena, quickly.
+
+"Yes, Malcolm Everett," answered the captain.
+
+"He is there spending the honeymoon with his bride!"
+
+'Lena's exclamation of astonishment was prevented by a shriek from
+Anna, who had that moment read the announcement of Mr. Everett's
+marriage, which was the first in the list.  It was Malcolm H.
+Everett--there could be no mistake--and when 'Lena reached her
+cousin's side, she found that she had fainted.  All was now in
+confusion, in the midst of which the Captain took his leave, having
+first managed to speak a few words in private with Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"Fortune favors us," was her reply, as she went back to her daughter,
+whose long, death-like swoon almost wrung from her the secret.
+
+But Anna revived, and with the first indication of returning
+consciousness, the cold, hard woman stifled all her better feelings,
+and then tried to think she was acting only for the good of her
+child.  For a long time Anna appeared to be in a kind of benumbed
+torpor, requesting to be left alone, and shuddering if Mr. Everett's
+name were mentioned in her presence.  It was in vain that 'Lena
+strove to comfort her, telling her there might be some mistake.  Anna
+refused to listen, angrily bidding 'Lena desist, and saying
+frequently that she cared but little what became of herself now.  A
+species of recklessness seemed to have taken possession of her, and
+when her mother one day carelessly remarked that possibly Captain
+Atherton would claim the fulfillment of her promise, she answered, in
+the cold, indifferent tone which now marked her manner of speaking,
+"Let him.  I am ready and willing for the sacrifice."
+
+"Are you in earnest?" asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly.
+
+"In earnest?  Yes--try me and see," was Anna's brief answer, which
+somewhat puzzled her mother, who would in reality have preferred
+opposition to this unnatural passiveness.
+
+But anything to gain her purpose, she thought, and drawing Anna
+closely to her side, she very gently and affectionately told her how
+happy it would make her could she see her the wife of Captain
+Atherton, who had loved and waited for her so long, and who would
+leave no wish, however slight, ungratified.  And Anna, with no shadow
+of emotion on her calm, white face, consented to all that her mother
+asked, and when next the captain came, she laid her feverish hand in
+his, and with a strange, wild light beaming from her dark blue eyes,
+promised to share his fortunes as his wife.
+
+"'Twill be winter and spring," said she, with a bitter, mocking
+laugh, "'Twill be winter and spring, but it matters not."
+
+Many years before, when a boy of eighteen, Captain Atherton had
+loved, or fancied he loved, a young girl, whose very name afterward
+became hateful to him, and now, as he thought of Anna's affection for
+Malcolm, he likened it to his own boyish fancy, believing she would
+soon get over it, and thank him for what he had done.
+
+That night Anna saw the moon and stars go down, bending far out from
+her window, that the damp air might cool her burning brow, and when
+the morning sun came up the eastern horizon, its first beams fell on
+the golden curls which streamed across the window-sill, her only
+pillow the livelong night.  On 'Lena's mind a terrible conviction was
+fastening itself--Anna was crazed.  She saw it in the wildness of her
+eye, in the tones of her voice, and more than all, in the readiness
+with which she yielded herself to her mother's schemes, "But it shall
+not be," she thought, "I will save her," and then she knelt before
+her aunt, imploring her to spare her daughter--not to sacrifice her
+on the altar of mammon.
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone turned angrily away, telling her to mind her own
+affairs.  Then 'Lena sought her cousin, and winding her arms around
+her neck, besought of her to resist--to burst the chain which bound
+her, and be free.  But with a shake other head, Anna bade her go
+away.  "Leave me, 'Lena Rivers," she said, "leave me to work out my
+destiny.  It is decreed that I shall be his wife, and I may not
+struggle against it.  Each night I read it in the stars, and the
+wind, as it sighs through the maple trees, whispers it to my ear."
+
+"Oh, if my aunt could see her now," thought 'Lena but as if her
+mother's presence had a paralyzing power, Anna, when with her, was
+quiet, gentle, and silent, and if Mrs. Livingstone sometimes missed
+her merry laugh and playful ways, she thought the air of dignity
+which seemed to have taken their place quite an improvement, and far
+more in keeping with the bride-elect of Captain Atherton.
+
+About this time Mr. Livingstone returned, appearing greatly surprised
+at the phase which affairs had assumed in his absence, but when 'Lena
+whispered to him her fears, he smilingly answered, "I reckon you're
+mistaken.   Her mother would have found it out--where is she?"
+
+In her chamber at the old place by the open window they found her,
+and though she did not as usual spring eagerly forward to meet her
+father, her greeting was wholly natural; but when Mr. Livingstone,
+taking her upon his knee, said gently, "They tell me you are to be
+married soon," the wildness came back to her eye, and 'Lena wondered
+he could not see it.  But he did not, and smoothing her disordered
+tresses, he said, "Tell me, my daughter, does this marriage please
+you?  Do you enter into it willingly?"
+
+For a moment there was a wavering, and 'Lena held her breath to catch
+the answer, which came at last, while the eyes shone brighter than
+ever--"Willing?  yes, or I should not do it; no one compels me, else
+I would resist."
+
+"Woman's nature," said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while 'Lena
+turned away to hide her tears.
+
+Day after day preparations went on, for Mrs. Livingstone would have
+the ceremony a grand and imposing one.  In the neighborhood, the fast
+approaching event was discussed, some pronouncing it a most fortunate
+thing for Anna, who could not, of course, expect to make so eligible
+a match as her more brilliant sister, while others--the sensible
+portion--wondered, pitied, and blamed, attributing the whole to the
+ambitious mother, whose agency in her son's marriage was now
+generally known.  At Maple Grove closets, chairs, tables, and sofas
+were loaded down with finery, and like an automaton, Anna stood up
+while they fitted to her the rich white satin, scarcely whiter than
+her own face, and Mrs. Livingstone, when she saw her daughter's
+indifference, would pinch her bloodless cheeks, wondering how she
+could care so little for her good fortune.
+
+Unnatural mother!--from the little grave on the sunny slope, now
+grass-grown and green, came there no warning voice to stay her in her
+purpose?  No; she scarcely thought of Mabel now, and with unflinching
+determination she kept on her way.
+
+But there was one who, night and day, pondered in her mind the best
+way of saving Anna from the living death to which she would surely
+awake, when it was too late.  At last she resolved on going herself
+to Captain Atherton, telling him just how it was, and if there was a
+spark of generosity in his nature, she thought he would release her
+cousin.  But this plan required much caution, for she would not have
+her uncle's family know of it, and if she failed, she preferred that
+it should be kept a secret from the world.  There was then no
+alternative but to go in the night, and alone.  She did not now often
+sit with the family, and she knew they would not miss her.  So, one
+evening when they were as usual assembled in the parlor, she stole
+softly from the house, and managing to pass the negro quarters
+unobserved, she went down to the lower stable, where she saddled the
+pony she was now accustomed to ride, and leading him by a circuitous
+path out upon the turnpike, mounted and rode away.
+
+The night was moonless, and the starlight obscured by heavy clouds,
+but the pale face and golden curls of Anna, for whose sake she was
+there alone, gleamed on her in the darkness, and 'Lena was not
+afraid.  Once--twice--she thought she caught the sound of another
+horse's hoofs, but when she stopped to listen, all was still, and
+again she pressed forward, while her pursuer (for 'Lena was followed)
+kept at a greater distance.  Durward had been to Frankfort, and on
+his way home had stopped at Maple Grove to deliver a package.
+Stopping only a moment, he reached the turnpike just after 'Lena
+struck into it.  Thinking it was a servant, he was about to pass her,
+when her horse sheered at something on the road-side, and
+involuntarily she exclaimed, "Courage, Dido, there's nothing to fear."
+
+Instantly he recognized her voice, and was about to overtake and
+speak to her, but thinking that her mission was a secret one, or she
+would not be there alone, he desisted.  Still he could not leave her
+thus.  Her safety might be endangered, and reining in his steed, and
+accommodating his pace to hers, he followed without her knowledge.
+On she went until she reached the avenue leading to "Sunnyside," as
+Captain Atherton termed his residence, and there she stopped, going
+on foot to the house, while, hidden by the deep darkness Durward
+waited and watched.
+
+Half timidly 'Lena rang the door-bell, dropping her veil over her
+face that she might not be recognized.  "I want to see your master,"
+she said to the woman who answered her ring, and who in some
+astonishment replied, "Bless you, miss, Mas'r Atherton done gone to
+Lexington and won't be home till to-morry."
+
+"Gone!" repeated 'Lena in a disappointed tone.  "Oh, I'm so sorry."
+
+"Is you the new miss what's comin' here to live?" asked the negro,
+who was Captain Atherton's house keeper.
+
+Instantly the awkwardness of her position flashed upon 'Lena, but
+resolving to put a bold face on the matter, she removed her veil,
+saying, playfully, "You know me now, Aunt Martha."
+
+"In course I do," answered the negro, holding up both hands in
+amazement, "but what sent you here this dark, unairthly night?"
+
+"Business with your master," and then suddenly remembering that among
+her own race Aunt Martha was accounted an intolerable gossip, she
+began to wish she had not come.
+
+But it could not now be helped, and turning away, she walked slowly
+down the avenue, wondering what the result would be.  Again they were
+in motion, she and Durward, who followed until he saw her safe home,
+and then, glad that no one had seen her but himself, he retraced his
+steps, pondering on the mystery which he could not fathom.  After
+'Lena left Sunnyside, a misty rain came on, and by the time she
+reached her home, her long riding-dress was wet and drizzled, the
+feathers on her cap were drooping, and to crown all, as she was
+crossing the hall with stealthy step, she came suddenly upon her
+aunt, who, surprised at her appearance, demanded of her where she had
+been.  But 'Lena refused to tell, and in quite a passion Mrs.
+Livingstone laid the case before her husband.
+
+"Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding somewhere with
+somebody, she wouldn't tell who, but she (Mrs. Livingstone) most knew
+if was Durward, and something must be done."
+
+Accordingly, next day; when they chanced to be alone, Mr. Livingstone
+took the opportunity of questioning 'Lena, who dared not disobey him,
+and with many tears she confessed the whole, saying that "if it were
+wrong she was very sorry."
+
+"You acted foolishly, to say the least of it," answered her uncle,
+adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself altogether too
+much about Anna, who seemed happy and contented.
+
+Still he was ill at ease.  'Lena's fears disturbed him, and for many
+days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to himself that
+there was something strange about her.  But possibly all engaged
+girls acted so; his wife said they did; and hating anything like a
+scene, he concluded to let matters take their course, half hoping,
+and half believing, too, that something would occur to prevent the
+marriage.  What it would be, or by what agency it would be brought
+about, he didn't know, but he resolved to let 'Lena alone, and when
+his wife insisted upon his "lecturing her soundly for meddling," he
+refused, venturing even to say, that, "she hadn't meddled."
+
+Meantime a new idea had entered 'Lena's mind.  She would write to Mr.
+Everett.  There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such
+things in stories, and it could do no harm.  Gradually as she wrote,
+hope grew strong within her, and it became impressed upon her that
+there had been some deep-laid, fiendish plot.  If so, she dared not
+trust her letter with old Caesar, who might be bribed by his
+mistress.  And how to convey it to the office was now the grand
+difficulty.  As if fortune favored her plan, Durward, that very
+afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as he said, on his way to
+Frankfort.
+
+'Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but
+to save Anna she could do almost any thing.  Hastily securing the
+letter, and throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn
+and out upon the turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming.
+
+"'Lena--excuse me--Miss Rivers, is it you?" asked Durward, touching
+his hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if she
+could trust him.
+
+"Trust me?  Yes, with anything," answered Durward, quickly
+dismounting, and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful
+face which looked up to him so eagerly.
+
+"Then," answered 'Lena, "take this letter and see it deposited
+safely, will you?"
+
+Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while
+he instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said
+concerning 'Lena's attachment to Mr. Everett.
+
+"Sometime, perhaps, I will explain," said 'Lena, observing the
+expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness,
+"I assure you there is no harm in it."
+
+"Of course not," answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and
+riding away more puzzled than ever, while 'Lena returned to the
+house, which everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials.
+
+Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a
+box from the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs.
+Livingstone placed in her daughter's waving hair, bidding her mark
+their effect.  But not a muscle of Anna's face changed; nothing moved
+her; and with the utmost indifference she gazed on the preparations
+around her.  A stranger would have said 'Lena was the bride, for,
+with flushed cheeks and nervously anxious manner, she watched each
+sun as it rose and set, wondering what the result would be.  Once,
+when asked whom she would have for her bridesmaid and groomsman, Anna
+had answered, "Nellie and John!" but that could not be, for the
+latter had imposed upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year
+ere he spoke to Nellie of that which lay nearest his heart, and in
+order the better to keep his vow, he had gone from home, first
+winning from her the promise that she would not become engaged until
+his return.  And now, when he learned of his sister's request, he
+refused to come, saying, "if she would make such a consummate fool of
+herself, he did not wish to see her."
+
+So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrangement
+brought the latter occasionally to the house, 'Lena had opportunities
+of asking him if there had yet come any answer to her letter; and
+much oftener than he would otherwise have done, Durward went down to
+Frankfort, for he felt that it was no unimportant matter which thus
+deeply interested 'Lena.  At last, the day before the bridal came,
+Durward had gone to the city, and in a state of great excitement
+'Lena awaited his return, watching with a trembling heart as the sun
+went down behind the western hills.  Slowly the hours dragged on, and
+many a time she stole out in the deep darkness to listen, but there
+was nothing to be heard save the distant cry of the night-owl, and
+she was about retracing her steps for the fifth time, when from
+behind a clump of rose-bushes started a little dusky form, which
+whispered softly, "Is you Miss 'Leny?"
+
+Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, 'Lena
+answered, "Yes; what do you want?" while at the same moment she
+recognized a little hunch back belonging to General Fontaine.
+
+"Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the answer,"
+said the boy, passing her a tiny note.
+
+"Master Everett!  Is he here?" she exclaimed, catching the note and
+re-entering the house, where by the light of the hall lamp she read
+what he had written.
+
+It was very short, but it told all--how he had written again and
+again, receiving no answer, and was about coming himself when a
+severe illness prevented.  The marriage, he said, was that of his
+uncle, for whom he was named, and who had in truth gone on to
+Washington, the home of his second wife.  It closed by asking tier to
+meet him, with Anna, on one of the arbor bridges at midnight.
+Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a book which chanced to be lying in
+the hall, 'Lena wrote, "We will be there," and giving it to the
+negro, bade him hasten back.
+
+There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he got no
+letter, was not to call, and trembling in every nerve, 'Lena sought
+her chamber, there to consider what she was next to do.  For some
+time past Carrie had occupied a separate room from Anna, who, she
+said disturbed her with her late hours and restless turnings, so
+'Lena's part seemed comparatively easy.  Waiting until the house was
+still, she entered Anna's room, finding her, as she had expected, at
+her old place by the open window, her head resting upon the sill, and
+when she approached nearer, she saw that she was asleep.
+
+"Let her sleep yet awhile," said she; "it will do her good."
+
+In the room adjoining lay the bridal dress, and 'Lena's first impulse
+was to trample it under her feet, but passing it with a shudder, she
+hastily collected whatever she thought Anna would most need.  These
+she placed in a small-sized trunk, and then knowing it was done, she
+approached her cousin, who seemed to be dreaming, for she murmured
+the name of "Malcolm."
+
+"He is here, love--he has come to save you," she whispered, while
+Anna, only partially aroused, gazed at her so vacantly, that 'Lena's
+heart stood still with fear lest the poor girl's reason were wholly
+gone.  "Anna, Anna," she said, "awake; Malcolm is here--in the
+garden, where you must meet him--come."
+
+"Malcolm is married," said Anna, in a whisper--married--and my bridal
+dress is in there, all looped with flowers; would you like to see it?"
+
+"Our Father in heaven help me," cried 'Lena, clasping her hands in
+anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna's upturned face.
+
+This seemed to arouse her, for in a natural tone she asked why 'Lena
+wept.  Again and again 'Lena repeated to her that Malcolm had
+come--that he was not married--that he had come for her; and as Anna
+listened, the torpor slowly passed away--the wild light in her eyes
+grew less bright, for it was quenched by the first tears she had shed
+since the shadow fell upon her; and when 'Lena produced the note, and
+she saw it was indeed true, the ice about her heart was melted, and
+in choking, long-drawn sobs, her pent-up feelings gave way, as she
+saw the gulf whose verge she had been treading.  Crouching at 'Lena's
+feet, she kissed the very hem of her garments, blessing her as her
+preserver, and praying heaven to bless her, also.  It was the work of
+a few moments to array her in her traveling dress, and then very
+cautiously 'Lena led her down the stairs, and out into the open air.
+
+"If I could see father once," said Anna; but such an act involved too
+much danger, and with one lingering, tearful look at her old home,
+she moved away, supported by 'Lena, who rather dragged than led her
+over the graveled walk.
+
+As they approached the arbor bridge, they saw the glimmering light of
+a lantern, for the night was intensely dark, and in a moment Anna was
+clasped in the arms which henceforth were to shelter her from the
+storms of life.  Helpless as an infant she lay, while 'Lena,
+motioning the negro who was in attendance to follow her, returned to
+the house for the trunk, which was soon safely deposited in the
+carriage at the gate.
+
+"Words cannot express what I owe you," said Malcolm, when he gave her
+his hand at parting, "but of this be assured, so long as I live you
+have in me a friend and brother."  Turning back for a moment, he
+added, "This flight is, I know, unnecessary, for I could prevent
+to-morrow's expected event in other ways than this, but revenge is
+sweet, and I trust I am excusable for taking it in my own way."
+
+Anna could not speak, but the look of deep gratitude which beamed
+from her eyes was far more eloquent than words.  Upon the broad
+piazza 'Lena stood until the last faint sound of the carriage wheels
+died away; then, weary and worn, she sought her room, locking 'Anna's
+door as she passed it, and placing the key in her pocket.  Softly she
+crept to bed by the side of her slumbering grandmother, and with a
+fervent prayer for the safety of the fugitives, fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+THE RESULT.
+
+The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused 'Lena from her heavy
+slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the
+night previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing
+it were not morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and
+after a hasty toilet, descended to the breakfast-room, where another
+chair was vacant, another face was missing.  Without any suspicion of
+the truth, Mrs. Livingstone spoke of Anna's absence, saying she
+presumed the poor girl was tired and sleepy, and this was admitted as
+an excuse for her tardiness.  But when breakfast was over and she
+still did not appear, Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon
+with the information that "she'd knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna
+would not answer, and when she tried the door she found it locked."
+
+Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at 'Lena; whose face wore a
+scarlet hue as she hastily quitted the table.  With a presentiment of
+something, he himself started for Anna's room; followed by his wife
+and Carrie, while 'Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened
+breathlessly for the result.  It was useless knocking for admittance,
+for there was no one within to bid them enter, and with a powerful
+effort Mr. Livingstone burst the lock.  The window was open, the lamp
+was still burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed was
+undisturbed, the room in confusion, and Anna was gone.  Mrs.
+Livingstone's eye took in all this at a glance, but her husband saw
+only the latter, and ere he was aware of what he did, a fervent
+"Thank heaven," escaped him.
+
+"She's gone--run away--dead, maybe," exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone,
+wringing her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively drawing
+nearer to her husband for comfort.
+
+By this time 'Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward
+her, Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, "'Lena, where is our child?"
+
+"In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at
+Midway for Cincinnati," said 'Lena, thinking she might as well tell
+the whole at once.
+
+"In Ohio!" shrieked Mrs. Livingstone, fiercely grasping 'Lena's arm.
+"What has she gone to Ohio for?  Speak, ingrate, for you have done
+the deed--I am sure of that!"
+
+"It was Mr. Everett's wish to return home that way I believe," coolly
+answered 'Lena, without quailing in the least from the eyes bent so
+angrily upon her.
+
+Instantly Mrs. Livingstone's fingers loosened their grasp, while her
+face grew livid with mingled passion and fear.  Her fraud was
+discovered--her stratagem had failed--and she was foiled in this, her
+second darling scheme.  But she was yet to learn what agency 'Lena
+had in the matter, and this information her husband obtained for her.
+There was no anger in the tones of his voice when he asked his niece
+to explain the mystery, else she might not have answered, for 'Lena
+could not be driven.  Now, however, she felt that he had a right to
+know, and she told him all she knew; what she had done herself and
+why she had done it; that General Fontaine, to whom Malcolm had gone
+in his trouble, had kindly assisted him by lending both servants and
+carriage; but upon the intercepted letters she could throw no light.
+
+"'Twas a cursed act, and whoever was guilty of it is unworthy the
+name of either man or woman," said Mr. Livingstone, while his eye
+rested sternly upon his wife.
+
+She knew that he suspected her, but he had no proof, and resolving to
+make the best of the matter, she, too, united with him in denouncing
+the deed, wondering who could have done it, and meanly suggesting
+Maria Fontaine, a pupil of Mr. Everett's, who had, at one time, felt
+a slight preference for him.  But this did not deceive her
+husband--neither did it help her at all in the present emergency.
+The bride was gone, and already she felt the tide of scandal and
+gossip which she knew would be the theme of the entire neighborhood.
+Still, if her own shameful act was kept a secret she could bear it,
+and it must be.  No one knew of it except Captain Atherton and
+Caesar, the former of whom would keep his own counsel, while fear of
+a passport down the river, the negroes' dread, would prevent the
+latter from telling.
+
+Accordingly, her chagrin was concealed, and affecting to treat the
+whole matter as a capital joke, worthy of being immortalized in
+romance, she returned to her room, and hastily writing a few lines,
+rang the bell for Caesar who soon appeared, declaring that "as true
+as he lived and breathed and drew the breath of life, he'd done gin
+miss every single letter afore handin' 'em to anybody else."
+
+"Shut your mouth and mind you keep it shut, or you'll find yourself
+in New Orleans," was Mrs. Livingstone's very lady-like response, as
+she handed him the note, bidding him take it to Captain Atherton.
+
+For some reason or other the captain this morning was exceedingly
+restless, walking from room to room, watching the clock, then the
+sun, and finally, in order to pass the time away, trying on his
+wedding suit, to see how he was going to look!  Perfectly satisfied
+with his appearance, he was in imagination going through the
+ceremony, and had just inclined his head in token that he would take
+Anna for his wife, when Mrs. Livingstone's note was handed him.  At
+first he could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes.
+
+Anna gone!--run away with Mr. Everett!  It could not be, and sinking
+into a chair, he felt, as he afterwards expressed it, "mighty queer
+and shaky."
+
+But Mrs. Livingstone had advised him to put a bold face on it, and
+this, upon second thought, he determined to do.  Hastily changing his
+dress, now useless, he mounted his steed, and was soon on his way
+toward Maple Grove, a new idea dawning upon his mind, and ere his
+arrival, settling itself into a fixed purpose.  From Aunt Martha he
+had heard of 'Lena's strange visit, and he now remembered the many
+times she had tried to withdraw him from Anna, appropriating him to
+herself for hours.  The captain's vanity was wonderful.  Sunnyside
+needed a mistress--he needed a wife, 'Lena was poor--perhaps she
+liked him--and if so there might be a wedding, after all.  She was
+beautiful, and would sustain the honors of his house with a better
+grace, he verily believed, than Anna!  Full of these thoughts, he
+reached Maple Grove, where he found Durward, to whom Mrs. Livingstone
+had detailed the whole circumstance, dwelling long upon 'Lena's
+meddling propensities, and charging the whole affair upon her.
+
+"But she knew what she was about--she had an object in view,
+undoubtedly," she added, glad of an opportunity to give vent to her
+feelings against 'Lena.
+
+"Pray, what was her object?" asked Durward, and Mrs. Livingstone
+replied, "I told you once that 'Lena was ambitious, and I have every
+reason to believe she would willingly marry Captain Atherton,
+notwithstanding he is so much older."
+
+She forgot that there was the same disparity between the captain and
+Anna as between him and 'Lena, but Durward did not, and with a
+derisive smile he listened, while she proceeded to give her reasons
+for thinking that a desire to supplant Anna was the sole object which
+'Lena had in view, for what else could have prompted that midnight
+ride to Sunnyside.  Again Durward smiled, but before he could answer,
+the bride-groom elect stood before them, looking rather crestfallen,
+but evidently making a great effort to appear as usual.
+
+"And so the bird has flown?" said he, "Well, it takes a Yankee, after
+all, to manage a case, but how did he find it out?"
+
+Briefly Mrs. Livingstone explained to him Lena's agency in the
+matter, omitting, this time, to impute to her the same motive which
+she had done when stating the case to Durward.
+
+"So 'Lena is at the bottom of it?" said he, rubbing his little fat,
+red hands.  "Well, well, where is she?  I'd like to see her."
+
+"Corinda, tell 'Lena she is wanted in the parlor," said Mrs.
+Livingstone, while Durward, not wishing to witness the interview,
+arose to go, but Mrs. Livingstone urged him so hard to stay, that he
+at last resumed his seat on the sofa by the side of Carrie.
+
+"Captain Atherton wishes to question you concerning the part you have
+taken in this elopement," said Mrs. Livingstone, sternly, as 'Lena
+appeared in the doorway.
+
+"No, I don't," said the captain, gallantly offering 'Lena a chair.
+"My business with Miss Rivers concerns herself."
+
+"I am here, sir, to answer any proper question," said 'Lena, proudly,
+at the same time declining the proffered seat.
+
+"There's an air worthy of a queen," thought the captain, and
+determining to make his business known at once, he arose, and turning
+toward Mrs. Livingstone, Durward and Carrie, whom he considered his
+audience, he commenced: "What I am about to say may seem strange, but
+the fact is, I want a wife.  I've lived alone long enough.  I waited
+for Anna eighteen years, and now's she gone.  Everything is in
+readiness for the bridal; the guests are invited; nothing wanting but
+the bride.  Now if I _could_ find a substitute."
+
+"Not in me," muttered Carrie, drawing nearer to Durward, while with a
+sarcastic leer the captain continued: "Don't refuse before you are
+asked, Miss Livingstone.  I do not aspire to the honor of your hand,
+but I do ask Miss Rivers to be my wife--here before you all.  She
+shall live like a princess--she and her grandmother both.  Come, what
+do you say?  Many a poor girl would jump at the chance."
+
+The rich blood which usually dyed 'Lena's cheek was gone, and pale as
+the marble mantel against which she leaned, she answered, proudly, "I
+would sooner die than link my destiny with one who could so basely
+deceive my cousin, making her believe it was her betrothed husband
+whom he saw in Washington instead of his uncle!  Marry you?  Never,
+if I beg my bread from door to door!"
+
+"Noble girl!" came involuntarily from the lips of Durward, who had
+held his breath for her answer, and who now glanced triumphantly at
+Mrs. Livingstone, whose surmises were thus proved incorrect.
+
+The captain's self-pride was touched, that a poor, humble girl should
+refuse him with his half million.  A sense of the ridiculous position
+in which he was placed maddened him, and in a violent rage he
+replied, "You won't, hey?  What under heavens have you hung around me
+so for, sticking yourself in between me and Anna when you knew you
+were not wanted?"
+
+"I did it, sir, at Anna's request, to relieve her--and for nothing
+else."
+
+"And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that
+dark, rainy night?" chimed in Mrs. Livingstone.
+
+"No, madam," said 'Lena, turning toward her aunt.  "I had in vain
+implored of you to save her from a marriage every way irksome to her,
+when in her right mind, but you would not listen, and I resolved to
+appeal to the captain's better nature.  In this I failed, and then I
+wrote to Mr. Everett, with the result which you see."
+
+In her first excitement Mrs. Livingstone had forgotten to ask who was
+the bearer of 'Lena's letter, but remembering it now, she put the
+question.  'Lena would not implicate Durward without his permission,
+but while she hesitated, he answered for her, "_I_ carried that
+letter, Mrs. Livingstone, though I did not then know its nature.
+Still if I had, I should have done the same, and the event has proved
+that I was right in so doing."
+
+"Ah, indeed!" said the captain growing more and more nettled and
+disagreeable.  "Ah, indeed!  Mr. Bellmont leagued with Miss Rivers
+against me.  Perhaps she would not so bluntly refuse an offer coming
+from you, but I can tell you it won't sound very well that the Hon.
+Mrs. Bellmont once rode four miles alone in the night to visit a
+bachelor.  Ha! ha!  Miss 'Lena; better have submitted to my terms at
+once, for don't you see I have you in my power?"
+
+"And if you ever use that power to her disadvantage you answer for it
+to me; do you understand?" exclaimed Durward, starting up and
+confronting Captain Atherton, who, the veriest coward in the world,
+shrank from the flashing of Durward's eye, and meekly answered, "Yes,
+yes--yes, yes, I won't, I won't.  I don't want to fight.  I like
+'Lena.  I don't blame Anna for running away if she didn't want
+me--but it's left me in a deuced mean scrape, which I wish you'd help
+me out of."
+
+Durward saw that the captain was in earnest, and taking his proffered
+hand, promised to render him any assistance in his power, and
+advising him to be present himself in the evening, as the first
+meeting with his acquaintances would thus be over.  Upon reflection,
+the captain concluded to follow this advice, and when evening arrived
+and with it those who had not heard the news, he was in attendance,
+together with Durward, who managed the whole affair so skillfully
+that the party passed off quite pleasantly, the disappointed guests
+playfully condoling with the deserted bridegroom, who received their
+jokes with a good grace, wishing himself, meantime, anywhere but
+there.
+
+That night, when the company were gone and all around was silent,
+Mrs. Livingstone watered her pillow with the first tears she had shed
+for her youngest born, whom she well knew _she_ had driven from home,
+and when her husband asked what they should do, she answered with a
+fresh burst of tears, "Send for Anna to come back."
+
+"And Malcolm, too?" queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless
+to send for one without the other.
+
+"Yes, Malcolm too.  There's room for both," said the weeping mother,
+feeling how every hour she should miss the little girl, whose
+presence had in it so much of sunlight and joy.
+
+But Anna would not return.  Away to the northward, in a fairy cottage
+overhung with the wreathing honeysuckle and the twining grape-vine,
+where the first summer flowers were blooming and the song-birds were
+caroling all the day long, her home was henceforth to be, and though
+the letter which contained her answer to her father's earnest appeal
+was stained and blotted, it told of perfect happiness with Malcolm,
+who kissed away her tears as she wrote, "Tell mother I cannot come."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+MORE CLOUDS.
+
+Since the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed himself 'Lena's
+champion, her health and spirits began to improve.  That she was not
+wholly indifferent to him she had every reason to believe, and
+notwithstanding the strong barrier between them, hope sometimes
+whispered to her of a future, when all that was now so dark and
+mysterious should be made plain.  But while she was thus securely
+dreaming, a cloud, darker and deeper than any which had yet
+overshadowed her, was gathering around her pathway.  Gradually had
+the story of her ride to Captain Atherton's gained circulation,
+magnifying itself as it went, until at last it was currently reported
+that at several different times had she been seen riding away from
+Sunnyside at unseasonable hours of the night, the time varying from
+nine in the evening to three in the morning according to the
+exaggerating powers of the informer.
+
+But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that each and
+every one repeated it to his or her neighbor, until at last it
+reached Mrs. Graham, who, forgetting the caution of her son, said,
+with a very wise look, that "she was not at all surprised--she had
+from the first suspected 'Lena, and she had the best of reasons for
+so doing!"
+
+Of course Mrs. Graham's friend was exceedingly anxious to know what
+she meant, and by dint of quizzing, questioning and promising never
+to tell, she at last drew out just enough of the story to know that
+Mr. Graham had a daguerreotype which looked just like 'Lena, and that
+Mrs. Graham had no doubt whatever that she was in the habit of
+writing to him.  This of course was repeated, notwithstanding the
+promise of secrecy, and many of the neighbors suddenly remembered
+some little circumstance trivial in itself, but all going to swell
+the amount of evidence against poor 'Lena, who, unconscious of the
+gathering storm, did not for a time observe the sidelong glances cast
+toward her whenever she appeared in public.
+
+Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of her
+acquaintances began to attract her attention, causing her to wonder
+what it all meant.  But there was no one of whom she would ask an
+explanation.  John Jr. was gone--Anna was gone--and to crown all,
+Durward, too, left the neighborhood just as the first breath of
+scandal was beginning to set the waves of gossip in motion.  In his
+absence, Mrs. Graham felt no restraint, whatever, and all that she
+knew, together with many things she didn't know, she told, until it
+became a matter of serious debate whether 'Lena ought not to be _cut_
+entirely.  Mrs. Graham and her clique decided in the affirmative, and
+when Mrs. Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed by public
+opinion, gave a small party for her daughter Maria, 'Lena was
+purposely omitted.  Hitherto she had been greatly petted and admired
+by both Maria and her mother, and she felt the slight sensibly, the
+more so, as Carrie darkly hinted that girls who could not behave
+themselves must not associate with respectable people.  "'Leny not
+invited!" said Mrs. Nichols, espousing the cause of her
+granddaughter.  "What's to pay, I wonder?  Miss Fontaine and the
+gineral, too, allus appeared to think a sight on her."
+
+"I presume the _general_ does now," answered Mrs. Livingstone, "but
+it's natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particular about the
+reputation of her daughter's associates."
+
+"And ain't 'Leny's reputation as good as the best on 'em," asked Mrs.
+Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with insulted pride.
+
+"It's the general opinion that it might be improved," was Mrs.
+Livingstone's haughty answer, as she left her mother-in-law to her
+own reflections.
+
+"It'll kill her stone dead," thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving in her
+own mind the propriety of telling 'Lena what her aunt had said.
+"It'll kill her stone dead, and I can't tell her.  Mebby it'll blow
+over pretty soon."
+
+That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of calling upon
+'Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one asked for her, and with her
+eyes and ears now sharpened, she fancied that once, as she was
+passing the parlor door, she heard her own name coupled with that of
+Mr. Graham.  A startling light burst upon her, and staggering to her
+room, she threw herself, half fainting, upon the bed, where an hour
+afterwards she was found by Aunt Milly.
+
+The old negress had also heard the story in its most aggravated form,
+and readily divining the cause of 'Lena's grief, attempted to console
+her, telling her "not to mind what the good-for-nothin' critters
+said; they war only mad 'cause she's so much handsomer and trimmer
+built."
+
+"You know, then," said 'Lena, lifting her head from the pillow.  "You
+know what it is; so tell me, for I shall die if I remain longer in
+suspense."
+
+"Lor' bless the child," exclaimed old Milly, "to think she's the very
+last one to know, when it's been common talk more than a month!"
+
+"What's been common talk?  What is it?" demanded 'Lena; and old
+Milly, seating herself upon a trunk, commenced: "Why, honey, hain't
+you hearn how you done got Mr. Graham's pictur and gin him yourn
+'long of one of them curls--how he's writ and you've writ, and how
+he's gone off to the eends of the airth to get rid on you--and how
+you try to cotch young Mas'r Durward, who hate the sight on you--how
+you waylay him one day, settin' on a rock out by the big gate--and
+how you been seen mighty nigh fifty times comin' home afoot from
+Captain Atherton's in the night, rainin' thunder and lightnin' hard
+as it could pour--how after you done got Miss Anna to 'lope, you ax
+Captain Atherton to have you, and git mad as fury 'cause he
+'fuses--and how your mother warn't none too likely, and a heap more
+that I can't remember--hain't you heard of none on't?"
+
+"None, none," answered 'Lena, while Milly continued, "It's a sin and
+shame for quality folks that belong to the meetin' to pitch into a
+poor 'fenseless girl and pick her all to pieces.  Reckon they done
+forgot what our Heabenly Marster told 'em when he lived here in old
+Kentuck, how they must dig the truck out of thar own eyes afore they
+go to meddlin' with others; but they never think of him these days,
+'cept Sundays, and then as soon as meetin' is out they done git
+together and talk about you and Mas'r Graham orfully.  I hearn 'em
+last Sunday, I and Miss Fontaine's cook, Cilly, and if they don't
+quit it, thar's a heap on us goin' to leave the church!"
+
+'Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who arose to leave
+the room, again told her not to care, as all the blacks were for her,
+she felt that she was not utterly alone in her wretchedness.  Still,
+the sympathy of the colored people alone could not help her, and
+dally matters grew worse, until at last even Nellie Douglass's faith
+was shaken, and 'Lena's heart died within her as she saw in her signs
+of neglect.  Never had Mr. Livingstone exchanged a word with her upon
+the subject, but the reserve with which he treated her plainly
+indicated that he, too, was prejudiced, while her aunt and Carrie let
+no opportunity pass of slighting her, the latter invariably leaving
+the room if she entered it.  On one such occasion, in a state
+bordering almost on distraction 'Lena flew back to her own chamber,
+where to her great surprise, she found her uncle in close
+conversation with her grandmother, whose face told the pain his words
+were inflicting.  'Lena's first impulse was to fall at his feet and
+implore his protection, but he prevented her by immediately leaving
+the room.
+
+"Oh, grandmother, grandmother," she cried, "help me, or I shall die."
+
+In her heart Mrs. Nichols believed her guilty, for John had said
+so--he would not lie; and to 'Lena's touching appeal for sympathy,
+she replied, as she rocked to and fro, "I wish you _had_ died, 'Leny,
+years and years ago."
+
+'Twas the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with the wailing cry,
+"God help me now--no one else can," the heart-broken girl fell
+fainting to the floor, while in silent agony Mrs. Nichols hung over
+her, shouting for help.
+
+Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but at the first
+call Aunt Milly hastened to the room.  "Poor sheared lamb," said she,
+gathering back the thick, clustering curls which shaded 'Lena's
+marble face, "she's innocent as the new-born baby."
+
+"Oh, if I could think so," said grandma; but she could not, and when
+the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and eagerly sought hers, they
+read distrust and doubt, and motioning her grandmother away, 'Lena
+said she would rather be alone.
+
+Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded upon her as she lay
+there watching the daylight fade from the distant hills, and musing
+of the stern realities around her.  Gradually her thoughts assumed a
+definite purpose; she would go away from a place where she was never
+wanted, and where she now no longer wished to stay.  Mr. Everett had
+promised to be her friend, and to him she would go.  At different
+intervals her uncle and cousin had given her money to the amount of
+twenty dollars, which was still in her possession, and which she knew
+would take her far on her road.
+
+With 'Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when sure her
+grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly made the needful
+preparations for her flight.  Unlike most aged people, Mrs. Nichols
+slept soundly, and 'Lena had no fears of waking her.  Very stealthily
+she moved around the room, placing in a satchel, which she could
+carry upon her arm, the few things she would need.  Then, sitting
+down by the table, she wrote:
+
+
+"DEAR GRANDMA: When you read this I shall be gone, for I cannot
+longer stay where all look upon me as a wretched, guilty thing.  I am
+innocent, grandma, as innocent as my angel mother when they dared to
+slander her, but you do not believe it, and that is the hardest of
+all.  I could have borne the rest, but when you, too, doubted me, it
+broke my heart, and now I am going away.  Nobody will care--nobody
+will miss me but you.
+
+"And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to write than it
+will you to read
+
+    "'LENA'S LAST GOOD-BYE"
+
+
+All was at length ready, and then bending gently over the wrinkled
+face so calmly sleeping, 'Lena gazed through blinding tears upon each
+lineament, striving to imprint it upon her heart's memory, and
+wondering if they would ever meet again.  The hand which had so often
+rested caressingly upon her young head, was lying outside the
+counterpane, and with one burning kiss upon it she turned away, first
+placing the lamp by the window, where its light, shining upon her
+from afar, would be the last thing she could see of the home she was
+leaving.
+
+The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was well known to
+her, and without once pausing, lest her courage should fail her, she
+pressed forward.  The distance which she had to travel was about
+three and a half miles, and as she did not dare trust herself in the
+highway, she struck into the fields, looking back as long as the
+glimmering light from the window could be seen, and then when that
+home star had disappeared from view, silently imploring aid from Him
+who alone could help her now.  She was in time for the cars, and,
+though the depot agent looked curiously at her slight, shrinking
+figure, he asked no questions, and when the train moved rapidly away,
+'Lena looked out upon the dark, still night, and felt that she was a
+wanderer in the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+REACTION.
+
+The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the window of
+Grandma Nichols's room, and roused her from her slumber.  On the
+pillow beside her rested no youthful head--there was no kind voice
+bidding her "good-morrow"--no gentle hand ministering to her
+comfort--for 'Lena was gone, and on the table lay the note, which at
+first escaped Mrs. Nichols's attention.  Thinking her granddaughter
+had arisen early and gone before her, she attempted to make her own
+toilet, which was nearly completed, when her eye caught the note.  It
+was directed to her, and with a dim foreboding she: took it up,
+reading that her child was gone--gone from those who should have
+sustained her in her hour of trial, but who, instead, turned against
+her, crushing her down, until in a state of desperation she had fled.
+It was in vain that the breakfast-bell rang out its loud summons.
+Grandma did not heed it; and when Corinda came up to seek her, she
+started back in affright at the scene before her.  Mrs. Nichols's cap
+was not yet on, and her thin gray locks fell around her livid face as
+she swayed from side to side, moaning at intervals, "God forgive me
+that I broke her heart."
+
+The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up she said,
+pointing toward the vacant bed, "'Leny's gone; I've killed her."
+
+Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and down the
+stairs, she rushed into the dining-room, announcing the startling
+news that "old miss had done murdered Miss 'Lena, and hid her under
+the bed!"
+
+"What _will_ come next!" exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following her
+husband to his mother's room where a moment sufficed to explain the
+whole.
+
+'Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled the poor old
+lady's reason.  The sight of his mother's distress aroused all the
+better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly soothing her, he told
+her that 'Lena should be found--he would go for her himself.  Carrie,
+too, was touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up the
+scattered locks, and tying on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an
+instant on the wrinkled brow.
+
+"Keep it there; it feels soft, like 'Leny's," said Mrs. Nichols, the
+tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy.
+
+Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with his wife,
+hurried off to the neighbors, none of whom knew aught of the
+fugitive, and all of whom offered their assistance in searching.
+Never once did it occur to Mr. Livingstone that she might have taken
+the cars, for that he knew would need money, and he supposed she had
+none in her possession.  By a strange coincidence, too, the depot
+agent who sold her the ticket, left the very next morning for
+Indiana, where he had been intending to go for some time, and where
+he remained for more than a week, thus preventing the information
+which he could otherwise have given concerning her flight.
+Consequently, Mr. Livingstone returned each night, weary and
+disheartened, to his home, where all the day long his mother moaned
+and wept, asking for her 'Lena.
+
+At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of the
+wanderer, she ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger came to
+the house, she would whisper softly to them, "'Leny's dead.  I killed
+her; did you know it?" at the same time passing to them the crumpled
+note, which she ever held in her hand.
+
+'Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had so
+recently denounced her, and when it became known that she was gone,
+there came a reaction, and those who had been the most bitter against
+her now changed their opinion, wondering how they could ever have
+thought her guilty.  The stories concerning her visits to Captain
+Atherton's were traced back to their source, resulting in exonerating
+her from all blame, while many things, hitherto kept secret,
+concerning Anna's engagement, were brought to light, and 'Lena was
+universally commended for her efforts to save her cousin from a
+marriage so wholly unnatural.  Severely was the captain censured for
+the part he had taken in deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly
+confessed, while he openly espoused the cause of the fugitive.
+
+Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough to make a
+like confession.  Public suspicion pointed to her as the interceptor
+of Anna's letters, and though she did not deny it, she wondered what
+that had to do with 'Lena, at the same time asking "how they expected
+to clear up the Graham affair."
+
+This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of feeling the
+neighborhood were willing to overlook many things which had before
+seemed dark and mysterious, while Mrs. Graham, for some most
+unaccountable reason, suddenly retracted almost everything she had
+said, acknowledging that she was too hasty in her conclusions, and
+evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest perfectly
+surprising to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in utter astonishment,
+wondering what the end would be.  About this time Durward returned,
+greatly pained at the existing state of things.  In Frankfort, where
+'Lena's flight was a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot
+agent, who was on his way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose
+rather singular manner had attracted his attention.  This was
+undoubtedly 'Lena, and after a few moments' conversation with his
+mother, Durward announced his intention of going after her, at least
+as far as Rockford, where he fancied she might have gone.
+
+To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her manner seemed
+so strange that he at last asked what was the matter.
+
+"Nothing--nothing in particular," said she, "only I've been thinking
+it all over lately, and I've come to the conclusion that perhaps
+'Lena is innocent after all."
+
+Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost
+before she had finished speaking, with, "_Do_ you know anything?
+Have you heard anything?"
+
+She _had_ heard--she _did_ know; but ere she could reply, the violent
+ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, prevented her
+answer.  In a perfect fever of excitement Durward glanced at his
+watch.  If he waited long, he would be too late for the cars, and
+with a hasty adieu he left the parlor, turning back ere he reached
+the outer door, and telling his mother he must speak with her alone.
+If Mrs. Graham had at first intended to divulge what she knew, the
+impulse was now gone, and to her son's urgent request that she should
+disclose what she knew, she replied, "It isn't much--only your father
+has another daguerreotype, the counterpart of the first one.  He
+procured it in Cincinnati, and 'Lena I know was not there."
+
+"Is that all?" asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.
+
+"Why no, not exactly.  I have examined both pictures closely, and I
+do not think they resemble 'Lena as much as we at first supposed.
+Possibly it might have been some one else, her mother, may be," and
+Mrs. Graham looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently
+answered, "Her mother died years ago."
+
+At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he had heard,
+and hoping, half believing, that 'Lena would yet be exonerated from
+all blame.  For a moment Mrs. Graham gazed after him, regretting that
+she had not told him all, but thinking there was time enough yet, and
+remembering that her husband had said she might wait until his
+return, if she chose, she went back to the parlor while Durward kept
+on his way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+THE WANDERER.
+
+Fiercely the noontide blaze of a scorching July sun was falling upon
+the huge walls of the "Laurel Hill Sun," where a group of idlers were
+lounging on the long, narrow piazza, some niching into still more
+grotesque carving the rude, unpainted railing, while others, half
+reclining on one elbow, shaded their eyes with their old slouch hats,
+as they gazed wistfully toward the long hill, eager to catch the first
+sight of the daily stage which was momentarily expected.
+
+"Jerry is late, to-day--but it's so plaguy hot he's favorin' his
+hosses, I guess," said the rosy-faced landlord, with that peculiar
+intonation which stamped him at once a genuine Yankee.
+
+"A watched pot never biles," muttered one of the loungers, who
+regularly for fifteen years had been at his post, waiting for the
+stage, which during all that time had brought him neither letter,
+message, friend, nor foe.
+
+But force of habit is everything, and after the very wise saying
+recorded above, he resumed his whittling, never again looking up until
+the loud blast of the driver's horn was heard on the distant hill-top,
+where the four weary, jaded horses were now visible.  It was the
+driver's usual custom to blow his horn from the moment he appeared on
+the hill, until with a grand flourish he reined his panting steeds
+before the door of the inn.  But this time there was one sharp, shrill
+sound, and then all was still, the omission eliciting several remarks
+not very complimentary to the weather, which was probably the cause of
+"Jerry's" unwonted silence.  Very slowly the vehicle came on, the
+horses never leaving a walk, and the idler of fifteen years' standing,
+who for a time had suspended his whittling, "wondered what was to pay."
+
+A nearer approach revealed three or four male passengers, all occupied
+with a young lady, who, on the back seat, was carefully supported by
+one of her companions.
+
+"A sick gal, I guess.  Wonder if the disease is catchin'?" said the
+whittler, standing back several paces and looking over the heads of the
+others, who crowded forward as the stage came up.  The loud greeting of
+the noisy group was answered by Jerry with a low "sh--sh," as he
+pointed significantly at the slight form which two of the gentlemen
+were lifting from the coach, asking at the same time if there were a
+physician near.
+
+"What's the matter on her?  Hain't got the cholery, has she," said the
+landlord, who, having hallooed to his wife to "fetch up her vittles,"
+now appeared on the piazza ready to welcome his guests.
+
+At the first mention of cholera, the fifteen years' man vamosed,
+retreating across the road, and seating himself on the fence under the
+shadow of the locust trees.
+
+"Who is she, Jerry?" asked the younger of the set, gazing curiously
+upon the white, beautiful face of the stranger, who had been laid upon
+the lounge in the common sitting-room.
+
+"Lord only knows," said Jerry, wiping the heavy drops of sweat from his
+good-humored face; "I found her at the hotel in Livony.  She came there
+in the cars, and said she wanted to go over to 'tother railroad.  She
+was so weak that I had to lift her into the stage as I would a baby,
+and she ain't much heavier.  You orto seen how sweet she smiled when
+she thanked me, and asked me not to drive very fast, it made her head
+ache so.  Zounds, I wouldn't of trotted the horses if I'd never got
+here.  Jest after we started she fainted, and she's been kinder talkin'
+strange like ever since.  Some of the gentlemen thought I'd better
+leave her back a piece at Brown's tavern, but I wanted to fetch her
+here, where Aunt Betsy could nuss her up, and then I can kinder tend to
+her myself, you know."
+
+This last remark called forth no answering joke, for Jerry's companions
+all knew his kindly nature, and it was no wonder to them that his
+sympathies were so strongly enlisted for the fair girl thus thrown upon
+his protection.  It was a big, noble heart over which Jerry Langley
+buttoned his driver's coat, and when the physician who had arrived
+pronounced the lady too ill to proceed any further, he called aside the
+fidgety landlord, whose peculiarities he well knew, and bade him "not
+to fret and stew, for if the gal hadn't money, Jerry Langley was good
+for a longer time than she would live, poor critter;" and he wiped a
+tear away, glancing, the while, at the burying-ground which lay just
+across the garden, and thinking how if she died, her grave should be
+beneath the wide-spreading oak, where often in the summer nights he
+sat, counting the head-stones which marked the last resting place of
+the slumbering host, and wondering if death were, as some had said, a
+long, eternal sleep.
+
+Aunt Betsey, of whom he had spoken, was the landlady, a little dumpy,
+pleasant-faced, active woman, equally in her element bending over the
+steaming gridiron, or smoothing the pillows of the sick-bed, where her
+powers of nursing had won golden laurels from Others than Jerry
+Langley.  When the news was brought to the kitchen that among the
+passengers was a sick girl, who was to be left, her first thought,
+natural to everybody, was, "What shall I do ?" while the second,
+natural to her, was, "Take care of her, of course."
+
+Accordingly, when the dinner was upon the table, she laid aside her
+broad check apron, substituting in its place a half-worn silk, for
+Jerry had reported the invalid to be "every inch a lady;" then
+smoothing her soft, silvery hair with her fat, rosy hands, she repaired
+to the sitting-room, where she found the driver watching his charge,
+from whom he kept the buzzing flies by means of his bandana, which he
+waved to and fro with untiring patience.
+
+"Handsome as a London doll," was her first exclamation, adding, "but I
+should think she'd be awful hot with them curls, dangling' in her neck!
+If she's goin' to be sick they'd better be cut off!"
+
+If there was any one thing for which Aunt Betsey Aldergrass possessed a
+particular passion, it was for _hair-cutting_, she being barber general
+for Laurel Hill, which numbered about thirty houses, store and church
+inclusive, and now when she saw the shining tresses which lay in such
+profusion upon the pillow, her fingers tingled to their very tips,
+while she involuntarily felt for her scissors!  Very reverentially, as
+if it were almost sacrilege, Jerry's broad palm was laid protectingly
+upon the clustering ringlets, while he said, "No, Aunt Betsey, if she
+dies for't, you shan't touch one of them; 'twould spile her hair, she
+looks so pretty."
+
+Slowly the long, fringed lids unclosed, and the brown eyes looked up so
+gratefully at Jerry, that he beat a precipitate retreat, muttering to
+himself that "he never could stand the gals, anyway, they made his
+heart thump so!"
+
+"Am I very sick, and can't I go on?" asked the young lady, attempting
+to rise, but sinking back from extreme weakness.
+
+"Considerable sick, I guess," answered the landlady, taking from a side
+cupboard an immense decanter of camphor, and passing it toward the
+stranger.  "Considerable sick, and I wouldn't wonder if you had to lay
+by a day or so.  Will they be consarned about you to home, 'cause if
+they be, my old man'll write."
+
+"I have no home," was the sad answer, to which Aunt Betsey responded in
+astonishment, "Hain't no home!  Where does your marm live?"
+
+"Mother is dead," said the girl, her tears dropping fast upon the
+pillow.
+
+Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, "And your
+pa--where is he?"
+
+"I never saw him," said the girl, while her interrogator continued:
+"Never saw your pa, and your marm is dead--poor child, what is your
+name, and where did you come from?"
+
+For a moment the stranger hesitated, and then thinking it better to
+tell the truth at once, she replied, "My name is 'Lena.  I lived with
+my uncle a great many miles from here, but I wasn't happy.  They did
+not want me there, and I ran away.  I am going to my cousin, but I'd
+rather not tell where, so you will please not ask me."
+
+There was something in her manner which silenced Aunt Betsey, who,
+erelong, proposed that she should go upstairs and lie down on a nice
+little bed, where she would be more quiet.  But 'Lena refused, saying
+she should feel better soon.
+
+"Mebby, then, you'd eat a mouffle or two.  We've got some roasted pork,
+and Hetty'll warm over the gravy;" but 'Lena's stomach rebelled at the
+very thought, seeing which, the landlady went back to the kitchen,
+where she soon prepared a bowl of gruel, in spite of the discouraging
+remarks of her husband, who, being a little after the _Old Hunks_
+order, cautioned her "not to fuss too much, as gals that run away
+warn't apt to be plagued with money"
+
+Fortunately, Aunt Betsey's heart covered a broader sphere, and the
+moment the stage was gone she closed the door to shut out the dust,
+dropped the green curtains, and drawing from the spare-room a large,
+stuffed chair, bade 'Lena "see if she couldn't set up a minit."  But
+this was impossible, and all that long, sultry afternoon she lay upon
+the lounge, holding her aching head, which seemed well-nigh bursting
+with its weight of pain and thought.  "Was it right for her to run
+away?  Ought she not to have stayed and bravely met the worst?  Suppose
+she were to die there alone, among strangers and without money, for her
+scanty purse was well-nigh drained."  These and similar reflections
+crowded upon her, until her brain grew wild and dizzy, and when at
+sunset the physician came again he was surprised to find how much her
+fever had increased.
+
+"She ought not to lie here," said he, as he saw how the loud shouts of
+the school-boys made her shudder.  "Isn't there some place where she
+can be more quiet?"
+
+At the head of the stairs was a small room, containing a single bed and
+a window, which last looked out upon the garden and the graveyard
+beyond.  Its furniture was of the plainest kind, it being reserved for
+more common travelers, and here the landlord said 'Lena must be taken.
+His wife would far rather have given her the front chamber, which was
+large, airy and light, but Uncle Tim Aldergrass said "No," squealing
+out through his little peaked nose that "'twarn't an atom likely he'd
+ever more'n half git his pay, anyway, and he warn't a goin' to give up
+the hull house."
+
+"How much more will it be if she has the best chamber," asked Jerry,
+pulling at Uncle Tim's coattail and leading him aside.  "How much will
+it be, 'cause if 'taint too much, she shan't stay in that eight by nine
+pen."
+
+"A dollar a week, and cheap at that," muttered Uncle Tim, while Jerry,
+going out behind the wood-house, counted over his funds, sighing as he
+found them quite too small to meet the extra, dollar per week, should
+she long continue ill.
+
+"If I hadn't of fooled so much away for tobacker and things, I
+shouldn't be so plaguy poor now," thought he, forgetting the many
+hearts which his hard-earned gains had made glad, for no one ever
+appealed in vain for help from Jerry Langley, who represented one class
+of Yankees, while Timothy Aldergrass represented another.
+
+The next morning just as daylight was beginning to be visible, Jerry
+knocked softly at Aunt Betsey's door, telling her that for more than an
+hour he'd heard the young lady takin' on, and he guessed she was worse.
+Hastily throwing on her loose gown Aunt Betsey repaired to 'Lena's
+room, where she found her sitting up in the bed, moaning, talking, and
+whispering, while the wild expression of her eyes betokened a
+disordered brain.
+
+"The Lord help us! she's crazy as a loon.  Run for the doctor, quick!"
+exclaimed Mrs. Aldergrass, and without boot or shoe, Jerry ran off in
+his stocking-feet, alarming the physician, who immediately hastened to
+the inn, pronouncing 'Lena's disease to be brain fever, as he had at
+first feared.
+
+Rapidly she grew worse, talking of her home, which was sometimes in
+Kentucky and sometimes in Massachusetts, where she said they had buried
+her mother.  At other times she would ask Aunt Betsey to send for
+Durward when she was dead, and tell him how innocent she was.
+
+"Didn't I tell you there was something wrong?" Uncle Timothy would
+squeak.  "Nobody knows who we are harborin' nor how much 'twill damage
+the house."
+
+But as day after day went by, and 'Lena's fever raged more fiercely,
+even Uncle Tim relented, and when she would beg of them to take her
+home and bury her by the side of Mabel, where Durward could see her
+grave, he would sigh, "Poor critter, I wish you was to home," but
+whether this wish was prompted by a sincere desire to please 'Lena, or
+from a more selfish motive, we are unable to state.  One morning, the
+fifth of 'Lena's illness, she seemed much worse, talking incessantly
+and tossing from side to side, her long hair floating in wild disorder
+over her pillow, or streaming down her shoulders.  Hitherto Aunt Betsey
+had restrained her _barberic_ desire, each day arranging the heavy
+locks, and tucking them under the muslin cap, where they refused to
+stay.  Once the doctor himself had suggested the propriety of cutting
+them away, adding, though, that they would wait awhile, as it was a
+pity to lose them.
+
+"Better be cut off than yanked off," said Aunt Betsey, on the morning
+when 'Lena in her frenzy would occasionally tear out handfulls of her
+shining hair and scatter it over the floor.
+
+Satisfied that she was doing right, she carefully approached the
+bedside, and taking one of the curls in her hand, was about to sever
+it, when 'Lena, divining her intentions, sprang up, and gathering up
+her hair, exclaimed, "No, no, not these; take everything else, but
+leave me my curls.  Durward thought they were beautiful, and I cannot
+lose them."
+
+At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its passengers,
+and as the tones of their voices came in at the open window, 'Lena
+suddenly grew calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered,
+"Hark!  He's come.  Don't you hear him?"
+
+But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling her to come
+down, and leaving 'Lena, who had almost instantly become quiet, to the
+care of a neighbor, she started for the kitchen, meeting in the lower
+hall with Hetty, who was showing one of the passengers to a room where
+he could wash and refresh himself after his dusty ride.  As they passed
+each other, Hetty asked, "Have you clipped her curls?"
+
+"No," answered Mrs. Aldergrass, "she wouldn't let me touch 'em, for she
+said that Durward, whom she talks so much about, liked 'em, and they
+mustn't be cut off."
+
+Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty and her
+mistress had been admiring, stopped, and turning to the latter, said,
+"Of whom are you speaking?"
+
+"Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days ago,"
+answered Mrs. Aldergrass.
+
+"What is her name, and where does she live?" continued the stranger.
+
+"She calls herself 'Lena, but the 'tother name I don't know, and I
+guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts."
+
+The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically followed Hetty
+to his room, starting and turning pale as a wild, unnatural laugh fell
+on his ear.
+
+"It is the young lady, sir," said Hetty, observing his agitated manner.
+"She raves most all the time, and the doctor says she'll die if she
+don't stop."
+
+The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he wished to be,
+alone.  He had found her then--his lost 'Lena--sick, perhaps dying, and
+his heart gave one agonized throb as he thought, "What if she should
+die?  Yet why should I wish her to live?" he asked, "when she is as
+surely lost to me as if she were indeed resting in her grave!"
+
+And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet
+be well, else, perhaps, he had never followed her.  Believing she would
+stop at Mr. Everett's, he had come on thus far, finding her where he
+least expected it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure
+mingled with his pain as he thought how he would protect and care for
+her, ministering to her comfort, and softening, as far as possible, the
+disagreeable things which he saw must necessarily surround her.  Money,
+he knew, would purchase almost everything, and if ever Durward Bellmont
+felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found 'Lena Rivers sick and
+alone at the not very comfortable inn of Laurel Hill.
+
+As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry--whose long, lank
+figure and original manner had afforded him much amusement during his
+ride--handing a dozen or more oranges to Mrs. Aldergrass, saying, as he
+did so, "They are for Miss 'Lena.  I thought mebby they'd taste good,
+this hot weather, and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest and
+best."
+
+For a moment Durward's cheek flushed at the idea of Lena's being cared
+for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart grew warm toward
+the uncouth driver who, without any possible motive save the promptings
+of his own kindly nature, had thus thought of the stranger girl.
+Erelong the stage was announced as ready and waiting, but to the
+surprise and regret of his fellow-passengers, who had found him a most
+agreeable traveling companion, Durward said he was not going any
+further that day.
+
+"A new streak, ain't it?" asked Jerry, who knew he was booked for the
+entire route; but the young man made no reply, and the fresh, spirited
+horses soon bore the lumbering vehicle far out of sight, leaving him to
+watch the cloud of dust which it carried in its train.
+
+Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that a guest of
+Durward's appearance honored his house with more than a passing call,
+and with the familiarity so common to a country landlord, he slapped
+him on the shoulder, telling him "there was the tallest kind of fish in
+the Honeoye," whose waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were
+just discernible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight.
+
+"I never fish, thank you, sir," answered Durward, while the
+good-natured landlord continued: "Now you don't say it!  Hunt, then,
+mebby?"
+
+"Occasionally," said Durward, adding, "But my reason for stopping here
+is of entirely a different nature.  I hear there is with you a sick
+lady.  She is a friend of mine, and I am staying to see that she is
+well attended to."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his opinion of 'Lena,
+whose want of money had made him sadly suspicious of her.  "Yes, yes, a
+fine gal; fell into good hands, too, for my old woman is the greatest
+kind of a nuss.  Want to see her, don't you?--the lady I mean."
+
+"Not just yet; I would like a few moments' conversation with your wife
+first," answered Durward.
+
+Greatly frustrated when she learned that the stylish looking gentleman
+wished to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her shining face with
+flour, and donning another cap, repaired to the sitting-room, where she
+commenced making excuses about herself, the house, and everything else,
+saying, "'twant what he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he'd try
+to put up with it."
+
+As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded to ask her
+every particular concerning 'Lena's illness, and whether she would
+probably recognize him should he venture into her presence,
+
+"Bless your dear heart, no.  She hain't known a soul on us these three
+days.  Sometimes she calls me 'grandmother,' and says when she's dead
+I'll know she's innocent.  'Pears Like somebody has been slanderin'
+her, for she begs and pleads with Durward, as she calls him, not to
+believe it.  Ain't you the one she means?"
+
+Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued:
+
+"I thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin' straight in
+the bed, ravin' and screechin', but the minit she heard your voice she
+dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since.  Will you go up now?"
+
+Durward signified his willingness, and following his landlady, he soon
+stood in the close, pent-up room where, in an uneasy slumber, 'Lena lay
+panting for breath, and at intervals faintly moaning in her sleep.  She
+had fearfully changed since last he saw her, and with a groan, he bent
+over her, murmuring, "My poor 'Lena," while he gently laid his cool,
+moist hand upon her burning brow.  As if there were something soothing
+in its touch, she quickly placed her little hot, parched hand on his,
+whispering, "Keep it there.  It will make me well."
+
+For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and carefully removing
+from her face and neck the thick curls which Mrs. Aldergrass had
+thought to cut away.  At last she awoke, but Durward shrank almost in
+fear from the wild, bright eyes which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in
+them was no ray of reason.  She called him "John" blessing him for
+coming, and saying, "Did you tell Durward.  Does _he_ know?"
+
+"I am Durward," said he.  "Don't you recognize me?  Look again."
+
+"No, no," she answered, with a mocking laugh, which made him shudder,
+it was so unlike the merry, ringing tones he had once loved to hear.
+"No, no, you are not Durward.  He would not look at me as you do.  He
+thinks me guilty."
+
+It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his identity.  She
+would only answer with a laugh, which grated so harshly on his ear that
+he finally desisted, and suffered her to think he was her cousin.  The
+smallness of her chamber troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up
+he asked if there was no other apartment where 'Lena would be more
+comfortable.
+
+"Of course there is," said Aunt Betsy.  "There's the best chamber I was
+goin' to give to you."
+
+"Never mind me," said he.  "Let her have every comfort the house
+affords, and you shall be amply paid."
+
+Uncle Timothy had now no objection to the offer, and the large, airy
+room with its snowy, draped bed was soon in readiness for the sufferer,
+who, in one of her wayward moods, absolutely refused to be moved.  It
+was in vain that Aunt Betsey plead, persuaded, and threatened, and at
+last in despair Durward was called in to try his powers of persuasion.
+
+"That's something more like it," said 'Lena, and when he urged upon her
+the necessity of her removal, she asked, "Will you go with me?"
+
+"Certainly," said he.
+
+"And stay with me?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Then I'll go," she continued, stretching her arms toward him as a
+child toward its mother.
+
+A moment more and she was reclining on the soft downy pillows, the
+special pride of Mrs. Aldergrass, who bustled in and out, while her
+husband, ashamed of his stinginess, said "they should of moved her
+afore, only 'twas a bad sign."
+
+During the remainder of the day she seemed more quiet, talking
+incessantly, it is true, but never raving if Durward were near.  If is
+strange what power he had over her, a word from him sufficing at any
+time to subdue her when in her most violent fits of frenzy.  For two
+days and nights he watched by her side, never giving himself a moment's
+rest, while the neighbors looked on, surmising and commenting as people
+always will.  Every delicacy of the season, however costly, was
+purchased for her comfort, while each morning the flowers which he knew
+she loved the best were freshly gathered from the different gardens of
+Laurel Hill, and in broken pitchers, cracked tumblers, and nicked
+saucers, adorned the room.
+
+At the close of the third day she fell into a heavy slumber, and
+Durward, worn out and weary, retired to take the rest he so much
+needed.  For a long time 'Lena slept, watched by the physician, who,
+knowing that the crisis had arrived, waited anxiously for her waking,
+which came at last, bringing with it the light of returning reason.
+Dreamily she gazed about the room, and in a voice no longer strong with
+the excitement of delirium, asked, "Where am I, and how came I here?"
+
+In a few words the physician explained all that was necessary for her
+to know, and then going for Mrs. Aldergrass, told her of the favorable
+change in his patient, adding that a sudden shock might still prove
+fatal.  "Therefore," said he, "though I know not in what relation this
+Mr. Bellmont stands to her, I think it advisable for her to remain
+awhile in ignorance of his presence.  It is of the utmost consequence
+that she be kept quiet for a few days, at the end of which time she can
+see him."
+
+All this Aunt Betsey communicated to Durward, who unwilling to do
+anything which would endanger 'Lena's safety, kept himself aloof,
+treading softly and speaking low, for as if her hearing were sharpened
+by disease she more than once, when he was talking in the hall below,
+started up, listening eagerly; then, as if satisfied that she had been
+deceived, she would resume her position, while the flush on her cheek
+deepened as she thought, "Oh, what if it had indeed been he!"
+
+Nearly all the day long he sat just without the door, holding his
+breath as he caught the faint tones of her voice, and longing for the
+hour when he could see her, and obtain, if possible, some clue to the
+mystery attending her and his father.  His mother's words, together
+with what he had heard 'Lena say in her ravings, had tended to convince
+him that _she_, at least, might be innocent, and once assured of this,
+he felt that he would gladly fold her to his bosom, and cherish her
+there as the choicest of heaven's blessings.  All this time 'Lena had
+no suspicion of his presence, but she wondered at the many luxuries
+which surrounded her, and once, when Mrs. Aldergrass offered her some
+choice wine, she asked who it was that supplied her with so many
+comforts.  Aunt Betsey's, forte did not lay in keeping a secret, and
+rather evasively she replied, "You mustn't ask me too many questions
+just yet!"
+
+'Lena's suspicions were at once aroused, and for more than an hour she
+lay thinking--trying to recall something which seamed to her like a
+dream.  At last calling Aunt Betsey to her, she said, "There was
+somebody here while I was so sick--somebody besides strangers--somebody
+that stayed with me all the time--who was it?"
+
+"Nobody, nobody--I mustn't tell," said Mrs. Aldergrass, hurriedly,
+while 'Lena continued, "Was it Cousin John?"
+
+"No, no; don't guess any more," was Mrs. Aldergrass's reply, and 'Lena,
+clasping her hands together, exclaimed, "Oh, could it he be?"
+
+The words reached Durward's ear, and nothing but a sense of the harm it
+might do prevented him from going at once to her bedside.  That night,
+at his earnest request, the physician gave him permission to see her in
+the morning, and Mrs. Aldergrass was commissioned to prepare her for
+the interview.  'Lena did not ask who it was; she felt that she knew;
+and the knowledge that he was there--that he had cared for
+her--operated upon her like a spell, soothing her into the most
+refreshing slumber she had experienced for many a weary week.  With the
+sun-rising she was awake, but Mrs. Aldergrass, who came in soon after,
+told her that the visitor was not to be admitted until about ten, as
+she would by that time have become more composed, and be the better
+able to endure the excitement of the interview.  A natural delicacy
+prevented 'Lena from objecting to the delay, and, as calmly as
+possible, she watched Mrs. Aldergrass while she put the room to rights,
+and then patiently submitted to the arranging of her curls, which
+during her illness had become matted and tangled.  Before eight
+everything was in readiness, and soon after, worn out by her own
+exertions, 'Lena again fell asleep.
+
+"How lovely she looks," thought Mrs. Aldergrass.  "He shall just have a
+peep at her," and stepping to the door she beckoned Durward to her side.
+
+Never before had 'Lena, seemed so beautiful to him, and as he looked
+upon her, he felt his doubts removing, one by one.  She was
+innocent--it could not be otherwise--and very impatiently he awaited
+the lapse of the two hours which must pass ere he could see her, face
+to face.  At length, as the surest way of killing time, he started out
+for a walk in a pleasant wood, which skirted the foot of Laurel Hill.
+
+Here for a time we leave him, while in another chapter we speak of an
+event which, in the natural order of things, should here be narrated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+'LENA'S FATHER.
+
+Two or three days before the morning of which we have spoken, Uncle
+Timothy, who like many of his profession had been guilty of a slight
+infringement of the "Maine" liquor law, had been called to answer for
+the same at the court then in session in the village of Canandaigua,
+the terminus of the stage route.  Altogether too stingy to pay the
+coach fare, his own horse had carried him out, going for him on the
+night preceding Durward's projected meeting with 'Lena.  On the
+afternoon of that day the cars from New York brought up several
+passengers, who being bound for Buffalo, were obliged to wait some
+hours for the arrival of the Albany train.
+
+Among those who stopped at the same house with Uncle Timothy, was our
+old acquaintance, Mr. Graham, who had returned from Europe, and was
+now homeward bound, firmly fixed in his intention to do right at
+last.  Many and many a time, during his travels had the image of a
+pale, sad face arisen before him, accusing him of so long neglecting
+to own his child, for 'Lena was his daughter, and she, who in all her
+bright beauty had years ago gone down to an early grave, was his
+wife, the wife of his first, and in bitterness of heart he sometimes
+thought, of his only love.  His childhood's home, which was at the
+sunny south, was not a happy one, for ere he had learned to lisp his
+mother's name, she had died, leaving him to the guardianship of his
+father, who was cold, exacting, and tyrannical, ruling his son with a
+rod of iron, and by his stern, unbending manner increasing the
+natural cowardice of his disposition.  From his mother Harry had
+inherited a generous, impulsive nature, frequently leading him into
+errors which his father condemned with so much severity that he early
+learned the art of concealment, as far, at least, as his father was
+concerned.
+
+At the age of eighteen he left home for Yale, where he spent four
+happy years, for the restraints of college life, though sometimes
+irksome, were preferable far to the dull monotony of his southern
+home; and when at last he was graduated, and there was no longer an
+excuse for tarrying, he lingered by the way, stopping at the then
+village of Springfield, where, actuated by some sudden freak, he
+registered himself as Harry _Rivers_, the latter being his middle
+name.  For doing this he had no particular reason, except that it
+suited his fancy, and Rivers, he thought, was a better name than
+Graham.  Here he met with Helena Nichols, whose uncommon beauty first
+attracted his attention, and whose fresh, unstudied manners afterward
+won his love to such an extent, that in an unguarded moment, and
+without a thought of the result, he married her, neglecting to tell
+her his real name before their marriage, because he feared she would
+cease to respect him if she knew he had deceived her, and then
+afterward finding it harder than ever to confess his fault.
+
+As time wore on, his father's letters, commanding him to return, grew
+more and more peremptory, until at last he wrote, "I am
+sick--dying--and if you do not come, I'll cast you off forever."
+
+Harry knew this was no unmeaning threat, and he now began to reap the
+fruit of his folly.  He could not give up Helena, who daily grew
+dearer to him, neither could he brave the displeasure of his father
+by acknowledging his marriage, for disinheritance was sure to follow.
+In this dilemma he resolved to compromise the matter.  He would leave
+Helena awhile; he would visit his father, and if a favorable
+opportunity occurred, he would confess all; if not, he would return
+to his wife and do the best he could.  But she must be provided for
+during his absence, and to effect this, he wrote to his father,
+saying he stood greatly in need of five hundred dollars, and that
+immediately on its receipt he would start for home.  Inconsistent as
+it seemed with his general character, the elder Mr. Graham was
+generous with his money, lavishing upon his son all that he asked
+for, and the money was accordingly sent without a moment's hesitation.
+
+And now Harry's besetting sin, _secrecy_, came again in action, and
+instead of manfully telling Helena the truth, he left her privately,
+stealing away at night, and quieting his conscience by promising
+himself to reveal all in a letter, which was actually written, but as
+at the time of its arrival Helena was at home, and the postmaster
+knew of no such person, it was at last sent to Washington with
+thousands of its companions.  The reader already knows how 'Lena's
+young mother watched for her recreant husband's coming until life and
+hope died out together, and it is only necessary to repeat that part
+of the story which relates to Harry, who on his return home found his
+father much worse than he expected.  At his bedside, ministering to
+his wants, was a young, dashing widow, who prided herself upon being
+Lady Bellmont.  On his death-bed her father had committed her to the
+guardianship of Mr. Graham, who, strictly honorable in all his
+dealings, had held his trust until the time of her marriage with a
+young Englishman.
+
+Unfortunately, as it proved for Harry, and fortunately for Sir
+Arthur, who had nothing in common with his wife, the latter died
+within two years after his marriage, leaving his widow and infant son
+again to the care of Mr. Graham, with whom Lady Bellmont, as she was
+pleased to call herself, lived at intervals, swaying him whichever
+way she listed, and influencing him as he had never been influenced
+before.  The secret of this was, that the old man had his eye upon
+her vast possessions, which he destined for his son, who, ignorant of
+the honor intended him, had presumed to marry according to the
+promptings of his heart.
+
+Scarcely was the first greeting over, ere his father at once made
+known his plans, to which Harry listened with mingled pain and
+amazement.  "Lucy--Lady Bellmont!" said he, "why, she's a mother--a
+widow--beside being ten years my senior."
+
+"Three years," interrupted his father.  "She is twenty-five, you
+twenty-two, and then as to her being a widow and a mother, the
+immensity of her wealth atones for that.  She is much sought after,
+but I think she prefers you.  She will make you a good wife, and I am
+resolved to see the union consummated ere I die."
+
+"Never sir, never," answered Harry, in a more decided manner than he
+had before assumed toward his father.  "It is utterly impossible."
+
+Mr. Graham was too much exhausted to urge the matter at that time,
+but he continued at intervals to harass Harry, until the very sight
+of Lucy Bellmont became hateful to him.  It was not so, however, with
+the son, the Durward of our story.  He was a fine little fellow, whom
+every one loved, and for hours would Harry amuse himself with him,
+while his thoughts were with his own wife and child, the latter of
+whom was to be so strangely connected with the fortunes of the boy at
+his side.  For weeks his father lingered, each day seeming an age to
+Harry, who, though he did not wish to hasten his father's death,
+still longed to be away.  Twice had he written without obtaining an
+answer, and he was about making up his mind to start, at all events,
+when his father suddenly died, leaving him the sole heir of all his
+princely fortune, and with his latest breath enjoining it upon him to
+marry Lucy Bellmont, who, after the funeral was over, adverted to it,
+saying, in her softest tones, "I hope you don't feel obliged to
+fulfill your father's request."
+
+"Of course not," was Harry's short answer, as he went on with his
+preparations for his journey, anticipating the happiness he should
+experience in making Helena the mistress of his luxurious home.
+
+But alas for human hopes.  The very morning on which he was intending
+to start, he was seized with a fever, which kept him confined to his
+bed until the spring was far advanced.  Sooner than he was able he
+started for Springfield in quest of Helena, learning from the woman
+whom he had left in charge, that she was dead, and her baby too!  The
+shock was too much for him in his weak state, and for two weeks he
+was again confined to a sick-bed, sincerely mourning the untimely end
+of one whom he had truly loved, and whose death his own foolish
+conduct had hastened.
+
+Soon after their marriage her portrait had been taken by the best
+artist in the town, and this he determined to procure as a memento of
+the few happy days he had spent with Helena.  But the cottage where
+he left her was now occupied by strangers, and after many inquiries,
+he learned that the portrait, together with some of the furniture,
+had been sold to pay the rent, which became due soon after his
+departure.  His next thought was to visit her parents, but from this
+his natural timidity shrank.  They would reproach him, he thought,
+with the death of their daughter, whom he had so deeply wronged, and
+not possessing sufficient courage to meet them face to face, he again
+started for home, bearing a sad heart, which scarcely again felt a
+thrill of joy until the morning when he first met with 'Lena, whose
+exact resemblance to her mother so startled him as to arouse the
+jealousy of his wife.
+
+It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the many ways and
+means by which Lucy Bellmont sought to ensnare him.  Suffice it to
+say, that she at last succeeded, and he married her, finding in the
+companionship of her son more real pleasure than he ever experienced
+in her society.  After a time Mrs. Graham, growing weary of
+Charleston, where her haughty, overbearing manner made her unpopular,
+besought her husband to remove, which he finally did, going to
+Louisville, where he remained until the time of his removal to
+Woodlawn.  Fully believing what the old nurse had told him of the
+death of his wife and child, he had no idea of the existence of the
+latter, though often in the stillness of night the remembrance of the
+little girl whom Durward had pointed out to him in the cars, arose
+before him, haunting him with visions of the past, but it was not
+until he met her at Maple Grove that he entertained a thought of her
+being his daughter.
+
+From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there was now an
+object for which to live.  Carefully had he guarded from his wife a
+knowledge of his first marriage, for he dreaded her sneering
+reproaches, and he could not hear his beloved Helena's name breathed
+lightly by one so greatly her inferior.  When he saw 'Lena, however,
+his first impulse was to clasp her in his arms and compel his wife to
+own her, but day after day went by, and he still delayed, hoping for
+a more favorable opportunity, which never came.  Had he found her in
+less favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but
+seeing only the brightest side of her life, he believed her
+comparatively happy.  She was well educated, accomplished, and
+beautiful, and so he waited, secure in the fact that he was near to
+see that no harm should befall her.  Once it occurred to him that
+possibly he might die suddenly, thus leaving his relationship to her
+a secret forever, and acting upon this thought, he immediately made
+his will, bequeathing all to 'Lena, whom he acknowledged to be his
+daughter, adding an explanation of the whole affair, together with a
+most touching letter to his child, who would never see it until he
+was dead.
+
+This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some good
+excuse for still keeping it from his wife, who worried him
+incessantly concerning his evident preference for 'Lena.  Many and
+many a time he resolved to tell her all, but as often postponed the
+matter, until, with the broad Atlantic between them, he ventured to
+write what he could not tell her verbally and, strange to say, the
+effect upon his wife was far different from what he had expected.
+She did not faint, for there was no one by to see her, neither did
+she rave, for there was no one to hear her, but with her usual
+inconsistency, she blamed her husband for not telling her before.
+Then came other thoughts of a different nature.  _She_ had helped to
+impair 'Lena's reputation, and if disgrace attached to her, it would
+also fall upon her own family.  Consequently, as we have seen, she
+set herself at work to atone, as far as possible, for her conduct.
+Her husband had given her permission to wait, if she chose, until his
+return, ere she made the affair public, and as she dreaded the
+remarks it would necessarily call forth, she resolved to do so.  He
+had advised her to tell 'Lena, but she was gone--no one knew whither,
+and nervously she waited for some tidings of the wanderer.  She was
+willing to receive 'Lena, but not the grandmother, _she_ was voted an
+intolerable nuisance, who should never darken the doors of
+Woodlawn--never!
+
+Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, landing in New
+York, from whence he started for home, meeting, as we have seen, with
+a detention in Canandaigua, where he accidentally fell in with Uncle
+Timothy, who, being minus quite a little sum of money on account of
+his transgression, was lamenting his ill fortune to one of his
+acquaintances, and threatening to give up tavern keeping if the Maine
+law wasn't repealed.
+
+"Here," said he, "it has cost me up'ards of fifty dollars, and I'll
+bet I hain't sold mor'n a barrel, besides what wine that Kentucky
+chap has bought for his gal, and I suppose they call that nothin',
+bein' it's for sickness.  Why, good Lord, the hull on't was for
+medicine, or chimistry, or mechanics!"
+
+This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name
+he did not remember.
+
+"It's 'Lena," answered Uncle Timothy, "'Lena Rivers that dandified
+chap calls her, and it's plaguy curis to me what she's a runnin' away
+for, and he a streakin' it through the country arter her; there's
+mischief summers, so I tell 'em, but that's no consarn of mine so
+long as he pays down regular."
+
+Mr. Graham's curiosity was instantly aroused, and the moment he could
+speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he meant by the sick lady.
+
+In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding,
+"A relation of yourn, mebby?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said Mr. Graham.  "Is it far to Laurel Hill?"
+
+"Better'n a dozen miles!  Was you goin' out there?"
+
+Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time asking if he
+could procure a horse and carriage there.
+
+Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a penny, and
+now nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, "Them liv'ry
+scamps'll charge you tew dollars, at the lowest calkerlation.  I'm
+going right out, and will take you for six shillin'.  What do you
+think?"
+
+Mr. Graham's thoughts were not very complimentary to the shrewd
+Yankee, but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied that he would
+go, suggesting that they should start immediately.
+
+"In less than five minits.  You jest set down while I go to the store
+arter some jimcracks for the old woman," said Uncle Timothy, starting
+up the street, which was the last Mr. Graham saw of him for three
+long hours.
+
+At the end of that time, the little man came stubbing down the walk,
+making many apologies, and saying "he got so engaged about the darned
+'liquor law,' and the putty-heads that made it, that he'd no idee
+'twas so late."
+
+On their way home he still continued to discourse on his favorite
+topic, lamenting that he had voted for the present governor,
+announcing his intention of "jinin' the _Hindews_ the fust time they
+met at Suckerport," a village at the foot of Honeoye lake, and
+stopping every man whom he knew to belong to that order, to ask if
+they took a _fee_, and if "there was any bedivelment of _gridirons_
+and _goats_, such as the Masons and Odd Fellers had!"  Being
+repeatedly assured that the fee was only a dollar, and that the
+initiatory process was not very painful, he concluded "to go it,
+provided they'd promise to run him for constable.  Office is the hull
+any of the scallywags jine 'em for, and I may as well go in for a
+sheer," said he, thinking if he could not have the privilege of
+selling liquor, he would at least secure the right of arresting those
+who drank it!
+
+In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and the clock
+had struck ten long ere they reached the inn, which they found still
+and dark, save the light which was kept burning in 'Lena's room.
+
+"That's her chamber--the young gal's--where you see the candle," said
+Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge walls of the tavern.
+"I guess you won't want to disturb her to-night."
+
+"Certainly not," answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt a twinge of
+his inveterate habit of secrecy, "If you'd just as lief, you need not
+speak of me to the young gentleman; I wish to take him by
+surprise"--meaning Durward.
+
+There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle Timothy
+was too much absorbed in his loss to think of anything else, and when
+his wife asked "who it was that he lighted up to bed," he replied, "A
+chap that wanted to come out this way, and so rid with me."
+
+Mr. Graham was very tired, and now scarcely had his head pressed the
+pillow ere he was asleep, dreaming of 'Lena, whose presence was to
+shed such a halo of sunlight over his hitherto cheerless home.  The
+ringing of the bell next morning failed to arouse him, but when Mrs.
+Aldergrass, noticing his absence from the table, inquired for him,
+Uncle Timothy answered, "Never mind, let him sleep--tuckered out,
+mebby--and you know we allus have a sixpence more for an extra meal!"
+
+About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usually careful
+toilet, he sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, for now that
+the interview was so near, his ideas seemed suddenly to forsake him.
+From the window he saw Durward depart for his walk, watching him
+until he disappeared in the dim shadow of the woods.
+
+"I will wait until his return, and let him tell her," thought he, but
+when a half hour or more went by and Durward did not come, he
+concluded to go down and ask to see her by himself.
+
+In order to do this, it was necessary for him to pass 'Lena's room,
+the door of which was ajar.  She was awake, and hearing his step,
+thought it was Mrs. Aldergrass, and called to her.  A thrill of
+exquisite delight ran through his frame at the sound of her voice,
+and for an instant he debated the propriety of going to her at once.
+A second call decided him, and in a moment he was at her bedside,
+clasping her in his arms, and exclaiming, "My precious 'Lena!  My
+_daughter_!  Has nothing ever told you that I am your father, the
+husband of your angel mother, who lives again in her child--_my_
+child--my 'Lena?"
+
+For a moment 'Lena's brain grew dizzy, and she had well-nigh fainted,
+when the sound of Mr. Graham's voice brought her back to
+consciousness.  Pressing his lips to her white brow, he said, "Speak
+to me my daughter.  Say that you receive me as your father for such I
+am."
+
+With lightning rapidity 'Lena's thoughts traversed the past, whose
+dark mystery was now made plain, and as the thought that it might be
+so--that it was so--flashed upon her, she clasped her hands together,
+exclaiming, "My father!  Is it true?  You are not deceiving me?"
+
+"Deceive you, darling?--no," said he.  "I am your father, and Helena
+Nichols was my wife."
+
+"Why then did you leave her?  Why have you so long left me
+unacknowledged?" asked 'Lena.
+
+Mr. Graham groaned bitterly.  The hardest part was yet to come, but
+he met it manfully, telling her the whole story, sparing not himself
+in the least, and ending by asking if, after all this, she could
+forgive and love him as her father.
+
+Raising herself in bed, 'Lena wound her arms around his neck, and
+laying her face against his, wept like a little child.  He felt that
+he was sufficiently answered, and holding her closer to his bosom, he
+pushed back the clustering curls, kissing her again and again, while
+he said aloud, "I have your answer, dearest one; we will never be
+parted again."
+
+So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he did not
+observe the fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched first of
+Durward Bellmont, who had returned from his walk, and who, in coming
+up to his, room, had recognized the tones of his father's voice.
+Recoiling backward a step or two, he was just in time to see 'Lena as
+she threw herself into Mr. Graham's, arms--in time to hear the tender
+words of endearment lavished upon her by his father.  Staggering
+backward, he caught at the banister to keep from falling, while a
+moan of anguish came from his ashen lips.  Alone in his room, he grew
+calmer, though his heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he
+strode up and down the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before,
+"I would far rather see her dead than thus--my lost, lost 'Lena!"
+
+Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his father,
+whom he believed to be far more guilty than she.  "I cannot meet
+him," thought he; "there is murder at my heart, and I must away ere
+he knows of my presence."
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stairs, glancing
+back once, and seeing 'Lena reclining upon his father's arm, while
+her eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding smile, which told
+of perfect happiness.
+
+"Thank God that I am unarmed, else he could not live," thought he,
+hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in Uncle Timothy's hands
+double the sum due for himself and 'Lena, and then, without a word of
+explanation, he walked away.
+
+He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in his present
+state of feeling, he determined to go on foot to Canandaigua, a
+distance of little more than a dozen miles.  Meantime, Mr. Graham was
+learning from 'Lena the cause of her being there, and though she, as
+far as possible, softened the fact of his having been accessory to
+her misfortunes, he felt it none the less keenly, and would
+frequently interrupt her with the exclamation that it was the result
+of his cowardice--his despicable habit of secrecy.  When she spoke of
+the curl which his wife had burned, he seemed deeply affected,
+groaning aloud as he hid his face in his hands,
+
+"And _she_ found it--she burned it," said he; "and it was all I had
+left of my Helena.  I cut it from her head on the morning of my
+departure, when she lay sleeping, little dreaming of my cruel
+desertion.  But," he added, "I can bear it better now that I have
+you, her living image, for what she was when last I saw her, you are
+now."
+
+Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the tact he so
+well knew how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from his blushing daughter a
+confession of the love she bore him.
+
+"He is worthy of you," said he, while 'Lena, without seeming to heed
+the remark, said, "I have not seen him yet, but I am expecting him
+every moment, for he was to visit me this morning."
+
+At this juncture Mrs. Aldergrass, who had been at one of her
+neighbors', came in, appearing greatly surprised at the sight of the
+stranger, whom 'Lena quietly introduced as "her father," while Mr.
+Graham colored painfully as Mrs. Aldergrass, curtsying very low,
+hoped _Mr. Rivers_ was well!
+
+"Let it go so," whispered 'Lena, as she saw her father about to speak.
+
+Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his daughter's
+eyes sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was heard, he asked Mrs.
+Aldergrass for Mr. Bellmont, saying they would like to see him, if he
+had returned.
+
+Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, announcing
+that "he'd paid his bill and gone off."
+
+"Gone!" said Mr. Graham.  "There must be some mistake.  I will go
+down and inquire."
+
+With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing the gold,
+Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, that "'twan't noways likely
+but he'd come back agin, for he'd left things in his room to the
+vally of five or six dollars."
+
+Upon reflection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and returning to
+'Lena, he sat by her all day, soothing her with assurances that
+Durward would surely come back, as there was no possible reason for
+his leaving them so abruptly.  As the day wore away and the night
+came on he seemed less sure, while even Uncle Timothy began to
+fidget, and when in the evening a young pettifogger, who had recently
+hung out his shingle on Laurel Hill, came in, he asked him, in a low
+tone, "if, under the present governor, they _hung_ folks on
+circumstantial evidence alone."
+
+"Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evidence,"
+answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little ivory tablets
+and making a charge against Uncle Timothy for professional advice!
+
+"But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off in broad
+daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any sign he was
+murdered--by the landlord?" continued Uncle Timothy, beginning to
+think there might be a worse law than the Maine liquor law.
+
+"That depends upon the previous character of the landlord," answered
+the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Timothy, brightening
+up, exclaimed, "I shall stand the racket, then, for my character is
+tip-top."
+
+In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of going in quest
+of Durward, and with a magnanimity quite praiseworthy, Uncle Timothy
+offered his _hoss_ and wagon "for nothin', provided Mr. Graham would
+leave his watch as a guaranty against _his_ runnin' off!"
+
+Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, saying he
+had come from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. Bellmont, who
+wished him to bring letters for Mr. Graham and Miss Rivers.
+
+"And where is Mr. Bellmont?" asked Mr. Graham, to which the man
+replied, that he took the six o'clock train the night before, saying,
+further, that his manner was so strange as to induce a suspicion of
+insanity on the part of those who saw him.
+
+Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to 'Lena's room, giving her
+her letter, and then reading his, which was full of bitterness,
+denouncing him as a villain and cautioning him, as he valued his
+life, never again to cross the track of his outraged step-son.
+
+"You have robbed me," he wrote, "of all I hold most dear, and while I
+do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, for you are older
+in experience, older in years, and ten-fold older in sin, and I know
+you must have used every art your foul nature could suggest, ere you
+won my lost 'Lena from the path of rectitude."
+
+In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at 'Lena, who had
+fainted.  It was long ere she returned to consciousness, and then her
+fainting fit was followed by another more severe, if possible, than
+the first, while in speechless agony Mr. Graham hung over her.
+
+"I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child," thought he.
+
+But at last 'Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow the
+crumpled note, she passed it toward her father, bidding him read it.
+It was as follows;
+
+
+"MY LOST 'LENA: By this title it seems appropriate for me to call
+you, for you are more surely lost to me than you would be were this
+summer sun shining upon your grave.  And, 'Lena, believe me when I
+say I would rather, far rather, see you dead than the guilty thing
+you are, for then your memory would be to me as a holy, blessed
+influence, leading me on to a better world, where I could hope to
+greet you as my spirit bride.  But now, alas! how dark the cloud
+which shrouds you from my sight.
+
+"Oh, 'Lena, 'Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I thought you
+so pure and innocent, when even now, I would willingly lay down my
+life could that save you from ruin.
+
+"Do you ask what I mean?  I have only to refer you to what this
+morning took place between you and the vile man I once called father,
+and whom I believed to be the soul of truth and honor.  With a heart
+full of tenderness toward you, I was hastening to your side, when a
+scene met my view which stilled the beatings of my pulse and curdled
+the very blood in my veins, I saw you throw your arms around _his_
+neck--the husband of _my_ mother.  I saw you lay your head upon his
+bosom.  I heard him as he called you _dearest_, and said you would
+never be parted again!
+
+"You know all that has passed heretofore, and can you wonder that my
+worst fears are now confirmed?  God knows how I struggled against
+those doubts, which were nearly removed, when, by the evidence of my
+own eyesight, uncertainty was made sure.
+
+"And now, my once loved, but erring 'Lena, farewell.  I am going
+away--whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear your name
+coupled with disgrace.  Another reason why I go, is that the hot
+blood of the south burns too fiercely in my veins to suffer me to
+meet your destroyer and not raise my hand against him.  When this
+reaches you, I shall be far away.  But what matters it to you?  And
+yet, 'Lena, there will come a time when you'll remember one who, had
+you remained true to yourself, would have devoted his life to make
+you happy, for I know I am not indifferent to you.  I have lead it in
+your speaking eye, and in the childlike confidence with which you
+would yield to _me_ when no one else could control your wild ravings.
+
+"But enough of this.  Time hastens, and I must say farewell--farewell
+forever--my _lost, lost_ 'Lena!
+
+  "DURWARD."
+
+
+Gradually as Mr. Graham read, he felt a glow of indignation at
+Durward's hastiness.  "Rash boy! he might at least have spoken with
+me," said he, as he finished the letter, but 'Lena would hear no word
+of censure against him.  She did not blame him.  She saw it all,
+understood it all, and as she recalled the contents of his letter,
+her own heart sadly echoed, "_lost forever_."
+
+As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but in spite
+of his endeavors, there was still at her heart the same dull, heavy
+pain, and most anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, waiting impatiently
+for the time when she would be able to start for home, as he hoped a
+change of place and scene would do much toward restoring both her
+health and spirits.  Soon after his arrival at Laurel Hill, Mr.
+Graham had written to Mr. Livingstone, telling him what he had before
+told his wife, and adding, "Of course, my _daughter's_ home will in
+future be with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see
+yourself and family at any time."
+
+This part of the letter he showed to 'Lena, who, after reading it,
+seemed for a long time absorbed in thought.
+
+"What is it, darling?  Of what are you thinking?" Mr. Graham asked,
+at length, and 'Lena, taking the hand which he had laid gently upon
+her forehead, replied, "I am thinking of poor grandmother.  She is
+not happy, now, at Maple Grove.  She will be more unhappy should I
+leave her, and if you please, I would rather stay there with her.  I
+can see you every day."
+
+"Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from your
+grandmother?" interrupted Mr. Graham.  "No, no, I am not quite so bad
+as that.  Woodlawn is large--there are rooms enough--and grandma
+shall have her choice, provided it is a reasonable one."
+
+"And your wife--Mrs. Graham?  What will she say?" timidly inquired
+'Lena, involuntarily shrinking from the very thought of coming in
+contact with the little lady who had so recently come up before her
+in the new and formidable aspect of _stepmother_!
+
+Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, neither did he
+care.  The fault of his youth once confessed, he felt himself a new
+man, able to cope with almost anything, and if in the future his wife
+objected to what he knew to be right, it would do her no good, for
+henceforth he was to rule his own house.  Some such thoughts passed
+through his mind, but it would not be proper, he knew, to express
+himself thus to 'Lena, so he laughingly replied, "Oh, we'll fix that,
+easily enough."
+
+At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a letter to
+his wife, announcing his safe return from Europe, and saying that he
+should be at home as soon as 'Lena's health would admit of her
+traveling.  Not wishing to alarm her unnecessarily, he merely said of
+Durward, that he had found him at Laurel Hill.  To this letter Mrs.
+Graham replied immediately, and with a far better grace than her
+husband had expected.  Very frankly she confessed the unkind part she
+had acted toward 'Lena, and while she said she was sorry, she also
+spoke of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of Lena's
+friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back,
+
+The continued absence of Durward was now the only drawback to 'Lena's
+happiness, and with a comparatively light heart, she began to
+anticipate her journey home.  Most liberally did Mr. Graham pay for
+both himself and 'Lena, and Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining
+coin, dropping it upon the table to make sure it was not _bogus_,
+felt quite reconciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars.  Jerry,
+the driver, was also generously rewarded for his kindness to the
+stranger-girl, and just before he left, Mr. Graham offered to make
+him his chief overseer, if he would accompany him to Kentucky.
+
+"You are just the man I want," said he, "and I know you'll like it.
+What do you say?"
+
+For the sake of occasionally seeing 'Lena, whom he considered as
+something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly have gone, but he was
+a staunch abolitionist, dyed in the wool, and scratching his head, he
+replied, "I'm obleeged to you, but I b'lieve I'd rather drive
+_hosses_ than _niggers_!"
+
+"Mebby you could run one on 'em off, and so make a little sumthin',"
+slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on the main chance,
+but it was no part of Jerry's creed to make anything, and as 'Lena at
+that moment appeared, he beat a precipitate retreat, going out behind
+the church, where he watched the departure of his southern friends,
+saying afterward, to Mrs. Aldergrass, who chided him for his conduct,
+that "he never could bid nobody good-bye, he was so darned
+tender-hearted!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.
+
+"'Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after her!
+That is smart, I must say.  Why didn't you let me know it before!"
+exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his
+appearance at Maple grove.
+
+During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for
+some reason or other she delayed telling him of 'Lena's flight until
+quite recently.  Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning
+for a year, he came home with headlong haste, determining to start
+immediately after his cousin.
+
+"I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you wouldn't
+feel quite so anxious to get her back," said Carrie.  "For my part, I
+feel quite relieved at her absence."
+
+"Shut up your head," roared John 'Jr.  "'Lena is no more guilty than
+_you_.  By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she worked to
+save Anna from old Baldhead.  And this is her reward!  Gracious
+Peter! I sometimes wish there wasn't a woman in the world!"
+
+"If they'd all marry you, there wouldn't be long!" retorted Carrie.
+
+"You've said it now, haven't you?" answered John Jr., while his
+father suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for
+his own neglect, that Durward had gone after 'Lena, who was probably
+at Mr. Everett's, and that he himself had advertised in all the
+principal papers.
+
+"Just like Bellmont!  He's a fine fellow and deserves 'Lena, if
+anybody does," exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, "Pshaw!
+I've no idea he's gone for her.  Why, they've hardly spoken for
+several months, and besides that, Mrs. Graham will never suffer him
+to marry one of so low origin."
+
+"The deary me!" said John Jr., mimicking his sister's manner, "how
+much lower is her origin than yours?"
+
+Carrie's reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother,
+who, hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him.
+Perfectly rational on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still
+persisted in saying of 'Lena, that she had killed her, and now, when
+her first greeting with John Jr. was over, she whispered in his ear,
+"Have they told you 'Lena was dead?  She is--I killed her--it says so
+here," and she handed him the almost worn-out note which she
+constantly carried with her.  Rough as he seemed at times, there was
+in John Jr.'s nature many a tender spot, and when he saw the look of
+childish imbecility on his grandmother's face, he pressed his strong
+arm around her, and a tear actually dropped upon her gray hair as he
+told her 'Lena was not dead--he was going to find her and bring her
+home.  At that moment old Caesar, who had been to the post-office,
+returned, bringing Mr. Graham's letter, which had just arrived.
+
+"That's Mr. Graham's handwriting," said Carrie; glancing at the
+superscription.  "Perhaps _he_ knows something of 'Lena!" and she
+looked meaningly at her mother, who, with a peculiar twist of her
+mouth, replied, "Very likely."
+
+"You are right.  He _does_ know something of her," said Mr.
+Livingstone, as he finished reading the letter.  "She is with him at
+a little village called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York."
+
+"There!  I told you so.  Poor Mrs. Graham.  It will kill her.  I must
+go and see her immediately," exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling
+herself back quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to
+her brother, asked "what he thought of 'Lena now."
+
+"Just what I always did," he replied.  "There's fraud somewhere.
+Will you let me see that, sir?" advancing toward his father, who,
+placing the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the
+varied emotions of his face.
+
+Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it
+was finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air,
+shouted, "Hurrah!  Hurrah for _Miss 'Lena Rivers Graham_, daughter of
+the Honorable Harry Rivers Graham.  I was never so glad in my life.
+Hurrah!" and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly
+vase, the fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as
+the young man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
+
+"Is the boy crazy?" asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the coat
+as he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from
+his hand.
+
+"Crazy?--yes," said he.  "Who do you think 'Lena's father is?  No
+less a person than Mr. Graham himself.  Now taunt her again, Cad,
+with her low origin, if you like.  She isn't coming here to live any
+more.  She's going to Woodlawn.  She'll marry Durward, while you'll
+be a cross, dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?" and he chucked her under the
+chin, while she began to cry, bidding him let her alone.
+
+"What do you mean?" interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it
+might be true.
+
+"I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself," replied John.
+
+Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a
+syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue.
+Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting
+up as she occasionally caught the meaning of what she heard; but she
+could not understand it at once, and turning to her son, she said,
+"What is it, John? what does it mean?"
+
+As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to
+her, and when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way
+she exclaimed, "Thank God that 'Leny is a lady, at last--as good as
+the biggest on 'em.  Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her
+husband was.  Poor critter!  Mebby he'll give me money to go back and
+see the old place, once more, afore I die."
+
+"If he don't I will," said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his wife, who
+had not spoken before, wondered "where he'd get it."
+
+By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the assurance that as
+'Lena was now Durward's sister, he would not, of course, marry her,
+and determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother,
+who rallied her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly
+mistaken, for "she was as pleased as any one at 'Lena's good fortune,
+but it did not follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some
+others did."
+
+The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left
+the room.  In the first excitement, he had thought "how glad Nellie
+will be," and acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now
+ordered his horse, and dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised
+Nellie, first, with his sudden appearance, second, with his
+announcement of 'Lena's parentage, and third, by an offer of himself!
+
+"It's your destiny," said he, "and it's of no use to resist.  What
+did poor little Meb die for, if it wasn't to make room for you.  So
+you may as well say yes first as last.  I'm odd, I know, but you can
+fix me over.  I'll do exactly what you wish me to.  Say yes, Nellie,
+won't you ?"
+
+And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, it ever before woman
+had such wooing.  We think not, for never was there another John Jr.
+
+"I have had happiness enough for one day," said he, kissing her
+blushing cheek and hurrying away.
+
+As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he
+went straight from Mr. Douglass's to the marble factory, where he
+ordered a costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as
+yet unmarked save by the tall grass and rank weeds which grew above
+it.
+
+"What inscription will you have?" asked the engraver.  John Jr.
+thought for a moment, and then replied; "Simply 'Mabel.'  Nothing
+more or less; that tells the whole story," and involuntarily
+murmuring to himself, "Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I
+am," he started for home, where he was somewhat surprised to find
+Mrs. Graham.
+
+She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy
+no longer advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her
+great satisfaction, she found that the news had preceded her.
+Feeling sure that Mrs. Graham must feel greatly annoyed, both Carrie
+and her mother began, at first, to act the part of consolers, telling
+her it might not be true, after all, for perhaps it was a ruse of Mr.
+Graham's to cover some deep-laid, scheme.  But for once in her life
+Mrs. Graham did well, and to their astonishment, replied, "Oh, I hope
+not, for you do not know how I long for the society of a daughter,
+and as Mr. Graham's child I shall gladly welcome 'Lena home, trying,
+if possible, to overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!"
+
+Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter
+were to be outgeneraled.  If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her
+tactics, so could they, and for the next half hour they lauded 'Lena
+to the skies.  They had always liked her--particularly Mrs.
+Livingstone--who said, "If allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I
+must say that I have felt a good deal pained by those reports which
+you put in circulation."
+
+"_I_ put reports in circulation!" retorted Mrs. Graham.  "What do you
+mean?  It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole
+neighborhood!"
+
+The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John
+Jr.'s appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they
+might as well be friends as enemies, introduced another topic of
+conversation, soon after which Mrs. Graham took her leave.  Pausing
+in the doorway, she said, "Would it afford you any gratification to
+be at Woodlawn when 'Lena arrives?"
+
+Knowing that, under the circumstances, it would look better, Mrs.
+Livingstone said "yes," while Carrie, thinking Durward would be
+there, made a similar reply, saying "she was exceedingly anxious to
+see her cousin."
+
+"Very well.  I will let you know when I expect her," said Mrs.
+Graham, curtsying herself from the room.
+
+"Spell _Toady_, Cad," whispered John Jr., and with more than her
+usual quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.
+
+"That'll do," said he, as he walked off to the back yard, where he
+found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel
+employment for them.
+
+The news of 'Lena's good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing
+much excitement, for she was a favorite there.
+
+"'Clar for't," said Aunt Milly, "we orto have a bonfire.  It won't
+hurt nothin' on the brick pavement."
+
+Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work
+gathering blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the
+time John Jr. appeared, they had collected quite a pile.  Not knowing
+how he would like it, they all took to their heels, except Thomas
+Jefferson, who, having some of his mother's spirit, stood his ground,
+replying, when asked what they were about, that they were "gwine to
+celebrate Miss 'Lena." Taking in the whole fun at once, John Jr.
+called out, "Good! come back here, you scapegraces."
+
+Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach,
+the smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes
+and ivories shining with the expected frolic.  Taught by John Jr.,
+they hurrahed at the top of their voices when the flames burst up,
+and one little fellow, not yet able to talk plain, made his bare,
+shining legs fly like drumsticks as he shouted, "Huyah for Miss 'Leny
+Yivers Gayum----"
+
+"Bellmont, too, say," whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the
+back piazza.
+
+"_Bellmont, too, say_," yelled the youngster, leaping so high as to
+lose his balance.
+
+Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of
+Carrie, who, spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the
+parlor, where for more than an hour she cried from pure vexation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+ARRIVAL AT WOODLAWN.
+
+It was a warm September night at Woodlawn.  The windows were open,
+and through the richly-wrought curtains the balmy air of evening was
+stealing, mingling its delicious perfume of flowers without with the
+odor of those which drooped from the many costly vases which adorned
+the handsome parlors.  Lamps were burning, casting a mellow light
+over the gorgeous furniture, while in robes of snowy white the
+mistress of the mansion flitted from room to room, a little nervous,
+a little fidgety, and, without meaning to be so, a little cross.  For
+more than two hours she had waited for her husband, delaying the
+supper, which the cook, quite as anxious as herself, pronounced
+spoiled by the delay.
+
+According to promise the party from Maple Grove had arrived, with the
+exception of John Jr., who had generously remained with his
+grandmother, she having been purposely omitted in the invitation.
+From the first, Mrs. Graham had decided that Mrs. Nichols should
+never live at Woodlawn, and she thought it proper to have it
+understood at once.  Accordingly, as she was conducting Mrs.
+Livingstone and Carrie to 'Lena's room, she casually remarked, "I've
+made no provision for Mrs. Nichols, except as an occasional visitor,
+for of course she will remain with her son.  She is undoubtedly much
+attached to your family, and will be happier there!"
+
+"_This_ 'Lena's!" interrupted Carrie, ere her mother had time to
+reply.  "It's the very best chamber in the house--Brussels carpets,
+marble and rosewood furniture, damask curtains.  Why, she'll hardly
+know how to act," she continued, half unconsciously, as she gazed
+around the elegant apartment, which, with one of her unaccountable
+freaks, Mrs. Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste.
+
+"Yes, this is Lena's," said Mrs. Graham, complacently.  "Will it
+compare at all with her chamber at Maple Grove?  I do not wish it to
+seem inferior!"
+
+Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, "Ye-es, on
+the whole _quite_ as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture
+is new!"
+
+"Have I told you," continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting
+them,--"have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New
+Orleans, where 'Lena will of course be the reigning belle?  You ought
+to be there, dear," laying her hand on Carrie's shoulder.  "It would
+be so gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!"
+
+"Spiteful old thing--she tries to insult us," thought Carrie, her
+heart swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated 'Lena, whose
+future life seemed so bright and joyous.
+
+The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower
+hall just as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at
+Midway, drove up at a side door.  Carrie's first thought was for
+Durward, and shading her eyes with her hand, she looked anxiously
+out.  But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently lifting out his daughter,
+who was still an invalid.
+
+"Mighty careful of her," thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms he
+bore her up the marble steps.
+
+Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he
+said, turning to his wife, "Lucy, this is my daughter.  Will you
+receive and love her as such, for my sake?"
+
+In a moment 'Lena's soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of
+Mrs. Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her "'Lena," and
+saying "she was welcome to Woodlawn."
+
+Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her
+with caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence,
+chiding her for running away, calling her a _naughty puss_, and
+perfectly bewildering her with their new mode of conduct.  Mr.
+Livingstone's turn came next, but he neither kissed nor caressed her,
+for that was not in keeping with his nature, but very, very tenderly
+he looked into her eyes, as he said, "You know, 'Lena, that I am
+glad--most glad for you."
+
+Unostentatious as was this greeting, 'Lena felt that there was more
+sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed
+forth involuntarily.  Mentally styling her, the one "a baby," and the
+other "a fool," Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor,
+while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show 'Lena to her room.
+
+"Hadn't you better go up and assist your cousin," whispered Mrs.
+Livingstone to Carrie, who forthwith departed, knocking at the door,
+an act of politeness she had never before thought it necessary to
+offer 'Lena.  But she was an _heiress_, now, fully, yes, more than
+equal, and that made a vast difference.
+
+"I came to see if I could render you any service," she said in answer
+to 'Lena's look of inquiry.
+
+"No I thank you," returned 'Lena, beginning to get an inkling of the
+truth.  "You know I'm accustomed to waiting upon myself, and if I
+want anything, Drusa can assist me.  I've only to change my soiled
+dress and smooth my hair," she continued, as she shook out her long
+and now rather rough tresses.
+
+"What handsome hair you've got," said Carrie, taking one of the curls
+in her hand.  "I'd forgotten it was so beautiful.  Hasn't it improved
+during your absence?"
+
+"A course of fever is not usually very beneficial to one's hair, I
+believe," answered 'Lena, as she proceeded to brush and arrange her
+wavy locks, which really had lost some of their luster.
+
+Foiled in her attempt at toadyism, Carrie took another tack.  Looking
+'Lena in the face, she said, ^What is it?  I can't make it out,
+but--but somehow you've changed, you don't look so--so----"
+
+"So _well_ you would say, I suppose," returned 'Lena, laughingly,
+"I've grown thin, but I hope to improve by and by."
+
+Drusa glanced at the two girls as they stood side by side, and her
+large eyes sparkled as she thought her young mistress "a heap the
+best lookin' _now_."
+
+By this time Carrie had thought to ask for Durward.  Instantly 'Lena
+turned whiter, if possible, than she was before, and in an unsteady
+voice she replied, that "she did not know."
+
+"Not know!" repeated Carrie, her own countenance brightening visibly.
+"Haven't you seen him?  Wasn't he at that funny, out-of-the-way
+place, where you were?"
+
+"Yes, but he left before I saw him," returned 'Lena, her manner
+plainly indicating that there was something wrong.
+
+Carrie's spirits rose.  There was a chance for her, and on their way
+downstairs she laughed and chatted so familiarly, that 'Lena wondered
+if it could be the same haughty girl who had seldom spoken to her
+except to repulse or command her.  The supper-bell rang just as they
+reached the parlor, and Mr. Graham, taking 'Lena on his arm, led the
+way to the dining-room, where the entire silver tea-set had been
+brought out, in honor of the occasion.
+
+"Hasn't 'Lena changed, mother?" said Carrie, feeling hateful, and
+knowing no better way of showing it "Hasn't her sickness changed her?"
+
+"It has made her grow _old_; that's all the difference I perceive,"
+returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she'd said the thing which
+she knew would most annoy herself.
+
+"How old are you, dear?" asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the table.
+
+"Eighteen," was 'Lena's answer, to which Mrs. Graham replied, "I
+thought so.  Three years younger than Carrie, I believe."
+
+"Two, only two," interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie
+exclaimed, "Horrors!  How old do you take me to be?"
+
+Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and
+soon after they rose from the table.  Scarcely had they returned to
+the parlor, when John Jr. was announced.  "He had," he said, "got his
+grandmother to sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay
+his respects to _Miss Graham_!"
+
+Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, "Little girl!  I'm as much
+delighted with your good fortune as I should b had it happened to
+myself.  But where is Bellmont?" he continued, looking about the room.
+
+Mr. Graham replied she that was was not there.
+
+"Not here?" repeated John Jr.  "What have you done with him, 'Lena?"
+
+Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin's face, 'Lena said,
+softly, "Please don't talk about it now."
+
+"There's something wrong," thought John Jr.  "I'll bet I'll have to
+shoot that dog yet."
+
+'Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she
+could confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of
+whispering to him, "Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it."
+
+Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and
+Carrie taking a most affectionate leave of 'Lena, urging her not to
+fail of coming over the next day, as they should be expecting her.
+The ludicrous expression of John Jr.'s face was a sufficient
+interpretation of his thoughts, as whispering aside to 'Lena, he
+said, "I can't do it justice if I try!"
+
+The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry 'Lena to
+Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany them.  But she excused
+herself, on the plea of a headache, and they set off without her.
+The meeting between 'Lena and her grandmother was affecting, and
+Carrie, in order to sustain the character she had assumed, walked to
+the window, to hide her emotions, probably--at least John Jr. thought
+so, for with the utmost gravity he passed her his silk pocket
+handkerchief!  When the first transports of her interview with 'Lena
+were over, Mrs. Nichols fastened herself upon Mr. Graham, while John
+Jr. invited 'Lena to the garden, where he claimed from her the
+promised story, which she told him unreservedly.
+
+"Oh, that's nothing, compared with my experience," said John Jr.,
+plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters
+above his head.  "That's easily settled.  I'll go after Durward
+myself, and bring him back, either dead or alive--the latter if
+possible, the former if necessary.  So cheer up.  I've faith to
+believe that you and Durward will be married about the same time that
+Nellie and I are.  We are engaged--did I tell you?"
+
+Involuntarily 'Lena's eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny
+slope and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.
+
+"I know what you think," said John Jr. rather testily, "but hang me
+if I can help it.  Meb was never intended for me, except by mother.
+I suppose there is in the world somebody for whom she was made, but
+it wasn't I, and that's the reason she died.  I am sorry as anybody,
+and every night in my life I think of poor Meb, who loved me so well,
+and who met with so poor a return.  I've bought her some gravestones,
+though," he continued, as if that were an ample atonement for the
+past.
+
+While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs.
+Nichols the propriety of her removing to Woodlawn.
+
+"I shan't live long to trouble anybody," said she when asked if she
+would like to go, "and I'm nothin' without 'Leny."
+
+So it was arranged that she should go with him, and when 'Lena
+returned to the house, she found her grandmother in her chamber,
+packing up, preparatory to her departure.
+
+"We'll have to come agin," said she, "for I've as much as two loads."
+
+"Don't take them," interposed 'Lena.  "You won't need them, and
+nothing will harm them here."
+
+After a little, grandma was persuaded, and her last charge to Mrs.
+Livingstone and Carrie was, "that they keep the dum niggers from her
+things."
+
+Habit with Mrs. Nichols was everything.  She had lived at Maple Grove
+for years, and every niche and corner of her room she understood.
+She knew the blacks and they knew her, and ere she was half-way to
+Woodlawn, she began to wish she had not started.  Politely, but
+coldly, Mrs. Graham received her, saying "I thought, perhaps, you
+would return with them to _spend the day_!" laying great emphasis on
+the last words, as if that, of course, was to be the limit of her
+visit Grandma understood it, and it strengthened her resolution of
+not remaining long.
+
+"Miss Graham don't want to be pestered with me," said she to 'Lena,
+the first time they were alone, "and I don't mean that she shall be.
+'Tilda is used to me, and she don't mind it now, so I shall go back
+afore long.  You can come to see me every day, and once in a while
+I'll come here."
+
+That afternoon a heavy rain came on, and Mrs. Graham remarked to Mrs.
+Nichols that "she hoped she was not homesick, as there was every
+probability of her being obliged to _stay over night_!" adding, by
+way of comfort, that "she was going to Frankfort the next day to make
+purchases for 'Lena, and would take her home."
+
+Accordingly, the next morning Mrs. Livingstone was not very agreeably
+surprised by the return of her mother-in-law, who, Mrs. Graham said,
+"was so home-sick they couldn't keep her."
+
+That night when Mrs. Graham, who was naturally generous, returned
+from the city, she left at Maple Grove a large bundle for grandma,
+consisting of dresses, aprons, caps, and the like, which she had
+purchased as a sort or peace-offering, or reward, rather, for her
+having decamped so quietly from Woodlawn.  But the poor old lady did
+not live to wear them.  Both her mind and body were greatly impaired,
+and for two or three years she had been failing gradually.  There was
+no particular disease, but a general breaking up of the springs of
+life, and a few weeks after 'Lena's arrival at Woodlawn,, they made
+another grave on the sunny slope, and Mabel no longer slept alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+DURWARD.
+
+From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had hurried,
+caring nothing except to forget, if possible, the past, and knowing
+not where he was going, until he at last found himself in Richmond,
+Virginia.  This was his mother's birthplace, and as several of her
+more distant relatives were still living here, he determined to stop
+for awhile, hoping that new objects and new scenes would have some
+power to rouse him from the lethargy into which he had fallen.
+Constantly in terror lest he should hear of 'Lena's disgrace, which
+he felt sure would be published to the world, he had, since his
+departure from Laurel Hill, resolutely refrained from looking in a
+newspaper, until one morning some weeks after his arrival at Richmond.
+
+Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Gazette, and
+after assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did not contain what
+he so much dreaded to see, he sat down to read it, paying no
+attention to the date, which was three or four weeks back.
+Accidentally he cast his eye over the list of arrivals at the Burnet
+House, seeing among them the names of "Mr. H. R. Graham, and Miss L.
+R. Graham, Woodford county, Kentucky!"
+
+"_Audacious_!  How dare they be so bold!" he exclaimed, springing to
+his feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered upon
+the floor.
+
+"Considerable kind of uppish, 'pears to me," said a strange voice,
+having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain class of
+Yankees.
+
+Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose style of
+dress and freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slocum.  Wearying
+of Cincinnati, as he had before done with Lexington, he had traveled
+at last to Virginia.  Remembering to have heard that his
+grandmother's aunt had married, died, and left a daughter in
+Richmond, he determined, if possible, to find some trace of her.
+Accordingly, he had come on to that city, making it the theater of
+his daguerrean operations.  These alone not being sufficient to
+support him, he had latterly turned his attention to _literary
+pursuits_, being at present engaged in manufacturing a book after the
+Sam Slick order, which, to use his own expression, "he expected would
+have a thunderin' sale."
+
+In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, he came
+every day to the reading-room, tumbling over books and papers,
+generally carrying one of the former in his hand, affecting an utter
+disregard of his personal appearance, daubing his fingers with ink,
+wiping them on the pocket of his coat, and doing numerous other
+things which he fancied would stamp him a distinguished person.
+
+On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel's attention was
+attracted toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he had seen at Maple
+Grove, and though he did not recognize the original, he fancied he
+might have met him before, and was about making his acquaintance,
+when Durward's action drew from him the remark we have mentioned.
+Thinking him to be some impertinent fellow, Durward paid him no
+attention, and was about leaving, when, hitching his chair a little
+nearer, Joel said, "Be you from Virginny?"
+
+"No."
+
+"From York state?"
+
+"No."
+
+"From Pennsylvany?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Be you from Kentucky?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you know Mr. Graham's folks?"
+
+"Yes," said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something
+concerning his stepfather--but it was not.
+
+Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel continued:
+"Wall, I calkerlate that I'm some relation to Miss Graham.  Be you
+'quainted with her?"
+
+Durward knew that a relationship with _Mrs_. Graham also implied a
+relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious as well as
+somewhat amused, he replied, "Related to Mrs. Graham!  Pray how?"
+
+"Why, you see," said Joel, "that my grandmarm's aunt--she was younger
+than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew.  Wall, she went off to Virginia
+to teach music, and so married a nabob--know what that is, I s'pose;
+she had one gal and died, and this gal was never heard from until I
+took it into my head to look her up, and I've found out that she was
+_Lucy Temple_.  She married an Englishman, first--then a man from
+South Carolina, who is now livin' in Kentucky, between Versailles and
+Frankfort."
+
+"What was your grandmother's aunt's name?" asked Durward.
+
+"Susan Howard," returned Joel.  "The Howards were a stuck-up set,
+grandmarm and all--not a bit like t'other side of the family.  My
+mother's name was Scovandyke----"
+
+"And yours?" interrupted Durward.
+
+"Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,"
+said the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow,
+which he always used on great occasions.
+
+In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said,
+"Can you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your
+great-great-aunt's daughter, would be to you?"
+
+"My third cousin, of course," answered Joel.  "I figgered that out
+with a slate and pencil."
+
+"And her son, if she had one?"
+
+"Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure--but
+enough to brag on, if they happened to be smart!"
+
+"Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple's son?" said Durward, to
+which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, "Wall, s'posin' you
+du, 'twon't make it so."
+
+"But I _am_, really and truly," continued Durward.  "Her first
+husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth
+cousin, it seems."
+
+"_Jehosiphat_!  If this ain't curis," exclaimed Joel, grasping
+Durward's hand.  "How _do_ you du, and how is your marm.  And do you
+know Helleny Rivers?"
+
+Durward's brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel
+continued: "We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of
+each other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she'd got to
+be mighty toppin'.  Mebby, though, 'twas only my notion."
+
+Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, "I
+suppose you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin'.  I'm goin'
+to my office now, and if you'll come with me I'll take yourn for
+nothin', bein' you're related."
+
+Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed
+the young man to his "office," which was a dingy, cheerless apartment
+in the fourth story of a crazy old building.  On the table in the
+center of the room were several likenesses, which he carelessly
+examined.  Coming at last to a larger and richer case, he opened it,
+but instantly it dropped from his hand, while an exclamation of
+surprise escaped his lips.
+
+"What's the row, old feller," asked Joel, coming forward and picking
+up the picture which Durward had recognized as 'Lena Rivers.
+
+"How came you by it?" said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing wink,
+Joel replied, "I know, and that's enough."
+
+"But I must know, too.  It is of the utmost importance that I know,"
+said Durward, and after a moment's reflection, Joel answered  "Wall,
+I don't s'pose it'll do any hurt if I tell you.  When I was a boy I
+had a hankerin' for 'Leny, and I didn't get over it after I was
+grown, either, so a year or two ago I thought I'd go to Kentuck and
+see her.  Knowin' how tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be with a
+picter of their old home in the mountains, I took it for 'em and
+started.  In Albany I went to see a family that used to live in
+Slocumville.  The woman was a gal with 'Leny's mother, and thought a
+sight of her.  Wall, in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was
+an old portrait, which looked so much like 'Leny that in the mornin'
+I asked whose it was, and if you b'lieve me, 'twas 'Leny's mother!
+You know she married, or thought she married, a southern rascal, who
+got her portrait taken and then run off, and the picter, which in its
+day was an expensive one, was sold to pay up.  A few years afterward,
+Miss Rice, the woman I was tellin' you about, came acrost it, and
+bought it for a little or nothin' to remember Helleny Nichols by.
+Thinks to me, nothin' can please 'Leny better than a daguerreotype of
+her mother, so I out with my apparatus and took it.  But when I come
+to see that they were as nigh alike as two peas, I hated to give it
+up, for I thought it would be almost as good as lookin' at 'Leny.  So
+I kept it myself, but I don't want her to know it, for she'd be mad."
+
+"Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?" asked Durward, a
+faint light beginning to dawn upon him.
+
+"What a feller to hang on," answered Joel, "but bein' I've started,
+I'll go it and tell the hull.  One morning when I was in Lexington, a
+gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Graham, and saying he wanted a
+copy of an old mountain house which he had seen at Mr. Livingstone's.
+Whilst I was gettin' it ready, he happened to come acrost this one,
+and what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away.  I had to
+throw water in his face and everything.  Bimeby he cum to, and says
+he, 'Where did you get that?'  I told him all about it, and then,
+layin' his head on the table, he groaned orfully, wipin' off the
+thumpinest great drops of sweat and kissin' the picter as if he was
+crazy.
+
+"'Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?' says I.
+
+"'Knew her, yes,' says he, jumpin' up and walkin' the room as fast.
+
+"All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin' had happened, and
+says he, 'I must have that or one jest like it.'
+
+"At first I hesitated, for I felt kinder mean always about keepin'
+it, and I didn't want 'Leny to know I'd got it.  I told him so, and
+he said nobody but himself should ever see it.  So I took a smaller
+one, leavin' off the lower part of the body, as the dress is
+old-fashioned, you see.  He was as tickled as a boy with a new top,
+and actually forgot to take the other one of the mountain house.
+Some months after, I came across him in Cincinnati.  His wife was
+with him, and I thought then that she looked like Aunt Nancy.  Wall,
+he went with me to my office, and said he wanted another
+daguerreotype, as he'd lost the first one.  Now I'm, pretty good at
+figgerin', and I've thought that matter over until I've come to this
+conclusion--_that man_--was--'Lena's father--the husband or something
+of Helleny Nichols!  But what ails you?  Are you faintin', too," he
+exclaimed, as he saw the death-like whiteness which had settled upon
+Durward's face and around his mouth.
+
+"Tell me more, everything you know," gasped Durward.
+
+"I have told you all I know for certain," said Joel.  "The rest is
+only guess-work, but it looks plaguy reasonable.  'Leny's father,
+I've heard was from South Car'lina----"
+
+"So was Mr. Graham," said Durward, more to himself than to Joel, who
+continued, "And he's your step-father, ain't he--the husband of Lucy
+Temple, my cousin?"
+
+Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, he arose to go,
+telling Joel he would see him again.  Alone in his room, he sat down
+to think of the strange story he had heard.  Gradually as he thought,
+his mind went back to the time when Mr. Graham first came home from
+Springfield.  He was a little boy, then, five or six years of age,
+but he now remembered many things calculated to prove what he
+scarcely yet dared to hope.  He recalled Mr. Graham's preparations to
+return, when he was taken suddenly ill.  He knew that immediately
+atter his recovery he had gone northward.  He remembered how sad he
+had seemed after his return, neglecting to play with him as had been
+his wont, and when to this he added Joel's story, together with the
+singularity of his father's conduct towards 'Lena, he could not fail
+to be convinced.
+
+"She _is_ innocent, thank heaven!  I see it all now.  Fool that I was
+to be so hasty," he exclaimed, his whole being seemed to undergo a
+sudden change as the joyous conviction flashed upon him.
+
+In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel Slocum,
+and ere the sun-setting he was far on his road home.  Occasionally he
+felt a lingering doubt, as he wondered what possible motive his
+father could have had for concealment, but these wore away as the
+distance between himself and Kentucky diminished.  As the train
+paused at one of the stations, he was greatly surprised at seeing
+John Jr. among the crowd gathered at the depot.
+
+"Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?" shouted Durward,
+leaning from the open window.
+
+The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life John Jr.
+bounded upon the platform, and was soon seated by the side of Durward.
+
+"You are a great one, ain't you?" said he.  "Here I've been looking
+for you all over Christendom, to tell you the news.  You've got a new
+sister.  Did you know it?"
+
+"'_Lena_!  Is it true?  _Is_ it 'Lena?" said Durward, and John
+replied by relating the particulars as far as he knew them, and
+ending by asking Durward if "he didn't think he was sold!"
+
+"Don't talk," answered Durward.  "I want to think, for I was never so
+happy in my life."
+
+"Nor I either," returned John Jr.  "So if you please you needn't
+speak to _me_, as I wish to think, too."
+
+But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his companion of
+his engagement with Nellie--and he did, falling asleep soon after,
+and leaving Durward to his own reflections.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+We hope the reader does not expect us to describe the meeting between
+Durward and 'Lena, for we have not the least, or, at the most, only a
+faint idea of what took place.  We only know that it occurred in the
+summer-house at the foot of the garden, whither 'Lena had fled at the
+first intimation of his arrival, and that on her return to the house,
+after an interview of two whole hours, there were on her cheeks
+traces of tears, which the expression of her face said were not tears
+of grief.
+
+"How do you like my daughter?" asked Mr. Graham, mischievously, at
+the same time laying his arm proudly about her neck.
+
+"So well that I have asked her to become my wife, and she has
+promised to do so, provided we obtain your consent," answered
+Durward, himself throwing an arm around the blushing girl, who tried
+to escape, but he would not let her, holding her fast until his
+father's answer was given.
+
+Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, "Now, mother, we will hear you."
+
+Kind and affectionate as she tried to be toward 'Lena, Mrs. Graham
+had not yet fully conquered her olden prejudice, and had the matter
+been left wholly with herself, she would, perhaps, have chosen for
+her son a bride in whose veins _no plebeian blood_ was flowing; but
+she well knew that her objections would have no weight, and she
+answered, that "she should not oppose him."
+
+"Then it is settled," said he, "and four weeks from to-night I shall
+claim 'Lena for my own."
+
+"No, not so soon after grandma's death," 'Lena said, and Durward
+replied:
+
+"If grandma could speak, she would tell you not to wait!" but 'Lena
+was decided, and the most she would promise was, that in the spring
+she would think about it!
+
+"Six months," said Durward, "I'll never wait so long!" but he forbore
+pressing her further on the subject, knowing that he should have her
+in the house with him, which would in a great measure relieve the
+tedium of waiting.
+
+During the autumn, his devotion to 'Lena furnished Carrie with a
+subject for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly-engaged people.
+
+"I declare," said she, one evening after the departure of Durward,
+'Lena, and Nellie, who had been spending the day at Maple Grove, "I'm
+perfectly disgusted, and if this is a specimen, I hope I shall never
+be engaged."
+
+"Don't give yourself a moment's uneasiness," retorted John Jr., "I've
+not the least idea that such a calamity will ever befall you, and
+years hence my grandchildren will read on some gravestone, 'Sacred to
+the memory of Miss Caroline Livingstone, aged 70.  In single
+blessedness she lived--and in the same did die!'"
+
+"You think you are cunning, don't you," returned Carrie, more angry
+than she was willing to admit.
+
+She had received the news of Durward's engagement much better than
+could have been expected, and after a little she took to quoting and
+cousining 'Lena, while John Jr. seldom let an opportunity pass of
+hinting at the very recent date Of her admiration for Miss Graham.
+
+Almost every day for several weeks after Durward's return, he looked
+for a visit from Joel Slocum, who did not make his appearance until
+some time toward the last of November.  Then he came, claiming, and
+_proving_, his relationship with Mrs. Graham, who was terribly
+annoyed, and who, it was rumored, _hired_ him to leave!
+
+During the winter, nothing of importance occurred, if we except the
+fact that a part of Mabel's fortune, which was supposed to have been
+lost, was found to be good, and that John Jr. one day unexpectedly
+found himself to be the lawful heir of fifty thousand dollars.  Upon
+Mrs. Livingstone this circumstance produced a rather novel effect,
+renewing, in its original force, all her old affection for Mabel, who
+was now "our dear little Meb." Many were the comparisons drawn
+between Mrs. John Jr. No. 1, and Mrs. John Jr. No. 2, that was to be,
+the former being pronounced far more lady-like and accomplished than
+the latter, who, during her frequent visits at Maple Grove,
+continually startled her mother-in-law elect by her loud, ringing
+laugh, for Nellie was very happy.  Her influence, too, over John Jr.
+became ere long, perceptible in his quiet, gentle manner, and his
+abstinence from the rude speeches which heretofore had seemed a part
+of his nature.
+
+Mrs. Graham had proposed spending the winter in New Orleans, but to
+this Durward objected.  He wanted 'Lena all to himself, he said, and
+as she seemed perfectly satisfied to remain where she was, the
+project was given up, Mrs. Graham contenting herself with
+anticipating the splendid entertainment she would give at the
+wedding, which was to take place about the last of March.  Toward the
+first of January the preparations began, and if Carrie had never
+before felt a pang of envy, she did now, when she saw the elegant
+trousseau which Mr. Graham ordered for his daughter.  But all such
+feelings must be concealed, and almost every day she rode over to
+Woodlawn, admiring this, going into ecstasies over that, and
+patronizingly giving her advice on all subjects, while all the time
+her heart was swelling with bitter disappointment.  Having always
+felt so sure of securing Durward, she had invariably treated other
+gentlemen with such cool indifference that she was a favorite with
+but few, and as she considered these few her inferiors, she had more
+than once feared lest John Jr.'s prediction concerning the
+_lettering_ on her tombstone should prove true!
+
+"Anything but that," said she, dashing away her tears, as she thought
+how 'Lena had supplanted her in the affections of the only person she
+could ever love,
+
+"Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the parlor," said
+Corinda, putting her head in at the door.
+
+Since his unfortunate affair with Anna, the captain had avoided Maple
+Grove, but feeling lonely at Sunnyside, he had come over this morning
+to call.  Finding Mrs. Livingstone absent, he had asked for Carrie,
+who was so unusually gracious that he wondered he had never before
+discovered how greatly superior to her sister she was!  All his
+favorite pieces were sung to him, and then, with the patience of a
+martyr, the young lady seated herself at the backgammon board,
+playing game after game, until she could scarcely tell her men from
+his.  On his way home the captain fell into a curious train of
+reflections, while Carrie, when asked by Corinda, if "old marster was
+done gone," sharply reprimanded the girl, telling her "it was very
+impolite to call anybody _old_, particularly one so young as Captain
+Atherton!"
+
+The next day the captain came again, and the next, and the next,
+until at last his former intimacy at Maple Grove seemed to be
+re-established.  And all this time no one had an inkling of the true
+state of things, not even John Jr., who never dreamed it possible for
+his haughty sister, to grace Sunnyside as its mistress.  "But
+stranger things than that had happened and were happening every day,"
+Carrie reasoned, as she sat alone in her room, revolving the
+propriety of answering "Yes" to a note which the captain had that
+morning placed in her hand at parting.  She looked at herself in the
+mirror.  Her face was very fair, and as yet untouched by a single
+mark or line.  She thought of him, _bald_, _wrinkled_, _fat_ and
+_forty-six_!
+
+"I'll never do it," she exclaimed.  "Better live single all my days."
+
+At this moment, the carriage of Mrs. Graham drew up, and from it
+alighted 'Lena, richly clad.  The sight of her produced a reaction,
+and Carrie thought again.  Captain Atherton was generous to a fault.
+He was able and willing to grant her slightest wish, and as his wife,
+she could compete with, if not outdo, 'Lena in the splendor of her
+surroundings.  The pen was resumed, and Carrie wrote the words which
+sealed her destiny for life.  This done, nothing could move her, and
+though her father entreated, her mother scolded, and John Jr.
+_swore_, it made no difference.  "She was old enough to choose for
+herself," she said, "and she had done so."
+
+When Mrs. Livingstone became convinced that her daughter was in
+earnest, she gave up the contest, taking sides with her.  Like
+Durward, Captain Atherton was in a hurry, and it was decided that the
+wedding should take place a week before the time appointed for that
+of her cousin.  Determining not to be outdone by Mrs. Graham, Mrs.
+Livingstone launched forth on a large scale, and there commenced
+between the two houses a species of rivalry extremely amusing to a
+looker on.  Did Mrs. Graham purchase for 'Lena a costly silk, Mrs.
+Livingstone forthwith secured a piece of similar quality, but
+different pattern, for Carrie.  Did Mrs. Graham order forty dollars'
+worth of confectionery, Mrs. Livingstone immediately increased her
+order to fifty dollars.  And when it was known that Mrs. Graham had
+engaged a Louisville French cook at two dollars per day, Mrs.
+Livingstone sent to Cincinnati, offering three for one!
+
+Carrie had decided upon a tour to Europe, and the captain had given
+his consent, when it was reported that Durward and 'Lena were also
+intending to sail for Liverpool.  In this dilemma there was no
+alternative save a trip to California or the Sandwich Islands!  The
+former was chosen, Captain Atherton offering to defray Mrs.
+Livingstone's expenses if she would accompany them.  This plan Carrie
+warmly seconded, for she knew her mother's presence would greatly
+relieve her from the society of her husband, which was _not_ as
+agreeable to her as it ought to have been.  But Mr. Livingstone
+refused to let his wife go, unless Anna came home and stayed with him
+while she was gone.
+
+He accordingly wrote to Anna, inviting her and Malcolm to be present
+at Carrie's wedding, purposely omitting the name of the bridegroom;
+and three days before the appointed time they came.  It was dark when
+they arrived, and as they were not expected that night, they entered
+the house before any one was aware of their presence.  John Jr.
+chanced to be in the hall, and the moment he saw Anna, he caught her
+in his arms, shouting so uproariously that his father and mother at
+once hastened to the spot.
+
+"Will you forgive me, father ?" Anna said, and Mr. Livingstone
+replied by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended his hand to
+Malcolm.
+
+"Where's Carrie?" Anna said, and John Jr. replied, "In the parlor,
+with her future spouse.  Shall I introduce you?"
+
+So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then recoiled in
+terror as she saw Captain Atherton.
+
+"Oh, Carrie!" she exclaimed.  "It cannot be----that I see you again!"
+she added, as she met her sister's warning look.
+
+Another moment and they were in each other's arms weeping bitterly,
+the one that her sister should thus throw herself away, and the
+other, because she was wretched.  It was but for an instant, however,
+and then Carrie was herself again.  Playfully presenting Anna to the
+Captain, she said, "Ain't I good to take up with what you left!"
+
+But no one smiled at this joke--the captain, least of all, and as
+Carrie glanced from him to Malcolm, she felt that her sister had made
+a happy choice.  The next day 'Lena came, overjoyed to meet Anna, who
+more than any one else, rejoiced in her good fortune.
+
+"You deserve it all," she said, when they were alone, "and if Carrie
+had one tithe of your happiness in store I should be satisfied."
+
+But Carrie asked for no sympathy.  "It was no one's business whom she
+married," she said; and so one pleasant night in the early spring,
+they decked her in her bridal robes, and then, white, cold, and
+feelingless as a marble statue, she laid her hand in Captain
+Atherton's, and took upon her the vows which made her his forever.  A
+few days after the ceremony, Carrie began to urge their immediate
+departure for California.
+
+"There was no need of further delay," she said.  "No one cared to see
+'Lena married.  Weddings were stupid things, anyway, and her mother
+could just as well go one time as another."
+
+At first Mrs. Livingstone hesitated, but when Carrie burst into a
+passionate fit of weeping, declaring "she'd kill herself if she had
+to stay much longer at Sunnyside and be petted by _that old fool_,"
+she consented, and one week from the day of the marriage they
+started.  In Carrie's eyes there was already a look of weary sadness,
+which said that the bitter tears were constantly welling up, while on
+her brow a shadow was resting, as if Sunnyside were a greater burden
+than she could bear.  Alas, for a union without love!  It seldom
+fails to end in misery, and thus poor Carrie found it.  Her husband
+was proud of her, and, had she permitted, would have loved her after
+his fashion, but his affectionate advances were invariably repulsed,
+until at last he treated her with a cold politeness, far more
+endurable than his fawning attentions had been.  She was welcome to
+go her own way, and he went his, each having in San Francisco their
+own suite of rooms, and setting up, as it were, a separate
+establishment.  In this way they got on quite comfortably for a few
+weeks, at the end of which time Carrie took it into her capricious
+head to return to Maple Grove.  She would never go back to Sunnyside,
+she said.  And without a word of opposition the captain paid his
+bills, and started for Kentucky, where he left his wife at Maple
+Grove, she giving as a reason that "ma could not spare her yet."
+
+Far different from this were the future prospects of Durward and
+'Lena, who with perfect love in their hearts were married, a week
+after the departure of Captain Atherton for California.  Very proudly
+Durward looked down upon her as he placed the first husband's kiss on
+her brow, and in the soft brown eyes, brimming with tears, which she
+raised to his face, there was a world of tenderness, telling that
+theirs was a union of hearts as well as hands.
+
+The next night a small party assembled at the house of Mr. Douglass,
+in Frankfort, where Nellie was transformed into Nellie Livingstone.
+Perhaps it was the remembrance of the young girl to whom his vows had
+once before been plighted, that made John Jr. appear for a time as if
+he were in a dream.  But the moment they rallied him upon the
+strangeness of his manner, he brightened up, saying that he was
+trying to get used to thinking that Nellie was really his.  It had
+been decided that he should accompany Durward and 'Lena to Europe,
+and a day or two after his marriage he asked Mr. Everett to go too.
+Anna's eyes fairly danced with joy, as she awaited Malcolm's reply.
+But much as he would like to go, he could not afford it, and so he
+frankly said, kissing away the big tear which rolled down Anna's
+cheek.
+
+With a smile John Jr.  placed a sealed package in his sister's hand,
+saying to Malcolm, "I have anticipated this and provided for it.  I
+suppose you are aware that Mabel willed me all her property, which
+contrary to our expectations, has proved to be considerable.  I know
+I do not deserve a cent of it, but as she had no nearer relative than
+Mr. Douglass, I have concluded to use it for the comfort of his
+daughter and for the good of others.  I want you and Anna to join us,
+and I've given her such a sum as will bear your expenses, and leave
+you more than you can earn dickering at law for three or four years.
+So, puss," turning to Anna, "it's all settled.  Now hurrah for the
+sunny skies of France and Italy, I've talked with father about it,
+and he's willing to stay alone for the sake of having you go.  Oh,
+don't thank me," he continued, as he saw them about to speak.  "It's
+poor little Meb to whom you are indebted.  She loved Anna, and would
+willingly have her money used for this purpose."
+
+After a little reflection Malcolm concluded to accept John's offer,
+and a happier party never stepped on board a steamer than that which,
+on the 15th of April, sailed for Europe, which they reached in
+safety, being at the last accounts in Paris, where they were enjoying
+themselves immensely.
+
+A few words more, and our story is told.  Just as Mr. Livingstone was
+getting tolerably well suited with his bachelor life, he was one
+morning surprised by the return of his wife and daughter, the latter
+of whom, as we have before stated, took up her abode at Maple Grove.
+Almost every day the old captain rides over to see her, but he
+generally carries back a longer face than he brings.  The bald spot
+on his head is growing larger, and to her dismay Carrie has
+discovered a "crow track" in the corner of her eye.  Frequently,
+after a war of words with her mother, she announces her intention of
+returning to Sunnyside, but a sight of the captain is sufficient to
+banish all such thoughts.  And thus she lives, that most wretched of
+all beings, an unloving and unloved wife.
+
+During the absence of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Graham remain at
+Woodlawn, which, as it is the property of Durward, will be his own
+and 'Lena's home.
+
+Jerry Langley has changed his occupation of driver for that of a
+brakeman on the railroad between Canandaigua and Niagara Falls.
+
+In conclusion we will say of our old friend, Uncle Timothy, that he
+joined "the _Hindews_" as proposed, was nominated for constable, and,
+sure of success, bought an old gig for the better transportation of
+himself over the town.  But alas for human hopes--if funded upon
+politics--the whole American ticket was defeated at Laurel Hill,
+since which time he has gone over to the Republicans, to whom he has
+sworn eternal allegiance.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Lena Rivers, by Mary J. Holmes
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'LENA RIVERS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 12835.txt or 12835.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/8/3/12835/
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/old/old/12835.zip b/old/old/12835.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7b44f86
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/old/12835.zip