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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:50 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:50 -0700 |
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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>’LENA RIVERS</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by MRS. MARY J. HOLMES</h2> + + +<h3>AUTHOR OF</h3> + +<h5>“TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,” “ENGLISH ORPHANS,” +“DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT,” “MARIAN GRAY,” +“ETHELYN’S MISTAKE,” “CAMERON PRIDE,” “EDNA +BROWNING,” “WEST LAWN,” “EDITH LYLE,” 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. ’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’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’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’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 ’LENA’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 +“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 <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 “’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. +</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 “Grandma Nichols,” a “Joel Slocum,” or a +“Nancy Scovandyke,” while the wide world holds more than one +’<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 “sunny south.” +</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/> +’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 “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. +</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’ +“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 <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> +“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.” +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Married! Married! Helena married! Who to? Where’s her +husband?” 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’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.” +</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, “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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait, darling, until he knows you,” said he, “and then he +will gladly welcome you as his daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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"> +“H. R<small>IVERS</small>.” +</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’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. +</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’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’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. +</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—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 +’<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—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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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, “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. +</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 +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I will leave my trunk here for a few days,” said John, “and +perhaps I shall wish for a room. Got any decent accommodations?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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 <i>Ant</i>?” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of that name John started, coloring so deeply that ’Lena +observed it, and asked “if he knew Miss Scovandyke?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Scovandyke was evidently an unpleasant topic for Mr. Livingstone, and +changing the subject, he said, “What makes you say <i>Granny</i>, +child?” +</p> + +<p> +’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 <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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if grandpa was worse,” said ’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 +“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. +</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 “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 +<i>refined</i> and <i>polished</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</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, +“John has come. Would you like to see him?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Taking both his father’s hands in his, John said, “Here I am, +father; can’t you see me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +A long time his father awaited his answer, and then he spoke again: +“Won’t you give your old mother a home?” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Mr. John Nichols</i>, you understand it.” +</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 “he should bring home as many +‘old women’ and ‘young ones’ as he liked, and she might +help herself if she could!” +</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, “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.” +</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’s dismay at hearing +herself called ’<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—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.” +</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 ’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.” +</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 “a +fool,” for having liked “such a <i>pussy</i>, 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>mop</i>? +It’s bran new, never been used above a dozen times, and I can’t +afford to give it away.” +</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’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, “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>nigger</i> ride my mop! <i>my new mop</i>!” 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>We</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about them,” he asked, somewhat gruffly, for it grated upon +his feelings to hear his daughters called cousin by her. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to know how they look, and which one I shall like the +best,” continued ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“None too well, I reckon,” returned her uncle, adding that +“there were not many little girls who did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why <i>I</i> do,” said ’Lena, and her uncle, stopping for a +moment his whittling, replied rather scornfully, “<i>You</i>! I should +like to know what you ever studied besides the spelling-book!” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you do it then,” asked her uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>talk like you do</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t <i>what</i>, sir?” said ’Lena, +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t <i>talk like you do</i>,” repeated her uncle, while +’Lena’s eyes fairly danced with mischief as she asked, “if +that were good grammar.” +</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 +’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—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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<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—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. +</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’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.” +</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 “nutcakes,” +which would “save John’s buying dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</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, “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!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Drive on</i>,” 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> +“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.” +</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’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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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’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!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they are not,” said John; “I saw them aboard +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“A rare specimen of the raw Yankee,” said the stranger to John, +never dreaming in what relation she stood to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” 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 +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>almost a man</i>—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 <i>smash-up</i> this time, had attempted to rise, screaming loudly +for “<i>John</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” answered ’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 “<i>sir</i>” 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father,” returned the boy called Durward, “but not +always one like this. Isn’t she pretty,” he added in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do sit down,” said ’Lena; “the other people +don’t seem to be afraid, and I’m sure we needn’t.” +</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 “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!” +</p> + +<p> +Here a little <i>popcorn</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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, <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> +“I’ve lost my purse. Somebody’s stole it. Lock the door +quick, and search every man, woman, and child in the car!” +</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> +“Stop the train then, and let me get off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had you a large amount?” asked the conductor. +</p> + +<p> +“Every cent I had in the world. Ain’t you going to let me get +off?” 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, +“There, now, I’ve just this minute thought. I hadn’t but +<i>five</i> 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. +</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, “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.” +</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 “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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>gal</i>—which is it, hey?” +</p> + +<p> +“None of your business,” was ’Lena’s ready answer. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be saucy,” continued her tormentor; “I only want +to see what sort of stuff you are made of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Made of <i>dirt</i>” muttered ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you are,” returned the boy; “but say, where +<i>did</i> you come from and who <i>do</i> you live with?” +</p> + +<p> +“I came from Massachusetts, and I live with <i>granny</i>,” said +’Lena, thinking that if she answered him civilly, he would perhaps let +her alone. But she was mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing at “<i>granny</i>,” 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?” +</p> + +<p> +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, “<i>John</i>, John +Livingstone, Jr., how came you here?” +</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 +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +It would be difficult to describe the amazement of John Jr. when ’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, “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. +</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 “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>wanted</i> 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 <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 “where he was going?” +</p> + +<p> +Feigning a yawn and rubbing his eyes, John Jr. replied that “he was +confounded sleepy and was going to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Lena, where did he say he was going?” asked her uncle. +</p> + +<p> +’Lena trembled, for John Jr. had clinched his fist, and was shaking it +threateningly at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did he say he was going?” repeated her uncle. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>he</i> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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’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 <i>ours</i>! But as for the rest, ’twas +<i>my</i> house, <i>my</i> servants, <i>my</i> carriage, and <i>my</i> horses. +All <i>mine</i>—“Mrs. John Livingstone’s—Miss Matilda +Richards that was!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anna Livingstone!” returned the indignant lady, “Never let +me hear you say grandma and cousin again.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so,” slyly whispered +John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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, +“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. +</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, “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.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, if we only had something for the mantel,” said she; “it +seems so empty.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“There, I told you so,” said she, quickly returning. “She +says you carry them straight back and let the room alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Anna began to cry, saying “the vases were hers, and she should think she +might do what she pleased with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“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, +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t my vases stay in here? Nobody’ll hurt ’em, and +they’ll look so pretty,” said Anna. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t that hateful John behave, and let me alone?” said +Carrie. +</p> + +<p> +“And can’t Carrie quit sticking her nose in other folks’ +business?” chimed in John Jr. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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——?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</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. “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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“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. +</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. “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. +</p> + +<p> +“John, <i>John</i>” said Mrs. Nichols, “them niggers +won’t scent my things, will they?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>here</i>!” +</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, +“as like enough they’d break the umberell, or squash her +caps.” +</p> + +<p> +“The trumpery room is plenty good enough for ’em,” thought +Corinda, retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of +her contempt. +</p> + +<p> +The moment ’Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, “Oh, +mercy, which is the oldest?” and truly, poor ’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 “it was a pity not to get all the +good out of them she could.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” groaned Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“John Livingstone, what do you mean?” said she, “shut that +door this minute.” +</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> +“This is Carrie, and this is Anna,” 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, +“Now I want to know if this is Car’line. I’d no idee she was +so big. You pretty well, Car’line?” +</p> + +<p> +Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother’s fingers, and +with stately gravity replied that she was well. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am,” 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> +“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’.” +</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, “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?” +</p> + +<p> +A groan was Mrs. Livingstone’s only answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Little hystericky, I guess,” suggested Mrs. Nichols, adding that +“settin’ her feet in middlin’ hot water is good for +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 “how much it +cost when ’twas new.” +</p> + +<p> +We left ’Lena standing on the steps of the piazza. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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? +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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,” +</p> + +<p> +’Lena complied, and to Anna’s great joy they were just of a height. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad,” said she. “Now, come to my room and +Corinda will fix you up mighty nice before mother sees you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Cora,” said Anna. “Come with me to my room; I want +you.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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’s first remark, however, struck her still more forcibly, and +she immediately asked, “Grandma, what did you call ’Lena, just now? +’Lena what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I called her by her name, ’Lena Rivers. What should I call +her?” returned Mrs. Nichols. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I thought her name was ’Lena Nichols; ma said +’twas,” answered Anna. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“But where is Mr. Rivers?” asked Anna more interested in him than +in the exact minute of her father’s birth. +</p> + +<p> +“The Lord only knows,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “Little girls +shouldn’t ask too many questions.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Walking up to the girl, whose name she did not know, she said, “Sissy, +can you tell me where <i>John</i> is?” +</p> + +<p> +Quickly “Sissy’s” ivories became visible, as she replied, +“We hain’t got any such nigger as John.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>nigger</i>; I want your master, <i>John</i>!” +</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 “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have all confidence in Milly’s management, and seldom trouble +myself about the affairs of the kitchen,” answered Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Considerable kind o’ touchy,” thought Mrs. Nichols, +“but then the poor critter is sick, and I shan’t lay it up agin +her.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Never told you nothin’ about Nancy Scovandyke! If that don’t +beat all! Why, he was——” +</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> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife’s room, he found her in a +collapsed state of anger and mortification. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>John</i> Nichols,” said she, with a strong emphasis on the +first word, which sounded very much like <i>Jarn</i>, “do you mean to +kill me by bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room +without knocking—calling me ’<i>Tilda</i>, and prating about Nancy +somebody——” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s bad, I know,” said he, smoothing her glossy hair, +“but then, she’s old, you know. Have you seen ’Lena?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, neither do I wish to, if she’s at all like her +grandmother,” answered Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s handsome,” suggested Mr. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Those advantages, then, she shall never have,” 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’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 <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> +“Come, children,” said she, “don’t stay out +there—come in.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Cad, turn your nose up clear to the top of your head,” said +John Jr., vastly enjoying his sister’s vexation. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s a nice little cupboard over the fireplace; I’d put +them here,” said ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” chimed in John Jr., imitating both his grandmother and +cousin; “yes, granny, put ’em there; the niggers are <i>awful +critters</i> to steal, and like enough you’d ’lose ’em if +they sot in with marm’s!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>Durward Bellmont</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Durward! How that name made ’Lena’s heart leap! Was it <i>her</i> +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.” +</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> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +’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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</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—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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Does missus want anything?” asked Aunt Milly, and grandma replied, +“Yes, I want to know if ’tain’t nigh about +<i>noon</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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’.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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” +</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 +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some drunken critter, I warrant,” thought Mrs. Nichols, at the +same time asking what his name was. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeems,” said Aunt Polly. +</p> + +<p> +This was not definite enough for Mrs. Nichols, who asked for the surname, +“Jeems what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeems Atherton, I reckon, bein’ he ’longed to ole Marster +Atherton,” 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, “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say nothin’ about it. We shall all be white in heaven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dat am de trufe,” 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, “ole miss was eatin’ +in the kitchen ’long with Lion, Aunt Polly and the other dogs!” +</p> + +<p> +The coffee being drank, Mrs. Nichols returned to the house, thinking +“what sights of comfort she should take with <i>Mrs. Atherton</i>,” +whom she pronounced to be “a likely, clever woman as ever was.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 “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! +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—<i>never</i>,” 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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, mother, we are waiting for you,” said he, as she stopped on +her way to ask Vine, the <i>fly girl</i>, “how she did, and if it +wasn’t hard work to swing them feathers.” +</p> + +<p> +Not being very bright, Vine replied with a grim, “Dun know, miss.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Miss +Atherton</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“With whom?” asked Mr. Livingstone, John Jr., Carrie, and Anna, in +the same breath. +</p> + +<p> +“With Miss Polly Atherton, that nice old colored lady in the +kitchen,” said Mrs. Nichols. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Accustomed to eat in the kitchen, probably,” muttered Carrie, with +all the air of a young lady of twenty. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on to your nose, Cad,” whispered John Jr., thereby attracting +his sister’s attention to himself. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the soup was removed, and a fine large turkey appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“What a noble great feller. Gobbler, ain’t it?” asked Mrs. +Nichols, touching the turkey with the knife. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, grandma? Can’t you eat it?” asked +Anna. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I kin eat it, but I don’t hanker arter it,” 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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“For heaven’s sake, husband, go out and see what’s the +matter,” 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.’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!” +</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’s request, she had ceased to call “’Tilda.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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’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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t do any such thing,” said ’Lena, seeing at a +glance how such a proposal would be received. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The latter ’Lena knew nothing about, but she replied that “she +believed he was from Rockford, a village near Rochester, New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Nancy Scovandyke’s sister lives there. I wouldn’t +wonder if he knew her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” 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 ’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 ’Lena “quit her Yankee +habit of eternally <i>guessing</i>,” and ’Lena retorting that +“she would when Carrie stopped her everlasting <i>reckoning</i>.” +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. +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh,” exclaimed Anna, “what a green, boyish looking thing! I +reckon nobody’s going to be afraid of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I like him,” was ’Lena’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’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. +</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 ’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, “Your name is Everett, I +b’lieve?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am,” said he, bowing very gracefully toward her. +</p> + +<p> +“Any kin to the governor that was?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am, none whatever,” and the white teeth became +slightly visible for a moment, but soon disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“You are from Rockford, ’Lena tells me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am. Have you friends there?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Law, now! how did you know that!” asked Mrs. Nichols, while Mr. +Everett answered, “I <i>guessed</i> at it,” with a peculiar +emphasis on the word guessed, which led ’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. +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</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> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “meant to hobble down if possible, for” +said she, “I want to see this Durward Bellmont. Matilda says he’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’s some kin!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bashful,” returned the captain, while Nellie Douglass asked, +“who ’Lena was,” 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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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, “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. +</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> +“Get up, Cad,” said John Jr. “Nobody’s going to act +like they were at a funeral; get up, and let’s play something.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Feeling her long curls, he exclaimed, “Anna, you are caught.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I ain’t Anna; let me go,” said ’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 ’Lena, +who would have escaped had she not been so securely hemmed in. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you ashamed, ’Lena, to be peeking?” asked +Carrie, while Durward repeated—“’<i>Lena</i>! +’<i>Lena</i>! I’ve seen her before in the cars between Springfield +and Albany; but how came she here?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Your cousin,” said Durward, “and where’s the old lady +who was with her?” +</p> + +<p> +“The one she called <i>granny</i>?” asked John Jr., on purpose to +rouse up his fiery little cousin. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t call her <i>granny</i>, neither—I’ve quit +it,” said ’Lena, angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk, +“she’s up <i>stars</i>, sick with the rheumatism.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Durward, “but why are you not down here with +us?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty, isn’t she,” said Nellie, as the full blaze of the +chandelier fell upon ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“Rath-er,” was Carrie’s hesitating reply. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—“<i>To +Mis HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey post offis, +care of Mis nichals</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>Helleny</i>, I <i>guess</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Read it—may we read it?” eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to +see ’Lena doing such justice to her reputation. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish ’twas deeper,” muttered John Jr. “You’d +no business to serve her so mean.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +Pity he could not have known how bitterly ’Lena had wept over her hasty +action—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’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.” +</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 +’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>I hate you</i>, and so do all of them +downstairs, Durward in particular.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know your grandmother was ill,” 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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, to Mabel,” said ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“And not Durward?” asked Nellie. +</p> + +<p> +With something of her old spirit ’Lena answered, “No, he hates +me—Carrie says so.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +On the stairs she met Durward, who was looking for her, and asked where she had +been. +</p> + +<p> +“To bid ’Lena good-bye; don’t you want to go too?” said +Nellie. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, if you are sure she won’t scratch my eyes out,” he +returned, gayly, following his cousin. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Angry, because she felt the truth of what her son said, Mrs. Livingstone +demanded “what he’d have her do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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. +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “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 <i>nose</i>, 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. +</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’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 “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.” +</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. “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. +</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’ 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 <i>trade</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>and waited</i>! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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, “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 <i>nose</i> will be broken when once he sees our +’Lena.” +</p> + +<p> +Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech, while Durward +asked if “Miss Rivers were so very handsome?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Handsome</i>!” repeated John. “That don’t begin to +express it. <i>Cad</i> is what I call <i>handsome</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>marks</i> of her affection,” referring to the +scratch she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to speak, +replied that “the <i>will</i> and the <i>claws</i> remained the same, +though common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“She knows <i>when</i> and <i>where</i> to be amiable,” retorted +Carrie. “Any one of her admirers would tell the same story with +yourself.” +</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, +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>is</i> handsome and +agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +(<i>lazy</i>, as her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged +to superintend the cookery. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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’ 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. +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what of it?” was the uncivil answer. +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, <i>kissed</i> her twice; then turning to him, she +said, “I suppose you do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>she</i> is beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“She <i>was</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who takes my name in vain?” asked John Jr., himself appearing at a +side door. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, John,” said Carrie, “we were just disputing about +’Lena. Durward does not think her handsome.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little too rosy, that’s all,” said Durward, laughingly, +while John continued, “She <i>did</i> look confounded red and dowdyish, +for her. I don’t understand it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And so ’Lena’s got the headache,” said John Jr. +“Well, I don’t wonder, cooking all the dinner as she did.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone’s +angry frown bade her son keep silence, +</p> + +<p> +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, “<i>This</i> explains the extreme rosiness which so much +offended your lordship. When next you see her, you’ll change your +mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he now +presented her to Durward. The <i>Noble’s</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I acknowledge that I was wrong—your cousin <i>is</i> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Everett anything to her!” asked Durward, half hoping that +she would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old +man?” asked Durward, laughing at the very idea. +</p> + +<p> +“He is <i>rich</i>. ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, “it behooves you, +in his presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other +gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t lived nineteen years for nothing,” said Carrie, +folding her soft white hands complacently one over the other. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can’t—I <i>shan’t</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i>! What could <i>you</i> say to her?” returned Mrs. +Livingstone, to whom the proposition was not altogether displeasing. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i>. She was a short, dumpy, florid looking +woman, showily, and as ’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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>she</i> was not expected. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>would</i> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 +’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—<i>Rivers</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone, suddenly +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“My mother is dead,” answered ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“And your father?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’<i>Lena</i>. 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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, or <i>Helena</i>, which was her mother’s name.” +</p> + +<p> +“And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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!” +</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 “bright, naughty eyes” flash so angrily, that +even Durward noticed it, and wondered if ’Lena’s temper had not +been transferred to her cousin. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,” answered Carrie. +</p> + +<p> +“She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—does she belong +to a Virginia family?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” returned Mrs. Graham, “What a pity we +couldn’t all have been born in England. There, dear, you can leave me +now.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>collapse</i>, as she called it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. +Graham’s first dinner with them should be in style. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—it won’t hurt +her to-day more than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>salted</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she, “and +you must look after her a little, for I shall not come down.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked “if anything stung +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—no,” said he, at the same time indicating that it was +not worth while to mind it. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,” returned Mrs. Graham, +clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Anywheres near Richmond?” continued Mrs. Nichols. +</p> + +<p> +“I was born in Richmond, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Law, now I who knows but you’re well acquainted with Nancy +Scovandyke’s kin.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Which would be Miss Nancy’s great-aunt,” interrupted John +Jr. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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 “if there ever was any one who had so much trouble with servants +as herself.” +</p> + +<p> +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>I</i> made the pie, and must +have put in salt instead of sugar.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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, +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</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’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> +“Rivers—Rivers,” said he, “what kind of a looking man +was he?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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, “How disgusting! But for pa’s sake we tolerate it.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather hoydenish, I should think,” 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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward. “You would +like to visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has carried six many a time,” said Durward, “and if she +will go, I will take you on my lap, or anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 +“hereafter watching the vixen pretty closely.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she’s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well, +I fancy I can prevent that.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Whew!” thought the young man. “Plotting, are they? Well, +I’ll see how good I am at counterplotting.” +</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; “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, marster,” answered Bill, looking around for his old straw +hat. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“All right,” said John Jr., tossing him the silver. “And now +remember to keep your tongue between your teeth.” +</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 ’Lena, to whom he said, “And so you +are going to ride to-morrow morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t, either, and if any one tells you to go don’t +you do it,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you told him?” whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the +hall. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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 ’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> +“Jumps like a toad,” said Bill. “Ain’t stiff and clumsy +like Miss Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked ’Lena +“where she wished to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anywhere you please,” said she, when, for reasons of his own, he +proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</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, ’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove an +illusion and fade away,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>huckleberries</i> with <i>Joel Slocum</i>! 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 ’<i>Lena</i>, 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. +</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 “how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?” +</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 ’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!” +</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 +’Lena, cast wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently +asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had returned from his ride.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 “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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Woodlawn,” answered ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“To Woodlawn!” repeated Mrs. Graham. +</p> + +<p> +“To Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the +rear by exclaiming, “To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?” +</p> + +<p> +“The pony,” answered ’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, “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.” +</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’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Simply because she wasn’t invited, I suppose,” returned his +wife, detecting the disappointment in his face. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Or you would have gone on horseback,” said his wife, ever ready to +catch at straws. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 +’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder what you can do! Will +you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you adopt the old woman too?” asked Mrs. Graham, whose face +was turned away so as to hide its expression. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</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, “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What know you of her parentage?” said Mr. Graham, his lips turning +slightly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, what do I know?” answered his wife. “Her father, if she +has any, is a rascal, a villain——” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, all of that,” muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife +continued, “And her mother a poor, low, mean, +ignorant——” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” thundered Mr. Graham. “You shall not speak so of any +woman of whom you know nothing, much less of ’Lena Rivers’ +mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” returned Mr. Graham, “that ’Lena’s +mother could be nothing else than respectable.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’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. +</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. “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. +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +“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”—“<i>Miss ’Lena Rivers</i>;” and here +she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked up +inquiringly—“And as I live, one for +<i>grandma</i>—‘MRS. MARTHA NICHOLS!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for +the billet. “Yes, ’tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!—what can it +mean?” +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!” said Carrie. +“It’s bad enough to have ’Lena stuck in with us, for of +course <i>she’ll</i> go.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’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, +<i>rich</i>!—<i>capital</i>! 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +’Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin’s hand, read +that Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc. +</p> + +<p> +“But where’s the invite? That don’t say anything about +<i>me</i>!” said Mrs. Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug +after all. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” answered John Jr. willing to do anything for the sake +of the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother’s attendance. +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>We</i>,” repeated John Jr. “Pray, are you not +going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without an invitation,” said ’Lena smilingly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother’s room, asking +for “’Lena’s card.” +</p> + +<p> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it’s +not here,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s quiet answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Thunder!” roared John Jr., “’Lena not invited! +That’s a smart caper. But there’s some mistake about it, I know. +Who brought them?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Graham go to grass,” muttered John Jr., leaving the room and +slamming the door after him with great violence. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’s taste, and whatever suited him +suited her. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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, “I suppose you are all coming on Thursday night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” returned John Jr., “I believe the old folks, Cad, and +Anna intend doing so.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where’s Miss Rivers? Doesn’t she honor us with her +presence?” asked Durward, in some concern. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished the sentence +for him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, Miss ’Lena,” said the girl, “Marster +Bellmont want to speak with you in the hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“With ’Lena! How funny!” exclaimed Carrie. “Are you +sure it was ’Lena?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sure—he done ask for Miss Rivers.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“You feel better, now, don’t you ?” said Carrie with a sneer, +as ’Lena re-entered the parlor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a great deal,” was ’Lena’s truthful answer. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How ridiculous!” muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano. +“There’s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her +earlier.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t Miss Simpson still here?” asked her father. +</p> + +<p> +Anna replied that she was, and then turning to ’Lena, Mr. Livingstone +asked if “she wanted to go very much.” +</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> +“To Frankfort!” repeated his wife. “What has he gone there +for?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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, “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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and there was +something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone’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 “darling,” and “dearest,” +and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, “provided +Nellie Douglas were willing.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Ross,” 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’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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to Durward, +“How <i>can</i> you resist such beseeching glances as those ladies send +toward you?” nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie was one. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I do?” said ’Lena, unconsciously and half aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’Lena, who now leaned on his arm, +he said, “There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.—so mother +thinks!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” asked ’Lena, looking around. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, there,” continued John, pointing toward Mabel. +“Haven’t you noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches +over her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.”, +</p> + +<p> +“Going home with <i>us</i>!” repeated John Jr. “In the name +of the people, what is she going home with us for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” returned ’Lena, “your mother thinks the country +air will do her good.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Un</i>-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 <i>his</i> quarters with us, +so she can nurse him!” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</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’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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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, “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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush-sh,” said ’Lena—“you shan’t talk so, +for she is sick a great deal, and she does not feign it, either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” returned John Jr., “but she can at least keep +her <i>miserable feelings</i> to herself. Nobody wants to know how many times +she’s been blistered and bled!” +</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, “I dare +say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome to them for all +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what objection have you to her,” continued his mother, growing +very fidgety and red. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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——” +</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, “You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie will have me, +I surely will have her.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“Thunder!” was John’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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a +kiss, a liberty he often took with her. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, “You are sure she +don’t care for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly sure,” was ’Lena’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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 ’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. +</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 +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’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> +“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!” +</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> +“Oh, I am so happy,” said she one day to ’Lena, who was +speaking of her improved health. “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.” +</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, “Upon my word, Meb, if you keep on, you’ll get to be quite +decent looking in time.” +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“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. +</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 ’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> +“It’s only me, you know,” 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> +“Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?” asked +Mrs. Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</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 ’Lena, +and saying, “Meb wasn’t the worst girl in the world, after +all,” 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 +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the +parlor,” said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her reverie. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Livingstone!” she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a +mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, “Mrs. +Livingstone!—and so <i>he</i> 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.” +</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, “the +<i>air</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as well,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs. +“One fire is <i>cheaper</i> than two, and in these times I suppose it is +necessary for some people to economize.” +</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’s +face. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming next. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you’ve no curiosity whatever. Why +don’t you ask with whom Mabel is in love?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the +tassel of her blue silk apron. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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—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. +</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. “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.” +</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> +“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.” +</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’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: “Nellie, dear Nellie—there is something I want +so much to tell you—if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.” +</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’s brow, while +Nellie’s voice answered, softly and slow, “What is it, Mabel? I +will hear you.” +</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. “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.”) +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he—he, too, told you that he loved you?” said Nellie, +very low, holding her breath for the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no—<i>he</i> never told me in <i>words</i>. ’Twas his +mother that told me—he only <i>acted</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“And <i>she</i> is preferred to me!” said she. “Well, let it +be so, and God grant I may not hate her.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, “I dined at Mr. +Douglass’s—thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it possible?” said Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“But didn’t succeed,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“No, didn’t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems she’s +spreading sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison——” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. “Hasn’t Nellie +been visiting her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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,” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Capital,’ answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm +instantly passing before her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like it very much,” said Carrie, visions of a ride with +Durward crossing her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“And I too,” said ’Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.’s +shoulder, as if he would of course be her escort. +</p> + +<p> +Carrie’s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly insolent +tone, she said, “How do you know you are included?” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +’Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her. +“Isn’t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That reminds me of Christmas gifts,” said Durward, anxious to +change the conversation. “I wonder how many of us will get one?” +</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 “what old +niggers wanted to live for, bothering everybody to death.” +</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’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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe not,” was his answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Wall,” continued grandma, “bein’s the fashion, I want +you to give me somethin’ this Christmas, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said he, “what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ridiculous!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added, +“Just reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon he does, too!” said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar +smile, which nettled ’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, “I learned some news to-day which a little +surprised me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,” answered John, still +advancing toward the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Partly from her, and partly from others,” said his mother, adding, +as she saw him touch the door-knob, “It’s about Nellie +Douglass.” +</p> + +<p> +This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he asked, +“What of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,” said Mrs. +Livingstone, “only people in Frankfort think she’s going to be +married.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> think so, too,” was John’s mental reply, while his +verbal one was, “Married! To whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she’s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham’s +party.” +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I don’t believe it</i>,” interrupted John Jr., striking +his fist upon the table, to which he had returned. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 “perfect fool of himself,” 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’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.” +</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’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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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,” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Never dreaming that this was intended for ’Lena, Carrie looked vacantly +around, saying, “Why, where is it? I don’t see anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like her ?” he asked of ’Lena, extending his arms to +lift her down. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>kissed pa</i>!” +</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 +’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. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime grandma had claimed from her son her promised Christmas gift, which +was nothing less than “the freedom of old Aunt Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless missus’ dear old heart,” said Aunt Polly, “I +can’t read a word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure enough,” answered Mrs. Nichols, and taking up the paper she +read it through, managing to make the old creature comprehend its meaning. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Nichols looked on, silently thanking God for having made her an humble +instrument in contributing so much to another’s happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 +“’twasn’t for nothin’ she was turned out of her old +home and brought away over land and sea to Kentucky.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, cousin,” said she, “why are you not ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ready for what?” he answered, without raising his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, ready for our visit,” replied Lena, at the same time +advancing nearer, to see what ailed him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean what I say,” was his ungracious answer; “I’ve +no intention whatever of going to Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not going?” repeated ’Lena. “Why not? What will Carrie +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Not going?—of course then I must stay at home, too,” said +Carrie, secretly pleased at her brother’s decision. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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, “I +am sorry to trouble you, but if you would be so kind——” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve never lived with her,” returned Carrie, and here the +conversation concerning ’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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Did you invite him to come ?” said Nellie. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure we did,” answered Carrie, “and he said, +‘anywhere in creation but there.’” +</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, “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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And Miss Wilbur’s brother is to be your escort—he is +unmarried, I believe?” 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’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> +“That accounts for John’s sudden churlishness,” thought +’Lena, wondering how Nellie could have deceived him so. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite a probable story,” 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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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. “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?” +</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. ’Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie answered, +“Because I want to; what do you suppose?” +</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, “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.” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough—why do you ask?” answered John. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <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’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. +</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, “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. +</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’s absence with her. But to +this Mr. Douglass would not consent. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’s action, +which he of course construed just as his jealousy dictated. +</p> + +<p> +“Confounded fool!” thought he. “<i>I</i> wouldn’t hug +Nellie in the cars in good broad daylight, even if I was married to her!” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</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’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> +“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.” +</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. ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’ 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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy,” exclaimed the distressed lady, “whose is it? I hope +no one will ask for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lor, no,” returned the stupid servant, “Lor, no; I should +sooner think your eyes and face were swelled with <i>pisen</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</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, “Perhaps you are not aware that your son’s +attentions to this same ’Lena Rivers, are becoming somewhat +marked.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” returned Mrs. Graham, now raising herself upon her +elbow, “Thank you—-but do you know anything positive? What has +Durward done?” +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 “why she did not oftener visit Maple Grove.” +</p> + +<p> +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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Of my husband’s,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs. +Graham continued just where she left off. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Livingstone’s mother,” again interrupted the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that families +of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about her +husband’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. +“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.” +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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> +“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!” +</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, “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if report is true, that wife will be ’Lena Rivers,” said +Mrs. Graham, in order to try him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How ridiculous!” Durward exclaimed. “As though my father +cared aught for ’Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable +manners.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Mr. Graham say that?” asked Durward, looking his mother +directly in her face. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 “he had been hired by von +nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in musique.” +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +A FATHER’S LOVE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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. ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t expect to, so soon, I suppose,” was John’s +indifferent reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they’d +taken a steamer instead of a sailing vessel,” said ’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’Lena, but her face was as +calm and unruffled as if the visitor had been her uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we adjourn to another room,” 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> +“Does monsieur incline to stay,” asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took +his station at the end of the piano. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I never knew he was so fond of music,” thought he—“I +mean to put him to the test.” +</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—“something lively and new which will wake us up,” 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 +’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!” +</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, “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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> + * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +“Durward,” said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city, +“I have a request to make of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well.” +</p> + +<p> +The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham again +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“You know your mother as well as I do——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well.” +</p> + +<p> +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——” +</p> + +<p> +Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as well for her not to know that you’ve spent the afternoon +with ’Lena Rivers; is that it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I shall.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would,” continued Mr. Graham, “I’d +willingly give every dollar I’m worth for the privilege of calling her my +daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> + * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’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 ’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. +</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> +“Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?” asked the stranger of the +negro who answered the summons. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance. +</p> + +<p> +“And is old Miss Nichols and Helleny to hum?” +</p> + +<p> +The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young man to +walk in. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“There, hand that to your <i>boss</i>,” 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it, Ben ?” whispered Carrie. +</p> + +<p> +“Dunno, miss,” said the negro, passing the card to his master, and +waiting in silence for his orders. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Joel Slocum, Esq., Slocumville, Massachusetts,” slowly read +Mr. Livingstone, wondering where he had heard that name before. +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” simultaneously asked Carrie and Anna, while their mother +looked wonderingly up. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly John Jr. remembered ’Lena’s love-letter, and anticipating +fun, exclaimed, “Show him in, Ben—show him in.” +</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, +“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, <i>sir</i>! he was going to make +something of himself.” +</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 ’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. +</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 “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 <i>isms</i> 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 <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’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> +“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. +</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, “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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Livingstone did not even nod, Carrie but slightly, while Anna said, +“Good-evening, Mr. Slocum.” +</p> + +<p> +Quickly observing Mrs. Livingstone’s silence, Joel turned to John Jr., +saying, “Don’t believe she heard you—deaf, mebby?” +</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, “Now Aunt Martha, if this +ain’t good for sore eyes. How <i>do</i> you do ?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“’Tilda, this is Nancy Scovandyke’s sister’s boy. +Caroline and Anny, this is Joel; you’ve heard tell of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you fond of music?” asked John Jr., in hopes of what followed. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, give us ‘Money Musk,’ ‘Hail Columby,’ +‘Old Zip Coon,’ or anything to raise a feller’s ideas.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been to supper, Mr. Slocum ?” asked Mr. Livingstone, +pitying Carrie, and wishing to put an end to the performance. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +When both were gone to the dining-room, Mrs. Livingstone’s wrath boiled +over. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you propose turning him into the street?” asked Mr. +Livingstone, looking up from his paper. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t propose anything, except that he won’t stay in my +house, and you needn’t ask him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 “east +chamber,” a room used for her common kind of visitors, but which Joel +pronounced “as neat as a fiddle.” +</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 ’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. +</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, “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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +THE DAGUERREOTYPE.</h2> + +<p> +“Look, grandmother!—a picture of our old home. Isn’t it +natural?” exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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—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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’s heart. At last the +conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had heard. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never had it taken!” repeated Durward, in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +’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 +<i>Mr. Graham</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <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> +“Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,” said he. “She be +von fine girl. What relation be she to Monsieur Graham?” +</p> + +<p> +“None whatever. Why do you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he pay her musique lessons and——” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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. +</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> +“What’s the matter, mother?” said he, advancing toward her; +“What has happened to trouble you?” +</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 +’Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon him! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for Durward was +terribly moved. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think me bereft of my senses,” asked Mrs. Graham +petulantly, “that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every +one?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <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> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</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 +’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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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—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—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. +</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. “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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Immediately—before your return from Louisville—unless you +wish to accompany me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You can do as you choose,” said he, “but I should be glad of +your company.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I thank you,” 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, “where he was going?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is her husband with her?” asked ’Lena, to which Mabel +replied, that she understood she was alone. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’Lena +Rivers, which was unnaturally pale, while her dark eyes grew darker with the +intensity of her feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Explain yourself, madam, if you please,” exclaimed ’Lena, +her olden temper beginning to get the advantage of her. +</p> + +<p> +“And what if I do not please?” sneeringly asked Mrs. Graham. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +’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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,” +interrupted Mrs. Graham. +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Again I repeat, that is false!” said ’Lena, while Mrs. +Graham, strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, “I can prove +it, miss.” +</p> + +<p> +“I defy you to do so,” said ’Lena, strong in her own +innocence. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I show it to her, Durward,” asked Mrs. Graham, and +’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, “Shall I show it to her?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, “Pray, +don’t touch her—she does it for effect.” +</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 “coiling serpents.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting ’Lena, +asked “what she thought about it now?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, nothing—it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was +dead,” answered ’Lena, sobbing passionately. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“A bad headache,” answered ’Lena, at the same time announcing +her intention of retiring. +</p> + +<p> +“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> +“What is it,” she cried aloud—“this dark mystery, which +I cannot explain.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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> +“Gone to South Carolina!” exclaimed ’Lena. “When will +he return?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</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—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.” +</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, “I’ve come over, Bellmont, +to ask you a few plain, unvarnished questions, which I believe you will answer +truthfully. Am I right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, sir—go on,” was Durward’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, to begin, are you and ’Lena engaged?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been engaged?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you ever expect to be engaged?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you quarreled?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know why she wished to have Vesta sent home?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said Durward, determined, for ’Lena’s sake, +that no one should wring from him the secret. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing from Durward, who only felt bound to answer direct questions. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that other individual my mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it Cad?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had they any agency in the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“None, whatever, that I know of.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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 +“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. +</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 +’Lena. +</p> + +<p> +“Worse and worse,” 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, ’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. +</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. ’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.’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“News, no. What news?” asked John Jr., following after the fast +moving train. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 “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! +</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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mabel,” said he, advancing toward her, “will you marry me? +Say yes or no quick.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mabel laughed, and hardly knowing whether he were in earnest or not, asked +“if she should speak to the minister, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, no,” said he. “Just tell mother, and she’ll fix +it all right. Will you?” +</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—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. +</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.’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray what are you marrying her for? Her property?” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</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.” +</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’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.” +</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’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> +“It didn’t look right,” said she, “and she knew Mr. +Douglass would not object to having it there.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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> +“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.” +</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> +“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.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>thought</i> did; but what is your objection +to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, nothing,” returned ’Lena. “Mabel is amiable, +gentle, and confiding, and will try to be a good wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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, “So-ho, Meb, seems to me you’ve taken to +crying on my jacket a little in advance. But what’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I can manage that,” said John Jr. “Mr. Everett <i>shall</i> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +THE BRIDAL.</h2> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough,” was his answer, as, without raising his eyes, he +continued his walk. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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, “Tell me truly, do you wish to +marry me?” +</p> + +<p> +“And suppose I do not?” he asked, with the same stony composure. +</p> + +<p> +Stepping backward, Mabel stood proudly erect before him, and answered, +“Then would I die rather than wed you!” +</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, “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?” +</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. ’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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meddling old rascal!” 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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 +’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. +</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, +“Miss Rivers,” and starting quickly to her feet, ’Lena +demanded proudly what he would have, and why he was there. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</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> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will they remain in Europe?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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’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 ’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 ’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’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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Board</i>!” 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 <i>pet</i> and <i>baby</i> ‘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.” +</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’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> +“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. +</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’ +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.” +</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 “a perfect cry baby,” he resolved to go at all +hazards. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly,” +said Anna, who was present. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please <i>don’t</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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’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.” +</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, +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you about?” asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked +in. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But will Mabel like it?” asked Anna, a little suspicious that her +sister-in-laww’s rights were being infringed. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“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.” +</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 “tached ’em, or even had ’em in her +hands!” (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’ 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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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. “<i>You</i> in this little tucked-up hole, that +I always thought too small for me and my traps! What does it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“How many blacks are there in the kitchen?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,” answered Corinda. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’Lena in the hall, +and eagerly asking who was in the front chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” said ’Lena, “that my cousin is not pleased +with the change, and has gone back to the front room.” +</p> + +<p> +“The impudent thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her +son’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> +“John Livingstone!” she gasped in her surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my name,” he returned, quietly enjoying her look of +amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” she continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Mean what I say,” was his provoking answer. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you been about?” was her next question, to which he +replied, “Your eyesight is not deficient—you can see for +yourself.” +</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 +“confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as she was not +in the least to blame.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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, “Help—somebody—come +quick—Mabel is dead, I know she is.” +</p> + +<p> +’Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when she +saw the marble whiteness of Mabel’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“May be I shall die,” she whispered, “and +then——” +</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’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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Milly,” said ’Lena, who overheard this colloquy, +“don’t you know it’s wrong to indulge in such wicked +thoughts?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Milly,” said Aunt Polly, who was present. “You must +heap coals of fire on her head.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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—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—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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well,” was Mabel’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—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.” +</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—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—a great deal depended upon that—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, “How do you feel tonight?” +</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, “I do not think I am any better.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Nellie is coming home in a few weeks,” he said at length, with his +usual precipitancy. +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“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.” +</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, “Are you asleep, +Meb?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“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.” +</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: “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.” +</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—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’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 ’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. +</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, ’Lena +was one day surprised by his announcing his intended trip. +</p> + +<p> +“But you cannot be in earnest,” she said; “you surely will +not leave Mabel now.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“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 <i>put</i>. It isn’t my nature. I shan’t tell Meb +till just before I start, for I hate scenes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And suppose she dies while you are gone?” asked ’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, “Give her a decent burial, and +present the bill to mother!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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, “Kiss me once before you go. I shall +never ask it again, and ’twill make me happier when you are gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dozen times, if you like,” said he, giving her the only +husband’s kiss she had ever received. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis the last time,” said she, “and he will never know +how much this parting cost me.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</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.’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’s neck, wept like a child. “You do not hate me,” she +said at last, “or you would not have come so soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hate you?—no,” answered Nellie. “I have no cause for +hating <i>you</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will stay with me until I die—until he comes +home—and forgive him, too,” Mabel continued. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</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> +“If he’d only come,” she would say, “and I could place +your hand in his before I died.” +</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 ’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> +“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. +</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 “guard it carefully, it was so +valuable.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +Face to face he stood with Nellie Douglass, and between them lay <i>his</i> +wife—<i>her</i> rival—the white hands folded meekly upon her bosom, +and the pale lips just as they had breathed a prayer for him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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. +’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, +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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 ’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. +</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 ’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. +</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 ’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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that loafer who seems to know you?” asked Mrs. Graham, +directing her husband’s attention toward Joel. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Graham replied that “he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he +took daguerreotypes.” +</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, “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.” +</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—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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three +months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.” +</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> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +On their way home, his mother asked if he observed ’Lena when Mr. Graham +was mentioned. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON.</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</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, “How dare you ask such a thing? <i>My</i> daughter marry +<i>you</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“And why not, madam?” he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone +continued: “<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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, so long as I live. I’d sooner see her dead than wedded to +vulgar poverty.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he replied. “I have honorably asked you for your +daughter. You have refused her, and must abide the consequence.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is the door,” said Mrs. Livingstone rising. +</p> + +<p> +“I see it, madam,” answered Malcolm, without deigning to move. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“I expected as much,” said she, when told of the result, “but +it matters not. I am yours, and I’ll never marry another.” +</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’s consent could be +gained. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, John, John,” she cried, “Captain Atherton is in there +with mother, and they have sent for me. What shall I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be a woman,” answered John Jr. “Tell him <i>no</i> in good +broad English, and if the old fellow insists, I’ll blow his brains +out!” +</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, “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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Malcolm will never prove untrue,” answered Anna. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” returned the captain. “So you are safe in +promising.’ +</p> + +<p> +“But what good will it do you?” queried Anna. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do—I will,” said Anna, thinking the captain not so bad +after all. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s mischief somewhere, and I advise you to watch,” said +John Jr., when he learned from Anna the result of the interview. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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 ’Lena, casually remarked, +“Oh, I forgot to tell you that I saw Mr. Everett in Washington.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Everett—Malcolm Everett?” said ’Lena, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Malcolm Everett,” answered the captain. +</p> + +<p> +“He is there spending the honeymoon with his bride!” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Fortune favors us,” 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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in earnest?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“’Twill be winter and spring,” said she, with a bitter, +mocking laugh, “’Twill be winter and spring, but it matters +not.” +</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’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 +’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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, “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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Woman’s nature,” said Mr. Livingstone, laughingly, while +’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—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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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’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 ’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.” +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” repeated ’Lena in a disappointed tone. “Oh, +I’m so sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is you the new miss what’s comin’ here to live?” asked +the negro, who was Captain Atherton’s house keeper. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“In course I do,” answered the negro, holding up both hands in +amazement, “but what sent you here this dark, unairthly night?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +’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> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Trust me? Yes, with anything,” answered Durward, quickly +dismounting, and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful face which +looked up to him so eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” answered ’Lena, “take this letter and see it +deposited safely, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the +answer,” said the boy, passing her a tiny note. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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, ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Let her sleep yet awhile,” said she; “it will do her +good.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our Father in heaven help me,” cried ’Lena, clasping her +hands in anguish, while her tears fell like rain on Anna’s upturned face. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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> +“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.” +</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 ’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. +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +By this time ’Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward her, +Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, “’Lena, where is our +child?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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. +</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’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. +</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 “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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’s note was handed +him. At first he could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” said the captain, gallantly offering +’Lena a chair. “My business with Miss Rivers concerns +herself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am here, sir, to answer any proper question,” said ’Lena, +proudly, at the same time declining the proffered seat. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>could</i> find a +substitute.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did it, sir, at Anna’s request, to relieve her—and for +nothing else.” +</p> + +<p> +“And was it at her request that you went alone to Sunnyside on that dark, +rainy night?” chimed in Mrs. Livingstone. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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>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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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, +“Send for Anna to come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Malcolm, too?” queried Mr. Livingstone, knowing it was useless +to send for one without the other. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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.” +</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 ’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. +</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 “she +was not at all surprised—she had from the first suspected ’Lena, +and she had the best of reasons for so doing!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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—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 <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, ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I presume the <i>general</i> does now,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, +“but it’s natural that Mrs. Fontaine should feel particular about +the reputation of her daughter’s associates.” +</p> + +<p> +“And ain’t ’Leny’s reputation as good as the best on +’em,” asked Mrs. Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing with +insulted pride. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, grandmother, grandmother,” she cried, “help me, or I +shall die.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>had</i> died, +’Leny, years and years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And now dear, dear grandma, it costs me more pain to write than it will +you to read +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“’LENA’S LAST GOOD-BYE” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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, ’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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “old +miss had done murdered Miss ’Lena, and hid her under the bed!” +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>will</i> come next!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following +her husband to his mother’s room where a moment sufficed to explain the +whole. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep it there; it feels soft, like ’Leny’s,” 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 ’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, “’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. +</p> + +<p> +’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. +</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’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.” +</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 ’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. +</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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost before she +had finished speaking, with, “<i>Do</i> you know anything? Have you heard +anything?” +</p> + +<p> +She <i>had</i> heard—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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all?” asked Durward, in a disappointed tone. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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.” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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, “What shall I do +?” while the second, natural to her, was, “Take care of her, of +course.” +</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 “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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</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’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.” +</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 “he never could stand the gals, anyway, they made his heart thump +so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I very sick, and can’t I go on?” asked the young lady, +attempting to rise, but sinking back from extreme weakness. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no home,” was the sad answer, to which Aunt Betsey +responded in astonishment, “Hain’t no home! Where does your marm +live?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother is dead,” said the girl, her tears dropping fast upon the +pillow. +</p> + +<p> +Instinctively the landlady drew nearer to her, as she asked, “And your +pa—where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 ’Lena refused, saying she should feel better +soon. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>Old Hunks</i> order, cautioned her “not to fuss too much, as gals that +run away warn’t apt to be plagued with money” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <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> +“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. +</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 ’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.” +</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, ’Lena suddenly grew +calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered, “Hark! He’s +come. Don’t you hear him?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days +ago,” answered Mrs. Aldergrass. +</p> + +<p> +“What is her name, and where does she live?” continued the +stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“She calls herself ’Lena, but the ’tother name I don’t +know, and I guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts.” +</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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I never fish, thank you, sir,” answered Durward, while the +good-natured landlord continued: “Now you don’t say it! Hunt, then, +mebby?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not just yet; I would like a few moments’ conversation with your +wife first,” 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, “’twant what +he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he’d try to put up with +it.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “John” blessing him for coming, and saying, “Did you tell +Durward. Does <i>he</i> know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Durward,” said he. “Don’t you recognize me? Look +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 ’Lena would be more comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course there is,” said Aunt Betsy. “There’s the +best chamber I was goin’ to give to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind me,” said he. “Let her have every comfort the +house affords, and you shall be amply paid.” +</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> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“And stay with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll go,” 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 “they should of moved her afore, only ’twas a +bad sign.” +</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’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 +’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?” +</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. +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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’s words, together with what he had heard ’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’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!” +</p> + +<p> +’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody, nobody—I mustn’t tell,” said Mrs. Aldergrass, +hurriedly, while ’Lena continued, “Was it Cousin John?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; don’t guess any more,” was Mrs. Aldergrass’s +reply, and ’Lena, clasping her hands together, exclaimed, “Oh, +could it he be?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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/> +’LENA’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 +“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. +</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 ’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. +</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’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.” +</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’s +hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +And now Harry’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 ’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. +</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. +“Lucy—Lady Bellmont!” said he, “why, she’s a +mother—a widow—beside being ten years my senior.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never sir, never,” answered Harry, in a more decided manner than +he had before assumed toward his father. “It is utterly +impossible.” +</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’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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’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. +</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 ’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 ’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, <i>she</i> was voted an +intolerable nuisance, who should never darken the doors of +Woodlawn—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’t repealed. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name he did not +remember. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, “A +relation of yourn, mebby?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Graham. “Is it far to Laurel +Hill?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better’n a dozen miles! Was you goin’ out there?” +</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, “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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “jinin’ the <i>Hindews</i> 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 <i>fee</i>, and +if “there was any bedivelment of <i>gridirons</i> and <i>goats</i>, 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! +</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 ’Lena’s room. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <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—<i>my</i> child—my ’Lena?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Deceive you, darling?—no,” said he. “I am your father, +and Helena Nichols was my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left me +unacknowledged?” asked ’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, ’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.” +</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’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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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 ’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, +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>she</i> 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.” +</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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>Mr. +Rivers</i> was well! +</p> + +<p> +“Let it go so,” whispered ’Lena, as she saw her father about +to speak. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergrass soon came back, announcing that +“he’d paid his bill and gone off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” said Mr. Graham. “There must be some mistake. I will +go down and inquire.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>hung</i> folks on +circumstantial evidence alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</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 “for nothin’, provided Mr. Graham would leave +his watch as a guaranty against <i>his</i> runnin’ off!” +</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> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child,” thought he. +</p> + +<p> +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; +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—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> +“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> +“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 <i>me</i> when no one else could control your wild ravings. +</p> + +<p> +“But enough of this. Time hastens, and I must say farewell—farewell +forever—my <i>lost, lost</i> ’Lena! +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“DURWARD.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +“<i>lost forever</i>.” +</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, “Of course, my <i>daughter’s</i> +home will in future be with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see +yourself and family at any time.” +</p> + +<p> +This part of the letter he showed to ’Lena, who, after reading it, seemed +for a long time absorbed in thought. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <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 ’Lena, so he laughingly replied, +“Oh, we’ll fix that, easily enough.” +</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 ’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, +</p> + +<p> +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 <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> +“You are just the man I want,” said he, “and I know +you’ll like it. What do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>hosses</i> than <i>niggers</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.</h2> + +<p> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up your head,” roared John Jr. “’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’t a woman in the world!” +</p> + +<p> +“If they’d all marry you, there wouldn’t be long!” +retorted Carrie. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The deary me!” said John Jr., mimicking his sister’s manner, +“how much lower is her origin than yours?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Mr. Graham’s handwriting,” said Carrie; +glancing at the superscription. “Perhaps <i>he</i> knows something of +’Lena!” and she looked meaningly at her mother, who, with a +peculiar twist of her mouth, replied, “Very likely.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right. He <i>does</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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, +“Hurrah! Hurrah for <i>Miss ’Lena Rivers Graham</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it +might be true. +</p> + +<p> +“I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,” 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, “What is it, John? what does it mean?” +</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, +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he don’t I will,” said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his +wife, who had not spoken before, wondered “where he’d get +it.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “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! +</p> + +<p> +“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 ?” +</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> +“I have had happiness enough for one day,” 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’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> +“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. +</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’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!” +</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 ’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.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> put reports in circulation!” retorted Mrs. Graham. +“What do you mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole +neighborhood!” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. I will let you know when I expect her,” said Mrs. +Graham, curtsying herself from the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Spell <i>Toady</i>, Cad,” whispered John Jr., and with more than +her usual quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +The news of ’Lena’s good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing +much excitement, for she was a favorite there. +</p> + +<p> +“’Clar for’t,” said Aunt Milly, “we orto have a +bonfire. It won’t hurt nothin’ on the brick pavement.” +</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’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.” +</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, +“Huyah for Miss ’Leny Yivers Gayum——” +</p> + +<p> +“Bellmont, too, say,” whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the +back piazza. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bellmont, too, say</i>,” 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 ’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!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>This</i> ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, “Ye-es, on the +whole <i>quite</i> as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is +new!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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> +“Mighty careful of her,” 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, “Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and love her as +such, for my sake?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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’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>I</i> am glad—most glad for you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>heiress</i>, now, fully, yes, more than equal, +and that made a vast difference. +</p> + +<p> +“I came to see if I could render you any service,” she said in +answer to ’Lena’s look of inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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——” +</p> + +<p> +“So <i>well</i> you would say, I suppose,” returned ’Lena, +laughingly, “I’ve grown thin, but I hope to improve by and +by.” +</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 “a heap the best lookin’ +<i>now</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but he left before I saw him,” returned ’Lena, her +manner plainly indicating that there was something wrong. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t ’Lena changed, mother?” said Carrie, feeling +hateful, and knowing no better way of showing it “Hasn’t her +sickness changed her?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has made her grow <i>old</i>; that’s all the difference I +perceive,” returned Mrs. Livingstone, satisfied that she’d said the +thing which she knew would most annoy herself. +</p> + +<p> +“How old are you, dear?” asked Mrs. Graham, leaning across the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen,” was ’Lena’s answer, to which Mrs. Graham +replied, “I thought so. Three years younger than Carrie, I +believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two, only two,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie +exclaimed, “Horrors! How old do you take me to be?” +</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. “He had,” he said, “got his grandmother to +sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his respects to <i>Miss +Graham</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Graham replied that he was not there. +</p> + +<p> +“Not here?” repeated John Jr. “What have you done with him, +’Lena?” +</p> + +<p> +Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin’s face, ’Lena said, +softly, “Please don’t talk about it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something wrong,” thought John Jr. “I’ll +bet I’ll have to shoot that dog yet.” +</p> + +<p> +’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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Involuntarily ’Lena’s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny +slope and the little grave, as yet but nine months made. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +While they were thus occupied, Mr. Graham was discussing with Mrs. Nichols the +propriety of her removing to Woodlawn. +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t live long to trouble anybody,” said she when asked +if she would like to go, “and I’m nothin’ without +’Leny.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have to come agin,” said she, “for I’ve as +much as two loads.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t take them,” interposed ’Lena. “You +won’t need them, and nothing will harm them here.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</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 “I +thought, perhaps, you would return with them to <i>spend the day</i>!” +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> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>stay over night</i>!” adding, by way of comfort, +that “she was going to Frankfort the next day to make purchases for +’Lena, and would take her home.” +</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, “was so +home-sick they couldn’t keep her.” +</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 ’Lena’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’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. +</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 “Mr. H. R. +Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford county, Kentucky!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Audacious</i>! How dare they be so bold!” he exclaimed, +springing to his feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered +upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</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’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, “he expected would have a thunderin’ sale.” +</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’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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“From York state?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“From Pennsylvany?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?” +</p> + +<p> +No answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Be you from Kentucky?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Mr. Graham’s folks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something +concerning his stepfather—but it was not. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</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, “Related to Mrs. Graham! Pray how?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>Lucy Temple</i>. She married an Englishman, first—then a man from +South Carolina, who is now livin’ in Kentucky, between Versailles and +Frankfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was your grandmother’s aunt’s name?” asked +Durward. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“And yours?” interrupted Durward. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“My third cousin, of course,” answered Joel. “I figgered that +out with a slate and pencil.” +</p> + +<p> +“And her son, if she had one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure—but +enough to brag on, if they happened to be smart!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I <i>am</i>, really and truly,” continued Durward. “Her +first husband was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it +seems.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Jehosiphat</i>! If this ain’t curis,” exclaimed Joel, +grasping Durward’s hand. “How <i>do</i> you du, and how is your +marm. And do you know Helleny Rivers?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the row, old feller,” asked Joel, coming forward and +picking up the picture which Durward had recognized as ’Lena Rivers. +</p> + +<p> +“How came you by it?” said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing +wink, Joel replied, “I know, and that’s enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?” asked Durward, a +faint light beginning to dawn upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?’ says I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Knew her, yes,’ says he, jumpin’ up and walkin’ +the room as fast. +</p> + +<p> +“All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin’ had happened, and +says he, ‘I must have that or one jest like it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“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—<i>that man</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me more, everything you know,” gasped Durward. +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</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’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. +</p> + +<p> +“She <i>is</i> 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. +</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> +“Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?” 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> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“’<i>Lena</i>! Is it true? <i>Is</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk,” answered Durward. “I want to think, for I +was never so happy in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I either,” returned John Jr. “So if you please you +needn’t speak to <i>me</i>, as I wish to think, too.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you like my daughter?” asked Mr. Graham, mischievously, at +the same time laying his arm proudly about her neck. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Then turning to Mrs. Graham, he said, “Now, mother, we will hear +you.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>no plebeian blood</i> was flowing; but she well knew that her +objections would have no weight, and she answered, that “she should not +oppose him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is settled,” said he, “and four weeks from to-night +I shall claim ’Lena for my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not so soon after grandma’s death,” ’Lena said, +and Durward replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +During the autumn, his devotion to ’Lena furnished Carrie with a subject +for many ill-natured remarks concerning newly-engaged people. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!’” +</p> + +<p> +“You think you are cunning, don’t you,” returned Carrie, more +angry than she was willing to admit. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <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’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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>lettering</i> on her tombstone +should prove true! +</p> + +<p> +“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, +</p> + +<p> +“Old Marster Atherton done want to see you in the parlor,” 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 “old marster was done gone,” sharply +reprimanded the girl, telling her “it was very impolite to call anybody +<i>old</i>, particularly one so young as Captain Atherton!” +</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. “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, <i>bald</i>, <i>wrinkled</i>, <i>fat</i> and <i>forty-six</i>! +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never do it,” she exclaimed. “Better live single +all my days.” +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>swore</i>, it made no difference. “She was old +enough to choose for herself,” she said, “and she had done +so.” +</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 ’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! +</p> + +<p> +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 +<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’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> +“Will you forgive me, father ?” Anna said, and Mr. Livingstone +replied by clasping her to his bosom, while he extended his hand to Malcolm. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Carrie?” Anna said, and John Jr. replied, “In +the parlor, with her future spouse. Shall I introduce you?” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he dragged her into the parlor, where she then recoiled in terror as +she saw Captain Atherton. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Carrie!” she exclaimed. “It cannot be——that +I see you again!” she added, as she met her sister’s warning look. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that old fool</i>,” 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 ’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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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 “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. +</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 +’Lena’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 +“the <i>Hindews</i>” 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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12835 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |