Lena Rivers by Mary J. Holmes (page 3)

mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner. “Old Milly,” she said, “had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had got a _collapse_, as she called it.”

“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham’s first dinner with them should be in style.

“Yes, but she can’t do everything–somebody must superintend her, and as for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the table, I won’t.”

“Why not make ‘Lena go into the kitchen–it won’t hurt her to-day more than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie.

“A good idea,” returned her mother, and stepping to the parlor door she called ‘Lena from a most interesting conversation with Mr. Graham, who, the moment his wife was gone, had taken a seat by her side, and now seemed oblivious to all else save her.

There was a strange tenderness in the tones of his voice and in the expression of his eyes as they rested upon her, and Durward, who well knew his mother’s peculiarities, felt glad that she was not present, while at the same time he wondered that his father should appear so deeply interested in an entire stranger.

“‘Lena, I wish to speak with you,” said Mrs. Livingstone, appearing at the door, and ‘Lena, gracefully excusing herself, left the room, while Mr. Graham commenced pacing the floor in a slow, abstracted manner, ever and anon wiping away the beaded drops which stood thickly on his forehead.

Meantime, ‘Lena, having learned for what she was wanted, went without a word to the kitchen, though her proud nature rebelled, and it was with difficulty she could force down the bitter spirit which she felt rising within her. Had her aunt or Carrie shared her labors, or had the former _asked_ instead of commanded her to go, she would have done it willingly. But now in quite a perturbed state of mind she bent over pastry and pudding, scarcely knowing which was which, until a pleasant voice at her side made her start, and looking up she saw Anna, who had just returned from her walk, and who on learning how matters stood, declared her intention of helping too.

“If there’s anything I like, it’s being in a muss,” said she, and throwing aside her leghorn flat, pinning up her sleeves, and fastening back her curls in imitation of ‘Lena, she was soon up to her elbows in cooking–her dress literally covered with flour, eggs, and cream, and her face as red as the currant jelly which Hagar brought from the china closet. “There’s a pie fit for a queen or Lady Graham either,” said she, depositing in the huge oven her first attempt in the pie line.

But alas! Malcolm Everett’s words of love spoken beneath the wide-spreading sycamore were still ringing in Anna’s ears, so it was no wonder she _salted_ the custard instead of sweetening it. But no one noticed the mistake, and when the pie was done, both ‘Lena and Hagar praised its white, uncurdled appearance.

“Now we shall just have time to change our dresses,” said Anna, when everything pertaining to the dinner was in readiness, but ‘Lena, knowing how flushed and heated she was, and remembering Durward’s distaste of high colors, announced her determination of not appearing at the table.

“I shall see that grandma is nicely dressed,” said she, “and you must look after her a little, for I shall not come down.”

So saying she ran up to her room, where she found Mrs. Nichols in a great state of fermentation to know “who was below, and what the doin’s was, I should of gone down,” said she, “but I know’d ‘Tilda would be madder’n a hornet.”

‘Lena commended her discretion in remaining where she was, and then informing her that Mr. Bellmont’s father and mother were there, she proceeded to make some alterations in her dress. The handsome black silk and neat lace cap, both the Christmas gift of John Jr., were donned, and then, staff in hand, the old lady started for the dining-room, ‘Lena giving her numerous charges not to talk much, and on no account to mention her favorite topic–Nancy Scovandyke!

“Nancy’s as good any day as Miss Graham, if she did marry a live lord,” was grandma’s mental comment, as the last-mentioned lady, rustling in a heavy brocade and loaded down with jewelry, took her place at the table.

Purposely, Mrs. Livingstone omitted an introduction which her husband, through fear of her, perhaps, failed to give. But not so with John Jr. To be sure, he cared not a fig, on his grandmother’s account, whether she were introduced or not, for he well knew she would not hesitate to make their acquaintance; but knowing how it would annoy his mother and Carrie, he called out, in a loud tone, “My grandmother, Mrs. Nichols–Mr. and Mrs. Graham.”

Mr. Graham started so quickly that his wife asked “if anything stung him.”

“Yes–no,” said he, at the same time indicating that it was not worth while to mind it.

“Got stung, have you?” said Mrs. Nichols. “Mebby ’twas a bumble-bee–seems ‘sef I smelt one; but like enough it’s the scent on Car’line’s handkercher.”

Mrs. Graham frowned majestically, but it was entirely lost on grandma, who, after a time, forgetful of ‘Lena’s caution, said, “I b’lieve they say you’re from Virginny!”

“Yes, madam, Virginia is my native state,”‘ returned Mrs. Graham, clipping off each word as if it were burning her tongue.

“Anywheres near Richmond?” continued Mrs. Nichols.

“I was born in Richmond, madam.”

“Law, now I who knows but you’re well acquainted with Nancy Scovandyke’s kin.”

Mrs. Graham turned as red as the cranberry sauce upon her plate, as she replied, “I’ve not the honor of knowing either Miss Scovandyke or any of her relatives.”

“Wall, she’s a smart, likely gal, or woman I s’pose you’d call her, bein’ she’s just the age of my son.”

Here Mrs. Nichols, suddenly remembering ‘Lena’s charge, stopped, but John Jr., who loved to see the fun go on, started her again, by asking what relatives Miss Scovandyke had in Virginia.

“‘Leny told me not to mention Nancy, but bein’ you’ve asked a civil question, ’tain’t more’n fair for me to answer it. Better’n forty year ago Nancy’s mother’s aunt—-“

“Which would be Miss Nancy’s great-aunt,” interrupted John Jr.

“Bless the boy,” returned the old lady, “he’s got the Nichols’ head for figgerin’. Yes, Nancy’s great-aunt though she was six years and two months younger’n Nancy’s mother. Wall, as I was sayin’, she went off to Virginny to teach music. She was prouder’n Lucifer, and after a spell she married a southerner, rich as a Jew, and then she never took no more notice of her folks to hum, than’s ef they hadn’t been. But the poor critter didn’t live long to enjoy it, for when her first baby was born, she died. ‘Twas a little girl, but her folks in Massachusetts have never heard a word whether she’s dead or alive. Joel Slocum, that’s Nancy’s nephew, says he means to go down there some day, and look her up, but I wouldn’t bother with ’em, for that side of the house always did feel big, and above Nancy’s folks, thinkin’ Nancy’s mother married beneath her.”

Mrs. Graham must have enjoyed her dinner very much, for during grandma’s recital she applied herself assiduously to her plate, never once looking up, while her face and neck were literally spotted, either with heat, excitement or anger. These spots at last attracted Mrs. Nichols’ attention, causing her to ask the lady “if she warn’t pestered with erysipelas.”

“I am not aware of it, madam,” answered Mrs. Graham, and grandma replied, “It looks mighty like it to me, and I’ve seen a good deal on’t, for Nancy Scovandyke has allers had it more or less. Now I think on’t,” she continued, as if bent on tormenting her companion, “now I think on’t, you look quite a considerable like Nancy–the same forehead and complexion–only she’s a head taller. Hain’t you noticed it, John?”

“No, I have not,” answered John, at the same time proposing a change in the conversation, as he presumed “they had all heard enough of Nancy Scovandyke.”

At this moment the dessert appeared, and with it Anna’s pie. John Jr. was the first to taste it, and with an expression of disgust he exclaimed, “Horror, mother, who made this pie?”

Mrs. Livingstone needed but one glance at her guests to know that something was wrong, and darting an angry frown at Hagar, who was busy at a side-table, she wondered “if there ever was any one who had so much trouble with servants as herself.”

Anna saw the gathering storm, and knowing full well that it would burst on poor Hagar’s head, spoke out, “Hagar is not in the fault, mother–no one but myself is to blame. _I_ made the pie, and must have put in salt instead of sugar.”

“You made the pie!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone angrily, “What business had you in the kitchen? Pity we hadn’t a few more servants, for then we should all be obliged to turn drudges.”

Anna was about to reply, when John Jr. prevented her, by asking, “if it hurt his sister to be in the kitchen any more than it did ‘Lena, who,” he said, “worked there both yesterday and to-day, burning herself until she is ashamed to appear at the table.”

Mortified beyond measure at what had occurred, Mrs. Livingstone hastened to explain that her servants were nearly all sick, and that in her dilemma, ‘Lena had volunteered her services, adding by way of compliment, undoubtedly, that “her niece seemed peculiarly adapted to such work–indeed, that her forte lay among pots and kettles.”

An expression of scorn, unusual to Mr. Graham, passed over his face, and in a sarcastic tone he asked Mrs. Livingstone, “if she thought it detracted from a young lady’s worth, to be skilled in whatever pertained to the domestic affairs of a family.”

Ready to turn whichever way the wind did, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “Not at all–not at all. I mean that my daughters shall learn everything, so that their husbands will find in them every necessary qualification.”

“Then you confidently expect them to catch husbands some time or other,” said John Jr., whereupon Carrie blushed, and looked very interesting, while Anna retorted, “Of course we shall. I wouldn’t be an old maid for the world–I’d run away first!”

And amidst the laughter which this speech called forth the company retired from the table. For some time past Mrs. Nichols had walked with a cane, limping even then. Observing this, Mr. Graham, with his usual gallantry, offered her his arm, which she willingly accepted, casting a look of triumph upon her daughter-in-law, who apparently was not so well pleased. So thorough had been grandma’s training, that she did not often venture into the parlor without a special invitation from its mistress, but on this occasion, Mr. Graham led her in there as a matter of course, and placing her upon the sofa, seated himself by her side, and commenced questioning her concerning her former home and history. Never in her life had Mrs. Nichols felt more communicative, and never before had she so attentive a listener. Particularly did he hang upon every word, when she told him of her Helena, of her exceeding beauty, her untimely death, and rascally husband.

“Rivers–Rivers,” said he, “what kind of a looking man was he?”

“The Lord only knows–I never see him,” returned Mrs. Nichols. “But this much I do know, he was one scandalous villain, and if an old woman’s curses can do him any harm, he’s had mine a plenty of times.”

“You do wrong to talk so,” said Mr. Graham, “for who knows how bitterly he may have repented of the great wrong done to your daughter.”

“Then why in the name of common sense don’t he hunt up her child, and own her–he needn’t be ashamed of ‘Leny.”

“Very true,” answered Mr. Graham. “No one need be ashamed of her. I should be proud to call her my daughter. But as I was saying, perhaps this Rivers has married a second time, keeping his first marriage a secret from his wife, who is so proud and high-spirited that now, after the lapse of years, he dares not tell her for fear of what might follow.”

“Then she’s a good-for-nothing, stuck-up thing, and he’s a cowardly puppy! That’s my opinion on ’em, and I’ll tell ’em so, if ever I see ’em!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, her wrath waxing warmer and warmer toward the destroyer of her daughter.

Pausing for breath, she helped herself to a pinch of her favorite Maccaboy, and then passed it to Mr. Graham, who, to her astonishment, took some, slyly casting it aside when she did not see him. This emboldened the old lady to offer it to Mrs. Graham, who, languidly reclining upon the end of the sofa, sat talking to Carrie, who, on a low stool at her feet, was looking up into her face as if in perfect admiration. Without deigning other reply than a haughty shake of the head, Mrs. Graham cast a deprecating glance toward Carrie, who muttered, “How disgusting! But for pa’s sake we tolerate it.”

Here ‘Lena entered the parlor, very neatly dressed, and looking fresh and blooming as a rose. There was no vacant seat near except one between Durward and John Jr., which, at the invitation of the latter, she accepted. A peculiar smile flitted over Carrie’s face, which was noticed by Mrs. Graham, and attributed to the right cause. Ere long Durward, John Jr., ‘Lena and Anna, who had joined them, left the house, and from the window Carrie saw that they were amusing themselves by playing “Graces.” Gradually the sound of their voices increased, and as ‘Lena’s clear, musical laugh rang out above the rest, Mrs. Graham and Carrie looked out just in time to see Durward holding the struggling girl, while John Jr., claimed the reward of his having thrown the “grace hoop” upon her head.

Inexpressily shocked, the precise Mrs. Graham asked, “What kind of a girl is your cousin?” to which Carrie replied, “You have a fair sample of her,” at the same time nodding toward ‘Lena, who was unmercifully pulling John Jr.’s ears as a reward for his presumption.

“Rather hoydenish, I should think,” returned Mrs. Graham, secretly hoping Durward would not become enamored of her.

At length the party left the yard, and repairing to the garden, sat down in one of the arbor bridges, where they were joined by Malcolm Everett, who naturally, and as a matter of course, appropriated Anna to himself, Durward observed this, and when he saw them walk away together, while ‘Lena appeared wholly unconcerned, he began to think that possibly Mrs. Livingstone was mistaken when she hinted of an engagement between her niece and Mr. Everett. Knowing John Jr.’s straightforward way of speaking, he determined to sound him, so he said, “Your sister and Mr. Everett evidently prefer each other’s society to ours.”

“Oh, yes,” answered John. “I saw that years ago, when Anna wasn’t knee-high; and I’m glad of it, for Everett is a mighty fine fellow.”

‘Lena, too, united in praising her teacher, until Durward felt certain that she had never entertained for him any feeling stronger than that of friendship; and as to her flirting seriously with Captain Atherton, the idea was too preposterous to be harbored for a single moment. Once exonerated from these charges, it was strange how fast ‘Lena rose in his estimation, and when John Jr., with a loud yawn, asked if they did not wish he would leave them alone, more in earnest than in fun Durward replied, “Yes, yes, do.”

“I reckon I will,” said John, shaking down his tight pants, and pulling at his long coat sleeves. “I never want anybody round when I’m with Nellie Douglass.”

So saying, he walked off, leaving Durward and ‘Lena alone. That neither of them felt at all sorry, was proved by the length of time which they remained together, for when more than an hour afterward Mrs. Graham proposed to Carrie to take a turn in the garden, she found the young couple still in the arbor, so wholly engrossed that they neither saw nor heard her until she stood before them.

‘Lena was an excellent horsewoman, and Durward had just proposed a ride early the next morning, when his mother, forcing down her wrath, laid her hand on his shoulder, and as if the proposition had come from ‘Lena instead of her son, she said, “No, no, Miss Rivers, Durward can’t go–he has got to drive me over to Woodlawn, together with Carrie and Anna, whom I have asked to accompany me; so you see ’twill be impossible for him to ride with you.”

“Unless she goes with us,” interrupted Durward. “You would like to visit Woodlawn, would you not, Miss Rivers?”

“Oh, very much,” was ‘Lena’s reply, while Mrs. Graham continued, “I am sorry I cannot extend my invitation to Miss Rivers, but our carriage will be full, and I cannot endure to be crowded.”

“It has carried six many a time,” said Durward, “and if she will go, I will take you on my lap, or anywhere.”

Of course ‘Lena declined–he knew she would–and determined not to be outwitted by his mother, whose aim he saw, he continued, “I shan’t release you from your engagement to ride with me. We will start early and get back before mother is up, so our excursion will in no way interfere with my driving her to Woodlawn after breakfast.”

Mrs. Graham was too polite to raise any further objection, but resolving not to leave them to finish their _tete-a-tete_, she threw herself upon one of the seats, and commenced talking to her son, while Carrie, burning with jealousy and vexation, started for the house, where she laid her grievances before her mother, who, equally enraged, declared her intention of “hereafter watching the vixen pretty closely.”

“And she’s going to ride with him to-morrow morning, you say. Well, I fancy I can prevent that.”

“How?” asked Carrie, eagerly, and her mother replied, “You know she always rides Fleetfoot, which now, with the other horses, is in the Grattan woods, two miles away. Of course she’ll order Caesar to bring him up to the stable, but I shall countermand that order, bidding him say nothing to her about it. He dare not disobey me, and when in the morning she asks for the pony, he can tell her just how it is.”

“Capital! capital!” exclaimed Carrie, never suspecting that there had been a listener, even John Jr., who all the while was sitting in the back parlor.

“Whew!” thought the young man. “Plotting, are they? Well, I’ll see how good I am at counterplotting.”

So, slipping quietly out of the house, he went in quest of his servant, Bill, telling him to go after Fleetfoot, whom he was to put in the lower stable instead of the one where she was usually kept; “and then in the morning, long before the sun is up,” said he, “do you have her at the door for one of the young ladies to ride.”

“Yes, marster,” answered Bill, looking around for his old straw hat.

“Now, see how quick you can go,” John Jr. continued, adding as an incentive to haste, that if Bill would get the pony stabled before old Caesar, who had gone to Versailles, should return, he would give him ten cents.

Bill needed no other inducement than the promise of money, and without stopping to find his hat, he started off bare-headed, upon the run, returning in the course of an hour and claiming his reward, as Caesar had not yet got home.

“All right,” said John Jr., tossing him the silver. “And now remember to keep your tongue between your teeth.”

Bill had kept too many secrets for his young master to think of tattling about something which to him seemed of no consequence whatever, and he walked off, eying his dime, and wishing he could earn one so easily every day.

Meantime John Jr. sought out ‘Lena, to whom he said, “And so you are going to ride to-morrow morning?”

“How did you know ?” she asked, and John, looking very wise, replied, that “little girls should not ask too many questions,” adding, that as he supposed she would of course want Fleetfoot, he had ordered Bill to have her at the door early in the morning.

“Much obliged,” answered ‘Lena. “I was about giving it up when I heard the pony was in the Grattan woods, for Caesar is so cross I hated to ask him to go for her; but now I’ll say nothing to him about it.”

That night when Caesar was eating his supper in the kitchen, his mistress suddenly appeared, asking, “if he had received any orders to go for Fleetfoot.”

The old negro, who was naturally cross, began to scowl, “No, miss, and Lord knows I don’t want to tote clar off to the Grattan woods to-night.”

“You needn’t, either, and if any one tells you to go don’t you do it,” returned Mrs. Livingstone.

“Somebody’s playin’ possum, that’s sartin,” thought Bill, who was present, and began putting things together. “Somebody’s playin’ possum, but they don’t catch this child leakin’.”

“Have you told him?” whispered Carrie, meeting her mother in the hall.

Mrs. Livingstone nodded, adding in an undertone, that “she presumed the ride was given up, as Lena had said nothing to Caesar about the pony.”

With her mind thus at ease, Carrie returned to the parlor, where she commenced talking to Mrs. Graham of their projected visit to Woodlawn, dwelling upon it as if it had been a tour to Europe, and evidently exulting that ‘Lena was to be left behind.

CHAPTER XI.

WOODLAWN.

Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the eastern horizon, Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before the door saddled and waiting for its young rider, while near by it was Firelock, which Durward had borrowed of John Jr. At last ‘Lena appeared, and if Durward had admired her beauty before, his admiration was now greatly increased when he saw how well she looked in her neatly fitting riding dress and tasteful straw hat. After bidding her good morning, he advanced to assist her in mounting, but declining his offer, she with one bound sprang into the saddle,

“Jumps like a toad,” said Bill. “Ain’t stiff and clumsy like Miss Carrie, who allus has to be done sot on.”

At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away, the clatter of their horses’ hoofs arousing and bringing to the window Mrs. Graham, who had a suspicion of what was going on. Pushing aside the silken curtain, she looked uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her son cared aught for the graceful creature at his side, and thinking if he did, how hard she would labor to overcome his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the only one who watched them, for fearing lest Bill should not awake, John Jr. had foregone his morning nap, himself calling up the negro, and now from his window he, too, looked after them until they entered upon the turnpike and were lost to view. Then, with some very complimentary reflections upon Lena’s riding, he returned to his pillow, thinking to himself, “There’s a girl worth having. By Jove, if I’d never seen Nellie Douglass, and ‘Lena wasn’t my cousin, wouldn’t I keep mother in the hysterics most of the time!”

On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he asked ‘Lena “where she wished to go.”

“Anywhere you please,” said she, when, for reasons of his own, he proposed that they should ride over to Woodlawn.

‘Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling of satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the family to visit Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much, that it seemed like a perfect Eldorado. It was a grand old building, standing on a cross road about three miles from the turnpike, and commanding quite an extensive view of the country around. It was formerly owned by a wealthy Englishman, who spent his winters in New Orleans and his summers in the country. The year before he had died insolvent, Woodlawn falling into the hands of his creditors, who now offered it for sale, together with the gorgeous furniture which still remained just as the family had left it. To the left of the building was a large, handsome park, in which the former owner had kept a number of deer, and now as Durward and ‘Lena rode up and down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures would occasionally spring up and bound away with the fleetness of the wind.

The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect taste, the former combining both the useful and the agreeable. A luxurious grape-vine wreathed itself over the arched entrance, while the wide, graveled walks were bordered, some with box, and others with choice flowers, now choked and overgrown with weeds, but showing marks of great beauty, when properly tended and cared for. At the extremity of the principal walk, which extended the entire length of the garden, was a summer house, fitted up with everything which could make it attractive, during the sultry heat of summer, while farther on through the little gate was a handsome grove or continuation of the park, with many well-beaten paths winding through it and terminating finally at the side of a tiny sheet of water, which within a few years had forced itself through the limestone soil natural to Kentucky.

Owing to some old feud, the English family had not been on visiting terms with the Livingstones; consequently, ‘Lena had never before been at Woodlawn, and her admiration increased with every step, and when at last they entered the house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms, it knew no bounds. She remembered the time when she had thought her uncle’s furniture splendid beyond anything in the world, but it could not compare with the magnificence around her, and for a few moments she stood as if transfixed with astonishment. Durward had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning the grounds, and now noticing her silence, he asked “what was the matter?”

“Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room should prove an illusion and fade away,” said she.

“Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw before?” he asked; and she replied, “Oh, yes, far more so,” at the same time giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she first saw the inside of her uncle’s house, and ending by saying, “But you can imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge pretty well what were my ideas of the world.”

Wishing to see if ‘Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode of living Durward said, “I have never heard anything concerning your eastern home and how you lived there–will you please to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell which will interest you,” answered ‘Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade her commence.

Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now at his bidding ‘Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof, bare walls, and oaken floors–of herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she picked _huckleberries_ with _Joel Slocum_! And then, in lower and more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother’s grave in the valley, near which her beloved grandfather–the only father she had ever known–was now sleeping. ‘Lena never spoke of her grandfather without weeping. She could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of the sofa, she sobbed like a child.

Durward’s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her ‘_Lena_, and smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face. As soon as possible ‘Lena released herself from him, and drying her tears, proposed that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time for them to return home. Accordingly, they passed on through room after room, ‘Lena’s quick eye taking in and appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking of herself so frankly as she had done. Many young ladies, he well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their home was once in a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and ‘Lena’s truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar things connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance.

But little was said by either of them as they went over the house, until Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly asked his companion “how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?”

Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer, but ‘Lena quickly replied, “Not at all,” laughingly giving as an insuperable objection, “the size of the house and the number of windows she would have to wash!”

With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home, and again mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which they reached just after the family had finished breakfast. With the first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what might occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie, anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and ‘Lena, cast wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had returned from his ride.”

“I’ve not seen him,” answered the lady, her scowl deepening and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at ease.

“Who’s gone to ride?” asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied that Durward and ‘Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that “they must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so long.”

This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept company with Mrs. Graham’s scowl. Chopping her steak into mince-meat, and almost biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at last found voice to ask, “what horse ‘Lena rode!”

“Fleetfoot, of course,” said John Jr., at the same time telling his father he thought “he ought to give ‘Lena a pony of her own, for she was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting old and clumsy.”

The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of Caesar, whom she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him with the calaboose, and anything else which came to her mind. Old Caesar was taken by surprise, and being rather slow of speech, was trying to think of something to say, when John Jr., who had followed his mother, came to his aid, saying that “he himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,” and adding aside to his mother, that “the next time she and Cad were plotting mischief he’d advise them to see who was in the back parlor!”

Always ready to suspect ‘Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide Caesar, ‘Lena, or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the pause followed the example of his young master and stole away. The tramp of horses’ feet was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally resolving that Fleetfoot should be sold, repaired to the door in time to see Durward carefully lift ‘Lena from her pony and place her upon the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie were all standing upon the piazza, and as ‘Lena came up the walk, her eyes sparkling and her bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed, “Isn’t she beautiful?” at the same time asking her “where she had been.”

“To Woodlawn,” answered ‘Lena.

“To Woodlawn!” repeated Mrs. Graham.

“To Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the rear by exclaiming, “To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?”

“The pony,” answered ‘Lena, as she passed into the house.

Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard, Mrs. Livingstone said to her, in a low tone, “I would advise you to keep an eye upon your son, if he is at all susceptible, for there is no bound to ‘Lena’s ambition.”

Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of her little gray eye was a sufficient answer, and satisfied with the result of her caution, Mrs. Livingstone reentered the house. Two hours afterward, the carriage stood at the door waiting to convey the party to Woodlawn. It had been arranged that Mrs. Graham, Carrie, Anna, and Durward should ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham went on horseback. Purposely, Carrie loitered behind her companions, who being first, of course took the back seat, leaving her the privilege of riding by the side of Durward. This was exactly what she wanted, and leaning back on her elbow, she complacently awaited his coming. But how was she chagrined, when, in his stead, appeared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage and took a seat beside her; saying to his wife’s look of inquiry, that as John Jr. had concluded to go, Durward preferred riding on horseback with him, adding, in his usually polite way, “And I, you know, would always rather go with the ladies. But where is Miss Rivers?” he continued. “Why isn’t she here?”

“Simply because she wasn’t invited, I suppose,” returned his wife, detecting the disappointment in his face.

“Not invited!” he repeated; “I didn’t know as this trip was of sufficient consequence to need a special invitation. I thought, of course, she was here—-“

“Or you would have gone on horseback,” said his wife, ever ready to catch at straws.

Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress the truthful: answer–“Yes”–while he compromised the matter by saying that “the presence of three fair ladies ought to satisfy him.”

Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and during all the ride she was extremely taciturn, hardly replying at all to Mr. Graham’s lively sallies, and winning golden laurels in the opinion of Mrs. Graham, who secretly thought her husband altogether too agreeable. As they turned into the long avenue which led to Woodlawn, and Carrie thought of the ride which ‘Lena had enjoyed alone with its owner–for such was Durward reported to be–her heart swelled with bitterness toward her cousin, in whom she saw a dreaded rival. But when they reached the house, and Durward assisted her to alight, keeping at her side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy vanished, and with her sweetest smile she looked up into his face, affecting a world of childish simplicity, and making, as she believed, a very favorable impression.

“I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn as your cousin,” said Durward, noticing that her mind seemed to be more intent on foreign subjects than the scenery around her.

“Oh, no, I dare say not,” returned Carrie. “‘Lena was never accustomed to anything until she came to Kentucky, and now I suppose she thinks she must go into ecstacies over everything, though I sometimes wish she wouldn’t betray her ignorance quite so often.”

“According to her description, her home in Massachusetts was widely different from her present one,” said Durward, and Carrie quickly replied, “I wonder now if she bored you with an account of her former home! You must have been edified, and had a delightful ride, I declare.”

“And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for Miss Rivers is, I think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,” returned Durward, beginning to see the drift of her remarks.

Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself from Carrie, he did not again return to her until it was time to go home. Meantime, at Maple Grove, Mrs. Livingstone, in the worst possible humor, was finding fault with poor ‘Lena, accusing her of eavesdropping, and asking her if she did not begin to believe the old adage, that listeners never heard any good of themselves. In perfect astonishment ‘Lena demanded what she meant, saying she had never, to her knowledge, been guilty of listening.

Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone declared herself “satisfied now, for a person who would listen and then deny it, was capable of almost anything.”

“What do you mean, madam ?” said ‘Lena, her temper getting the ascendency. “Explain yourself, for no one shall accuse me of lying without an attempt to prove it.”

With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder what you can do! Will you bring to your assistance some one of your numerous admirers?”

“Admirers! What admirers?” asked ‘Lena, and her aunt replied, “I’ll give you credit for feigning the best of any one I ever saw, but you can’t deceive me. I know very well of your intrigues to entrap Mr. Bellmont. But it is not strange that you should inherit something of your mother’s nature; and you know what she was!”

This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through the glittering tears, which shone like diamonds, ‘Lena sprang to her feet, exclaiming, “Yes, I do know what she was. She was a far more worthy woman than you, and if in my presence you dare again breathe aught against her name, you shall rue it—-“

“That she shall, so help me heaven,” murmured a voice near, which neither Mrs. Livingstone nor ‘Lena heard, nor were they aware of any one’s presence until Mr. Graham suddenly appeared in the doorway.

At his wife’s request he had exchanged places with his son, and riding on before the rest, had reached home first, being just in time to overhear the last part of the conversation between Mrs. Livingstone and ‘Lena. Instantly changing her manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her niece from the room, heaving a deep sigh as the door closed after her, and saying that “none but those who had tried it knew what a thankless job it was to rear the offspring of others.”

There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham’s eyes, as he answered, “In your case I will gladly relieve you, if my wife is willing. I have taken a great fancy to Miss Rivers, and would like to adopt her as my daughter. I will speak to Mrs. Graham to-night.”

Much as she disliked ‘Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not for the world have her become an inmate of Mr. Graham’s family, where she would be constantly thrown in Durward’s way; and immediately changing her tactics, she replied, “I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my husband would not think of such a thing; neither should I be quite willing for her to leave us, much as she troubles me.”

Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. That night, after he had retired to his room, he seemed unusually distracted, pacing up and down the apartment, occasionally pausing to gaze out into the moonlit sky, and then resuming his measured tread. At last nerving himself to brave the difficulty, he stopped before his wife, to whom he made known his plan of adopting ‘Lena.

“It seems hasty, I know,” said he, “but she is just the kind of person I would like to have round–just such a one as I would wish my daughter to be if I had one. In short, I like her, and with your consent I will adopt her as my own, and take her from this place where I know she’s not wanted. What say you, Lucy?”

“Will you adopt the old woman too?” asked Mrs. Graham, whose face was turned away so as to hide its expression.

“That is an after consideration,” returned her husband, “but if you are willing, I will either take her to our home, or provide for her elsewhere–but come, what do you say?”

All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her little dumpling hands folded one within the other, the long transparent nails making deep indentures in the soft flesh, and her gray eyes emitting _green_ gleams of scorn. The answer her husband sought came at length, and was characteristic of the woman. Hissing out the words from between her teeth, she replied, “When I take ‘Lena Rivers into my family for my husband and son to make love to, alternately, I shall be ready for the lunatic asylum at Lexington.”

“And what objection have you to her?” asked Mr. Graham; to which his wife replied, “The very fact, sir, that you wish it, is a sufficient reason why I will not have her; besides that, you must misjudge me strangely if you think I’d be willing for my son to come daily in contact with a girl of her doubtful parentage.”

“What know you of her parentage?” said Mr. Graham, his lips turning slightly pale.

“Yes, what do I know?” answered his wife. “Her father, if she has any, is a rascal, a villain—-“

“Yes, yes, all of that,” muttered Mr. Graham, while his wife continued, “And her mother a poor, low, mean, ignorant—-“

“Hold!” thundered Mr. Graham. “You shall not speak so of any woman of whom you know nothing, much less of ‘Lena Rivers’ mother.”

“And pray what do you know of her–is she an old acquaintance?” asked Mrs. Graham, throwing into her manner as much of insolence as possible.

“I know,” returned Mr. Graham, “that ‘Lena’s mother could be nothing else than respectable.”

“Undoubtedly; but of this be assured–the daughter shall never, by my permission, darken my doors,” said Mrs. Graham, growing more and more excited, and continuing–“I know you of old, Harry Graham; and I know now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was so as to be near her, but it shan’t be.”

In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself who had first suggested Woodlawn as a residence, and that until within a day or two her husband and ‘Lena were entire strangers. But this made no difference. She was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an hour she fretted and cried, declaring herself the most abused of her sex, and wishing she had never seen her husband, who, in his heart, warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving not to mention the offending ‘Lena again in the presence of his wife.

The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed; after which, Mr. and Mrs. Graham, together with Durward, returned to Louisville, intending to take possession of their new home about the first of October.

CHAPTER XII.

MRS. GRAHAM AT HOME.

As the summer advanced, extensive preparations were commenced for repairing Woodlawn, which was to be fitted up in a style suited to the luxurious taste of its rightful owner, which, as report said, was in reality Durward. He had conceived a fancy for the place five years before, when visiting in the neighborhood, and on learning that it was for sale, he had purchased it, at the suggestion of his mother, proposing to his father that for a time, at least, he should be its nominal possessor. What reason he had for this he hardly knew himself, unless it was that he disliked being flattered as a man of great wealth, choosing rather to be esteemed for what he really was.

And, indeed, few of his age were more generally beloved than was he. Courteous, kind-hearted, and generous almost to a fault, he gained friends wherever he went, and it was with some reason that Mrs. Graham thought herself blessed above mothers, in the possession of such a son. “He is so like me,” she would say, in speaking of his many virtues, when, in fact, there was scarcely anything in common between them, for nearly all of Durward’s sterling qualities were either inherited from his own father, or the result of many years’ companionship with his stepfather. Possessed of the most exquisite taste, he exercised it in the arrangement of Woodlawn, which, under his skillful management, began in a few weeks to assume a more beautiful appearance than it had ever before worn.

Once in two weeks either Mr. Graham or Durward came out to see how matters were progressing, the latter usually accepting Mrs. Livingstone’s pressing invitation to make her house his home. This he was the more willing to do, as it threw him into the society of ‘Lena, who was fast becoming an object of absorbing interest to him. The more he saw of her, the more was his admiration increased, and oftentimes, when joked concerning his preference for Carrie, he smiled to think how people were deceived, determining, however, to keep his own secret until such time as he should be convinced that ‘Lena was all he could desire in a wife. For her poverty and humble birth he cared nothing. If she were poor, he was rich, and he possessed too much good sense to deem himself better than she, because the blood of a nobleman flowed in his veins. He knew that she was highly gifted and beautiful, and could he be assured that she was equally true-hearted, he would not hesitate a moment.

But Mrs. Livingstone’s insinuation that she was a heartless coquette, troubled him, and though he could not believe it without more proof than he had yet received, he determined to wait and watch, studying her character, the while, to see if there was in her aught of evil. In this state of affairs, it was hardly more than natural that his manner toward her should be rather more reserved than that which he assumed toward Carrie, for whom he cared nothing, and with whom he talked laughed, and rode, forgetting her the moment she was out of his sight, and never suspecting how much importance she attached to his every word and look, construing into tokens of admiration the most casual remark, such as he would utter to any one. This was of advantage to ‘Lena, for, secure of their prize, both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie, for a time, at least, ceased to persecute her, seldom speaking of her in Durward’s presence, and, as a general thing, acting as though she were not in existence.

John Jr., too, who had imposed upon himself the duty of watching his mother and sister, seeing no signs of hostility, now withdrew his espionage, amusing himself, instead, by galloping three times a week over to Frankfort, the home of Nellie Douglass, and by keeping an eye upon Captain Atherton, who, as a spider would watch a fly, was lying in wait for the unsuspecting Anna.

At last all was in readiness at Woodlawn for the reception of Mrs. Graham, who came up early in October, bringing with her a larger train of house servants than was often seen in Woodford county. About three weeks after her arrival, invitations were issued for a party or “house warming,” as the negroes termed it. Nero, Durward’s valet, brought the tiny notes to Mr. Livingstone’s, giving them into the care of Carrie, who took them immediately to her mother’s room.

“It’s Durward’s handwriting,” said she, glancing at the superscriptions, and reading as she did so–“Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone”–“Mr. John Livingstone, Jr.”–“Miss Carrie Livingstone”–“Miss Anna Livingstone”–“_Miss ‘Lena Rivers_;” and here she stopped, in utter dismay, continuing, as her mother looked up inquiringly–“And as I live, one for _grandma_–‘MRS. MARTHA NICHOLS!'”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, reaching out her hand for the billet. “Yes, ’tis Mrs. Martha Nichols!–what can it mean?”

A peep behind the scenes would have told her what it meant. For once in his life Mr. Graham had exercised the right of being master in his own house, declaring that if Mrs. Nichols were not invited with the family, there should be no party at all. Mrs. Graham saw that he was in earnest, and yielded the point, knowing that in all probability the old lady would not be permitted to attend. Her husband had expected a like opposition with regard to ‘Lena, but he was disappointed, for his wife, forgetting her declaration that ‘Lena should never darken her doors and thinking it would not do to slight her, consented that, on her uncle’s account, she should be invited. Accordingly, the notes were despatched, producing the effect we have seen.

“How perfectly ridiculous to invite grandma!” said Carrie. “It’s bad enough to have ‘Lena stuck in with us, for of course _she’ll_ go.”

“Why of course?” asked Mrs. Livingstone. “The invitations are at my disposal now; and if I choose to withhold two of them, no one will be blamed but Nero, who was careless and dropped them! ‘Lena has nothing decent to wear, and I don’t feel like expending much more for a person so ungrateful as she is. You ought to have heard how impudent she was that time you all went to Woodlawn.”

Then followed a one-sided description of that morning’s occurrence, Mrs. Livingstone working herself up to such a pitch of excitement, that before her recital was finished, she had determined at all events to keep back ‘Lena’s invitation, as a method of punishing her for her “insolence,” as she termed it.

“Mrs. Graham will thank me for it, I know,” said she, “for she cannot endure her; and besides that, I don’t think ‘Lena expects to be invited, so there’s no harm done.”

Carrie was not yet quite so hardened as her mother, and for a moment her better nature shrank from so mean a transaction, which might, after all, be found out, involving them in a still worse difficulty; but as the thought flashed upon her that possibly ‘Lena might again attract Durward toward her, she assented, and they were about putting the notes aside, when John Jr. came in, catching up his grandmother’s note the first thing, and exclaiming, “Oh, _rich_!–_capital_! I hope she’ll go!” Then, before his mother could interpose a word, he darted away in quest of Mrs. Nichols, whose surprise was fully equal to that of Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie.

“Now, you don’t say I’ve got an invite,” said she, leaving the darning-needle in the stocking-heel which she was mending, and wiping her steel-bowed spectacles. “Come, ‘Leny, you read it, that’s a good girl.”

‘Lena complied, and taking the note from her cousin’s hand, read that Mrs. Graham would be at home Thursday evening, etc.

“But where’s the invite? That don’t say anything about _me_!” said Mrs. Nichols, beginning to fear that it was a humbug after all.

As well as they could, ‘Lena and John Jr. explained it to her, and then, fully convinced that she was really invited, Mrs. Nichols began to wonder what she should wear, and how she should go, asking John “if he couldn’t tackle up and carry her in the shay,” as she called the single buggy.

“Certainly,” answered John Jr. willing to do anything for the sake of the fun which he knew would ensue from his grandmother’s attendance.

‘Lena thought otherwise, for much as she desired to gratify her grandmother, she would not for the world expose her to the ridicule which her appearance at a fashionable party would call forth. Glancing reprovingly at her cousin, she said, “I wouldn’t think of going, grandma, for you are lame and old, and there’ll be so many people there, all strangers, too, that you won’t enjoy it at all. Besides that, we’ll have a nice time at home together—I’ll read to you all the evening.”

“_We_,” repeated John Jr. “Pray, are you not going?”

“Not without an invitation,” said ‘Lena smilingly.

“True, true,” returned her cousin. “It’s downstairs, I dare say. I only stopped to look at this. I’ll go and get yours now.”

Suiting the action to the word, he descended to his mother’s room, asking for “‘Lena’s card.”

“‘Lena’s card! What do you mean?” said Mrs. Livingstone, looking up from the book she was reading, while Carrie for a moment suspended her needle-work.

“‘Lena’s invitation; you know well enough what I mean,” returned John Jr., tumbling over the notes which lay upon the table, and failing to find the one for which he was seeking.

“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Graham for it, I presume, as it’s not here,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s quiet answer.

“Thunder!” roared John Jr., “‘Lena not invited! That’s a smart caper. But there’s some mistake about it, I know. Who brought them?”

“Nero brought them,” said Carrie, “and I think it is strange that grandmother should be invited and ‘Lena left out. But I suppose Mrs. Graham has her reasons. She don’t seem to fancy ‘Lena much.”

“Mrs. Graham go to grass,” muttered John Jr., leaving the room and slamming the door after him with great violence.

‘Twas a pity he did not look in one of the drawers of his mother’s work-box, for there, safe and sound, lay the missing note! But he did not think of that. He only knew that ‘Lena was slighted, and for the next two hours he raved and fretted, sometimes declaring he would not go, and again wishing Mrs. Graham in a temperature but little suited to her round, fat proportions.

“Wall, if they feel too big to invite ‘Leny, they needn’t expect to see me there, that’s just all there is about it,” said grandma, settling herself in her rocking-chair, and telling ‘Lena “she wouldn’t care an atom if she’s in her place.”

But ‘Lena did care. No one likes to be slighted, and she was not an exception to the general rule. Owing to her aunt’s skillful management she had never yet attended a large party, and it was but natural that she should now wish to go. But it could not be, and she was obliged to content herself with the hopes of a minute description from Anna; Carrie she would not trust, for she well knew that whatever she told would be greatly exaggerated.

Mrs. Graham undoubtedly wished to give her friends ample time to prepare, for her invitations were issued nearly a week in advance. This suited Carrie, who had a longer time to decide upon what would be becoming, and when at last a decision was made, she could do nothing but talk about her dress, which really was beautiful, consisting of a pink and white silk, with an over-skirt of soft, rich lace. This, after it was completed, was tried on at least half a dozen times, and the effect carefully studied before the long mirror. Anna, who cared much less for dress than her sister, decided upon a black flounced skirt and velvet basque. This was Mr. Everett’s taste, and whatever suited him suited her.

“I do think it’s too bad that ‘Lena is not invited,” said she one day, when Carrie, as usual, was discussing the party. “She would enjoy it so much. I don’t understand, either, why she is omitted, for Mr. Graham seemed to like her, and Durward too—-“

“A great ways off, you mean,” interrupted Carrie. “For my part, I see nothing strange in the omission. It is no worse to leave her out than scores of others who will not be invited.”

“But to come into the house and ask all but her,” said Anna. “It does not seem right. She is as good as we are.”

“That’s as people think,” returned Carrie, while John Jr., who was just going out to ride, and had stopped a moment at the door, exclaimed, “Zounds, Cad, I wonder if you fancy yourself better than ‘Lena Rivers. If you do, you are the only one that thinks so. Why, you can’t begin to compare with her, and it’s a confounded shame that she isn’t invited, and so I shall tell them if I have a good chance.”

“You’ll look smart fishing for an invitation, won’t you?” said Carrie, her fears instantly aroused, but John Jr. was out of her hearing almost before the words were uttered.

Mounting Firelock, he started off for Versailles, falling in with Durward, who was bound for the same place. After the usual greetings were exchanged, Durward said, “I suppose you are all coming on Thursday night?”

“Yes,” returned John Jr., “I believe the old folks, Cad, and Anna intend doing so.”

“But where’s Miss Rivers? Doesn’t she honor us with her presence?” asked Durward, in some concern.

John Jr.’s first impulse, as he afterwards said, was “to knock him off from his horse,” but a second thought convinced him there might be some mistake; so he replied that “it was hardly to be supposed Miss Rivers would attend without an invitation–she wasn’t quite so verdant as that!”

“Without an invitation!” repeated Durward, stopping short in the road. “‘Lena not invited! It isn’t so! I directed one to her myself, and gave it to Nero, together with the rest which were designed for your family. He must have lost it. I’ll ask him the moment I get home, and see that it is all made right. She must come, any way, for I wouldn’t give—-“

Here he stopped, as if he had said too much, but John Jr. finished the sentence for him.

“Wouldn’t give a picayune for the whole affair without her–that’s what you mean, and why not say so? I speak right out about Nellie, and she isn’t one half as handsome as ‘Lena.”

“It isn’t ‘Lena’s beauty that I admire altogether,” returned Durward. “I like her for her frankness, and because I think her conduct is actuated by the best of principles; perhaps I am mistaken—-“

“No, you are not,” again interrupted John Jr., “‘Lena is just what she seems to be. There’s no deception in her. She isn’t one thing to-day and another to-morrow. Spunky as the old Nick, you know, but still she governs her temper admirably, and between you and me, I know I’m a better man than I should have been had she never come to live with us. How well I remember the first time I saw her,” he continued, repeating to Durward the particulars of their interview in Lexington, and describing her introduction to his sisters. “From the moment she refused to tell that lie for me, I liked her,” said he, “and when she dealt me that blow in my face, my admiration was complete.”

Durward thought he could dispense with the blow, but he laughed heartily at John’s description of his spirited cousin, thinking, too, how different was his opinion of her from that which his mother evidently entertained. Still, if Mrs. Livingstone was prejudiced, John Jr. might also be somewhat biased, so he would not yet make up his mind; but on one thing he was resolved–she should be invited, and for fear of contingencies, he would carry the card himself.

Accordingly, on his return home, Nero was closely questioned, and negro-like, called down all manner of evil upon himself “if he done drapped the note any whar. ‘Strue as I live and breathe, Mas’r Bellmont,” said he, “I done carried Miss ‘Leny’s invite with the rest, and guv ’em all to the young lady with the big nose!”

Had Durward understood Mrs. Livingstone a little better, he might have believed him; but now it was but natural for him to suppose that Nero had accidentally dropped it. So he wrote another, taking it himself, and asking for “Miss Rivers.” Carrie, who was in the parlor and saw him coming up to the house, instantly flew to the glass, smoothing her collar, puffing out her hair a little more, pinching her cheek, which was not quite so red as usual, and wishing that she was alone. But unfortunately, both Anna and ‘Lena were present, and as there was no means of being rid of them, she retained her seat at the piano, carelessly turning over the leaves of her music book, when the door opened and Corinda, not Durward, appeared.

“If you please, Miss ‘Lena,” said the girl, “Marster Bellmont want to speak with you in the hall.”

“With ‘Lena! How funny!” exclaimed Carrie. “Are you sure it was ‘Lena?”

“Yes, sure–he done ask for Miss Rivers.”

“Ask him in, why don’t you?” said Carrie, suspecting his errand, and thinking to keep herself from all suspicion by appearing “wonderfully pleased” that ‘Lena was not intentionally neglected. Before Corinda could reply, ‘Lena had stepped into the hall, and was standing face to face with Durward, who retained her hand, while he asked if “she really believed they, intended to slight her,” at the same time explaining how it came to his knowledge, and saying “he hoped she would not fail to attend.”

‘Lena hesitated, but he pressed her so hard, saying he should surely think she distrusted them if she refused, that she finally consented, and he took his leave, playfully threatening to come for her himself if she were not there with the rest.

“You feel better, now, don’t you ?” said Carrie with a sneer, as ‘Lena re-entered the parlor.

“Yes, a great deal,” was ‘Lena’s truthful answer.

“Oh, I’m real glad!” exclaimed Anna. “I most knew ’twas a mistake all the time, and I did so want you to go. What will you wear? Let me see. Why, you haven’t got anything suitable, have you?”

This was true, for ‘Lena had nothing fit for the occasion, and she was beginning to wish she had not been invited, when her uncle came in, and to him Anna forthwith stated the case, saying ‘Lena must have a new dress, and suggesting embroidered muslin.

“How ridiculous!” muttered Carrie, thrumming away at the piano. “There’s no time to make dresses now. They should have invited her earlier.”

“Isn’t Miss Simpson still here?” asked her father.

Anna replied that she was, and then turning to ‘Lena, Mr. Livingstone asked if “she wanted to go very much.”

The tears which shone in her eyes were a sufficient answer, and when at supper that night, inquiry was made for Mr. Livingstone, it was said that he had gone to Frankfort.

“To Frankfort!” repeated his wife. “What has he gone there for?”

No one knew until late in the evening, when he returned home, bringing with him ‘Lena’s dress, which Anna pronounced “the sweetest thing she ever saw,” at the same time running with it to her cousin. There was company in the parlor, which for a time kept down the gathering storm in Mrs. Livingstone’s face, but the moment they were gone, and she was alone with her husband in their room, it burst forth, and in angry tones she demanded “what he meant by spending her money in that way, and without her consent?”

Before making any reply, Mr. Livingstone stepped to her work-box, and opening the little drawer, held to view the missing note. Then turning to his wife, whose face was very pale, he said, “This morning I made a discovery which exonerates Nero from all blame. I understand it fully, and while I knew you were capable of almost anything, I must say I did not think you would be guilty of quite so mean an act. Stay,” he continued, as he saw her about to speak, “you are my wife, and as ‘Lena is at last invited, your secret is safe, but remember, it must not be repeated. You understand me, do you?”

Mrs. Livingstone was struck dumb with mortification and astonishment–the first, that she was detected, and the last, that her husband dare assume such language toward her. But he had her in his power–she knew that–and for a time it rendered her very docile, causing her to consult with Miss Simpson concerning the fitting of ‘Lena’s dress, herself standing by when it was done, and suggesting one or two improvements, until ‘Lena, perfectly bewildered, wondered what had come over her aunt, that she should be so unusually kind. Carrie, too, learning from her mother how matters stood, thought proper to change her manner, and while in her heart she hoped something would occur to keep ‘Lena at home, she loudly expressed her pleasure that she was going, offering to lend her several little ornaments, and doing many things which puzzled ‘Lena, who readily saw that she was feigning what she did not feel.

Meanwhile, grandma, learning that ‘Lena was invited, declared her intention of going. “I shouldn’t of gin up in the first on’t,” said she, “only I wanted to show ’em proper resentment; but now it’s different, and I’ll go, anyway–‘Tilda may say what she’s a mind to.”

It was in vain that ‘Lena reasoned the case. Grandma was decided, and it was not until both her son and daughter interfered, the one advising and the other commanding her to stay at home, that she yielded with a burst of tears, for grandma was now in her second childhood, and easily moved. It was terrible to ‘Lena to see her grandmother weep, and twining her arms around her neck, she tried to soothe her, saying, “she would willingly stay at home with her if she wished it.”

Mrs. Nichols was not selfish enough to suffer this. “No, ‘Leny,” said she, “I want you to go and enjoy yourself while you are young, for you’ll sometime be old and in the way;” and the old creature covered her face with her shriveled hands and wept.

But she was of too cheerful a nature long to remember grief, and drying her tears, she soon forgot her trouble in the pride and satisfaction which she felt when she saw how well the white muslin became ‘Lena, who, John Jr., said, never looked so beautifully as she did when arrayed for the party. Mr. Livingstone had not been sparing of his money when he purchased the party dress, which was a richly embroidered muslin, and fell in soft folds around ‘Lena’s graceful figure. Her long flowing curls were intertwined with a few natural flowers, her only attempt at ornament of any kind, and, indeed, ornaments would have been sadly out of place on ‘Lena’.

It was between nine and ten when the party from Maple Grove reached Woodlawn, where they found a large company assembled, some in the drawing-rooms below, and others still lingering at the toilet in the dressing chamber. Among these last were Nellie Douglass and Mabel Ross, the latter of whom Mrs. Livingstone was perfectly delighted to see, overwhelming her with caresses, and urging her to stop for awhile at Maple Grove.

“I shall be so glad to have you with us, and the country air will do you so much good, that you must not refuse,” said she, pinching Mabel’s sallow cheek, and stroking her straight, glossy hair, which, in contrast with the bandeau of pearls that she wore, looked dark as midnight.

Spite of her wealth, Mabel had long been accustomed to neglect, and there was something so kind in Mrs. Livingstone’s _motherly_ demeanor, that the heart of the young orphan warmed toward her, and tears glittered in her large, mournful eyes, the only beauty, save her hair, of which she could boast. Very few had ever cared for poor Mabel, who, though warm-hearted and affectionate, required to be known in order to be appreciated, and as she was naturally shy and retiring, there were not many who felt at all acquainted with her. Left alone in the world at a very early age, she had never known what it was to possess a real, disinterested friend, unless we except Nellie Douglass, who, while there was nothing congenial between them, had always tried to treat Mabel as she herself would wish to be treated, were she in like circumstances.

Many had professed friendship for the sake of the gain which they knew would accrue, for she was generous to a fault, bestowing with a lavish hand upon those whom she loved, and who had too often proved false, denouncing her as utterly spiritless and insipid. So often had she been deceived, that now, at the age of eighteen, she had learned to distrust her fellow creatures, and oftentimes in secret would she weep bitterly over her lonely condition, lamenting the plain face and unattractive manners, which she fancied rendered her an object of dislike. Still there was about her a depth of feeling of which none had ever dreamed, and it only required a skillful hand to mold her into an altogether different being. She was, perhaps, too easily influenced, for in spite of her distrust, a pleasant word or kind look would win her to almost anything.

Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the better accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel should believe her to be the best friend she had in the world. Accordingly, she now flattered and petted her, calling her “darling,” and “dearest,” and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she consented, “provided Nellie Douglas were willing.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing disposition poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it rather a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.

So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs. Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, “Go down with me,” at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her daughters, Nellie, and ‘Lena. In the hall they met with John Jr. He had heard Nellie’s voice, and stationing himself at the head of the stairs, was waiting her appearance.

“Miss Ross,” said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time indicating her willingness to give her into his care.

But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he passed on toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie’s train and drawing from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness. Mrs. Livingstone glanced backward just in time to see the look of affection with which her son regarded Nellie, as she placed her soft hand confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward smilingly into his face. She dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with a mental invective against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and smoothing down the heavy folds of her _moire antique_, entered the drawing-room, which was brilliantly lighted, and filled with the beauty and fashion of Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.

At the door they met Durward, who, as he took ‘Lena’s hand, said, “It is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after you.” This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besides having her son and Nellie under her special cognizance, had also an eye upon her niece and Anna. Her espionage of the latter, however, was not needed immediately, owing to her being straightway appropriated by Captain Atherton, who, in dainty white kids, and vest to match (the color not the material), strutted back and forth with Anna tucked under his arm, until the poor girl was ready to cry with vexation.

When the guests had nearly all arrived, both Mr. Graham and Durward started for ‘Lena, the latter reaching her first, and paying her so many little attentions, that the curiosity of others was aroused, and frequently was the question asked, “Who is she, the beautiful young lady in white muslin and curls?”

Nothing of all this escaped Mrs. Livingstone, and once, in passing near her niece, she managed to whisper, “For heaven’s sake don’t show your ignorance of etiquette by taxing Mr. Bellmont’s good nature any longer. It’s very improper to claim any one’s attention so long, and you are calling forth remarks.”

Then quickly changing the whisper into her softest tones, she said to Durward, “How _can_ you resist such beseeching glances as those ladies send toward you?” nodding to a group of girls of which Carrie was one.

‘Lena colored scarlet, and gazed wistfully around the room in quest of some other shelter when Durward should relinquish her, as she felt he would surely do, but none presented itself. Her uncle was playing the agreeable to Miss Atherton, Mr. Graham to some other lady, while John Jr. kept closely at Nellie’s side, forgetful of all else.

“What shall I do?” said ‘Lena, unconsciously and half aloud.

“Stay with me,” answered Durward, drawing her hand further within his arm, and bending upon her a look of admiration which she could not mistake.

Several times they passed and repassed Mrs. Graham, who was highly incensed at her son’s proceedings, and at last actually asked him “if he did not intend noticing anyone except Miss Rivers,” adding, as an apology for her rudeness (for Mrs. Graham prided herself upon being very polite in her own house), “she has charms enough to win a dozen gallants, but there are others here who need attention from you. There’s Miss Livingstone, you’ve hardly spoken with her to-night.”

Thus importuned, Durward released ‘Lena and walked away, attaching himself to Carrie, who clung to him closer, if possible, than did the old captain to Anna. About this time Mr. Everett came. He had been necessarily detained, and now, after paying his respects to the host and hostess, he started in quest of Anna, who was still held “in durance vile” by the captain. But the moment she saw Malcolm, she uttered a low exclamation of joy, and without a single apology, broke abruptly away from her ancient cavalier, whose little watery eyes looked daggers after her for an instant; then consoling himself with the reflection that he was tolerably sure of her, do what she would, he walked up to her mother, kindly relieving her for a time of her charge, who was becoming rather tiresome. Frequently, by nods, winks, and frowns, had Mrs. Livingstone tried to bring her son to a sense of his improper conduct in devoting himself exclusively to one individual, and neglecting all others.

But her efforts were all in vain. John Jr. was incorrigible, slyly whispering to Nellie, that “he had no idea of beauing a medicine chest.” This he said, referring to Mabel’s ill health, for among his other oddities, John Jr. had a particular aversion to sickly ladies. Of course Nellie reproved him for his unkind remarks, at the same time warmly defending Mabel, “who,” she said, “had been delicate from infancy, and suffered far more than was generally suspected.”

“Let her stay at home, then,” was John Jr.’s answer, as he led Nellie toward the supper-room, which the company were just then entering.

About an hour after supper the guests began to leave, Mrs. Livingstone being the first to propose going. As she was ascending the stairs, John Jr. observed that Mabel was with her, and turning to ‘Lena, who now leaned on his arm, he said, “There goes the future Mrs. John Jr.–so mother thinks!”

“Where?” asked ‘Lena, looking around.

“Why, there,” continued John, pointing toward Mabel. “Haven’t you noticed with what parental solicitude mother watches over her?”

“I saw them together,” answered ‘Lena, “and I thought it very kind in my aunt, for no one else seemed to notice her, and I felt sorry for her. She is going home with us, I believe.”,

“Going home with _us_!” repeated John Jr. “In the name of the people, what is she going home with us for?”

“Why,” returned ‘Lena, “your mother thinks the country air will do her good.”

“_Un_-doubtedly,” said John, with a sneer. “Mother’s motives are usually very disinterested. I wonder she don’t propose to the old captain to take up _his_ quarters with us, so she can nurse him!”

With this state of feeling, it was hardly natural that John Jr. should be very polite toward Mabel, and when his mother asked him to help her into the carriage, he complied so ungraciously, that Mabel observed it, and looked wonderingly at her _patroness_ for an explanation.

“Only one of his freaks, love–he’ll get over it,” said Mrs. Livingstone, while poor Mabel, sinking back amoung the cushions, wept silently, thinking that everybody hated her.

When ‘Lena came down to bid her host and hostess good-night, the former retained her hand, while he expressed his sorrow at her leaving so soon. “I meant to have seen more of you,” said he, “but you must visit us often–will you not?”

Neither the action nor the words escaped Mrs. Graham’s observation, and the lecture which she that night read her offending spouse, had the effect to keep him awake until the morning was growing gray in the east. Then, when he was asleep, he so far forgot himself and the wide-open ears beside him as actually to breathe the name of ‘Lena in his dreams!

Mrs. Graham needed no farther confirmation of her suspicions, and at the breakfast-table next morning, she gave her son a lengthened account of her husband’s great sin in dreaming of a young girl, and that girl ‘Lena Rivers. Durward laughed heartily and then, either to tease his mother, or to make his father’s guilt less heinous in her eyes, he replied, “It is a little singular that our minds should run in the same channel, for, I, too, dreamed of ‘Lena Rivers!”

Poor Mrs. Graham. A double task was now imposed upon her–that of watching both husband and son; but she was accustomed to it, for her life, since her second marriage, had been one continued series of watching for evil where there was none. And now, with a growing hatred toward ‘Lena, she determined to increase her vigilance, feeling sure she should discover something if she only continued faithful to the end.

CHAPTER XIII.

MABEL.

The morning following the party, Mr. Livingstone’s family were assembled in the parlor, discussing the various events of the previous night. John Jr., ‘Lena, and Anna declared themselves to have been highly pleased with everything, while Carrie in the worst of humors, pronounced it “a perfect bore,” saying she never had so disagreeable a time in all her life, and ending her ill-natured remarks by a malicious thrust at ‘Lena, for having so long kept Mr. Bellmont at her side.

“I suppose you fancy he would have looked better with you, but I think he showed his good taste by preferring ‘Lena,” said John Jr.; then turning toward the large easy-chair, where Mabel sat, pale, weary, and spiritless, he asked “how she had enjoyed herself.”

With the exception of his accustomed “good-morning,” this was the first time he had that day addressed her, and it was so unexpected, that it brought a bright glow to her cheek, making John Jr. think she was “not so horribly ugly after all.”

But she was very unfortunate in her answer, which was, “that on account of her ill health, she seldom enjoyed anything of the kind.” Then pressing her hand upon her forehead, she continued, “My head is aching dreadfully, as a punishment for last night’s dissipation.”

Three times before, he had heard her speak of her aching head, and now, with an impatient gesture, he was turning away, when his mother said, “Poor girl, she really looks miserable. I think a ride would do her good. Suppose you take her with you–I heard you say you were going to Versailles.”

If there was anything in which Mabel excelled, it was horsemanship, she being a better rider, if possible; than ‘Lena, and now, at Mrs. Livingstone’s proposition, she looked up eagerly at John Jr., who replied,

“Oh, hang it all! mother, I can’t always be bothered with a girl;” then as he saw how Mabel’s countenance fell, he continued, “Let ‘Lena ride with her–she wants to, I know.”

“Certainly,” said ‘Lena, whose heart warmed toward the orphan girl, partly because she was an orphan, and partly because she saw that she was neglected and unloved.

As yet Mabel cared nothing for John Jr., nor even suspected his mother’s object in detaining her as a guest. So when ‘Lena was proposed as a substitute she seemed equally well pleased, and the young man, as he walked off to order the ponies, mentally termed himself a bear for his rudeness; “for after all,” thought he, “it’s mother who has designs upon me, not Mabel. She isn’t to blame.”

This opinion once satisfactorily settled, it was strange how soon John Jr. began to be sociable with Mabel, finding her much more agreeable than he had at first supposed, and even acknowledging to ‘Lena that “she was a good deal of a girl, after all, were it not for her everlasting headaches and the smell of medicine,” which he declared she always carried about with her.

“Hush-sh,” said ‘Lena–“you shan’t talk so, for she is sick a great deal, and she does not feign it, either.”

“Perhaps not,” returned John Jr., “but she can at least keep her _miserable feelings_ to herself. Nobody wants to know how many times she’s been blistered and bled!”

Still John Jr. acknowledged that there were somethings in Mabel which he liked, for no one could live long with her and not admire her gentleness and uncommon sweetness of disposition, which manifested itself in numerous little acts of kindness to those around her. Never before in her life had she been so constantly associated with a young gentleman, and as she was quite susceptible, it is hardly more than natural that erelong thoughts of John Jr. mingled in both her sleeping and waking dreams. She could not understand him, but the more his changeful moods puzzled her, the more she felt interested in him, and her eyes would alternately sparkle at a kind word from him, or fill with tears at the abruptness of his speeches; while he seemed to take special delight in seeing how easily he could move her from one extreme to the other.

Silently Mrs. Livingstone looked on, carefully noting each change, and warily calculating its result. Not once since Mabel became an inmate of her family had she mentioned her to her son, for she deemed it best to wait, and let matters take their course. But at last, anxious to know his real opinion, she determined to sound him. Accordingly, one day when they were alone, she spoke of Mabel, asking him if he did not think she improved upon acquaintance, at the same time enumerating her many excellent qualities, and saying that whoever married her would get a prize, to say nothing of a fortune.

Quickly comprehending the drift of her remarks, John Jr. replied, “I dare say, and whoever wishes for both prize and fortune, is welcome to them for all me.”

“I thought you liked Mabel,” said his mother; and John answered, “So I do like her, but for pity’s sake, is a man obliged to marry every girl he likes? Mabel does very well to tease and amuse one, but when you come to the marrying part, why, that’s another thing.”

“And what objection have you to her,” continued his mother, growing very fidgety and red.

“Several,” returned John, “She has altogether too many aches and pains to suit me; then she has no spirit whatever; and last, but not least, I like somebody else. So, mother mine, you may as well give up all hopes of that hundred thousand down in Alabama, for I shall never marry Mabel Ross, never.”

Mrs. Livingstone was now not only red and fidgety but very angry, and, in an elevated tone of voice, she said, “I s’pose it’s Nellie Douglass you mean, but if you knew all of her that I do, I reckon—-“

Here she paused, insinuating that she could tell something dreadful, if she would! But John Jr. took no notice of her hints, and when he got a chance, he replied, “You are quite a Yankee at guessing, for if Nellie will have me, I surely will have her.”

“Marry her, then,” retorted his mother–“marry her with all her poverty, but for heaven’s sake, don’t give so much encouragement to a poor defenseless girl.”

Wishing Mabel in Guinea, and declaring he’d neither speak to nor look at her again, if common civilities were construed into encouragement, John Jr. strode out of the room, determining, as the surest method of ending the trouble, to go forthwith to Nellie, and in a plain, straight-forward way make her an offer of himself. With him, to will was to do, and in about an hour he was descending the long hill which leads into Frankfort. Unfortunately, Nellie had gone for a few weeks to Madison, and again mounting Firelock, the young man galloped back, reaching home just as the family were sitting down to supper. Not feeling hungry, and wishing to avoid, as long as possible, the sight of his mother and Mabel, whom he believed were leagued against him, he repaired to the parlor, whistling loudly, and making much more noise than was at all necessary.

“If you please, Mr. Livingstone, won’t you be a little more quiet, for my head aches so hard to-night,” said a languid voice, from the depths of the huge easy-chair which stood before the glowing grate.

Glancing toward what he had at first supposed to be a bundle of shawls, John Jr. saw Mabel Ross, her forehead bandaged up and her lips white as ashes, while the purple rings about her heavy eyes, told of the pain she was enduring.

“Thunder!” was John’s exclamation, as he strode from the room, slamming together the door with unusual force.

When Mrs. Livingstone came in from supper, with a cup of hot tea and a slice of toast for Mabel, she was surprised to find her sobbing like a child. It did not take long for her to learn the cause, and then, as well as she could, she soothed her, telling her not to mind John’s freaks–it was his way, and he always had a particular aversion to sick people, never liking to hear them talk of their ailments. This hint was sufficient for Mabel, who ever after strove hard to appear well and cheerful in his presence. But in no way, if he could help it, would he notice her.

Next to Mrs. Livingstone, ‘Lena was Mabel’s best friend, and when she saw how much her cousin’s rudeness and indifference pained her, she determined to talk with him about it, So the first time they were alone, she broached the subject, speaking very kindly of Mabel, and asking if he had any well-grounded reason for his uncivil treatment of her. There was no person in the world who possessed so much influence over John Jr. as did ‘Lena, and now, hearing her patiently through, he replied, “I know I’m impolite to Mabel, but hang me if I can help it. She is so flat and silly, and takes every little attention from me as a declaration of love. Still, I don’t blame her as much as I do mother, who is putting her up to it, and if she’d only go home and mind her own business, I should like her well enough.”

“I don’t understand you,” said ‘Lena, and her cousin continued; “Why, when Mabel first came here, I do not think she knew what mother was fishing for, so she was not so much at fault, but she does now—-“

“Are you sure?” interrupted ‘Lena, and John Jr. replied, “She’s a confounded fool if she don’t. And what provokes me, is to think she’ll still keep staying here, when modesty, if nothing else, should prompt her to leave. You wouldn’t catch Nellie doing so. Why, she’ll hardly come her at all, for fear folks will say she comes to see me, and that’s why I like her so well.”

“I think you are mistaken with regard to Mabel,” said Lena, “for I’ve no idea she’s in love with you a bit more than I am. I dare say she likes you well enough, for there’s nothing in you to dislike.”

“Thank you,” interrupted John Jr., returning the compliment with a kiss, a liberty he often took with her.

“Behave, can’t you?” said ‘Lena, at the same time continuing–“No, I don’t suppose Mabel is dying for you at all. All of us girls like to receive attention from you gentlemen, and she’s not an exception. Besides that, you ought to be polite to her, because she’s your mother’s guest, if for nothing else. I don’t ask you to love her,” said she, “but I do ask you to treat her well. Kind words cost nothing, and they go far toward making others happy.”

“So they do,” answered John, upon whom ‘Lena’s words were having a good effect. “I’ve nothing under heaven against Mabel Ross, except that mother wants me to marry her; but if you’ll warrant me that the young lady herself has no such intentions, why, I’ll do my very best.”

“I’ll warrant you,” returned ‘Lena, who really had no idea that Mabel cared aught in particular for her cousin, and satisfied with the result of her interview she started to leave the room.

As she reached the door, John Jr. stopped her, saying, “You are sure she don’t care for me?”

“Perfectly sure,” was ‘Lena’s answer.

“The plague, she don’t,” thought John, as the door closed upon ‘Lena; and such is human nature, that the young man began to think that if Mabel didn’t care for him, he’d see if he couldn’t make her, for after all, there was something pleasant in being liked, even by Mabel!

The next day, as the young ladies were sitting together in the parlor, John Jr. joined them, and after wringing Carrie’s nose, pulling ‘Lena’s and Anna’s curls, he suddenly upset Mabel’s work-box, at the same time slyly whispering to his cousin, “Ain’t I coming round?”

Abrupt as this proceeding, was, it pleased Mabel, who with the utmost good humor, commenced picking up her things, John Jr. assisting her, and managing once to bump his head against hers! After this, affairs at Maple Grove glided on as smoothly as even Mrs. Livingstone could wish. John and Mabel were apparently on the most amicable terms, he deeming ‘Lena’s approbation a sufficient reward for the many little attentions which he paid to Mabel, and she, knowing nothing of all that had passed, drinking in his every word and look, learning to live upon his smile, and conforming herself, as far as possible, to what she thought would best please him.

Gradually, as she thought it would do, Mrs. Livingstone unfolded to Mabel her own wishes, saying she should be perfectly happy could she only call her “daughter,” and hinting that such a thing “by wise management could easily be brought about.” With a gush of tears the orphan girl laid her head in Mrs. Livingstone’s lap, mentally blessing her as her benefactress, and thanking the Giver of all good for the light and happiness which she saw dawning upon her pathway.

“John is peculiar,” said Mrs. Livingstone, “and if he fancied you liked him very much, it might not please him as well as indifference on your part.”

So, with this lesson, Mabel, for the first time in her life attempted to act as she did not feel, feigning carelessness or indifference when every pulse of her heart was throbbing with joy at some little attention paid her by John Jr., who could be very agreeable when he chose, and who, observing her apparent indifference, began to think that what ‘Lena had said was true, and that Mabel really cared nothing for him. With this impression he exerted himself to be agreeable, wondering how her many good qualities had so long escaped his observation.

“There is more to her than I supposed,” said he one day to ‘Lena, who was commending him for his improved manner. “Yes, a heap more than I supposed. Why, I really like her!”

And he told the truth, for with his prejudice laid aside, he, as is often the case, began to find virtues in her the existence of which he had never suspected. Frequently, now, he talked, laughed, and rode with her, praising her horsemanship, pointing out some points wherein it might be improved, and never dreaming the while of the deep affection his conduct had awakened in the susceptible girl.

“Oh, I am so happy,” said she one day to ‘Lena, who was speaking of her improved health. “I never thought it possible for _me_ to be so happy. I dreaded to come here at first, but now I shall never regret it, never.”

She was standing before the long mirror in the parlor, adjusting the feathers to her tasteful velvet cap, which, with her neatly fitting riding-dress, became her better than anything else. The excitement of her words sent a deep glow to her cheek, while her large black eyes sparkled with unusual brilliancy. She was going out with John Jr., who, just as she finished speaking, appeared in the doorway, and catching a glimpse of her face, exclaimed in his blunt, jocose way, “Upon my word, Meb, if you keep on, you’ll get to be quite decent looking in time.”

‘Twas the first compliment of the kind he had ever paid her, and questionable as it was, it tended to strengthen her fast forming belief that her affection for him was returned.

“I can’t expect him to do anything like other people, he’s so odd,” thought she, and yet it was this very oddness which charmed her.

At length Nellie, who had returned from Madison, and felt rather lonely, wrote to Mabel, asking her to come home. This plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed, but Mabel was decided, and the week before Christmas was fixed upon for her departure. John Jr., anxious to see Nellie, proposed accompanying her, but when the day came he was suffering from a severe cold, which rendered his stay in the house absolutely necessary. So his mother, who had reasons of her own for doing so, went in his stead. Carrie, who never had any fancy for Mabel, and only endured her because she was rich, was coolly polite, merely offering her hand, and then resumed the novel she was reading, even before Mabel had left. Anna and ‘Lena bade her a more affectionate adieu, and then advancing toward John Jr., who, in his dressing-gown and slippers, reclined upon the sofa, she offered him her hand.

As if to atone for his former acts of rudeness, the young man accompanied her to the door, playfully claiming the privilege of taking leave just as his sister and cousin had done.

“It’s only me, you know,” said he, imprinting upon her forehead a kiss which sent the rich blood to her neck and face.

John Jr. would not have dared to take that liberty with Nellie, while Mabel, simple-hearted, and wholly unused to the world, saw in it a world of meaning, and for a long time after the carriage roiled away from Maple Grove the bright glow on her cheek told of happy thoughts within.

“Did my son say anything definite to you before you left?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, as they came within sight of the city.

“No, madam,” answered Mabel, and Mrs. Livingstone continued, “That’s strange. He confessed to me that he–ah–he–loved you, and I supposed he intended telling you so; but bashfulness prevented, I dare say!”

Accustomed as she was to equivocation, this down-right falsehood cost Mrs. Livingstone quite an effort, but she fancied the case required it, and after a few twinges, her conscience felt easy, particularly when she saw how much satisfaction her words gave to her companion, to whom the improbability of the affair never occurred. Could she have known how lightly John Jr. treated the matter, laughingly describing his leave-taking to his sisters and ‘Lena, and saying, “Meb wasn’t the worst girl in the world, after all,” she might not have been so easily duped.

But she did not know all this, and thus was the delusion perfect.

CHAPTER XIV.

NELLIE AND MABEL.

Nellie Douglass sat alone in her chamber, which was filled with articles of elegance and luxury, for her father, though far from being wealthy, still loved to surround his only daughter with everything which could increase her comfort. So the best, the fairest, and the most Costly was always for her, his “darling Nellie,” as he called her, when with bounding footsteps she flew to greet him on his return at night, ministering to his wants in a thousand ways, and shedding over his home such a halo of sunshine that ofttimes he forgot that he was a lonely widower, while in the features of his precious child he saw again the wife of his bosom, who years before had passed from his side forever.

But not on him were Nellie’s thoughts resting, as she sat there alone that afternoon. She was thinking of the past–of John Livingstone, and the many marked attentions, which needed not the expression of words to tell her she was beloved. And freely did her heart respond. That John Jr. was not perfect, she knew, but he was noble and generous, and so easily influenced by those he loved, that she knew it would be an easy task to soften down some of the rougher shades of his character. Three times during her absence had he called, expressing so much disappointment, that with woman’s ready instinct she more than half divined his intentions, and regretted that she was gone. But Mabel was coming to-day, and he was to accompany her, for so had ‘Lena written, and Nellie’s cheeks glowed and her heart beat high, as she thought of what might occur. She knew well that in point of wealth she was not his equal, for though mingling with the first in the city, her father was poor–but one of John Jr.’s nature would never take that into consideration. They had known each other from childhood, and he had always evinced for her the same preference which he now manifested. Several weeks had elapsed since she had seen him, and now, rather impatiently, she awaited his arrival,

“If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Livingstone and Miss Mabel are in the parlor,” said a servant, suddenly appearing and interrupting her reverie.

“Mrs. Livingstone!” she repeated, as she glanced at herself in a mirror, and rearranged one side of her shining hair, “Mrs. Livingstone!–and so _he_ has not come. I wonder what’s the matter!” and with a less joyous face she descended to the back parlor, where, with rich furs wrapped closely about her, as if half frozen, sat Mrs. Livingstone, her quick eye taking an inventory of every article of furniture, and her proud spirit whispering to herself, “Poverty, poverty.”

With a cry of joy, Mabel flew to meet Nellie, who, while welcoming her back, congratulated her upon her improved health and looks, saying, “the _air_ of Maple Grove must have agreed with her;” then turning toward Mrs. Livingstone, who saw in her remark other meaning than the one she intended, she asked her to remove her wrappings, apologizing at the same time for the fire being so low.

“Father is absent most of the day,” said she; “and as I am much in my chamber, we seldom keep a fire in the front parlor.”

“Just as well,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, removing her heavy furs. “One fire is _cheaper_ than two, and in these times I suppose it is necessary for some people to economize.”

Nellie colored, not so much at the words as at the manner of her visitor. After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone again spoke, looking straight in Nellie’s face.

“My son was very anxious to ride over with Mabel, but a bad cold prevented him, so she rather unwillingly took me as a substitute.”

Here not only Nellie, but Mabel, also colored, and the latter left the room. When she was gone, Nellie remarked upon the visible improvement in her health.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself a little more easily in her chair, “Yes, Mabel isn’t the same creature she was when she came to us, but then it’s no wonder, for love, you know, will work miracles.”

No answer from Nellie, who almost instinctively felt what was coming next.

“Upon my word, Miss Douglass, you’ve no curiosity whatever. Why don’t you ask with whom Mabel is in love?”

“Who is it?” laughingly asked Nellie, nervously playing with the tassel of her blue silk apron.

After a moment, Mrs. Livingstone replied, “It may seem out of place for me to speak of it, but I know you, Miss Douglass, for a girl of excellent sense, and feel sure you will not betray me to either party.”

“Certainly not,” answered Nellie, rather haughtily, while her tormentor continued: “Well, then, it is my son, and I assure you, both myself and husband are well pleased that it should be so. From the moment I first saw Mabel, I felt for her a motherly affection for which I could not account, and if I were now to select my future daughter-in-law, I should prefer her to all others.”

Here ensued a pause which Nellie felt no inclination to break, and again Mrs. Livingstone spoke: “It may be a weakness, but I have always felt anxious that John should make a match every way worthy of him, both as to wealth and station. Indeed, I would hardly be willing for him to marry one whose fortune is less than Mabel’s. But I need have no fears, for John has his own views on that subject, and though he may sometimes be attentive to girls far beneath him, he is pretty sure in the end to do as I think best!”

Poor Nellie! How every word sank into her soul, torturing her almost to madness. She did not stop to consider the improbability of what she heard. Naturally impulsive and excitable, she believed it all, for if John Jr. really loved her, as once she had fondly believed, had there not been a thousand opportunities for him to tell her so? At this moment Mabel reentered the parlor, and Nellie, on the plea of seeing to the dinner, left the room, going she scarce knew whither, until she found herself in a little arbor at the foot of the garden, where many and many a time John Jr. had sat with her, and where he would never sit again–so she thought, so she believed–and throwing herself upon one of the seats, she struggled hard to school herself to meet the worst–to conquer the bitter resentment which she felt rising within her toward Mabel, who had supplanted her in the affections of the only one she had ever loved.

Nellie had a noble, generous nature, and after a few moments of calmer reflection, she rose up, strengthened in her purpose of never suffering Mabel to know how deeply she had wronged her. “She is an orphan–a lonely orphan,” thought she, “and God forbid that through me one drop of bitterness should mingle in her cup of joy.”

With a firm step she walked to the kitchen, gave some additional orders concerning the dinner, and then returned to the parlor, half shuddering when Mabel came near her, and then with a strong effort pressing the little blue-veined hand laid so confidingly upon her own. Dinner being over, Mrs. Livingstone, who had some other calls to make, took her leave, bidding a most affectionate adieu to Mabel, who clung to her as if she had indeed been her mother.

“Good-bye, darling Meb,” said she. “I shall come for you to visit us erelong.” Turning to Nellie, she said, “Do take care of her health, which you know is now precious to more than one;” then in a whisper she added, “Remember that what I have told you is sacred.”

The next moment she was gone, and mechanically, Nellie returned to the parlor, together with Mabel, whose unusual buoyancy of spirits contrasted painfully with the silence and sadness which lay around her heart. That night, Mr. Douglass had some business in the city, and the two girls were left alone. The lamps were unlighted, for the full golden moonlight, which streamed through the window-panes, suited better the mood of Nellie, who leaning upon the arm of the sofa, looked listlessly out upon the deep beauty of the night. Upon a little stool at her feet sat Mabel, her head resting on Nellie’s lap, and her hand searching in vain for another, which involuntarily moved farther and farther away, as hers advanced.

At length she spoke: “Nellie, dear Nellie–there is something I want so much to tell you–if you will hear it, and not think me foolish.”

With a strong effort, the hand which had crept away under the sofa-cushion, came back from its hiding-place, and rested upon Mabel’s brow, while Nellie’s voice answered, softly and slow, “What is it, Mabel? I will hear you.”

Briefly, then, Mabel told the story of her short life, beginning at the time when a frowning nurse tore her away from her dead mother, chiding her for her tears, and threatening her with punishment if she did not desist. “Since then,” said she, “I have been so lonely–how lonely, none but a friendless orphan can know. No one has ever loved me, or if for a time they seemed to, they soon grew weary of me, and left me ten times more wretched than before. I never once dreamed that–that Mr. Livingstone could care aught for one so ugly as I know I am. I thought him better suited for you, Nellie. (How cold your