"I think not," returned Mrs. Livingstone. "Your son came over with it, saying 'it was a present from his father, who sent it, together with his compliments.'"

Back among her cushions tumbled Mrs. Graham, moaning, groaning, and p.r.o.nouncing herself wholly heart-broken. "I knew he was bad," said she, "but I never dreamed it had come to this. And I might have known it, too, for from the moment he first saw that girl, he has acted like a crazy creature. Talks about her in his sleep--wants me to adopt her--keeps his eyes on her every minute when he's where she is; and to crown all, without consulting me, his lawful wife, he has made her a present, which must have cost more than a hundred dollars! And she accepted it--the vixen!"

"That's the worst feature in the case," said Mrs. Livingstone. "I have always been suspicious of 'Lena, knowing what her mother was, but I must confess I did not think her quite so presumptuous as to accept so costly a present from a gentleman, and a married one, too. But she has a peculiar way of making them think what she does is right, and neither my husband nor John Jr. can see any impropriety in her keeping Vesta. Carrie wouldn't have done such a thing."

"Indeed she wouldn't. She is too well-bred for that," said Mrs. Graham, who had been completely won by Carrie's soft speeches and fawning manner.

This compliment to her daughter pleased Mrs. Livingstone, who straightway proceeded to build Carrie up still higher, by pulling 'Lena down. Accordingly, every little thing which she could remember, and many which she could not, were told in an aggravated manner, until quite a case was made out, and 'Lena would never have recognized herself in the artful, designing creature which her aunt kindly pictured her to be.

"Of course," said she, "if you ever repeat this, you will not use my name, for as she is my husband's niece it will not look well in me to be proclaiming her vices, except in cases where I think it my duty."

Mrs. Graham was too much absorbed in her own reflections to make a reply, and as Mrs. Livingstone saw that her company was hardly desired, she soon arose to go, asking Mrs. Graham "why she did not oftener visit Maple Grove."

When Mrs. Graham felt uncomfortable, she liked to make others so, too, and to her friend's question she answered, "I may as well be plain as not, and to tell you the truth, I should enjoy visiting you very much, were it not for one thing. That mother of yours----"

"Of my husband's," interrupted Mrs. Livingstone and Mrs. Graham continued just where she left off.

"Annoys me exceedingly, by eternally tracing in me a resemblance to some down-east creature or other--what is her name--Sco--Sco--Scovand.y.k.e; yes, that's it--Scovand.y.k.e. Of course it's not pleasant for me to be told every time I meet your mother----"

"Mr. Livingstone's mother," again interrupted the lady.

"That I look like some of her acquaintances, for I contend that families of high birth bear with them marks which cannot be mistaken."

"Certainly, certainly," said Mrs. Livingstone, adding, that "she was herself continually annoyed by Mrs. Nichols's vulgarity, but her husband insisted that she should come to the table, so what could she do?"

And mutually troubled, the one about her husband, and the other about her husband's mother, the two amiable ladies parted.

Scarcely was Mrs. Livingstone gone when Mr. Graham entered the room, finding his wife, who had heard his footsteps, in violent hysterics. He had seen her so too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the bellrope, when she found voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself who was killing her by inches, and that the sooner she was dead, the better she supposed he would like it. "But, for my sake," she added, in a kind of howl, between crying and scolding, "do try to behave yourself during the short time I have to live, and not go to giving away ponies, and mercy knows what."

Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except through the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked him, he was at a great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all became plain, and on the whole, he felt glad that the worst was over. He would not acknowledge, even to himself, that he was afraid of his wife, still he had a little rather she would not always know what he did. He supposed, as a matter of course, that she would, earlier or later, hear of his present to 'Lena, and he well knew that such an event would surely be followed by a storm, but after what had taken place between them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for he had thought her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable of great things--as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband with his preference for 'Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.

"Say," she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a slipper), "say--I will be answered. Don't you like 'Lena better than you do me?"

Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated question, he at length replied, "G.o.d knows I've far more reason to love her than I have you." At the same moment he left the room, in time to avoid a sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who did not expect such an answer, had fallen.

"Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?" he thought, as he wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew calmer, and cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what he was) whispered, "Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace."

So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking how his conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him far than his own life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his wife lay upon her sofa, Durward entered the parlor and began good-humoredly to rally his mother upon her wobegone face, asking what was the matter now.

"Oh, you poor boy, you," she sobbed, "you'll soon have no mother to go to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather, who alone will be to blame for making you an orphan!"

Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too, and while he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of which he was becoming weary. He knew there had been a jar in the morning, but he had supposed that settled, and now, when he found his mother ten times worse than ever, he felt half vexed, and said, "Do be a woman mother, and not give way to such fancies. I really wonder father shows as much patience with you as he does, for you make our home very unpleasant; and really," he continued, in a laughing tone, "if this goes on much longer, I shall, in self-defense, get me a wife and horns of my own."

"And if report is true, that wife will be 'Lena Rivers," said Mrs. Graham, in order to try him.

"Very likely--I can't tell what may be," was his answer; to which Mrs. Graham replied, "that it would be extremely pleasant to marry a bride with whom one's father was in love."

"How ridiculous!" Durward exclaimed. "As though my father cared aught for 'Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable manners."

"But, he's acknowledged it. He's just told me, 'G.o.d knew he loved her better than he did me.' What do you think of that?"

"Did Mr. Graham say that?" asked Durward, looking his mother directly in her face.

"Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it's not a secret either. Others know it and talk about it. Think of his giving her that pony."

Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the circ.u.mstances, he felt deeply pained at his father's remark. He had always supposed he liked 'Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his own wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life Durward distrusted his father. Still, 'Lena was not to blame; there was comfort in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side, admiring her more and more, and learning each time he saw her to love her better. And she--she dared not confess to herself how dear he was to her--she dared not hope her affection was returned. She could not think of the disappointment the future might bring, so she lived on the present, waiting anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the things which she thought would please him best.

True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon the piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who should walk in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying "he had been hired by von nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in musique."

'Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her sharing in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was overruled by his wife.

"'Twas my uncle, was it not?" she asked of Du Pont, who replied, "I promised not to tell. He say, though, he connected with mademoiselle."

And 'Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his wife's account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du Pont as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her willingness to a.s.sist her whenever it was necessary. Naturally fond of music, 'Lena's improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified Durward appeared, she redoubled her exertions, practicing always five, and sometimes six hours a day.

CHAPTER XX.

A FATHER'S LOVE.

When it was known at Maple Grove that 'Lena was taking lessons of Du Pont, it was naturally supposed that Mabel, as she had first proposed, paid the bills.

"Mighty kind in her, and no mistake," said John Jr., throwing aside the stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and thinking to himself that "Mabel was a nice girl, after all."

The next day, finding the time hang heavily upon his hands, he suddenly wondered why he had never thought to call upon 'Lena. "To be sure, I'll feel awfully to go where Nellie used to be, and know she is not there, but it's lonesomer than a graveyard here, and I'm bound to do something."

So saying, he mounted Firelock and started off, followed by no regrets from his mother or sisters, for since Nellie went away he had been intolerably cross and fault-finding. He found a servant in the door, so he was saved the trouble of ringing, and entering unannounced, walked noiselessly to the parlor-door, which was ajar. 'Lena, as usual, sat at the piano, wholly absorbed, while over her bent Mabel, who was a.s.sisting her in the lesson, speaking encouragingly, and patiently helping her through all the difficult places. Mabel's health was improved since first we saw her, and though she was still plain--ugly, many would say--there was something pleasing in her face, and in the expression of her black, eyes, which looked down so kindly upon 'Lena. John Jr. noticed it, and never before had Mabel appeared to so good advantage to him as she did at that moment, as he watched her through the open door.

At last the lesson was finished, and rising up, 'Lena said, "I know I should never learn if it were not for you," at the same time winding her arm about Mabel's neck and kissing her glowing cheek.

"Let me have a share of that," exclaimed John Jr., stepping forward and clasping both the girls in his arms ere they were aware of his presence.

With a gay laugh they shook him off, and 'Lena, leading him to the sofa, sat down beside him, asking numerous questions about home and her grandmother. John answered them all, and then, oh how he longed to ask if there had come any tidings of the absent one; but he would not--she had left him of her own accord, and he had sworn never to inquire for her. So he sat gazing dreamily upon her piano, the chair she used to occupy and the books she used to read, until 'Lena, either divining his thoughts, or fancying he would wish to know, said, "We've not heard from Nellie since she left us."

"You didn't expect to, so soon, I suppose," was John's indifferent reply.

"Why, no, not unless they chanced to speak a ship. I wish they'd taken a steamer instead of a sailing vessel," said 'Lena.

"I suppose Mr. Wilbur had an eye upon the long, cosy chats he could have with Nellie, looking out upon the sea," was John's answer, while Mabel quickly rejoined, that "he had chosen a sailing vessel solely on Mary's account."

In the midst of their conversation, the door-bell rang; and a moment after, Durward was ushered into the parlor. "He was in town on business," he said, "and thought he would call."

Scarcely had he taken his seat, when again the door opened, this time admitting Mr. Graham, who was returning from Louisville, and had also found it convenient to call. Involuntarily Durward glanced toward 'Lena, but her face was as calm and unruffled as if the visitor had been her uncle.

"All right there," thought he, and withdrawing his eyes from her, he fixed them upon his father, who he fancied seemed somewhat disconcerted when he saw him there. Mentally blaming himself for the distrust which he felt rising within him, he still determined to watch, and judge for himself how far his mother's suspicions were correct. Taking up a book which lay near, he pretended to be reading, while all the time his thoughts were elsewhere. It was 'Lena's lesson-day, and erelong Du Pont came in, appearing both pleased and surprised when he saw Mr. Graham.

"I hope you don't expect me to expose my ignorance before all these people," said 'Lena, as Du Pont motioned her to the stool.

"Suppose we adjourn to another room," said Mabel, leading the way and followed by John Jr. only.

Durward at first thought of leaving also, and arose to do so, but on observing that his father showed no intention of going, he resumed his seat and book, poring over the latter as intently as if it had not been wrong side up!

"Does monsieur incline to stay," asked Du Pont, as Mr. Graham took his station at the end of the piano.

"Certainly," answered Mr. Graham, "unless Miss Rivers insists upon my leaving, which I am sure she would not do if she knew how much interest I take in her progress."

So, during the entire lesson, Mr. Graham stood there, his eyes fixed upon 'Lena with a look which puzzled Durward, who from behind his book was watching him. Admiration, affection, pity and remorse, all seemed mingled in the expression of his face, and as Durward watched, he felt that there was a something which he could not fathom.

"I never knew he was so fond of music," thought he--"I mean to put him to the test."

Accordingly, when Du Pont was gone, he asked Mabel, who he knew was an excellent pianist, to favor him with one of her very best pieces--"something lively and new which will wake us up," said he.

Mabel would greatly have preferred remaining with John Jr., but she was habitually polite, always playing when invited, and now taking her seat at the piano, she brought out sounds far different from those of a new performer. But Mr. Graham, if he heard it, did not heed it, his eyes and ears being alone for 'Lena. Seating himself near her, he commenced talking to her in an undertone, apparently oblivious to everything else around him, and it was not until Durward twice asked how he liked Mabel's playing, that he heard a note. Then, starting up and going toward the instrument, he said, "Ah, yes, that was a fine march, ('twas the 'Rainbow Schottish,' then new,) please repeat it, or something just like it!"

Durward bit his lip, while Mabel, in perfect good humor, dashed off into a spirited quickstep, receiving but little attention from Mr. Graham, who seemed in a strange mood to-day, scribbling upon a piece of white paper which lay upon the piano, and of which Durward managed to get possession, finding thereon the name, "Helena Nichols," to which was added that of "Rivers," the Nichols being crossed out. It would seem as if both father and son were determined each to outstay the other, for hour after hour went by and neither spoke of leaving, although John Jr. had been gone some time. At last, as the sun was setting, Durward arose to go, asking if his father contemplated spending the night; "and if so," said he, with a meaning in his manner, "where shall I tell my mother I left you?"

This roused Mr. Graham, who said he was only waiting for his son to start, adding, that "he could not find it in his heart to tear him away from two so agreeable ladies, for he well remembered the weakness of his own youth."

"In your second youth, now, I fancy," thought Durward, watching him as he bade 'Lena and Mabel goodbye, and not failing to see how much longer he held the hand of the former than he did of the latter.

"Does she see as I do, or not?" thought he, as he took the hand his father dropped, and looked earnestly into the clear, brown eyes, which returned his inquiring glance with one open and innocent as a little child.

"All right here," again thought Durward, slightly pressing the soft, warm hand he held in his own, and smiling down upon her when he saw how quickly that pressure brought the tell-tale blood to her cheek.

"Durward," said Mr. Graham, after they were out of the city, "I have a request to make of you."

"Well."

The answer was very short and it was several minutes ere Mr. Graham again spoke.

"You know your mother as well as I do----"

"Well."

Another silence, and Mr. Graham continued; "You know how groundlessly jealous she is of me--and it may be just as well for her not to know that----"

Here he paused, and Durward finished the sentence for him.

"Just as well for her not to know that you've spent the afternoon with 'Lena Rivers; is that it?"

"That's it--yes--yes"--answered Mr. Graham, adding, ere Durward had time to utter the angry words which he felt rising within him, "I wish you'd marry 'Lena."

This was so sudden--so different from anything which Durward had expected, that he was taken quite by surprise, and it was some little time ere he answered, "Perhaps I shall."

"I wish you would," continued Mr. Graham, "I'd willingly give every dollar I'm worth for the privilege of calling her my daughter."

Durward was confounded, and knew not what to think. If his father had an undue regard for 'Lena, why should he wish to see her the wife of another, and that other his son? Was it his better and n.o.bler nature struggling to save her from evil, which prompted the wish? Durward hoped so--he believed so; and the confidence which had so recently been shaken was fully restored, when, by the light of the hall lamp at home, he saw how white and almost ghostly was the face which, ere they entered the drawing-room, turned imploringly upon him, asking him "to be careful."

Mrs. Graham had been in a fit of the sulks ever since the morning of Mrs. Livingstone's call, and now, though she had not seen her husband for several days, she merely held out her hand, turning her head, meantime, and replying to his questions in a low, quiet kind of a much-injured-woman way, as provoking as it was uncalled for.

"Father's suggestion was a good one," thought Durward, when he had retired to rest. "'Lena is too beautiful to be alone in the world. I will propose to her at once, and she will thus be out of danger."

But what should he do with her? Should he bring her there to Woodlawn, where scarcely a day pa.s.sed without some domestic storm? No, his home should be full of sunlight, of music and flowers, where no angry word or darkening frown could ever find entrance; and thus dreaming of a blissful future, when 'Lena should be his bride, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXI.

JOEL SLOc.u.m.

In this chapter it may not be out of place to introduce an individual who, though not a very important personage, is still in some degree connected with our story. On the night when Durward and his father were riding home from Frankfort, the family at Maple Grove, with the exception of grandma, were as usual a.s.sembled in the parlor. John Jr. had returned, and purposely telling his mother and Carrie whom he had left with 'Lena, had succeeded in putting them both into an uncomfortable humor, the latter secretly lamenting the mistake which she had committed in suffering 'Lena to stay with Mabel. But it could not be remedied now. There was no good reason for calling her home, and the lady broke at least three cambric-needles in her vigorous jerks at the handkerchief she was hemming.

A heavy tread upon the piazza, a loud ring of the bell, and Carrie straightened up, thinking it might possibly be Durward, who had called on his way home, but the voice was strange, and rather impatiently she waited.

"Does Mr. John Livingstone live here?" asked the stranger of the negro who answered the summons.

"Yes, sir," answered the servant, eyeing the new comer askance.

"And is old Miss Nichols and h.e.l.leny to hum?"

The negro grinned, answering in the affirmative, and asking the young man to walk in.

"Wall, guess I will," said he, advancing a few steps toward the parlor door. Then suddenly halting, he added, more to himself than to the negro, "Darned if I don't go the hull figger, and send in my card as they do to Boston."

So saying, he drew from his pocket an embossed card, and bending his knee for a table, he wrote with sundry nourishes, "Mr. Joel Sloc.u.m, Esq., Sloc.u.mville, Ma.s.sachusetts."

"There, hand that to your boss," said he, "and tell him I'm out in the entry." At the same time he stepped before the hat-stand, rubbing up his oily hair, and thinking "Mr. Joel Sloc.u.m would make an impression anywhere."

"Who is it, Ben ?" whispered Carrie.

"Dunno, miss," said the negro, pa.s.sing the card to his master, and waiting in silence for his orders.