For a moment 'Lena's brain grew dizzy, and she had well-nigh fainted, when the sound of Mr. Graham's voice brought her back to consciousness. Pressing his lips to her white brow, he said, "Speak to me my daughter. Say that you receive me as your father for such I am."

With lightning rapidity 'Lena's thoughts traversed the past, whose dark mystery was now made plain, and as the thought that it might be so--that it was so--flashed upon her, she clasped her hands together, exclaiming, "My father! Is it true? You are not deceiving me?"

"Deceive you, darling?--no," said he. "I am your father, and Helena Nichols was my wife."

"Why then did you leave her? Why have you so long left me unacknowledged?" asked 'Lena.

Mr. Graham groaned bitterly. The hardest part was yet to come, but he met it manfully, telling her the whole story, sparing not himself in the least, and ending by asking if, after all this, she could forgive and love him as her father.

Raising herself in bed, 'Lena wound her arms around his neck, and laying her face against his, wept like a little child. He felt that he was sufficiently answered, and holding her closer to his bosom, he pushed back the cl.u.s.tering curls, kissing her again and again, while he said aloud, "I have your answer, dearest one; we will never be parted again."

So absorbed was he in his newly-recovered treasure, that he did not observe the fiery eye, the glittering teeth, and clenched first of Durward Bellmont, who had returned from his walk, and who, in coming up to his, room, had recognized the tones of his father's voice. Recoiling backward a step or two, he was just in time to see 'Lena as she threw herself into Mr. Graham's, arms--in time to hear the tender words of endearment lavished upon her by his father. Staggering backward, he caught at the banister to keep from falling, while a moan of anguish came from his ashen lips. Alone in his room, he grew calmer, though his heart still quivered with unutterable agony as he strode up and down the room, exclaiming, as he had once done before, "I would far rather see her dead than thus--my lost, lost 'Lena!"

Then, in the deep bitterness of his spirit, he cursed his father, whom he believed to be far more guilty than she. "I cannot meet him," thought he; "there is murder at my heart, and I must away ere he knows of my presence."

Suiting the action to the word, he hastened down the stairs, glancing back once, and seeing 'Lena reclining upon his father's arm, while her eyes were raised to his with a sweet, confiding smile, which told of perfect happiness.

"Thank G.o.d that I am unarmed, else he could not live," thought he, hurrying into the bar-room, where he placed in Uncle Timothy's hands double the sum due for himself and 'Lena, and then, without a word of explanation, he walked away.

He was a good pedestrian, and preferring solitude in his present state of feeling, he determined to go on foot to Canandaigua, a distance of little more than a dozen miles. Meantime, Mr. Graham was learning from 'Lena the cause of her being there, and though she, as far as possible, softened the fact of his having been accessory to her misfortunes, he felt it none the less keenly, and would frequently interrupt her with the exclamation that it was the result of his cowardice--his despicable habit of secrecy. When she spoke of the curl which his wife had burned, he seemed deeply affected, groaning aloud as he hid his face in his hands, "And she found it--she burned it," said he; "and it was all I had left of my Helena. I cut it from her head on the morning of my departure, when she lay sleeping, little dreaming of my cruel desertion. But," he added, "I can bear it better now that I have you, her living image, for what she was when last I saw her, you are now."

Their conversation then turned upon Durward, and with the tact he so well knew how to employ, Mr. Graham drew from his blushing daughter a confession of the love she bore him.

"He is worthy of you," said he, while 'Lena, without seeming to heed the remark, said, "I have not seen him yet, but I am expecting him every moment, for he was to visit me this morning."

At this juncture Mrs. Aldergra.s.s, who had been at one of her neighbors', came in, appearing greatly surprised at the sight of the stranger, whom 'Lena quietly introduced as "her father," while Mr. Graham colored painfully as Mrs. Aldergra.s.s, curtsying very low, hoped _Mr. Rivers_ was well!

"Let it go so," whispered 'Lena, as she saw her father about to speak.

Mr. Graham complied, and then observing how anxiously his daughter's eyes sought the doorway, whenever a footstep was heard, he asked Mrs. Aldergra.s.s for Mr. Bellmont, saying they would like to see him, if he had returned.

Quickly going downstairs, Mrs. Aldergra.s.s soon came back, announcing that "he'd paid his bill and gone off."

"Gone!" said Mr. Graham. "There must be some mistake. I will go down and inquire."

With his hand in his pocket grasping the purse containing the gold, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, that "'twan't noways likely but he'd come back agin, for he'd left things in his room to the vally of five or six dollars."

Upon reflection, Mr. Graham concluded so, too, and returning to 'Lena, he sat by her all day, soothing her with a.s.surances that Durward would surely come back, as there was no possible reason for his leaving them so abruptly. As the day wore away and the night came on he seemed less sure, while even Uncle Timothy began to fidget, and when in the evening a young pettifogger, who had recently hung out his shingle on Laurel Hill, came in, he asked him, in a low tone, "if, under the present governor, they hung folks on circ.u.mstantial evidence alone."

"Unquestionably, for that is sometimes the best kind of evidence," answered the sprig of the law, taking out some little ivory tablets and making a charge against Uncle Timothy for professional advice!

"But if one of my boarders, who has lots of money, goes off in broad daylight and is never heard of agin, would that be any sign he was murdered--by the landlord?" continued Uncle Timothy, beginning to think there might be a worse law than the Maine liquor law.

"That depends upon the previous character of the landlord," answered the lawyer, making another entry, while Uncle Timothy, brightening up, exclaimed, "I shall stand the racket, then, for my character is tip-top."

In the morning Mr. Graham announced his intention of going in quest of Durward, and with a magnanimity quite praiseworthy, Uncle Timothy offered his hoss and wagon "for nothin', provided Mr. Graham would leave his watch as a guaranty against his runnin' off!"

Just as Mr. Graham was about to start, a horseman rode up, saying he had come from Canandaigua at the request of a Mr. Bellmont, who wished him to bring letters for Mr. Graham and Miss Rivers.

"And where is Mr. Bellmont?" asked Mr. Graham, to which the man replied, that he took the six o'clock train the night before, saying, further, that his manner was so strange as to induce a suspicion of insanity on the part of those who saw him.

Taking the package, Mr. Graham repaired to 'Lena's room, giving her her letter, and then reading his, which was full of bitterness, denouncing him as a villain and cautioning him, as he valued his life, never again to cross the track of his outraged step-son.

"You have robbed me," he wrote, "of all I hold most dear, and while I do not censure her the less, I blame you the more, for you are older in experience, older in years, and ten-fold older in sin, and I know you must have used every art your foul nature could suggest, ere you won my lost 'Lena from the path of rect.i.tude."

In the utmost astonishment Mr. Graham looked up at 'Lena, who had fainted. It was long ere she returned to consciousness, and then her fainting fit was followed by another more severe, if possible, than the first, while in speechless agony Mr. Graham hung over her.

"I killed the mother, and now I am killing the child," thought he.

But at last 'Lena seemed better, and taking from the pillow the crumpled note, she pa.s.sed it toward her father, bidding him read it. It was as follows; "MY LOST 'LENA: By this t.i.tle it seems appropriate for me to call you, for you are more surely lost to me than you would be were this summer sun shining upon your grave. And, 'Lena, believe me when I say I would rather, far rather, see you dead than the guilty thing you are, for then your memory would be to me as a holy, blessed influence, leading me on to a better world, where I could hope to greet you as my spirit bride. But now, alas! how dark the cloud which shrouds you from my sight.

"Oh, 'Lena, 'Lena, how could you deceive me thus, when I thought you so pure and innocent, when even now, I would willingly lay down my life could that save you from ruin.

"Do you ask what I mean? I have only to refer you to what this morning took place between you and the vile man I once called father, and whom I believed to be the soul of truth and honor. With a heart full of tenderness toward you, I was hastening to your side, when a scene met my view which stilled the beatings of my pulse and curdled the very blood in my veins, I saw you throw your arms around his neck--the husband of my mother. I saw you lay your head upon his bosom. I heard him as he called you dearest, and said you would never be parted again!

"You know all that has pa.s.sed heretofore, and can you wonder that my worst fears are now confirmed? G.o.d knows how I struggled against those doubts, which were nearly removed, when, by the evidence of my own eyesight, uncertainty was made sure.

"And now, my once loved, but erring 'Lena, farewell. I am going away--whither, I know not, care not, so that I never hear your name coupled with disgrace. Another reason why I go, is that the hot blood of the south burns too fiercely in my veins to suffer me to meet your destroyer and not raise my hand against him. When this reaches you, I shall be far away. But what matters it to you? And yet, 'Lena, there will come a time when you'll remember one who, had you remained true to yourself, would have devoted his life to make you happy, for I know I am not indifferent to you. I have lead it in your speaking eye, and in the childlike confidence with which you would yield to me when no one else could control your wild ravings.

"But enough of this. Time hastens, and I must say farewell--farewell forever--my _lost, lost_ 'Lena!

"DURWARD."

Gradually as Mr. Graham read, he felt a glow of indignation at Durward's hastiness. "Rash boy! he might at least have spoken with me," said he, as he finished the letter, but 'Lena would hear no word of censure against him. She did not blame him. She saw it all, understood it all, and as she recalled the contents of his letter, her own heart sadly echoed, "lost forever."

As well as he was able, Mr. Graham tried to comfort her, but in spite of his endeavors, there was still at her heart the same dull, heavy pain, and most anxiously Mr. Graham watched her, waiting impatiently for the time when she would be able to start for home, as he hoped a change of place and scene would do much toward restoring both her health and spirits. Soon after his arrival at Laurel Hill, Mr. Graham had written to Mr. Livingstone, telling him what he had before told his wife, and adding, "Of course, my _daughter's_ home will in future be with me, at Woodlawn, where I shall be happy to see yourself and family at any time."

This part of the letter he showed to 'Lena, who, after reading it, seemed for a long time absorbed in thought.

"What is it, darling? Of what are you thinking?" Mr. Graham asked, at length, and 'Lena, taking the hand which he had laid gently upon her forehead, replied, "I am thinking of poor grandmother. She is not happy, now, at Maple Grove. She will be more unhappy should I leave her, and if you please, I would rather stay there with her. I can see you every day."

"Do you suppose me cruel enough to separate you from your grandmother?" interrupted Mr. Graham. "No, no, I am not quite so bad as that. Woodlawn is large--there are rooms enough--and grandma shall have her choice, provided it is a reasonable one."

"And your wife--Mrs. Graham? What will she say?" timidly inquired 'Lena, involuntarily shrinking from the very thought of coming in contact with the little lady who had so recently come up before her in the new and formidable aspect of stepmother!

Mr. Graham did not know himself what she would say, neither did he care. The fault of his youth once confessed, he felt himself a new man, able to cope with almost anything, and if in the future his wife objected to what he knew to be right, it would do her no good, for henceforth he was to rule his own house. Some such thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind, but it would not be proper, he knew, to express himself thus to 'Lena, so he laughingly replied, "Oh, we'll fix that, easily enough."

At the time he wrote to Mr. Livingstone, he had also sent a letter to his wife, announcing his safe return from Europe, and saying that he should be at home as soon as 'Lena's health would admit of her traveling. Not wishing to alarm her unnecessarily, he merely said of Durward, that he had found him at Laurel Hill. To this letter Mrs. Graham replied immediately, and with a far better grace than her husband had expected. Very frankly she confessed the unkind part she had acted toward 'Lena, and while she said she was sorry, she also spoke of the reaction which had taken place in the minds of Lena's friends, who, she said, would gladly welcome her back, The continued absence of Durward was now the only drawback to 'Lena's happiness, and with a comparatively light heart, she began to antic.i.p.ate her journey home. Most liberally did Mr. Graham pay for both himself and 'Lena, and Uncle Timothy, as he counted the shining coin, dropping it upon the table to make sure it was not bogus, felt quite reconciled to his recent loss of fifty dollars. Jerry, the driver, was also generously rewarded for his kindness to the stranger-girl, and just before he left, Mr. Graham offered to make him his chief overseer, if he would accompany him to Kentucky.

"You are just the man I want," said he, "and I know you'll like it. What do you say?"

For the sake of occasionally seeing 'Lena, whom he considered as something more than mortal, Jerry would gladly have gone, but he was a staunch abolitionist, dyed in the wool, and scratching his head, he replied, "I'm obleeged to you, but I b'lieve I'd rather drive hosses than n.i.g.g.e.rs!"

"Mebby you could run one on 'em off, and so make a little sumthin'," slyly whispered Uncle Timothy, his eyes always on the main chance, but it was no part of Jerry's creed to make anything, and as 'Lena at that moment appeared, he beat a precipitate retreat, going out behind the church, where he watched the departure of his southern friends, saying afterward, to Mrs. Aldergra.s.s, who chided him for his conduct, that "he never could bid n.o.body good-bye, he was so darned tender-hearted!"

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

EXCITEMENT AT MAPLE GROVE.

"'Lena been gone four weeks and father never stirred a peg after her! That is smart, I must say. Why didn't you let me know it before!" exclaimed John Jr., as he one morning unexpectedly made his appearance at Maple grove.

During his absence Carrie had been his only correspondent, and for some reason or other she delayed telling him of 'Lena's flight until quite recently. Instantly forgetting his resolution of not returning for a year, he came home with headlong haste, determining to start immediately after his cousin.

"I reckon if you knew all that has been said about her, you wouldn't feel quite so anxious to get her back," said Carrie. "For my part, I feel quite relieved at her absence."

"Shut up your head," roared John 'Jr. "'Lena is no more guilty than you. By George, I most cried when I heard how n.o.bly she worked to save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious Peter! I sometimes wish there wasn't a woman in the world!"

"If they'd all marry you, there wouldn't be long!" retorted Carrie.

"You've said it now, haven't you?" answered John Jr., while his father suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for his own neglect, that Durward had gone after 'Lena, who was probably at Mr. Everett's, and that he himself had advertised in all the princ.i.p.al papers.

"Just like Bellmont! He's a fine fellow and deserves 'Lena, if anybody does," exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, "Pshaw! I've no idea he's gone for her. Why, they've hardly spoken for several months, and besides that, Mrs. Graham will never suffer him to marry one of so low origin."

"The deary me!" said John Jr., mimicking his sister's manner, "how much lower is her origin than yours?"

Carrie's reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother, who, hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him. Perfectly rational on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still persisted in saying of 'Lena, that she had killed her, and now, when her first greeting with John Jr. was over, she whispered in his ear, "Have they told you 'Lena was dead? She is--I killed her--it says so here," and she handed him the almost worn-out note which she constantly carried with her. Rough as he seemed at times, there was in John Jr.'s nature many a tender spot, and when he saw the look of childish imbecility on his grandmother's face, he pressed his strong arm around her, and a tear actually dropped upon her gray hair as he told her 'Lena was not dead--he was going to find her and bring her home. At that moment old Caesar, who had been to the post-office, returned, bringing Mr. Graham's letter, which had just arrived.

"That's Mr. Graham's handwriting," said Carrie; glancing at the superscription. "Perhaps he knows something of 'Lena!" and she looked meaningly at her mother, who, with a peculiar twist of her mouth, replied, "Very likely."

"You are right. He does know something of her," said Mr. Livingstone, as he finished reading the letter. "She is with him at a little village called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York."

"There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must go and see her immediately," exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, settling herself back quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her brother, asked "what he thought of 'Lena now."

"Just what I always did," he replied. "There's fraud somewhere. Will you let me see that, sir?" advancing toward his father, who, placing the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied emotions of his face.

Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted, "Hurrah! Hurrah for _Miss 'Lena Rivers Graham_, daughter of the Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life. Hurrah!" and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly vase, the fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.

"Is the boy crazy?" asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the coat as he pa.s.sed her, while Carrie attempted to s.n.a.t.c.h the letter from his hand.

"Crazy?--yes," said he. "Who do you think 'Lena's father is? No less a person than Mr. Graham himself. Now taunt her again, Cad, with her low origin, if you like. She isn't coming here to live any more. She's going to Woodlawn. She'll marry Durward, while you'll be a cross, dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?" and he chucked her under the chin, while she began to cry, bidding him let her alone.

"What do you mean?" interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it might be true.

"I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself," replied John.

Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue. Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up as she occasionally caught the meaning of what she heard; but she could not understand it at once, and turning to her son, she said, "What is it, John? what does it mean?"

As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to her, and when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way she exclaimed, "Thank G.o.d that 'Leny is a lady, at last--as good as the biggest on 'em. Oh, I wish h.e.l.leny had lived to know who her husband was. Poor critter! Mebby he'll give me money to go back and see the old place, once more, afore I die."

"If he don't I will," said Mr. Livingstone, upon which his wife, who had not spoken before, wondered "where he'd get it."

By this time Carrie had comforted herself with the a.s.surance that as 'Lena was now Durward's sister, he would not, of course, marry her, and determining to make the best of it, she replied to her brother, who rallied her on her crestfallen looks, that he was greatly mistaken, for "she was as pleased as any one at 'Lena's good fortune, but it did not follow that she must make a fool of herself, as some others did."

The closing part of this remark was lost on John Jr., who had left the room. In the first excitement, he had thought "how glad Nellie will be," and acting, as he generally did, upon impulse, he now ordered his horse, and dashing off at full speed, as usual, surprised Nellie, first, with his sudden appearance, second, with his announcement of 'Lena's parentage, and third, by an offer of himself!

"It's your destiny," said he, "and it's of no use to resist. What did poor little Meb die for, if it wasn't to make room for you. So you may as well say yes first as last. I'm odd, I know, but you can fix me over. I'll do exactly what you wish me to. Say yes, Nellie, won't you ?"

And Nellie did say yes, wondering, the while, it ever before woman had such wooing. We think not, for never was there another John Jr.

"I have had happiness enough for one day," said he, kissing her blushing cheek and hurrying away.

As if every hitherto neglected duty were now suddenly remembered, he went straight from Mr. Dougla.s.s's to the marble factory, where he ordered a costly stone for the little grave on the sunny slope, as yet unmarked save by the tall gra.s.s and rank weeds which grew above it.

"What inscription will you have?" asked the engraver. John Jr. thought for a moment, and then replied; "Simply 'Mabel.' Nothing more or less; that tells the whole story," and involuntarily murmuring to himself, "Poor little Meb, I wish she knew how happy I am," he started for home, where he was somewhat surprised to find Mrs. Graham.

She had also received a letter from her husband, and deeming secrecy no longer advisable, had come over to Maple Grove, where, to her great satisfaction, she found that the news had preceded her. Feeling sure that Mrs. Graham must feel greatly annoyed, both Carrie and her mother began, at first, to act the part of consolers, telling her it might not be true, after all, for perhaps it was a ruse of Mr. Graham's to cover some deep-laid, scheme. But for once in her life Mrs. Graham did well, and to their astonishment, replied, "Oh, I hope not, for you do not know how I long for the society of a daughter, and as Mr. Graham's child I shall gladly welcome 'Lena home, trying, if possible, to overlook the vulgarity of her family friends!"

Though wincing terribly, neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughter were to be outgeneraled. If Mrs. Graham could so soon change her tactics, so could they, and for the next half hour they lauded 'Lena to the skies. They had always liked her--particularly Mrs. Livingstone--who said, "If allowed to speak my mind, Mrs. Graham, I must say that I have felt a good deal pained by those reports which you put in circulation."

"I put reports in circulation!" retorted Mrs. Graham. "What do you mean? It was yourself, madam, as I can prove by the whole neighborhood!"

The war of words was growing sharper and more personal, when John Jr.'s appearance put an end to it, and the two ladies, thinking they might as well be friends as enemies, introduced another topic of conversation, soon after which Mrs. Graham took her leave. Pausing in the doorway, she said, "Would it afford you any gratification to be at Woodlawn when 'Lena arrives?"

Knowing that, under the circ.u.mstances, it would look better, Mrs. Livingstone said "yes," while Carrie, thinking Durward would be there, made a similar reply, saying "she was exceedingly anxious to see her cousin."

"Very well. I will let you know when I expect her," said Mrs. Graham, curtsying herself from the room.

"Spell Toady, Cad," whispered John Jr., and with more than her usual quickness, Carrie replied, by doing as he desired.

"That'll do," said he, as he walked off to the back yard, where he found the younger portion of the blacks engaged in a rather novel employment for them.

The news of 'Lena's good fortune had reached the kitchen, causing much excitement, for she was a favorite there.

"'Clar for't," said Aunt Milly, "we orto have a bonfire. It won't hurt nothin' on the brick pavement."

Accordingly, as it was now dark, the children were set at work gathering blocks, chips, sticks, dried twigs, and leaves, and by the time John Jr. appeared, they had collected quite a pile. Not knowing how he would like it, they all took to their heels, except Thomas Jefferson, who, having some of his mother's spirit, stood his ground, replying, when asked what they were about, that they were "gwine to celebrate Miss 'Lena." Taking in the whole fun at once, John Jr. called out, "Good! come back here, you scapegraces."

Scarcely had he uttered these words, when from behind the lye-leach, the smoke-house and the trees, emerged the little darkies, their eyes and ivories shining with the expected frolic. Taught by John Jr., they hurrahed at the top of their voices when the flames burst up, and one little fellow, not yet able to talk plain, made his bare, shining legs fly like drumsticks as he shouted, "Huyah for Miss 'Leny Yivers Gayum----"

"Bellmont, too, say," whispered John Jr., as he saw Carrie on the back piazza.

"_Bellmont, too, say_," yelled the youngster, leaping so high as to lose his balance.

Rolling over the green-sward like a ball, he landed at the feet of Carrie, who, spurning him as she would a toad, went back to the parlor, where for more than an hour she cried from pure vexation.