LENORA AND HER MOTHER.
From the windows of a small, white cottage, at the extremity of
Glenwood village, Lenora Carter watched for her mother's return. "She
stays long," thought she, "but it bodes success to her plan; though
when did she undertake a thing and fail!"
The fall of the gatelatch was heard, and in a moment Mrs. Carter was
with her daughter, whose first exclamation was, "What a little
eternity you've been gone! Did you renew your early vows to the man?"
"I've no vows to renew," answered Mrs. Carter, "but I've paved the way
well, and got invited to call again."
"Oh, capital!" said Lenora. "It takes you, mother, to do up things,
after all; but, really, was Mrs. Hamilton pleased with you?"
"Judging by the pressure of her hand when she bade me good-by I should
say she was," answered Mrs. Carter; and Lenora continued: "Did you see
old moneybags?"
"Lenora, child, you must not speak so disrespectfully of Mr.
Hamilton," said Mrs. Carter.
"I beg your pardon," answered Lenora, while her mother continued: "I
saw him, but do not think he recognized me; and perhaps it is as well
that he should not, until I have made myself indispensable to him and
his family."
"Which you will never do with the haughty Mag, I am sure," said
Lenora; "but tell me, is the interior of the house as handsome as the
exterior?"
"Far more so," was the reply; and Mrs. Carter proceeded to enumerate
the many costly articles of furniture she had seen.
She was interrupted by Lenora, who asked, "How long, think you, will
the incumbrance live?"
"Lenora," said Mrs. Carter, "you shall not talk so. No one wishes Mrs.
Hamilton to die; but if such an afflictive dispensation does occur, I
trust we shall all be resigned."
"Oh, I keep forgetting that you are acting the part of a resigned
widow; but I, thank fortune, have no part to act, and can say what I
please."
"And spoil all our plans, too, by your foolish babbling," interposed
Mrs. Carter.
"Let me alone for that," answered Lenora. "I haven't been trained by
such a mother for nothing. But, seriously, how is Mrs. Hamilton's
health?"
"She is very low, and cannot possibly live long," was the reply.
Here there was a pause in the conversation, during which we will take
the opportunity of introducing more fully to our readers the estimable
Mrs. Carter and her daughter. Mr. Hamilton was right when he
associated the resigned widow with his old flame, Luella Blackburn,
whom be had never seriously thought of marrying, though by way of
pastime he had frequently teased, tormented, and flattered her. Luella
was ambitious, artful, and designing. Wealth and position was the goal
at which she aimed. Both of these she knew Ernest Hamilton possessed,
and she had felt greatly pleased at his evident preference. When,
therefore, at the end of his college course he left her with a few
commonplace remarks, such as he would have spoken to any familiar
acquaintance, her rage knew no bounds; and in the anger of the moment
she resolved, sooner or later, to be revenged upon him.
Years, however, passed on, and a man whom she thought wealthy offered
her his hand. She accepted it, and found, too late, that she was
wedded to poverty. This aroused the evil of her nature to such an
extent that her husband's life became one of great unhappiness, and
four years after Lenora's birth he left her. Several years later she
succeeded in procuring a divorce, although she still retained his
name. Recently she had heard of his death, and about the same time,
too, she heard that the wife of Ernest Hamilton was dying. Suddenly a
wild scheme entered her mind. She would remove to the village of
Glenwood, would ingratiate herself into the favor of Mrs. Hamilton,
win her confidence and love, and then when she was dead the rest she
fancied would be an easy matter, for she knew that Mr. Hamilton was
weak and easily flattered.
For several weeks they had been in Glenwood, impatiently waiting an
opportunity for making the acquaintance of the Hamiltons. But as
neither Margaret nor Carrie called, Lenora became discouraged, and one
day exclaimed, "I should like to know what you are going to do. There
is no probability of that proud Mag's calling on me. How I hate her,
with her big black eyes and hateful ways!"
"Patience, patience," said Mrs. Carter, "I'll manage it; as Mrs.
Hamilton is sick, it will be perfectly proper for me to go and see
her," and then was planned the visit which we have described.
"Oh, won't it be grand!" said Lenora that night, as she sat sipping
her tea. "Won't it be grand, if you do succeed, and won't I lord it
over Miss Margaret! As for that little white-faced Carrie, she's too
insipid for one to trouble herself about, and I dare say thinks you a
very nice woman, for how can her Sabbath-school teacher be otherwise;"
and a satirical laugh echoed through the room. Suddenly springing up,
Lenora glanced at herself in the mirror, and turning to her mother,
said, "Did you hear when Walter is expected--and am I so very ugly
looking?"
While Mrs. Carter is preparing an answer to the first question, we,
for the sake of our readers, will answer the last one. Lenora was a
little dark-looking girl about eighteen years of age. Her eyes were
black, her face was black, and her hair was black, standing out from
her head in short, thick curls, which gave to her features a strange
witch-like expression. From her mother she had inherited the same
sweet, cooing voice, the same gliding, noiseless footsteps, which had
led some of their acquaintance to accuse them of what, in the days of
New England witchcraft, would have secured their passport to another
world.
Lenora had spoken truthfully when she said that she had not been
trained by such a mother for nothing, for whatever of evil appeared in
her conduct was more the result of her mother's training than of a
naturally bad disposition. At times her mother petted and caressed
her, and again, in a fit of ill-humor, drove her from the room,
taunting her with the strong resemblance which she bore to the man
whom she had once called father! On such occasions Lenora was never at
a loss for words, and the scenes which sometimes occurred were too
disgraceful for repetition. On one subject, however, they were united,
and that was in their efforts to become inmates of the homestead on
the hillside. In the accomplishment of this Lenora had a threefold
object: first, it would secure her a luxuriant home; second, she would
be thrown in the way of Walter Hamilton, who was about finishing his
college course; and last, though not least, it would be such a triumph
over Margaret, who, she fancied, treated her with cold indifference.
Long after the hour of midnight was rung from the village clock, the
widow and her daughter sat by their fireside, forming plans for the
future, and when at last they retired to sleep it was to dream of
funeral processions, bridal favors, stepchildren, half-sisters, and
double connections all around.