FIVE YEARS LATER.
And in the fair city of elms we again open the scene. It was
commencement at Yale, and the crowd which filled the old Center church
were listening breathlessly to the tide of eloquence poured forth by
the young valedictorian.
Durward Bellmont, first in his studies, first in his class, and first
in the esteem of his fellow-students, had been unanimously chosen to
that post of honor, and as the gathered multitude hung upon his words
and gazed upon his manly beauty, they felt mat a better choice could
not well have been made. At the right of the platform sat a group of
ladies, friends, it would seem, of the speaker, for ever and anon his
eyes turned in that direction, and as if each glance incited him to
fresh efforts, his eloquence increased, until at last no sound save
that of his deep-toned voice was heard, so rapt was every one in the
words of the young orator. But when his speech was ended, there arose
deafening shouts of applause, while bouquets fell in perfect showers at
his feet. Among them was one smaller and more elegant than the rest,
and as if it were more precious, too, it was the first which Durward
took from the floor.
“See, Carrie, he gives you the preference,” whispered one of the young
ladies on the right, and Carrie Livingstone for she it was, felt a
thrill of gratified pride, when she saw how carefully he guarded the
bouquet, which during all the exercises she had made her especial care,
calling attention to it in so many different ways that hardly any one
who saw it in Durward’s possession, could fail of knowing from what
source it same.
But then everybody said they were engaged—so what did it matter?
Everybody but John Jr., who was John Jr. still, and who while openly
denying the engagement, teasingly hinted “that ’twas no fault of
Cad’s.”
For the last three years, Carrie, Nellie, Mabel, and Anna had been
inmates of the seminary in New Haven, and as they were now considered
sufficiently accomplished to enter at once upon all the gayeties of
fashionable life, John Jr. had come on “to see the elephant,” as he
said, and to accompany them home. Carrie had fulfilled the promise of
her girlhood, and even her brother acknowledged that she was handsome
in spite of her _nose_, which like everybody’s else, still continued to
be the most prominent feature of her face. She was proud, too, as well
as beautiful, and throughout the city she was known as the “haughty
southern belle,” admired by some and disliked by many. Among the
students she was not half so popular as her unpretending sister, whose
laughing blue eyes and sunny brown hair were often toasted, together
with the classical brow and dignified bearing of Nellie Douglass, who
had lost some of the hoydenish propensities of her girlhood, and who
was now a graceful, elegant creature just merging into nineteen—the
pride of her widowed father, and the idol still of John Jr., whose
boyish preference had ripened into a kind of love such as only he could
feel.
With poor Mabel Ross it had fared worse, her plain face and dumpy
little figure never receiving the least attention except from Durward
Bellmont, who pitying her lonely condition, frequently left more
congenial society for the sake of entertaining her. Of any one else
Carrie would have been jealous, but feeling sure that Mabel had no
attraction save her wealth, and knowing that Durward did not care for
that, she occasionally suffered him to leave her side, always feeling
amply repaid by the evident reluctance with which he left her society
for that of Mabel’s.
When ill-naturedly rallied by his companions upon his preference for
Carrie, Durward would sometimes laughingly refer them to the old
worn-out story of the fox and the grapes, for to scarcely any one save
himself did Carrie think it worth her while to be even gracious. This
conduct was entirely at variance with her natural disposition, for she
was fond of admiration, come from what source it might, and she would
never have been so cold and distant to all save Durward, had she not
once heard him say that “he heartily despised a _flirt_; and that no
young lady could at all interest him if he suspected her of being a
coquette.”
This, then, was the secret of her reserve. She was resolved upon
winning Durward Bellmont, deeming no sacrifice too great if in the end
it secured the prize. It is true there was one sophomore, a perfumed,
brainless fop, from Rockford, N. Y., who, next to Durward, was
apparently most in favor, but the idea of her entertaining even a
shadow of a liking for Tom Lakin, was too ludicrous to be harbored for
a moment, so his attentions went for naught, public opinion uniting in
giving her to Mr. Bellmont.
With the lapse of years, Anna, too, had greatly improved. The extreme
delicacy of her figure was gone, and though her complexion was as white
and pure as marble, it denoted perfect health. With John Jr. she was
still the favorite sister, the one whom he loved the best. “Carrie was
too stiff and proud,” he said, and though when he met her in New Haven,
after a year’s absence, his greeting was kind and brotherly, he soon
turned from her to Anna and Nellie, utterly neglecting Mabel, who
turned away to her chamber to cry, because no one cared for her.
Frequently had his mother reminded him of the importance of securing a
wealthy bride, always finishing her discourse by speaking of Mr.
Douglass’ small income, and enlarging upon the immense wealth of Mabel
Ross, whose very name had become disagreeable to John Jr. At one time
his father had hoped he, too, would enter college, but the young man
derided the idea of his ever making a scholar, saying, however, more in
sport than in earnest, that “he was willing to enter a store, or learn
a _trade_, so that in case he was ever obliged to earn his own living,
he would have some means of doing it;” but to this his mother would not
listen. He was her “darling boy,” and “his hands, soft and white as
those of a girl, should never become hardened and embrowned by labor!”
So, while his sisters were away at school, he was at home, hunting,
fishing, riding, teasing his grandmother, tormenting the servants, and
shocking his mother by threatening to make love to his cousin ’Lena, to
whom he was at once a pest and a comfort, and who now claims a share of
our attention.
When it was decided to send Carrie and Anna to New Haven, Mr.
Livingstone proposed that ’Lena should also accompany them, but this
plan Mrs. Livingstone opposed with all her force, declaring that _her_
money should never be spent in educating the “beggarly relatives” of
her husband, who in this, as in numerous other matters, was forced to
yield the point. As Mr. Everett’s services were now no longer needed,
he accepted the offer of a situation in the family of General Fontaine,
a high-bred, southern gentleman, whose plantation was distant but half
a mile from “Maple Grove;” and as he there taught a regular school,
having under his charge several of the daughters of the neighboring
planters, it was decided that ’Lena also should continue under his
instruction.
Thus while Carrie and Anna were going through the daily routine of a
fashionable boarding-school, ’Lena was storing her mind with useful
knowledge, and though her accomplishments were not quite so showy as
those of her cousins, they had in them the ring of the pure metal.
Although her charms were as yet but partially developed, she was a
creature of rare loveliness, and many who saw her for the first time,
marveled that aught so beautiful could be real. She had never seen
Durward Bellmont since that remarkable Christmas week, but many a time
had her cheeks flushed with a feeling which she could not define, as
she read Anna’s accounts of the flattering attentions which he paid to
Carrie, who, when at home, still treated her with haughty contempt or
cool indifference.
But for this she did not care. She knew she was loved by Anna, and
liked by John Jr., and she hoped—nay, half believed—that she was not
wholly indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any show of
his affection, still in his heart admired and felt proud of her. With
his wife it was different. She hated ’Lena—hated her because she was
beautiful and talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna
were ever in the shade. Still her niece was too general a favorite in
the neighborhood to allow of open hostility at home, and so the proud
woman ground together her glittering teeth—_and waited_!
Among the many who admired ’Lena, there was no one who gave her such
full and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple
Grove had been one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine. Gradually
had she learned the estimation in which she was held by her son’s wife,
and she felt how bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence. As far
as she was able, ’Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, who
thinking she had done all that was required of her when she fixed their
room, would for days and even weeks appear utterly oblivious of their
presence, or frown darkly whenever chance threw them in her way. She
had raised no objection to ’Lena’s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett,
who, she hoped, would not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying
that in this way she would sooner be rid of one whom she feared as a
rival of her daughters.
But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire ’Lena,
another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most carefully
guarded was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport from the head
it once adorned, and, now treasured as a sacred memento of the past.
Believing that it would be so because she wished it to be so, Mrs.
Livingstone had more than once whispered to her female friends her
surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry ’Lena, and at the time of
which we are speaking, it was pretty generally understood that a strong
liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed between them.
Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat
hands complacently, and while applying Twigg’s Preparation to his hair,
congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared was now
out of his way. Thinking, too, that ’Lena had conferred a great favor
upon himself by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became
exceedingly polite to her, making her little presents and frequently
asking her to ride. Whenever these invitations were accepted, they were
sure to be followed by a ludicrous description to Anna, who laughed
merrily over her cousin’s letters, declaring herself half jealous of
her “gray-haired lover,” as she termed the captain.
All such communications were eagerly seized by Carrie, and fully
discussed in the presence of Durward, who gradually received the
impression that ’Lena was a flirt, a species of womankind which he held
in great abhorrence. Just before he left New Haven, he received a
letter from his stepfather, requesting him to stop for a day or two at
Captain Atherton’s, where he would join him, as he wished to look at a
country-seat near Mr. Livingstone’s, which was now for sale. This plan
gave immense satisfaction to Carrie, and when her brother proposed that
Durward should stop at their father’s instead of the captain’s, she
seconded the invitation so warmly, that Durward finally consented, and
word was immediately sent to Mrs. Livingstone to hold herself in
readiness to receive Mr. Bellmont.
“Oh, I do hope your father will secure Woodlawn,” said Carrie, as in
the parlor of the Burnett House, Cincinnati, they were discussing the
projected purchase.
The other young ladies had gone out shopping, and John Jr., who was
present, and who felt just like teasing his sister, replied, “What do
you care? Mrs. Graham has no daughters, and she won’t fancy such a chit
as you, so it must be Durward’s society that you so much desire, but I
can assure you that your _nose_ will be broken when once he sees our
’Lena.”
Carrie turned toward the window to hide her wrath at this speech, while
Durward asked if “Miss Rivers were so very handsome?”
“_Handsome_!” repeated John. “That don’t begin to express it. _Cad_ is
what I call _handsome_, but ’Lena is beautiful, more beautiful, most
beautiful—now you have it superlatively. Such complexion—such eyes—such
hair—I’ll be hanged if I haven’t been more than half in love with her
myself.”
“I really begin to tremble,” said Durward, laughingly while Carrie
rejoined, “You’ve only to make the slightest advance, and your love
will be returned ten-fold, for ’Lena is very susceptible, and already
encourages several admirers.”
“There, my fair sister, you are slightly mistaken,” interrupted John
Jr., who was going on farther in his remarks, when Durward asked if
“she ever left any _marks_ of her affection,” referring to the scratch
she had given Carrie; who, before her brother had time to speak,
replied that “the _will_ and the _claws_ remained the same, though
common decency kept them hidden when it was necessary.”
“That’s downright slander,” said John Jr., determined now upon
defending his cousin, “’Lena has a high temper, I acknowledge, but she
tries hard to govern it, and for nearly two years I’ve not seen her
angry once, though she’s had every provocation under heaven.”
“She knows _when_ and _where_ to be amiable,” retorted Carrie. “Any one
of her admirers would tell the same story with yourself.”
At this juncture John Jr. was called for a moment from the room, and
Carrie, fearing she had said too much, immediately apologized to
Durward, saying, “it was not often that she allowed herself to speak
against her cousin, and that she should not have done so now, were not
John so much blinded, that her mother, knowing Lena’s ambitious nature,
sometimes seriously feared the consequence. I know,” said she, “that
John fancies Nellie, but ’Lena’s influence over him is very great.”
Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued: “I’m always sorry when I
speak against ’Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn’t prejudice any one
against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would never
have been uttered in the presence of a stranger. She _is_ handsome and
agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.”
“I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,” was Durward’s
gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the room,
the conversation ceased.
Meanwhile ’Lena was very differently employed. Nearly a year had
elapsed since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with joy
at the thought of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved. Carrie was to
her an object of indifference, rather than dislike, and ofttimes had
she thought, “If she would only let me love her.” But it could not be,
for there was no affinity between them. Carrie was proud and
overbearing—jealous of her high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. had
said, strove hard to subdue her temper, and who now seldom resented
Carrie’s insults, except when they were leveled at her aged
grandmother.
As we have before stated, news’ had been received at Maple Grove that
Durward would accompany her cousins home. Mr. Graham would, of course,
join him there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were
immediately commenced. An unusual degree of sickness was prevailing
among the female portion of Mrs. Livingstone’s servants, and the very
day before the company was expected, Aunt Milly, the head cook was
taken suddenly ill. Coaxing, scolding, and threatening were alike
ineffectual. The old negress would not say she was well when she
wasn’t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick (_lazy_, as
her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged to
superintend the cookery.
“Crosser than a bar,” as the little darkies said, she flew back and
forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the corners
of her mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike at
anything that came in her way. As if there were a fatality attending
her movements, she was unfortunate in whatever she undertook. The cake
was burned black, the custard curdled, the preserves were found to be
working, the big preserve dish got broken, a thunder shower soured the
cream, and taking it all in all, she really had trouble enough to
disconcert the most experienced housekeeper. Still, the few negroes
able to assist, thought “she needn’t be so fetch-ed cross.”
But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft to
the charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed, listened in
dismay to the disastrous accounts brought her from time to time from
the kitchen, mentally congratulating herself the while upon not being
within hearing of her mistress’ tongue. Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to
help, but she was repulsed so angrily that ’Lena did not presume to
offer her services until the day of their arrival, when, without a
word, she repaired to the chambers, which she swept and dusted,
arranging the furniture, and making everything ready for the comfort of
the travelers. Then descending to the parlors, she went through the
same process there, filled the vases with fresh flowers, looped back
the curtains, opened the piano, wheeled the sofa a little to the right,
the large chair a little to the left, and then going to the
dining-room, she set the table in the most perfect order, doing all so
quietly that her aunt knew nothing of it until it was done. Jake the
coachman, had gone down to Frankfort after them, and as he was not
expected to return until between three and four, dinner was deferred
until that hour.
From sunrise Mrs. Livingstone had worked industriously, until her face
and temper were at a boiling heat. The clock was on the point of
striking three, and she was bending over a roasting turkey, when ’Lena
ventured to approach her, saying, “I have seen Aunt Milly baste a
turkey many a time, and I am sure I can do it as well as she.”
“Well, what of it?” was the uncivil answer.
’Lena’s temper choked her, but forcing it down, she replied: “Why, it
is almost three, and I thought perhaps you would want to cool and dress
yourself before they came. I can see to the dinner, I know I can.
Please let me try.”
Somewhat mollified by her niece’s kind manner, Mrs. Livingstone
resigned her post and repaired to her own room, while ’Lena, confining
her long curls to the top of her head and donning the wide check-apron
which her aunt had thrown aside, set herself at work with a right good
will.
“What dat ar you say?” exclaimed Aunt Milly, lifting her woolly head
from her pillow, and looking at the little colored girl, who had
brought to her the news that “young miss was in de kitchen.” “What dat
ar you tellin’? Miss ’Leny pokin’ ’mong de pots and kittles, and dis
ole nigger lazin’ in bed jes like white folks. Long as ’twas ole miss,
I didn’t seer. Good ’nough for her to roast, blister, and bile; done
get used to it, case she’s got to in kingdom come, no mistake—he!—he!
But little Miss ’Leny, it’s too bad to bake her lamb’s-wool hands and
face, and all de quality comin’: I’ll hobble up thar, if I can stand.”
Suiting the action to the word she got out of bed, and crawling up to
the kitchen, insisted upon taking ’Lena’s place, saying, “she could sit
in her chair and tell the rest what to do.”
For a time ’Lena hesitated, the old woman seemed so faint and weak, but
the sound of wheels decided her. Springing to the sideboard in the
dining-room, she brought Aunt Milly a glass of wine, which revived her
so much that she now felt willing to leave her. By this time the
carriage was at the door, and to escape unobserved was now her great
object. But this she could not do, for as she was crossing the hall,
Anna espied her, and darting forward, seized her around the neck, at
the same time dragging her toward Carrie, who, with Durward’s eye upon
her, _kissed_ her twice; then turning to him, she said, “I suppose you
do not need an introduction to Miss Rivers?”
Durward was almost guilty of the rudeness of staring at the strangeness
of ’Lena’s appearance, for as nearly as she could, she looked like a
fright. Bending over hot stoves and boiling gravies is not very
beneficial to one’s complexion, and ’Lena’s cheeks, neck, forehead, and
nose were of a purplish red—her hair was tucked back in a manner
exceedingly unbecoming, while the broad check-apron, which came nearly
to her feet, tended in nowise to improve her appearance. She felt it
keenly, and after returning Durward’s salutation, she broke away before
Anna or John, Jr., who were both surprised at her looks, had time to
ask a question.
Running up to her room, her first impulse was to cry, but knowing that
would disfigure her still more, she bathed her burning face and neck,
brushed out her curls, threw on a simple muslin dress, and started for
the parlor, of which Durward and Carrie were at that moment the only
occupants. As she was passing the outer door, she observed upon one of
the piazza pillars a half-blown rose, and for a moment stopped to
admire it. Durward, who sat in a corner, did not see her, but Carrie
did, and a malicious feeling prompted her to draw out her companion,
who she felt sure was disappointed in ’Lena’s face. They were speaking
of a lady whom they saw at Frankfort, and whom Carrie pronounced
“perfectly beautiful,” while Durward would hardly admit that she was
even good-looking.
“I am surprised at your taste,” said Carrie, adding, as she noticed the
proximity of her cousin, “I think she resembles ’Lena, and of course
you’ll acknowledge _she_ is beautiful.”
“She _was_ beautiful five years ago, but she’s greatly changed since
then,” answered Durward, never suspecting the exquisite satisfaction
his words afforded Carrie, who replied, “You had better keep that
opinion to yourself, and not express it before Captain Atherton or
brother John.”
“Who takes my name in vain?” asked John Jr., himself appearing at a
side door.
“Oh, John,” said Carrie, “we were just disputing about ’Lena. Durward
does not think her handsome.”
“Durward be hanged!” answered John, making a feint of drawing from his
pocket a pistol which was not there. “What fault has he to find with
’Lena?”
“A little too rosy, that’s all,” said Durward, laughingly, while John
continued, “She _did_ look confounded red and dowdyish, for her. I
don’t understand it myself.”
Here the hem of the muslin dress on which Carrie’s eye had all the
while been resting, disappeared, and as there was no longer an
incentive for ill-natured remarks, the amiable young lady adroitly
changed the conversation.
John Jr. also caught a glimpse of the retreating figure, and started in
pursuit, in the course of his search passing the kitchen, where he was
instantly hailed by Aunt Milly, who, while bemoaning her own aches and
pains, did not fail to tell him how “Miss ’Lena, like aborned angel
dropped right out of ’tarnity, had been in thar, burning her skin to a
fiery red, a-tryin’ to get up a tip-top dinner.”
“So ho!” thought the young man, “that explains it;” and turning on his
heel, he walked back to the house just as the last bell was ringing for
dinner.
On entering the dining-room, he found all the family assembled, except
’Lena. She had excused herself on the plea of a severe headache, and
now in her own room was chiding herself for being so much affected by a
remark accidentally overheard. What did she care if Durward did think
her plain? He was nothing to her, and never would be—and again she
bathed her head, which really was aching sadly.
“And so ’Lena’s got the headache,” said John Jr. “Well, I don’t wonder,
cooking all the dinner as she did.”
“What do you mean?” asked Anna, while Mrs. Livingstone’s angry frown
bade her son keep silence,
Filial obedience, however, was not one of John Jr.’s cardinal virtues,
and in a few words, he repeated what Aunt Milly had told him, adding
aside to Durward, “_This_ explains the extreme rosiness which so much
offended your lordship. When next you see her, you’ll change your
mind.”
Suddenly remembering that his grandmother had not been introduced, he
now presented her to Durward. The _Noble’s_ blood had long been
forgotten, but grandma was never at a loss for a subject, and she
commenced talking notwithstanding Carrie’s efforts to keep her still.
“Now I think on’t, Car’line,” said she at last, turning to her
granddaughter, “now I think on’t, what made you propose to have my
dinner sent up to my room. I hain’t et there but once this great while,
and that was the day General Fontaine’s folks were here, and Matilda
thought I warn’t able to come down.”
Durward’s half-concealed smile showed that he understood it all, while
John Jr., in his element when his grandmother was talking, managed, to
lead her on, until she reached her favorite theme—Nancy Scovandyke.
Here a look from her son silenced her, and as dinner was just then
over, Durward missed of hearing that remarkable lady’s history.
Late in the afternoon, as the family were sitting upon the piazza,
’Lena joined them. Her headache had passed away, leaving her face a
shade whiter than usual. The flush was gone from her forehead and nose,
but mindful of Durward’s remark, the roses deepened on her cheek, which
only increased her loveliness.
“I acknowledge that I was wrong—your cousin _is_ beautiful,” whispered
Durward to Carrie, who, mentally hating the beauty which had never
before struck her so forcibly, replied in her softest tones, “I knew
you would, and I hope you’ll be equally ready to forgive her for
winning hearts only to break them, for with that face how can she help
it?”
“A handsome face is no excuse for coquetry,” answered Durward; “neither
can I think Miss Rivers guilty of it. At all events, I mean to venture
a little nearer,” and before Carrie could frame a reasonable excuse for
keeping him at her side, he had crossed ever and taken a seat by ’Lena,
with whom he was soon in the midst of an animated conversation, his
surprise each moment increasing at the depth of intellect she
displayed, for the beauty of her mind was equal to that of her person.
Had it not been for the remembrance of Carrie’s insinuations, his
admiration would have been complete. But anything like coquetry he
heartily despised, and one great secret of his liking for Carrie, was
her evident freedom from that fault. As yet he had seen nothing to
condemn in ’Lena’s conduct. Wholly unaffected, she talked with him as
she would have talked with any stranger, and still there was in her
manner a certain coldness for which he could not account.
“Perhaps she thinks me not worth the winning,” thought he, and in spite
of his principles, he erelong found himself exerting all his powers to
please and interest her.
About tea-time, Captain Atherton rode into the yard, and simultaneously
with his arrival, Mr. Everett came also. Immediately remembering what
he had heard, Durward, in his eagerness to watch ’Lena, failed to note
the crimson flush on Anna’s usually pale cheek, as Malcolm bent over
her with his low-spoken, tender words of welcome, and when the
phthisicky captain, claiming the privilege of an old friend, kissed the
blushing Anna, Durward in his blindness attributed the scornful
expression of ’Lena’s face to a feeling of unwillingness that any save
herself should share the attentions even of the captain! And in this
impression he was erelong confirmed.
Drawing his chair up to Anna, Captain Atherton managed to keep Malcolm
at a distance, while he himself wholly monopolized the young girl, who
cast imploring glances toward her cousin, as if asking for relief. Many
a time, on similar occasions, had ’Lena claimed the attention of the
captain, for the sake of leaving Anna free to converse with Malcolm,
and now understanding what was wanted of her, she nodded in token that
she would come to the rescue. Just then, Mrs. Livingstone, who had kept
an eye upon her niece, drew near, and as she seemed to want a seat;
’Lena instantly arose and offered hers, going herself to the place
where the captain was sitting. Erelong, her lively sallies and the
captain’s loud laugh began to attract Mrs. Livingstone’s attention, and
observing that Durward’s eyes were frequently drawn that way, she
thought proper to make some remarks concerning the impropriety of her
niece’s conduct.
“I do wish,” said she, apparently speaking more to herself than to
Durward, “I do wish ’Lena would learn discretion, and let Captain
Atherton alone, when she knows how much her behavior annoys Mr.
Everett.”
“Is Mr. Everett anything to her!” asked Durward, half hoping that she
would not confirm what Carrie had before hinted.
“If he isn’t he ought to be,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, with an
ominous shake of the head. “Rumor says they are engaged, and though
when questioned she denies it, she gives people abundant reason to
think so, and yet every chance she gets, she flirts with Captain
Atherton, as you see her doing now.”
“What can she or any other young girl possibly want of that old man?”
asked Durward, laughing at the very idea.
“He is _rich_. ’Lena is poor, proud, and ambitious—there lies the
secret,” was Mrs. Livingstone’s reply, and thinking she had said enough
for the present, she excused herself, while she went to give orders
concerning supper.
John Jr., and Carrie, too, had disappeared, and thus left to himself,
Durward had nothing to do but to watch ’Lena, who, as she saw symptoms
of desertion in the anxious glances which the captain cast toward Anna,
redoubled her exertions to keep him at her side, thus confirming
Durward in the belief that she really was what her aunt and Carrie had
represented her to be. “Poor, proud, and ambitious,” rang in his ears,
and as he mistook the mischievous look which ’Lena frequently sent
toward Anna and Malcolm, for a desire to see how the latter was
affected by her conduct, he thought “Fickle as fair,” at the same time
congratulating himself that he had obtained an insight into her real
character, ere her exceeding beauty and agreeable manners had made any
particular impression upon him.
Knowing she had done nothing to offend him, and feeling piqued at his
indifference, ’Lena in turn treated him so coldly, that even Carrie was
satisfied with the phase which affairs had assumed, and that night, in
the privacy of her mother’s dressing-room, expressed her pleasure that
matters were progressing so finely.
“You’ve no idea, mother,” said she, “how much he detests anything like
coquetry. Nellie Douglass thinks it’s a kind of monomania with him, and
I am inclined to believe it is so.”
“In that case,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, “it behooves you, in his
presence, to be very careful how you demean yourself toward other
gentlemen.”
“I haven’t lived nineteen years for nothing,” said Carrie, folding her
soft white hands complacently one over the other.
“Speaking of Nellie Douglass,” continued Mrs. Livingstone, who had long
desired this interview with her daughter, “speaking of Nellie, reminds
me of your brother, who seems perfectly crazy about her.”
“And what if he does ?” asked Carrie, her thoughts far more intent upon
Durward Bellmont than her brother. “Isn’t Nellie good enough for him?”
“Yes, good enough, I admit,” returned her mother, “but I think I can
find a far more suitable match—Mabel Ross, for instance. Her fortune is
said to be immense, while Mr. Douglass is worth little or nothing.”
“When you bring about a union between John Livingstone Jr. and Mabel
Ross, I shall have full confidence in your powers to do anything, even
to the marrying of Anna and Grandfather Atherton,” answered Carrie, to
whom her mother’s schemes were no secret.
“And that, too, I’ll effect, rather than see her thrown away upon a low
bred northerner, who shall never wed her—never;” and the haughty woman
paced up and down her room, devising numerous ways by which her long
cherished three-fold plan should be effected.
The next morning, Durward arose much earlier than was his usual custom,
and going out into the garden he came suddenly upon ’Lena. “This,” said
he, “is a pleasure which I did not expect when I rather unwillingly
tore myself from my pillow.”
All the coldness of the night before was gone, but ’Lena could not so
soon forget, and quite indifferently she answered, that “she learned to
rise early among the New England hills.”
“An excellent practice, and one which more of our young ladies would do
well to imitate,” returned Durward, at the same time speaking of the
beautifying effect which the morning air had upon her complexion.
’Lena reddened, for she recalled his words of yesterday concerning her
plainness, and somewhat sharply she replied, that “any information
regarding her personal appearance was wholly unnecessary, as she knew
very well how she looked.”
Durward bit his lip, and resolving never to compliment her again,
walked on in silence at her side, while ’Lena, repenting of her hasty
words, and desirous of making amends, exerted herself to be agreeable;
and by the time the breakfast-bell rang, Durward mentally pronounced
her “a perfect mystery,” which he would take delight in unraveling!