MRS. GRAHAM’S RETURN.
Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn, the former remaining but
a day and night, and then, without once seeing ’Lena, departing for
Europe, where business, either fancied or real, called him. Often, when
lying weary and sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing to his
wife the secret which he felt was wearing his life away, but the
cowardice of his nature seemed increased by physical weakness, and from
time to time was the disclosure postponed, while the chain of evidence
was fearfully lengthening around poor ’Lena, to whom Mrs. Graham had
transferred the entire weight of her displeasure.
Loving her husband as well as such as she could love, she was ever
ready to forgive when she saw any indications of reform on his part,
and as during all their journey he had never once given her cause for
offense, she began to attribute his former delinquencies wholly to
’Lena; and when he proposed a tour to Europe she readily sanctioned it,
hoping that time and absence would remove from his mind all thoughts of
the beautiful girl, who she thought was her rival. Still, though she
would not confess it, in her heart she did not believe ’Lena guilty
except so far as a desire to attract Mr. Graham’s attention would make
her so.
For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The daguerreotype
which had caused so much trouble was still in her possession, guarded
carefully from her husband, who never suspecting the truth, supposed he
had lost it. Frequently had Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each time
discovering some point of difference between it and its supposed
original. Still she never for a moment doubted that it was ’Lena, until
an event occurred which convinced her of the contrary, leaving her,
meantime, more mystified than ever.
On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day
in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first
individual whom they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel
Slocum. Not finding his business as profitable in Lexington as he could
wish, he had recently removed to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had
prompted him to board at the Burnet House, until he’d seen the “Ohio
elephant,” when he intended retiring to one of the cheaper
boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a grin of recognition
became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very long and
very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either water
or brush.
“Who is that loafer who seems to know you?” asked Mrs. Graham,
directing her husband’s attention toward Joel.
Mr. Graham replied that “he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he
took daguerreotypes.”
The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one
of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang,
“Now you don’t say this is you. And this is your old woman, I s’pose.
Miss Graham, how-dy-du? Darned if you don’t look like Aunt Nancy, only
she’s lean and you are squatty. S’posin’ you give me a call and get
your picters taken. I didn’t get an all-killin’ sight of practice in
Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn’t know enough to patternize
me, and ’taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,” turning to Mr.
Graham, “employed me once, and pretended to be suited.”
Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to
Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made
an excuse for leaving her awhile. Looking from the window a moment
after, Mrs. Graham saw him walking down the street in close
conversation with Joel, who, by the way of showing his importance,
lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met. Instantly her
curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion of
his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction
that there was something in his possession which he did not wish her to
see. Once, when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust
something into his pocket, appearing so much confused that she resolved
to ferret out the secret.
Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he
was asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his pockets,
found a daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw was a
_fac-simile_ of the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of
the hair—everything—was the same, and utterly confounded, she stood
gazing first at one and then at the other, wondering what it meant.
Could ’Lena be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the
last daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the first.
At all events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done its
companion, and stealthily returning it to its place, she crept back to
bed.
The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel was
buried that day. Of course ’Lena could not have been absent from home.
Mrs. Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came
upon her that another than ’Lena was the original of the
daguerreotypes. And yet she was not generous enough to tell Durward so.
She knew he was deceived—she wished him to remain so—and to effect it,
she refrained from seeking an explanation from her husband, fearing
lest ’Lena should be proved innocent. Her husband knew there was a
misunderstanding between Durward and ’Lena, and if she were to ask him
about the pictures, he would, she thought, at once suspect the cause of
that misunderstanding, and as a matter of course, exonerate ’Lena from
all blame. The consequence of this she foresaw, and therefore she
resolved upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if in the end she
prevented Durward from making ’Lena his wife.
To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter
almost constantly before Durward’s mind, frequently referring to
’Lena’s agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had started
for Europe. She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day
of her husband’s departure. ’Lena had not met the lady before, since
that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned
her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near
the window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated with
Carrie.
She did not know before of Mrs. Graham’s return, and when her aunt
casually asked, “Did your husband come back with you?” she
involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came, sent
the blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled
with joy. She should see him—he would explain everything—and she should
be guiltless in Durward’s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which
was quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham’s adding,
“But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three
months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.”
The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness, which did
not escape the observation or either mother or son, the latter of whom
had watched her from the first, noting each change, and interpreting it
according to his fears.
“’Lena, ’Lena, how have I been deceived!” was his mental cry as she
precipitately left the room, saying to her aunt, who asked what was the
matter, that she was faint and dizzy. Death had been but yesterday
within their walls, and as if softened by its presence, Mrs.
Livingstone actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that “constant
watching with poor, dear Mabel had impaired her health.”
“Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,” returned Mrs.
Graham, with a meaning look, which, though lost on Mrs. Livingstone,
was noticed by Durward, who soon proposed leaving.
On their way home, his mother asked if he observed ’Lena when Mr.
Graham was mentioned.
Without saying that he did, Durward replied, “I noticed your remark to
Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to say a
word which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon ’Lena. Her
reputation as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught
against it.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to conciliate her
son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had first
supposed.
’Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of
Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to
expressions which would have operated unfavorably against the young
girl, and when at last circumstances occurred which gave her, as she
thought, liberty to free her mind, she was only too willing to do so.
Of those circumstances, in which others besides ’Lena were concerned,
we will speak in another chapter.