REACTION.
The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at the window of
Grandma Nichols’s room, and roused her from her slumber. On the pillow
beside her rested no youthful head—there was no kind voice bidding her
“good-morrow”—no gentle hand ministering to her comfort—for ’Lena was
gone, and on the table lay the note, which at first escaped Mrs.
Nichols’s attention. Thinking her granddaughter had arisen early and
gone before her, she attempted to make her own toilet, which was nearly
completed, when her eye caught the note. It was directed to her, and
with a dim foreboding she: took it up, reading that her child was
gone—gone from those who should have sustained her in her hour of
trial, but who, instead, turned against her, crushing her down, until
in a state of desperation she had fled. It was in vain that the
breakfast-bell rang out its loud summons. Grandma did not heed it; and
when Corinda came up to seek her, she started back in affright at the
scene before her. Mrs. Nichols’s cap was not yet on, and her thin gray
locks fell around her livid face as she swayed from side to side,
moaning at intervals, “God forgive me that I broke her heart.”
The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking up she said,
pointing toward the vacant bed, “’Leny’s gone; I’ve killed her.”
Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the hall and down the
stairs, she rushed into the dining-room, announcing the startling news
that “old miss had done murdered Miss ’Lena, and hid her under the
bed!”
“What _will_ come next!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, following her
husband to his mother’s room where a moment sufficed to explain the
whole.
’Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled the poor old
lady’s reason. The sight of his mother’s distress aroused all the
better nature of Mr. Livingstone, and tenderly soothing her, he told
her that ’Lena should be found—he would go for her himself. Carrie,
too, was touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up the
scattered locks, and tying on the muslin cap, placed her hand for an
instant on the wrinkled brow.
“Keep it there; it feels soft, like ’Leny’s,” said Mrs. Nichols, the
tears gushing out at this little act of sympathy.
Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation with his wife,
hurried off to the neighbors, none of whom knew aught of the fugitive,
and all of whom offered their assistance in searching. Never once did
it occur to Mr. Livingstone that she might have taken the cars, for
that he knew would need money, and he supposed she had none in her
possession. By a strange coincidence, too, the depot agent who sold her
the ticket, left the very next morning for Indiana, where he had been
intending to go for some time, and where he remained for more than a
week, thus preventing the information which he could otherwise have
given concerning her flight. Consequently, Mr. Livingstone returned
each night, weary and disheartened, to his home, where all the day long
his mother moaned and wept, asking for her ’Lena.
At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings of the
wanderer, she ceased to ask for her, but whenever a stranger came to
the house, she would whisper softly to them, “’Leny’s dead. I killed
her; did you know it?” at the same time passing to them the crumpled
note, which she ever held in her hand.
’Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which had so recently
denounced her, and when it became known that she was gone, there came a
reaction, and those who had been the most bitter against her now
changed their opinion, wondering how they could ever have thought her
guilty. The stories concerning her visits to Captain Atherton’s were
traced back to their source, resulting in exonerating her from all
blame, while many things, hitherto kept secret, concerning Anna’s
engagement, were brought to light, and ’Lena was universally commended
for her efforts to save her cousin from a marriage so wholly unnatural.
Severely was the captain censured for the part he had taken in
deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly confessed, while he openly
espoused the cause of the fugitive.
Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous enough to make a
like confession. Public suspicion pointed to her as the interceptor of
Anna’s letters, and though she did not deny it, she wondered what that
had to do with ’Lena, at the same time asking “how they expected to
clear up the Graham affair.”
This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of feeling the
neighborhood were willing to overlook many things which had before
seemed dark and mysterious, while Mrs. Graham, for some most
unaccountable reason, suddenly retracted almost everything she had
said, acknowledging that she was too hasty in her conclusions, and
evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest perfectly surprising
to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in utter astonishment, wondering
what the end would be. About this time Durward returned, greatly pained
at the existing state of things. In Frankfort, where ’Lena’s flight was
a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot agent, who was on his
way home, and who spoke of the young girl whose rather singular manner
had attracted his attention. This was undoubtedly ’Lena, and after a
few moments’ conversation with his mother, Durward announced his
intention of going after her, at least as far as Rockford, where he
fancied she might have gone.
To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her manner seemed so
strange that he at last asked what was the matter.
“Nothing—nothing in particular,” said she, “only I’ve been thinking it
all over lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps ’Lena is
innocent after all.”
Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting her almost
before she had finished speaking, with, “_Do_ you know anything? Have
you heard anything?”
She _had_ heard—she _did_ know; but ere she could reply, the violent
ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival of visitors, prevented her
answer. In a perfect fever of excitement Durward glanced at his watch.
If he waited long, he would be too late for the cars, and with a hasty
adieu he left the parlor, turning back ere he reached the outer door,
and telling his mother he must speak with her alone. If Mrs. Graham had
at first intended to divulge what she knew, the impulse was now gone,
and to her son’s urgent request that she should disclose what she knew,
she replied, “It isn’t much—only your father has another daguerreotype,
the counterpart of the first one. He procured it in Cincinnati, and
’Lena I know was not there.”
“Is that all?” asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.
“Why no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures closely, and I do
not think they resemble ’Lena as much as we at first supposed. Possibly
it might have been some one else, her mother, may be,” and Mrs. Graham
looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently answered, “Her
mother died years ago.”
At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what he had heard, and
hoping, half believing, that ’Lena would yet be exonerated from all
blame. For a moment Mrs. Graham gazed after him, regretting that she
had not told him all, but thinking there was time enough yet, and
remembering that her husband had said she might wait until his return,
if she chose, she went back to the parlor while Durward kept on his
way.