DURWARD.
From place to place and from scene to scene Durward had hurried, caring
nothing except to forget, if possible, the past, and knowing not where
he was going, until he at last found himself in Richmond, Virginia.
This was his mother’s birthplace, and as several of her more distant
relatives were still living here, he determined to stop for awhile,
hoping that new objects and new scenes would have some power to rouse
him from the lethargy into which he had fallen. Constantly in terror
lest he should hear of ’Lena’s disgrace, which he felt sure would be
published to the world, he had, since his departure from Laurel Hill,
resolutely refrained from looking in a newspaper, until one morning
some weeks after his arrival at Richmond.
Entering a reading-room, he caught up the Cincinnati Gazette, and after
assuring himself by a hasty glance that it did not contain what he so
much dreaded to see, he sat down to read it, paying no attention to the
date, which was three or four weeks back. Accidentally he cast his eye
over the list of arrivals at the Burnet House, seeing among them the
names of “Mr. H. R. Graham, and Miss L. R. Graham, Woodford county,
Kentucky!”
“_Audacious_! How dare they be so bold!” he exclaimed, springing to his
feet and tearing the paper in fragments, which he scattered upon the
floor.
“Considerable kind of uppish, ’pears to me,” said a strange voice,
having in its tone the nasal twang peculiar to a certain class of
Yankees.
Looking up, Durward saw before him a young man in whose style of dress
and freckled face we at once recognize Joel Slocum. Wearying of
Cincinnati, as he had before done with Lexington, he had traveled at
last to Virginia. Remembering to have heard that his grandmother’s aunt
had married, died, and left a daughter in Richmond, he determined, if
possible, to find some trace of her. Accordingly, he had come on to
that city, making it the theater of his daguerrean operations. These
alone not being sufficient to support him, he had latterly turned his
attention to _literary pursuits_, being at present engaged in
manufacturing a book after the Sam Slick order, which, to use his own
expression, “he expected would have a thunderin’ sale.”
In order to sustain the new character which he had assumed, he came
every day to the reading-room, tumbling over books and papers,
generally carrying one of the former in his hand, affecting an utter
disregard of his personal appearance, daubing his fingers with ink,
wiping them on the pocket of his coat, and doing numerous other things
which he fancied would stamp him a distinguished person.
On the morning of which we have spoken, Joel’s attention was attracted
toward Durward, whose daguerreotype he had seen at Maple Grove, and
though he did not recognize the original, he fancied he might have met
him before, and was about making his acquaintance, when Durward’s
action drew from him the remark we have mentioned. Thinking him to be
some impertinent fellow, Durward paid him no attention, and was about
leaving, when, hitching his chair a little nearer, Joel said, “Be you
from Virginny?”
“No.”
“From York state?”
“No.”
“From Pennsylvany?”
“No.”
“Mebby, then, you are from Kentucky?”
No answer.
“Be you from Kentucky?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Mr. Graham’s folks?”
“Yes,” said Durward, trembling lest the next should be something
concerning his stepfather—but it was not.
Settling himself a little further back in the chair, Joel continued:
“Wall, I calkerlate that I’m some relation to Miss Graham. Be you
’quainted with her?”
Durward knew that a relationship with _Mrs_. Graham also implied a
relationship with himself, and feeling a little curious as well as
somewhat amused, he replied, “Related to Mrs. Graham! Pray how?”
“Why, you see,” said Joel, “that my grandmarm’s aunt—she was younger
than grandmarm, and was her aunt tew. Wall, she went off to Virginia to
teach music, and so married a nabob—know what that is, I s’pose; she
had one gal and died, and this gal was never heard from until I took it
into my head to look her up, and I’ve found out that she was _Lucy
Temple_. She married an Englishman, first—then a man from South
Carolina, who is now livin’ in Kentucky, between Versailles and
Frankfort.”
“What was your grandmother’s aunt’s name?” asked Durward.
“Susan Howard,” returned Joel. “The Howards were a stuck-up set,
grandmarm and all—not a bit like t’other side of the family. My
mother’s name was Scovandyke——”
“And yours?” interrupted Durward.
“Is Joel Slocum, of Slocumville, Massachusetts, at your service,” said
the young man, rising up and going through a most wonderful bow, which
he always used on great occasions.
In a moment Durward knew who he was, and greatly amused, he said, “Can
you tell me, Mr. Slocum, what relation this Lucy Temple, your
great-great-aunt’s daughter, would be to you?”
“My third cousin, of course,” answered Joel. “I figgered that out with
a slate and pencil.”
“And her son, if she had one?”
“Would be my fourth cousin; no great connection, to be sure—but enough
to brag on, if they happened to be smart!”
“Supposing I tell you what I am Lucy Temple’s son?” said Durward, to
which Joel, not the least suspicious, replied, “Wall, s’posin’ you du,
’twon’t make it so.”
“But I _am_, really and truly,” continued Durward. “Her first husband
was a Bellmont, and I am Durward Bellmont, your fourth cousin, it
seems.”
“_Jehosiphat_! If this ain’t curis,” exclaimed Joel, grasping Durward’s
hand. “How _do_ you du, and how is your marm. And do you know Helleny
Rivers?”
Durward’s brow darkened as he replied in the affirmative, while Joel
continued: “We are from the same town, and used to think a sight of
each other, but when I seen her in Kentucky, I thought she’d got to be
mighty toppin’. Mebby, though, ’twas only my notion.”
Durward did not answer, and after a little his companion said, “I
suppose you know I sometimes take pictures for a livin’. I’m goin’ to
my office now, and if you’ll come with me I’ll take yourn for nothin’,
bein’ you’re related.”
Mechanically, and because he had nothing else to do, Durward followed
the young man to his “office,” which was a dingy, cheerless apartment
in the fourth story of a crazy old building. On the table in the center
of the room were several likenesses, which he carelessly examined.
Coming at last to a larger and richer case, he opened it, but instantly
it dropped from his hand, while an exclamation of surprise escaped his
lips.
“What’s the row, old feller,” asked Joel, coming forward and picking up
the picture which Durward had recognized as ’Lena Rivers.
“How came you by it?” said Durward eagerly, and with a knowing wink,
Joel replied, “I know, and that’s enough.”
“But I must know, too. It is of the utmost importance that I know,”
said Durward, and after a moment’s reflection, Joel answered “Wall, I
don’t s’pose it’ll do any hurt if I tell you. When I was a boy I had a
hankerin’ for ’Leny, and I didn’t get over it after I was grown,
either, so a year or two ago I thought I’d go to Kentuck and see her.
Knowin’ how tickled she and Mrs. Nichols would be with a picter of
their old home in the mountains, I took it for ’em and started. In
Albany I went to see a family that used to live in Slocumville. The
woman was a gal with ’Leny’s mother, and thought a sight of her. Wall,
in the chamber where they put me to sleep, was an old portrait, which
looked so much like ’Leny that in the mornin’ I asked whose it was, and
if you b’lieve me, ’twas ’Leny’s mother! You know she married, or
thought she married, a southern rascal, who got her portrait taken and
then run off, and the picter, which in its day was an expensive one,
was sold to pay up. A few years afterward, Miss Rice, the woman I was
tellin’ you about, came acrost it, and bought it for a little or
nothin’ to remember Helleny Nichols by. Thinks to me, nothin’ can
please ’Leny better than a daguerreotype of her mother, so I out with
my apparatus and took it. But when I come to see that they were as nigh
alike as two peas, I hated to give it up, for I thought it would be
almost as good as lookin’ at ’Leny. So I kept it myself, but I don’t
want her to know it, for she’d be mad.”
“Did you ever take a copy of this for any one?” asked Durward, a faint
light beginning to dawn upon him.
“What a feller to hang on,” answered Joel, “but bein’ I’ve started,
I’ll go it and tell the hull. One morning when I was in Lexington, a
gentleman came in, calling himself Mr. Graham, and saying he wanted a
copy of an old mountain house which he had seen at Mr. Livingstone’s.
Whilst I was gettin’ it ready, he happened to come acrost this one, and
what is the queerest of all, he like to fainted away. I had to throw
water in his face and everything. Bimeby he cum to, and says he, ‘Where
did you get that?’ I told him all about it, and then, layin’ his head
on the table, he groaned orfully, wipin’ off the thumpinest great drops
of sweat and kissin’ the picter as if he was crazy.
“‘Mebby you knew Helleny Nichols?’ says I.
“‘Knew her, yes,’ says he, jumpin’ up and walkin’ the room as fast.
“All to once he grew calm, just as though nothin’ had happened, and
says he, ‘I must have that or one jest like it.’
“At first I hesitated, for I felt kinder mean always about keepin’ it,
and I didn’t want ’Leny to know I’d got it. I told him so, and he said
nobody but himself should ever see it. So I took a smaller one, leavin’
off the lower part of the body, as the dress is old-fashioned, you see.
He was as tickled as a boy with a new top, and actually forgot to take
the other one of the mountain house. Some months after, I came across
him in Cincinnati. His wife was with him, and I thought then that she
looked like Aunt Nancy. Wall, he went with me to my office, and said he
wanted another daguerreotype, as he’d lost the first one. Now I’m,
pretty good at figgerin’, and I’ve thought that matter over until I’ve
come to this conclusion—_that man_—was—’Lena’s father—the husband or
something of Helleny Nichols! But what ails you? Are you faintin’,
too,” he exclaimed, as he saw the death-like whiteness which had
settled upon Durward’s face and around his mouth.
“Tell me more, everything you know,” gasped Durward.
“I have told you all I know for certain,” said Joel. “The rest is only
guess-work, but it looks plaguy reasonable. ’Leny’s father, I’ve heard
was from South Car’lina——”
“So was Mr. Graham,” said Durward, more to himself than to Joel, who
continued, “And he’s your step-father, ain’t he—the husband of Lucy
Temple, my cousin?”
Durward nodded, and as a customer just then came in, he arose to go,
telling Joel he would see him again. Alone in his room, he sat down to
think of the strange story he had heard. Gradually as he thought, his
mind went back to the time when Mr. Graham first came home from
Springfield. He was a little boy, then, five or six years of age, but
he now remembered many things calculated to prove what he scarcely yet
dared to hope. He recalled Mr. Graham’s preparations to return, when he
was taken suddenly ill. He knew that immediately atter his recovery he
had gone northward. He remembered how sad he had seemed after his
return, neglecting to play with him as had been his wont, and when to
this he added Joel’s story, together with the singularity of his
father’s conduct towards ’Lena, he could not fail to be convinced.
“She _is_ innocent, thank heaven! I see it all now. Fool that I was to
be so hasty,” he exclaimed, his whole being seemed to undergo a sudden
change as the joyous conviction flashed upon him.
In his excitement he forgot his promise of again seeing Joel Slocum,
and ere the sun-setting he was far on his road home. Occasionally he
felt a lingering doubt, as he wondered what possible motive his father
could have had for concealment, but these wore away as the distance
between himself and Kentucky diminished. As the train paused at one of
the stations, he was greatly surprised at seeing John Jr. among the
crowd gathered at the depot.
“Livingstone, Livingstone, how came you here?” shouted Durward, leaning
from the open window.
The cars were already in motion, but at the risk of his life John Jr.
bounded upon the platform, and was soon seated by the side of Durward.
“You are a great one, ain’t you?” said he. “Here I’ve been looking for
you all over Christendom, to tell you the news. You’ve got a new
sister. Did you know it?”
“’_Lena_! Is it true? _Is_ it ’Lena?” said Durward, and John replied by
relating the particulars as far as he knew them, and ending by asking
Durward if “he didn’t think he was sold!”
“Don’t talk,” answered Durward. “I want to think, for I was never so
happy in my life.”
“Nor I either,” returned John Jr. “So if you please you needn’t speak
to _me_, as I wish to think, too.”
But John Jr. could not long keep still, he must tell his companion of
his engagement with Nellie—and he did, falling asleep soon after, and
leaving Durward to his own reflections.