 | CHAPTER IX.
FIVE YEARS LATER, 'Lena Rivers |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
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 that 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, 't 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 Livingston,
for she it was, felt a thrill of gratified pride, when
during all the exercises she had made her special 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 came.
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 't was 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
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 she 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
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
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
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 step-father, 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 wont 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
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
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 unking 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.
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
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 wooly 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 keer. 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 lambs-wool hands and
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 starting
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
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
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 a borned 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
notwithstanding Carrie's efforts to keep her still.
“Now I think on't, Car'line,” said she at last, turning
to her grandaughter, “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 underderstood
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 over and taken a seat by
'Lena, with whom he was soon in the midst of an animated
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
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
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
any thing 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 hav'nt 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
“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!
| CHAPTER IX.
FIVE YEARS LATER, 'Lena Rivers | |