 | CHAPTER XI.
WOODLAWN. 'Lena Rivers |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
WOODLAWN.
Next morning, long before the sun appeared above the
eastern horizon, Fleetfoot, attended by Bill, stood before
the door, saddled and waiting for its young rider, while
near by it was Firelock, which Durward had borrowed
of John Jr. At last 'Lena appeared, and if Durward had
admired her beauty before, his admiration was now greatly
increased when he saw how well she looked in her neatly
fitting riding dress and tasteful straw hat. After bidding
her good morning, he advanced to assist her in mounting,
but declining his offer, she with one bound sprang into
the saddle.
“Jumps like a toad,” said Bill. “Ain't stiff and
clumsy like Miss Carrie, who allus has to be done sot
on.”
At a word from Durward they galloped briskly away,
the clatter of their horses' hoofs arousing and bringing
to the window Mrs. Graham, who had a suspicion of
what was going on. Pushing aside the silken curtain, she
looked uneasily after them, wondering if in reality her
son cared aught for the graceful creature at his side, and
thinking if he did, how hard she would labor to overcome
his liking. Mrs. Graham was not the only one who
watched them, for fearing lest Bill should not awake,
John Jr. had foregone his morning nap, himself calling up
the negro, and now from his window he, too, looked after
them until they entered upon the turnpike and were lost
to view. Then, with some very complimentary reflections
to himself, “There's a girl worth having. By Jove,
if I'd never seen Nellie Douglass, and 'Lena wasn't my
cousin, wouldn't I keep mother in the hysteries most of
the time!”
On reaching the turnpike, Durward halted, while he
asked 'Lena “where she wished to go.”
“Anywhere you please,” said she, when, for reasons of
his own, he proposed that they should ride over to
Woodlawn.
'Lena was certainly excusable if she felt a secret feeling
of satisfaction in thinking she was after all the first of the
family to visit Woodlawn, of which she had heard so much,
that it seemed like a perfect Eldorado. It was a grand
old building, standing on a cross road about three miles
from the turnpike, and commanding quite an extensive
view of the country around. It was formerly owned by
a wealthy Englishman, who spent his winters in New Orleans
and his summers in the country. The year before
he had died insolvent, Woodlawn falling into the hands
of his creditors, who now offered it for sale, together with
the gorgeous furniture which still remained just as the
family had left it. To the left of the building was a large,
handsome park, in which the former owner had kept a
number of deer, and now as Durward and 'Lena rode up
and down the shaded avenues, these graceful creatures
would occasionally spring up and bound away with the
fleetness of the wind.
The garden and yard in front were laid out with perfect
taste, the former combining both the useful and the
agreeable. A luxurious grape-vine wreathed itself over
the arched entrance, while the wide, graveled walks were
bordered, some with box, and others with choice flowers,
now choked and overgrown with weeds, but showing
for. At the extremity of the principal walk, which extended
the entire length of the garden, was a summer-house,
fitted up with everything which could make it attractive,
during the sultry heat of summer, while farther
on through the little gate was a handsome grove or continuation
of the park, with many well-beaten paths winding
through it and terminating finally at the side of a tiny
sheet of water, which within a few years had forced itself
through the limestone soil natural to Kentucky.
Owing to some old feud, the English family had not
been on visiting terms with the Livingstones; consequently,
'Lena had never before been at Woodlawn, and her admiration
increased with every step, and when at last they
entered the house and stood within the elegant drawing-rooms,
it knew no bounds. She remembered the time
when she had thought her uncle's furniture splendid beyond
anything in the world, but it could not compare
with the magnificence around her, and for a few moments
she stood as if transfixed with astonishment. Durward
had been highly amused at her enthusiastic remarks concerning
the grounds, and now noticing her silence, he
asked “what was the matter?”
“Oh, I am half-afraid to speak, lest this beautiful room
should prove an illusion and fade away,” said she.
“Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you
ever saw before?” he asked; and she replied, “Oh, yes,
far more so,” at the same time giving him a laughable description
of her amazement when she first saw the inside
of her uncle's house, and ending by saying, “But you can
imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge
pretty well what were my ideas of the world.”
Wishing to see if 'Lena would attempt to conceal her
former humble mode of living, Durward said, “I have
how you lived there—will you please to tell me?”
“There's nothing to tell which will interest you,” answered
'Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading
her to a sofa, he bade her commence.
Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what
he pleased, and now at his bidding 'Lena told him of her
mountain-home, with its low-roof, bare walls, and oaken
floors—of herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she picked
huckleberries with Joel Slocum! And then, in lower and
more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother's grave in
the valley, near which her beloved grandfather—the only
father she had ever known—was now sleeping. 'Lena
never spoke of her grandfather without weeping. She
could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did
when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her
head upon the arm of the sofa, she sobbed like a child.
Durward's sympathies were all enlisted, and without
stopping to consider the propriety or impropriety of the
act, he drew her gently toward him, trying to soothe her
grief, calling her 'Lena, and smoothing back the curls
which had fallen over her face. As soon as possible, 'Lena
released herself from him, and drying her tears, proposed
that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time
for them to return home. Accordingly, they passed on
through room after room, 'Lena's quick eye taking in and
appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward
was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking of herself
so frankly as she had done. Many young ladies, he
well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their
home was once in a brown, old-fashioned house among
wild and rugged mountains, and 'Lena's truthfulness in
speaking not only of this, but many similar things connected
with her early history, inspired him with a respect
of his acquaintance.
But little was said by either of them as they went over
the house, until Durward, prompted by something he
could not resist, suddenly asked his companion “how she
would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?”
Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she
would have blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short
of an immediate offer, but 'Lena quickly replied, “Not at
all,” laughingly giving as an insuperable objection, “the
size of the house and the number of windows she would
have to wash!”
With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should
now return home, and again mounting their horses, they
started for Maple Grove, which they reached just after
the family had finished breakfast. With the first ring of
the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what might
occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie,
anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and 'Lena, cast
wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently
asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had returned from his
ride.”
“I've not seen him,” answered the lady, her scowl
deepening and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually
did when she was ill at ease.
“Who's gone to ride?” asked Mr. Graham; and John
Jr. replied that Durward and 'Lena had been riding nearly
two hours, adding, that “they must find each other exceedingly
interesting to be gone so long.”
This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose
frown kept company with Mrs. Graham's scowl. Chopping
her steak into mince-meat, and almost biting a piece
from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at last found
voice to ask, “what horse 'Lena rode!”
“Fleetfoot, of course,” said John Jr., at the same time
telling his father he thought “he ought to give 'Lena a
pony of her own, for she was accounted the best rider in
the county, and Fleetfoot was getting old and clumsy.”
The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went
in quest of Cæsar, whom she abused for disobeying her
orders, threatening him with the calaboose, and anything
else which came to her mind. Old Cæsar was taken by
surprise, and being rather slow of speech, was trying to
think of something to say, when John Jr., who had followed
his mother, came to his aid, saying that “he himself
had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,” and adding aside to his
mother, that “the next time she and Cad were plotting
mischief he'd advise them to see who was in the back
parlor!”
Always ready to suspect 'Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone
immediately supposed it was she who had listened; but,
before she could frame a reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving
her undecided whether to cowhide Cæsar, 'Lena, or
her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the pause,
followed the example of his young master and stole away.
The tramp of horses' feet was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone,
mentally resolving that Fleetfoot should be sold,
repaired to the door in time to see Durward carefully lift
'Lena from her pony and place her upon the ground. Mrs.
Graham, Carrie, and Annie were all standing upon the
piazza, and as 'Lena came up the walk, her eyes sparkling
and her bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed,
“Isn't she beautiful?” at the same time asking
her “where she had been.”
“To Woodlawn,” answered 'Lena.
“To Woodlawn!” repeated Mrs. Graham.
“To Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while
pray what took you there?”
“The pony,” answered 'Lena, as she passed into the
house.
Thinking it best to put Mrs. Graham on her guard,
Mrs. Livingstone said to her, in a low tone, “I would
advise you to keep an eye upon your son, if he is at all
susceptible, for there is no bound to 'Lena's ambition.”
Mrs. Graham made no direct reply, but the flashing of
her little gray eye was a sufficient answer, and satisfied
with the result of her caution, Mrs. Livingstone reëntered
the house. Two hours afterward, the carriage stood at
the door waiting to convey the party to Woodlawn. It
had been arranged that Mrs. Graham, Carrie, Anna, and
Durward should ride in the carriage, while Mr. Graham
went on horseback. Purposely, Carrie loitered behind
her companions, who being first, of course took the back
seat, leaving her the privilege of riding by the side of
Durward. This was exactly what she wanted, and leaning
back on her elbow, she complacently awaited his coming.
But how was she chagrined, when, in his stead,
appeared Mr. Graham, who sprang into the carriage and
took a seat beside her, saying to his wife's look of inquiry,
that as John Jr. had concluded to go, Durward preferred
riding on horseback with him, adding, in his usually polite
way, “And I, you know, would always rather go with
the ladies. But where is Miss Rivers?” he continued.
“Why isn't she here?”
“Simply because she wasn't invited, I suppose,” returned
his wife, detecting the disappointment in his face.
“Not invited!” he repeated; “I didn't know as this
trip was of sufficient consequence to need a special invitation.
I thought, of course, she was here—”
“Or you would have gone on horseback,” suggested
his wife, ever ready to catch at straws.
Mr. Graham saw the rising jealousy in time to repress
the truthful answer—“Yes”—while he compromised the
matter by saying that “the presence of three fair ladies
ought to satisfy him.”
Carrie was too much disappointed even to smile, and
during all the ride she was extremely taciturn, hardly
replying at all to Mr. Graham's lively sallies, and winning
golden laurels in the opinion of Mrs. Graham, who secretly
thought her husband altogether too agreeable. As they
turned into the long avenue which led to Woodlawn, and
Carrie thought of the ride which 'Lena had enjoyed alone
with its owner—for such was Durward reported to be—
her heart swelled with bitterness toward her cousin, in
whom she saw a dreaded rival. But when they reached
the house, and Durward assisted her to alight, keeping at
her side while they walked over the grounds, her jealousy
vanished, and with her sweetest smile she looked up into
his face, affecting a world of childish simplicity, and making,
as she believed, a very favorable impression.
“I wonder if you are as much pleased with Woodlawn
as your cousin,” said Durward, noticing that her mind
seemed to be more intent on foreign subjects than the
scenery around her.
“Oh, no, I dare say not,” returned Carrie. “'Lena
was never accustomed to anything until she came to Kentucky,
and now I suppose she thinks she must go into
ecstacies over everything, though I sometimes wish she
wouldn't betray her ignorance quite so often.”
“According to her description, her home in Massachusetts
was widely different from her present one,” said
Durward; and Carrie quickly replied, “I wonder now if
she bored you with an account of her former home! You
declare.”
“And I assure you I never had a pleasanter one, for
Miss Rivers is, I think, an exceedingly agreeable companion,”
returned Durward, beginning to see the drift of
her remarks.
Here Mr. Graham called to his son, and excusing himself
from Carrie, he did not again return to her until it
was time to go home. Meantime, at Maple Grove, Mrs.
Livingstone, in the worst possible humor, was finding fault
with poor 'Lena, accusing her of eaves-dropping, and asking
her if she did not begin to believe the old adage, that
listeners never heard any good of themselves. In perfect
astonishment 'Lena demanded what she meant, saying
she had never, to her knowledge, been guilty of listening.
Without any explanation, whatever, Mrs. Livingstone
declared herself “satisfied now, for a person who would
listen and then deny it, was capable of almost anything.”
“What do you mean, madam?” said 'Lena, her temper
getting the ascendency. “Explain yourself, for no
one shall accuse me of lying without an attempt to prove
it.”
With a sneer Mrs. Livingstone replied, “I wonder what
you can do! Will you bring to your assistance some one
of your numerous admirers?”
“Admirers! What admirers?” asked 'Lena, and her
aunt replied, “I'll give you credit for feigning the best of
any one I ever saw, but you can't deceive me. I know
very well of your intrigues to entrap Mr. Bellmont. But
it is not strange that you should inherit something of
your mother's nature, and you know what she was!”
This was too much, and with eyes flashing fire through
the glittering tears, which shone like diamonds, 'Lena
sprang to her feet, exclaiming, “Yes, I do know what she
if in my presence you dare again breathe aught against her
name, you shall rue it—”
“That she shall, so help me heaven,” murmured a voice
near, which neither Mrs. Livingstone nor 'Lena heard, nor
were they aware of any one's presence until Mr. Graham
suddenly appeared in the doorway.
At his wife's request he had exchanged places with his
son, and riding on before the rest, had reached home first,
being just in time to overhear the last part of the conversation
between Mrs. Livingstone and 'Lena. Instantly
changing her manner, Mrs. Livingstone motioned her
niece from the room, heaving a deep sigh as the door
closed after her, and saying that “none but those who
had tried it knew what a thankless job it was to rear
the offspring of others.”
There was a peculiar look in Mr. Graham's eyes, as he
answered, “In your case I will gladly relieve you, if my
wife is willing. I have taken a great fancy to Miss Rivers,
and would like to adopt her as my daughter. I will
speak to Mrs. Graham to-night.”
Much as she disliked 'Lena, Mrs. Livingstone would not
for the world have her become an inmate of Mr. Graham's
family, where she would be constantly thrown in Durward's
way; and immediately changing her tactics, she
replied, “I thank you for your kind offer, but I know my
husband would not think of such a thing; neither should
I be quite willing for her to leave us, much as she troubles
me.”
Mr. Graham bowed stiffly, and left the house. That
night, after he had retired to his room, he seemed unusually
distracted, pacing up and down the apartment, occasionally
pausing to gaze out into the moon-lit sky, and then
resuming his measured tread. At last nerving himself
he made known his plan of adopting 'Lena.
“It seems hasty, I know,” said he, “but she is just the
kind of person I would like to have round—just such an
one as I would wish my daughter to be if I had one. In
short, I like her, and with your consent I will adopt her
as my own, and take her from this place where I know
she's not wanted. What say you, Lucy?”
“Will you adopt the old woman too?” asked Mrs.
Graham, whose face was turned away so as to hide its
expression.
“That is an after consideration,” returned her husband,
“But if you are willing, I will either take her to our home,
or provide for her elsewhere—but come, what do you say?”
All this time Mrs. Graham had sat bolt upright, her
little dumpling hands folded one within the other, the long
transparent nails making deep indentures in the soft flesh,
and her gray eyes emitting green gleams of scorn. The
answer her husband sought came at length, and was characteristic
of the woman. Hissing out the words from between
her teeth, she replied, “When I take 'Lena Rivers
into my family for my husband and son to make love to,
alternately, I shall be ready for the lunatic asylum at
Lexington.”
“And what objection have you to her?” asked Mr.
Graham; to which his wife replied, “The very fact, sir,
that you wish it, is a sufficient reason why I will not have
her; besides that, you must misjudge me strangely if you
think I'd be willing for my son to come daily in contact
with a girl of her doubtful parentage.”
“What know you of her parentage?” said Mr. Graham,
his lips turning slightly pale.
“Yes, what do I know?” answered his wife. “Her
father, if she has any, is a rascal, a villain—”
“Yes, yes, all of that,” muttered Mr. Graham, while
his wife continued, “And her mother a poor, low, mean,
ignorant—”
“Hold!” thundered Mr. Graham. “You shall not
speak so of any woman of whom you know nothing,
much less of 'Lena Rivers' mother.”
“And pray what do you know of her—is she an old
acquaintance?” asked Mrs. Graham, throwing into her
manner as much of insolence as possible.
“I know,” returned Mr. Graham, “that 'Lena's mother
could be nothing else than respectable.”
“Undoubtedly; but of this be assured—the daughter
shall never, by my permission, darken my doors,” said
Mrs. Graham, growing more and more excited, and continuing—“I
know you of old, Harry Graham; and I
know now that your great desire to secure Woodlawn was
so as to be near her, but it shan't be.”
In her excitement, Mrs. Graham forgot that it was herself
who had first suggested Woodlawn as a residence,
and that until within a day or two her husband and 'Lena
were entire strangers. But this made no difference. She
was bent upon being unreasonable, and for nearly an hour
she fretted and cried, declaring herself the most abused
of her sex, and wishing she had never seen her husband,
who, in his heart, warmly seconded that wish, wisely resolving
not to mention the offending 'Lena again in the
presence of his wife.
The next day the bargain for Woodlawn was completed;
after which, Mr. and Mrs. Graham, together with
Durward, returned to Louisville, intending to take possession
of their new home about the first of October.
| CHAPTER XI.
WOODLAWN. 'Lena Rivers | |