University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
THE DAGUERREOTYPE.

“Look, grandmother!—a picture of our old home.
Isn't it natural?” exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the
parlor.

Yes, it was natural, and the old lady's tears gushed
forth the moment she looked upon it. There was the
well, the garden, the gate partially open, the barn in the
rear, now half fallen down, the curtain of the west window

rolled up as it was wont to be, while on the door-step,
basking in the warm sunshine, lay a cat, which Mrs. Nichols
declared was hers.

“John ought to see this,” said she, wiping the tears
from her eyes, and turning toward the door, which at
that moment opened, admitting her son, together with
Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called. “Look here,
John, said she, calling him to her side—“Do you remember
this?”

The deep flush which mounted to John's brow, showed
that he did, and his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham,
continued: “It is our old home in Massachusetts.
There's the room where John and Helleny both were born,
and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems
but yesterday since she died, and they carried her out of
this door, and down the road, there—do you see?”

This question was addressed to Mr. Graham, who,
whether he saw or not, made no answer, but walked to
the window and looked out upon the prospect beyond,
which for him had no attractions then. The sight of that
daguerreotye had stirred up many bitter memories, and
for some time he stood gazing vacantly through the window,
and thinking—who shall say of what? It would
seem that the daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination
for him, for after it had been duly examined and laid
down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it minutely, asking
where it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure
a similar one.

“I have a fancy for such scenes,” said he, “and would
like to have just such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping
in Lexington, you say. He can take one from this, I suppose.
I mean to see him;” and with his usual good morning,
he departed.

Two weeks from this time Durward again went down

to Frankfort, determining, if a favorable opportunity
presented itself, to offer Lena his heart and fortune.

He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend
the day. For a time they conversed together on indifferent
topics, each one of which was entirely foreign from
that which lay nearest Durward's heart. At last the conversation
turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward
had heard.

“I really think, Lena,” said he, laughingly, “that you
ought to patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this
distance for the sake of seeing you. Suppose you have
your daguerreotype taken for me, will you?”

Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of
her brown curls, 'Lena answered lightly, “Oh, no, no. I
have never had my picture taken in my life, and I shan't
begin with Joel.”

“Never had it taken!” repeated Durward, in some
surprise.

“No never,” said 'Lena, and Durward continued,
drawing her nearer to him, “It is time you had, then.
So have it taken for me. I mean what I say,” he continued,
as he met the glance of her merry eyes. “There is
nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except,
indeed, the original, which you will not refuse me, when
I ask it, will you?”

'Lena's mirth was all gone—she knew he was in earnest
now. She felt it in the pressure of his arm, which encircled
her waist; she saw it in his eye, and heard it in
the tones of his voice. But what should she say?
Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon
her cheek; and an inaudible answer trembled on her lips,
when noiselessly through the door came Mr. Graham,
starting when he saw their position, and offering to withdraw
if he was intruding. 'Lena was surprised and excited,

and springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm
as he was about to leave the room, bidding him stay, and
saying he was always welcome there.

So he staid, and with the first frown upon his brow
which 'Lena had ever seen, Durward left—left without
receiving an answer to his question, or even referring to
it again, though 'Lena accompanied him to the door, half
dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it. But he did not,
and wishing her much pleasure in his father's company,
he walked away, writing in his heart bitter things against
him, not her. On his way home he fell in with Du
Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a little too much
wine, and was very talkative.

“Vous just come from Mademoiselle Rivers,” said he.
“She be von fine girl. What relation be she to Monsieur
Graham?”

“None whatever. Why do you ask?”

“Because he pay her musique lessons and —”

Here Du Pont suddenly remembered his promise, so he
kept back Mr. Graham's assertion that he was a near relative,
adding in its place, that “he thought probable he
related; but you no tell,” said he, “for Monsieur bid me
keep secret and I forgot.”

Here, having reached a cross-road, they parted, and
again Durward wrote down bitter things against his father,
for what could be his object in wishing it kept a secret
that he was paying for 'Lena's lessons, or why
did he pay for them at all—and did 'Lena know it? He
thought not, and for a time longer was she blameless in
his eyes.

On reaching home he found both the parlor and
drawing-room deserted, and upon inquiry learned that
his mother was in her own room. Something, he could
hardly tell what, prompted him to knock for admission,

which being granted, he entered, finding her unusually
pale, with the trace of tears still upon her cheek. This
of itself was so common an occurrence, that he would
hardly have observed it had not there been about her a
look of unfeigned distress which he had seldom seen
before.

“What's the matter, mother?” said he, advancing toward
her. “What has happened to trouble you?”

Without any reply, Mrs. Graham placed in his hand a
richly-cased daguerreotype, and laying her head upon the
table, sobbed aloud. A moment Durward stood transfixed
to the spot, for on opening the case, the fair, beautiful
face of 'Lena Rivers looked smilingly out upon
him!

“Where did you get this, mother?—how came you
by it?” he asked, and she answered, that in looking
through her husband's private drawer, the key of which
she had accidentally found in his vest pocket, she had
come upon it, together with a curl of soft chestnut-brown
hair which she threw across Durward's finger, and from
which he recoiled as from a viper's touch.

For several minutes not a word was spoken by either,
and then Mrs. Graham, looking him, in the face, said,
“You recognize that countenance, of course?”

“I do,” he replied, in a voice husky with emotion, for
Durward was terribly moved.

Twice had 'Lena asserted that never in her life had her
daguerreotype been taken, and yet he held it in his
hands; there was no mistaking it—the same broad, open
brow—the same full, red lips—the same smile—and more
than all, the same clustering ringlets, though arranged
a little differently from what she usually wore them, the
hair on the picture being combed smoothly over the forehead,
while 'Lena's was generally brushed up, after the

style of the prevailing fashion. Had Durward examined
minutely, he might have found other points of difference,
but he did not think of that. A look had convinced him
that 'twas 'Lena—his 'Lena, he had fondly hoped to call
her. But that was over now—she had deceived him—
told him a deliberate falsehood—refused him her daguerreotype
and given it to his father, whose secrecy concerning
it indicated something wrong. His faith was
shaken, and yet for the sake of what she had been to
him, he would spare her good name. He could not bear
to hear the world breathe aught against her, for possibly
she might be innocent; but no, there was no mistaking
the falsehood, and Durward groaned in bitterness as he
handed the picture to his mother, bidding her return it
where she found it. Mrs. Graham had never seen her
son thus moved, and obeying him, she placed her hand
upon his arm, asking, “why he was so affected—what
she was to him?”

“Everything, everything,” said he, laying his face upon
the table. “'Lena Rivers was all the world to me. I
loved her as I shall never love again.”

And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told
his mother all—how he had that very morning gone to
Frankfort with the intention of offering 'Lena his hand—
how he had partially done so, when they were interrupted
by the entrance of a visitor, he did not say whom.

“Thank heaven for your escape. I can bear your father's
conduct, if it is the means of saving you from her,”
exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while her son continued: “And
now, mother, I have a request to make of you—a request
which you must grant. I have loved 'Lena too well to
cease from loving her so soon. And though I can never
again think to make her my wife, I will not hear her name
lightly spoken by the world, who must never know what

we do. Promise me, mother, to keep secret whatever
you may know against her.”

“Do you think me bereft of my senses,” asked Mrs.
Graham petulantly, “that I should wish to proclaim my
affairs to every one?”

“No, no, mother,” he answered, “but you are easily
excited, and say things you had better not. Mrs. Livingstone
bears 'Lena no good will, you know, and sometimes
when she is speaking disparagingly of her, you may be
thrown off your guard, and tell what you know. But
this must not be. Promise me, mother, will you?”

Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood
thickly about his mouth as he asked this of his mother,
who, mentally congratulating herself upon her son's escape,
promised what he asked, at the same time repeating
to him all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone concerning
'Lena, until Durward interrupted her with, “Stop,
stop, I've heard enough. Nothing which Mrs. Livingstone
could say would have weighed a straw, but the
conviction of my own eyes and ears have undeceived me,
and henceforth 'Lena and I are as strangers.”

Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea
of her son's marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful,
and though she felt indignant toward her husband, so
peculiar was her nature that she would not have had
matters otherwise if she could; and when Durward, who
disliked scenes, suggested the propriety of her not speaking
to his father on the subject at present, she assented,
saying that it would be more easy for her to refrain,
as she was intending to start for Louisville on the
morrow.

“I've been contemplating a visit there for some time,
and before Mr. Graham left home this morning, I had

decided to go,” said she, at the same time proposing that
Durward should accompany her.

To this he consented willingly, for in the first shock of
his disappointment, a change of place and scene was what
he most desired. The hot blood of the south, which
burned in his veins, seemed all on fire, and he felt that he
could not, for the present, at least, be daily associated
with his step-father. An absence of several days, he
thought, might have the effect of calming him down. It
was accordingly decided that he should, on the morrow,
start with her for Louisville, to be gone two weeks; and
with this understanding they parted, Durward going to
his own chamber, there to review the past, and strive, if
possible, to efface from his heart every memory of 'Lena,
whom he had loved so well. But 'twas all in vain; he
could not so soon forget her, and far into the hours of
night he sat alone, striving to frame some excuse for her
conduct. The fact that his father possessed her daguerreotype
might possibly be explained, without throwing censure
upon her; but the falsehood—never; and with the
firm conviction that she was lost to him forever, he at
last retired to rest, just as the clock in the hall below
proclaimed the hour of midnight.

Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own
mind the probable result of a letter which, in the heat of
passion, she had that day dispatched to 'Lena, accusing
her of “marring the domestic peace of a hitherto happy
family,” and while she cast some reflections upon her
birth, commanding her never, under any circumstances,
“to venture into her presence!”

This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward's
return, and as she well knew how much he would
disapprove of it, she resolved not to tell him, secretly
hoping 'Lena would keep her own counsel. “Base creature,”

said she, “to give my husband her likeness—but
he shall never see it again; and with stealthy step she
advanced toward the secret drawer, which she again
opened, and taking from it both daguerreotype and ringlet,
locked it, replacing the key in the pocket where she
found it. Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled
it into the glowing grate, shuddering as she did so, and
trembling, as if she really knew a wrong had been done to
the dead.

Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated
features, which now seemed to regard her mournfully,
as if reproaching her for what she had done. No part of
the dress was visible—nothing except the head and neck,
which was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut
curls, whose companion so recently lay seething and
scorching on the burning coals.

There was a footstep without—her husband had returned—and
quick as thought was the daguerreotype concealed,
while Mrs. Graham, forcing down her emotion,
took up a book, which she seemed to be intently reading
when her husband entered. After addressing to her a
few common-place remarks, all of which she answered
civilly, he went to the wardrobe, and on pretense of looking
for his knife, which, he said, he believed he left in his
vest pocket, he took out the key, and then carelessly proceeded
to unlock his private drawer, his wife watching
him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation
when he saw that his treasure was gone. Again
and again was his drawer searched, but all to no purpose,
and casting an anxious glance toward his wife,
whose face, for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he commenced
walking the floor in a very perturbed state of
mind, his wife exulting in his discomfiture, and thinking
herself amply avenged for all that she had endured.

At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had
that day received from South Carolina, containing the
news of the death of a distant relative, who had left him
some property. “It is not necessary for me to be there
in person,” said he, “but still I should like to visit my
old home once more. What do you think of it?”

“Go, by all means,” said she, glad of anything which
would place distance between him and 'Lena. “No one
can attend to your business one-half as well as yourself.
When will you start if you go?”

“Immediately—before your return from Louisville—
unless you wish to accompany me.”

“I'm afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would
rather not,” said she, in a way which puzzled him, causing
him to wonder “what had come over her.”

“You can do as you choose,” said he, but I should be
glad of your company.”

“No, I thank you,” was her laconic reply, as she, in
turn, wondered what had come over him.

The next morning the carriage came up to the door to
convey Mrs. Graham and Durward to Frankfort. The
latter was purposely late, and he did not see his father
until he came down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the
carriage. Then Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise,
“where he was going!”

“With my mother, to Louisville, sir,” answered Durward,
stiffly. “I am not willing she should travel alone,
if you are;” and he sprang into the carriage, ordering
the coachman to drive off ere another word could be
spoken.

“Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!—my
usual luck!” mused Mr. Graham, as he returned
to the house, and sure of no prying eyes, recommenced
his search for the daguerreotype, which was nowhere

to be found. Could she have found it? Impossible!
for it was not in her jealous nature to have held her
peace; and again he sought for it, but all to no purpose;
and finally thinking he must have taken it with him and
lost it, he gave it up, mourning more for the loss of the
curl, which could never, never be replaced, while the picture
might be found.

“Why do I live so?” thought he, as he nervously
paced the room. “My life is one of continual fear and
anxiety, but it shall be so no longer. I'll tell her all when
she returns. I'll brave the world, dare her displeasure,
take 'Lena home, and be a man.”

Satisfied with this resolution, and nothing doubting that
he should keep it, he started for Versailles, where he had
an engagement with a gentleman who transacted business
for him in Lexington.