University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
MRS. GRAHAM'S RETURN.

Mr. and Mrs. Graham had returned to Woodlawn,
the former remaining but a day and night, and then, without
once seeing 'Lena, departing for Europe, where business,
either fancied or real, called him. Often, when lying
weary and sick in Havana, had he resolved on revealing
to his wife the secret which he felt was wearing his life
away, but the cowardice of his nature seemed increased
by physical weakness, and from time to time was the
disclosure postponed, while the chain of evidence was
fearfully lengthening around poor 'Lena, to whom Mrs.
Graham had transferred the entire weight of her displeasure.

Loving her husband as well as such as she could love,
she was ever ready to forgive when she saw any indications
of reform on his part, and as during all their journey
he had never once given her cause for offense, she
began to attribute his former delinquencies wholly to 'Lena;
and when he proposed a tour to Europe she readily
sanctioned it, hoping that time and absence would remove
from his mind all thoughts of the beautiful girl, who she
thought was her rival. Still, though she would not confess

it, in her heart she did not believe 'Lena guilty, except
so far as a desire to attract Mr. Graham's attention
would make her so.

For this belief she had a good and potent reason. The
daguerreotype which had caused so much trouble was
still in her possession, guarded carefully from her husband,
who never suspecting the truth, supposed he had lost it.
Frequently had Mrs. Graham examined the picture, each
time discovering some point of difference between it and
its supposed original. Still she never for a moment
doubted that it was 'Lena, until an event occurred which
convinced her of the contrary, leaving her, meantime,
more mystified than ever.

On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed
stopping a day in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the
Burnet House, where the first individual whom they saw
at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel Slocum. Not
finding his business as profitable in Lexington as he could
wish, he had recently removed to Cincinnati. Here his
aspiring mind had prompted him to board at the Burnet
House, until he'd seen the “Ohio elephant,” when he intended
retiring to one of the cheaper boarding-houses.
The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a grin of recognition
became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very
long and very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with
the use of either water or brush.

“Who is that loafer who seems to know you?” asked
Mrs. Graham, directing her husband's attention toward
Joel.

Mr. Graham replied that “he had once seen him in
Lexington, and that he took daguerreotypes.”

The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going
through with one of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming,
with his peculiar nasal twang, “Now you don't say this

is you. And this is your old woman, I s'pose. Miss Graham,
how-dy-du? Darned if you don't look like Aunt
Nancy, only she's lean and you are squatty. S'posin' you
give me a call and get your picters taken. I didn't get
an all-killin' sight of practice in Lexington, for the plaguy
green-horns didn't know enough to patternize me, and
'taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,” turning to
Mr. Graham, “employed me once, and pretended to be
suited.”

Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an
undertone to Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to
their room, where he made an excuse for leaving her
awhile. Looking from the window a moment after, Mrs.
Graham saw him walking down the street in close conversation
with Joel, who, by the way of showing his importance,
lifted his white beaver to almost every man he
met. Instantly her curiosity was roused, and when her
husband returned, every motion of his was narrowly
watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction that
there was something in his possession which he did not
wish her to see. Once, when she came unexpectedly upon
him, he hastily thrust something into his pocket, appearing
so much confused that she resolved to ferret out the
secret.

Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy
breathing that he was asleep, she crept softly from his
side, and rummaging his pockets, found a daguerreotype,
which by the full moonlight she saw was a fac-simile of
the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of
the hair—everything—was the same, and utterly confounded,
she stood gazing first at one and then at the other,
wondering what it meant. Could 'Lena be in the
city? She thought not, and even if she were, the last
daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as

the first. At all events, she did not dare secrete it as she
had done its companion, and stealthily returning it to its
place, she crept back to bed.

The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they
learned that Mabel was buried that day. Of course 'Lena
could not have been absent from home. Mrs. Graham
felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came
upon her that another than 'Lena was the original of the
daguerreotypes. And yet she was not generous enough
to tell Durward so. She knew he was deceived—she
wished him to remain so—and to effect it, she refrained
from seeking an explanation from her husband, fearing lest
'Lena should be proved innocent. Her husband knew
there was a misunderstanding between Durward and 'Lena,
and if she were to ask him about the pictures, he
would, she thought, at once suspect the cause of that
misunderstanding, and as a matter of course, exonerate
'Lena from all blame. The consequence of this she foresaw,
and therefore she resolved upon keeping her own
counsel, satisfied if in the end she prevented Durward
from making 'Lena his wife.

To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to
keep the matter almost constantly before Durward's mind,
frequently referring to 'Lena's agitation when she first
learned that Mr. Graham had started for Europe. She
had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day
of her husband's departure. 'Lena had not met the lady
before, since that night in Frankfort, and now, with the
utmost hauteur, she returned her nod, and then, too proud
to leave the room, resumed her seat near the window,
directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated
with Carrie.

She did not know before of Mrs. Graham's return, and
when her aunt casually asked, “Did your husband come

back with you?” she involuntarily held her breath for
the answer, which, when it came, sent the blood in torrents
to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled with
joy. She should see him—he would explain everything
—and she should be guiltless in Durward's sight. This
was the cause of her joy, which was quickly turned into
sorrow by Mrs. Graham's adding, “But he started this
morning for Europe, where he will remain three months,
and perhaps longer, just according to his business.”

The bright flush died away, and was succeeded by paleness,
which did not escape the observation of either
mother or son, the latter of whom had watched her from
the first, noting each change, and interpreting it according
to his fears.

“'Lena, 'Lena, how have I been deceived!” was his
mental cry as she precipitately left the room, saying to her
aunt, who asked what was the matter, that she was faint
and dizzy. Death had been but yesterday within their
walls, and as if softened by its presence, Mrs. Livingstone
actually spoke kindly of her niece, saying, that “constant
watching with poor, dear Mabel had impaired her
health.”

“Perhaps there are other causes which may affect her,”
returned Mrs. Graham, with a meaning look, which,
though lost on Mrs. Livingstone, was noticed by Durward,
who soon proposed leaving.

On their way home, his mother asked if he observed
'Lena when Mr. Graham was mentioned.

Without saying that he did, Durward replied, “I noticed
your remark to Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for
it, for I do not wish you to say a word which will throw
the least shade of suspicion upon 'Lena. Her reputation
as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught
against it.”

“I won't, I won't,” answered Mrs. Graham, anxious
to conciliate her son, but she found it a harder matter to
refrain than she had first supposed.

'Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but
the presence of Durward prevented her from occasionally
giving vent in public to expressions which would have
operated unfavorably against the young girl, and when at
last circumstances occurred which gave her, as she
thought, liberty to free her mind, she was only too willing
to do so. Of those circumstances, in which others
besides 'Lena were concerned, we will speak in another
chapter.