University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXXI.
MORE CLOUDS.

Since the morning when Durward had so boldly avowed
himself 'Lena's champion, her health and spirits began to
improve. That she was not wholly indifferent to him she
had every reason to believe, and notwithstanding the
strong barrier between them, hope sometimes whispered
to her of a future, when all that was now so dark and mysterious
should be made plain. But while she was thus
securely dreaming, a cloud, darker and deeper than any
which had yet overshadowed her, was gathering around
her pathway. Gradually had the story of her ride to
Captain Atherton's gained circulation, magnifying itself
as it went, until at last it was currently reported that at
several different times had she been seen riding away from
Sunnyside at unseasonable hours of the night, the time
varying from nine in the evening to three in the morning,
according to the exaggerating powers of the informer.

But few believed it, and yet such is human nature, that
each and every one repeated it to his or her neighbor,
until at last it reached Mrs. Graham, who, forgetting the
caution of her son, said, with a very wise look, that “she
was not at all surprised—she had from the first suspected
'Lena, and she had the best of reasons for so doing!”

Of course Mrs. Graham's friend was exceedingly anxious

to know what she meant, and by dint of quizzing, questioning,
and promising never to tell, she at last drew out
just enough of the story to know that Mr. Graham had a
daguerreotype which looked just like 'Lena, and that Mrs.
Graham had no doubt whatever that she was in the habit
of writing to him. This was of course repeated, notwithstanding
the promise of secrecy, and then many of
the neighbors suddenly remembered some little circumstance,
trivial in itself, but all going to swell the amount
of evidence against poor 'Lena, who, unconscious of the
gathering storm, did not for a time observe the sidelong
glances cast toward her whenever she appeared in public.

Erelong, however, the cool nods and distant manners of
her acquaintances began to attract her attention, causing
her to wonder what it meant. But there was no one of
whom she would ask an explanation. John Jr. was gone
—Anna was gone—and to crown all, Durward, too, left
the neighborhood just as the first breath of scandal was
beginning to set the waves of gossip in motion. In his
absence, Mrs. Graham felt no restraint, whatever, and all
that she knew, together with many things that she didn't
know, she told, until it became a matter of serious debate
whether 'Lena ought not to be cut entirely. Mrs. Graham
and her clique decided in the affirmative, and when
Mrs. Fontaine, who was a weak woman, wholly governed
by public opinion, gave a small party for her daughter
Maria, 'Lena was purposely omitted. Hitherto she had
been greatly petted and admired by both Maria and her
mother, and she felt the slight sensibly, the more so, as
Carrie darkly hinted that girls who could not behave
themselves must not expect to associate with respectable
people.

“'Leny not invited!” said Mrs. Nichols, espousing the
cause of her grandaughter. “What's to pay, I wonder.

Miss Fontaine and the gineral, too, allus appeared to
think a sight on her.”

“I presume the general does now,” answered Mrs.
Livingstone, “but it's natural that Mrs. Fontaine should
feel particular about the reputation of her daughter's
associates.”

“And ain't 'Leny's reputation as good as the best on
'em,” asked Mrs. Nichols, her shriveled cheeks glowing
with insulted pride.

“It's the general opinion that it might be improved,”
was Mrs. Livingstone's haughty answer, as she left her
mother-in-law to her own reflections.

“It'll kill her stone dead,” thought Mrs. Nichols, revolving
in her own mind the propriety of telling 'Lena what
her aunt had said. “It'll kill her stone dead, and I can't
tell her. Mebby it'll blow over pretty soon.”

That afternoon several ladies, who were in the habit of
calling upon 'Lena, came to Maple Grove, but not one
asked for her, and with her eyes and ears now sharpened,
she fancied that once, as she was passing the parlor door,
she heard her own name coupled with that of Mr. Graham.
A startling light burst upon her, and staggering to
her room, she threw herself, half fainting, upon the bed,
where an hour afterward she was found by Aunt Milly.

The old negress had also heard the story in its most
aggravated form, and readily divining the cause of 'Lena's
grief, attempted to console her, telling her “not to mind
what the good-for-nothin' critters said; they war only
mad 'cause she's so much handsomer and trimmer built.”

“You know, then,” said 'Lena, lifting her head from
the pillow. “You know what it is; so tell me, for I shall
die if I remain longer in suspense.

“Lor' bless the child,” exclaimed old Milly, “to think

she's the very last one to know, when it's been common
talk more than a month!”

“What's been common talk? What is it?” demanded
'Lena; and old Milly, seating herself upon a trunk, commenced:
“Why, honey, haint you hearn how you done
got Mr. Graham's pictur and gin him yourn long of one
of them curls—how he's writ and you've writ, and how
he's gone off to the eends of the airth to git rid on you—
and how you try to cotch young Mas'r Durward, who
hate the sight on you—how you waylay him one day, settin'
on a rock out by the big gate—and how you been
seen mighty nigh fifty times comin' home a foot from Captain
Atherton's in the night, rainin' thunder and lightnin'
hard as it could pour—how after you done got Miss Anna
to 'lope, you ax Captain Atherton to have you, and git
mad as fury 'cause he 'fuses—and how your mother warn't
none too likely, and a heap more that I can't remember—
hain't you heard of none on't?”

“None, none,” answered 'Lena, while Milly continued:
“It's a sin and shame for quality folks that belong to the
meetin' to pitch into a poor 'fenseless girl and pick her all
to pieces. Reckon they done forgot what our Heabenly
Marster told 'em when he lived here in old Kentuck, how
they must dig the truck out of thar own eyes afore they
go to meddlin' with others; but they never think of him
these days, 'cept Sundays, and then as soon as meetin' is
out, they done git together and talk about you and Mas'r
Graham orfully. I hearn 'em last Sunday, I and Miss
Fontaine's cook, Cilly, and if they don't quit it, thar's a
heap on us goin' to leave the church!”

'Lena smiled in spite of herself, and when Milly, who
arose to leave the room, again told her not to care, as all
the blacks were for her, she felt that she was not utterly
alone in her wretchedness. Still, the sympathy of the

colored people alone could not help her, and daily matters
grew worse, until at last even Nellie Douglass' faith was
shaken, and 'Lena's heart died within her as she saw in her
signs of neglect. Never had Mr. Livingstone exchanged
a word with her upon the subject, but the reserve with
which he treated her plainly indicated that he, too, was
prejudiced, while her aunt and Carrie let no opportunity
pass of slighting her, the latter invariably leaving the
room if she entered it. On one such occasion, in a state
bordering almost on distraction, 'Lena flew back to her
own chamber, where to her great surprise, she found her
uncle in close conversation with her grandmother, whose
face told the pain his words were inflicting. 'Lena's first
impulse was to fall at his feet and implore his protection,
but he prevented her by immediately leaving the room.

“Oh, grandmother, grandmother,” she cried, “help me
or I shall die.”

In her heart Mrs. Nichols believed her guilty, for John
had said so—he would not lie; and to 'Lena's touching
appeal for sympathy, she replied, as she rocked to and fro,
“I wish you had died, 'Leny, years and years ago.”

'T was the last drop in the brimming bucket, and with
the wailing cry, “God help me now—no one else can,”
the heart-broken girl fell fainting to the floor, while in silent
agony Mrs. Nichols hung over her, shouting for help.

Both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie refused to come, but
at the first call Aunt Milly hastened to the room. “Poor
sheared lamb,” said she, gathering back the thick, clustering
curls which shaded 'Lena's marble face, “she's innocent
as the new-born baby.”

“Oh, if I could think so,” said grandma; but she could
not, and when the soft brown eyes again unclosed, and
eagerly sought hers, they read distrust and doubt, and

motioning her grandmother away, 'Lena said she would
rather be alone.

Many and bitter were the thoughts which crowded
upon her as she lay there watching the daylight fade from
the distant hills, and musing of the stern realities around
her. Gradually her thoughts assumed a definite purpose;
she would go away from a place where she was never
wanted, and where she now no longer wished to stay.
Mr. Everett had promised to be her friend, and to him
she would go. At different intervals her uncle and cousin
had given her money to the amount of twenty dollars,
which was still in her possession, and which she knew
would take her far on her road.

With 'Lena to resolve was to do, and that night, when
sure her grandmother was asleep, she arose and hurriedly
made the needful preparations for her flight. Unlike most
aged people, Mrs. Nichols slept soundly, and 'Lena had
no fears of waking her. Very stealthily she moved around
the room, placing in a sachel, which she could carry upon
her arm, the few things she would need. Then, sitting
down by the table, she wrote:

All was at length ready, and then bending gently over
the wrinkled face so calmly sleeping, 'Lena gazed through
blinding tears upon each lineament, striving to imprint it
upon her heart's memory, and wondering if they would
ever meet again. The hand which had so often rested
caressingly upon her young head, was lying outside the
counterpane, and with one burning kiss upon it she turned
away, first placing the lamp by the window, where its
light, shining upon her from afar, would be the last thing
she could see of the home she was leaving.

The road to Midway, the nearest railway station, was
well known to her, and without once pausing, lest her
courage should fail her, she pressed forward. The distance
which she had to travel was about three and a half
miles, and as she did not dare trust herself in the highway,
she struck into the fields, looking back as long as the
glimmering light from the window could be seen, and then
when that home star had disappeared from view, silently
imploring aid from Him who alone could help her now.
She was in time for the cars, and though the depot agent
looked curiously at her slight, shrinking figure, he asked
no questions, and when the train moved rapidly away,
'Lena looked out upon the dark, still night, and felt that
she was a wanderer in the world.