University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.
REACTION.

The light of a dark, cloudy morning shone faintly in at
the window of Grandma Nichols' room, and roused her
from her slumber. On the pillow beside her rested no
youthful head—there was no kind voice bidding her
“good morrow”—no gentle hand ministering to her comfort—for
'Lena was gone, and on the table lay the note,
which at first escaped Mrs. Nichols' attention. Thinking
her granddaughter had arisen early and gone before her,
she attempted to make her own toilet, which was nearly
completed, when her eye caught the note. It was directed
to her, and with a dim foreboding she took it up, reading
that her child was gone—gone from those who should
have sustained her in her hour of trial, but who, instead,
turned against her, crushing her down, until in a state of
desperation she had fled. It was in vain that the breakfast-bell
rang out its loud summons. Grandma did not
heed it; and when Corinda came up to seek her, she started
back in affright at the scene before her. Mrs. Nichols'
cap was not yet on, and her thin gray locks fell around
her livid face as she swayed from side to side, moaning at
intervals, “God forgive me that I broke her heart.”

The sound of the opening door aroused her, and looking
up she said, pointing toward the vacant bed, “Leny's
gone; I've killed her.”

Corinda waited for no more, but darting through the
hall and down the stairs, she rushed into the dining-room,
announcing the startling news that “old miss had done
murdered Miss 'Lena, and hid her under the bed!”

“What will come next!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone,

following her husband to his mother's room, where a moment
sufficed to explain the whole.

'Lena was gone, and the shock had for a time unsettled
the poor old lady's reason. The sight of his mother's distress
aroused all the better nature of Mr. Livingstone,
and tenderly soothing her, he told her that 'Lena should
be found—he would go for her himself. Carrie, too, was
touched, and with unwonted kindness she gathered up
the scattered locks, and tying on the muslin cap, placed
her hand for an instant on the wrinkled brow.

“Keep it there; it feels soft, like 'Leny's,” said Mrs.
Nichols, the tears gushing out at this little act of
sympathy.

Meantime, Mr. Livingstone, after a short consultation
with his wife, hurried off to the neighbors, none of whom
knew aught of the fugitive, and all of whom offered their
assistance in searching. Never once did it occur to Mr.
Livingstone that she might have taken the cars, for that
he knew would need money, and he supposed she had
none in her possession. By a strange coincidence, too,
the depot agent who sold her the ticket, left the very next
morning for Indiana, where he had been intending to go
for some time, and where he remained for more than a
week, thus preventing the information which he could
otherwise have given concerning her flight. Consequently,
Mr. Livingstone returned each night, weary and disheartened,
to his home, where all the day long his mother
moaned and wept, asking for her 'Lena.

At last, as day after day went by and brought no tidings
of the wanderer, she ceased to ask for her, but
whenever a stranger came to the house, she would whisper
softly to them, “'Leny's dead. I killed her; did you
know it?” at the same time passing to them the crumpled
note, which she ever held in her hand.

'Lena was a general favorite in the neighborhood which
had so recently denounced her, and when it became known
that she was gone, there came a reaction, and those who
had been the most bitter against her now changed their
opinion, wondering how they could ever have thought her
guilty. The stories concerning her visits to Captain Atherton's
were traced back to their source, resulting in exonerating
her from all blame, while many things, hitherto
kept secret, concerning Anna's engagement, were brought
to light, and 'Lena was universally commended for her efforts
to save her cousin from a marriage so wholly unnatural.
Severely was the captain censured for the part he
had taken in deceiving Anna, a part which he frankly confessed,
while he openly espoused the cause of the fugitive.

Mrs. Livingstone, on the contrary, was not generous
enough to make a like confession. Public suspicion pointed
to her as the intercepter of Anna's letters, and though
she did not deny it, she wondered what that had to do
with 'Lena, at the same time asking “how they expected
to clear up the Graham affair.”

This was comparatively easy, for in the present state of
feeling the neighborhood were willing to overlook many
things which had before seemed dark and mysterious,
while Mrs. Graham, for some most unaccountable reason,
suddenly retracted almost everything she had said, acknowledging
that she was too hasty in her conclusions,
and evincing for the missing girl a degree of interest perfectly
surprising to Mrs. Livingstone, who looked on in
utter astonishment, wondering what the end would be.
About this time Durward returned, greatly pained at the
existing state of things. In Frankfort, where 'Lena's
flight was a topic of discussion, he had met with the depot
agent, who was on his way home, and who spoke of
the young girl whose rather singular manner had attracted

his attention. This was undoubtedly 'Lena, and after
a few moments' conversation with his mother, Durward
announced his intention of going after her, at least as far
as Rockford, where he fancied she might have gone.

To his surprise his mother made no objection, but her
manner seemed so strange that he at last asked what was
the matter.

“Nothing—nothing in particular,” said she, “only I've
been thinking it all over lately, and I've come to the conclusion
that perhaps 'Lena is innocent after all.”

Oh, how eagerly Durward caught at her words, interrupting
her almost before she had finished speaking, with,
“Do you know anything? Have you heard anything!”

She had heard—she did know; but ere she could reply,
the violent ringing of the door-bell, and the arrival
of visitors, prevented her answer. In a perfect fever of
excitement Durward glanced at his watch. If he waited
long, he would be too late for the cars, and with a hasty
adieu he left the parlor, turning back ere he reached the
outer door, and telling his mother he must speak with her
alone. If Mrs. Graham had at first intended to divulge
what she knew, the impulse was now gone, and to her
son's urgent request that she should disclose what she
knew, she replied, “It isn't much—only your father has
another daguerreotype, the counterpart of the first one.
He procured it in Cincinnati, and 'Lena I know was not
there.”

“Is that all?” asked Durward, in a disappointed tone.

“Why, no, not exactly. I have examined both pictures
closely, and I do not think they resemble 'Lena as
much as we at first supposed. Possibly it might have
been some one else, her mother, may be,” and Mrs. Graham
looked earnestly at her son, who rather impatiently
answered, “Her mother died years ago.”

At the same time he walked away, pondering upon what
he had heard, and hoping, half believing, that 'Lena would
yet be exonerated from all blame. For a moment Mrs.
Graham gazed after him, regretting that she had not told
him all, but thinking there was time enough yet, and remembering
that her husband had said she might wait until
his return, if she chose, she went back to the parlor,
while Durward kept on his way.