pon her sofa, Durward entered the parlor and began
good-humoredly to rally his mother upon her wobegone face, asking what
was the matter now.

"Oh, you poor boy, you," she sobbed, "you'll soon have no mother to go
to, but you must attribute my death wholly to your stepfather, who alone
will be to blame for making you an orphan!"

Durward knew his mother well, and he thought he knew his father too, and
while he respected him, he blamed her for the unreasonable whims of
which he was becoming weary. He knew there had been a jar in the
morning, but he had supposed that settled, and now, when he found his
mother ten times worse than ever, he felt half vexed, and said, "Do be a
woman mother, and not give way to such fancies. I really wonder father
shows as much patience with you as he does, for you make our home very
unpleasant; and really," he continued, in a laughing tone, "if this goes
on much longer, I shall, in self-defense, get me a wife and horns of my
own."

"And if report is true, that wife will be 'Lena Rivers," said Mrs.
Graham, in order to try him.

"Very likely--I can't tell what may be," was his answer; to which Mrs.
Graham replied, "that it would be extremely pleasant to marry a bride
with whom one's father was in love."

"How ridiculous!" Durward exclaimed. "As though my father cared aught
for 'Lena, except to admire her for her beauty and agreeable manners."

"But, he's acknowledged it. He's just told me, 'God knew he loved her
better than he did me.' What do you think of that?"

"Did Mr. Graham say that?" asked Durward, looking his mother directly in
her face.

"Yes he did, not fifteen minutes before you came in, and it's not a
secret either. Others know it and talk about it. Think of his giving
her that pony."

Durward was taken by surprise. Knowing none of the circumstances, he
felt deeply pained at his father's remark. He had always supposed he
liked 'Lena, and he was glad of it, too, but to love her more than his
own wife, was a different thing, and for the first time in his life
Durward distrusted his father. Still, 'Lena was not to blame; there was
comfort in that, and that very afternoon found him again at her side,
admiring her more and more, and learning each time he saw her to love
her better. And she--she dared not confess to herself how dear he was
to her--she dared not hope her affection was returned. She could not
think of the disappointment the future might bring, so she