uld I had never seen her;" and the
tears which fell like rain upon her cheek, were not unworthy of the
strong man who shed them. The cold water with which they profusely
bathed her face and neck, restored her, and then Durward, who could
bear the scene no longer, glided silently into the next room.

When he was gone, Mrs. Graham, who seemed bent upon tormenting 'Lena,
asked "what she thought about it now?"

"Please don't speak to me again, for I am very, very wretched," said
'Lena softly, while Mrs. Graham continued: "Have you nothing to offer
in explanation?"

"Nothing, nothing--it is a dark mystery to me, and I wish that I was
dead," answered 'Lena, sobbing passionately.

"Better wish to live and repent," said Mrs. Graham, beginning to read
her a long sermon on her duty, to which 'Lena paid no attention, and
the moment she felt that she could walk, she arose to go.

The moon was shining brightly, and as Mr. Douglass lived not far
away, Mrs. Graham did not deem an escort necessary. But Durward
thought differently. He could not walk with her side by side, as he
had often done before, but he would follow at a distance, to see that
no harm came near her. There was no danger of his being discovered,
for 'Lena was too much absorbed in her own wretchedness to heed aught
about her, and in silence he walked behind her until he saw the door
of Mr. Douglass's house close upon her. Then feeling that there was
an inseparable barrier between them, he returned to his hotel, where
he found his mother exulting over the downfall of one whom, for some
reason, she had always disliked.

"Didn't she look confounded, though, when I showed her the picture?"
said she; to which Durward replied, by asking "when and why she sent
the letter."

"I did it because I was a mind to, and I am not sorry for it,
either," was Mrs. Graham's crusty answer, whereupon the conversation
was dropped, and as if by a tacit agreement, the subject was not
again resumed during their stay in Louisville.

* * * * * *

It would be impossible to describe 'Lena's emotion as she returned to
the house. Twice in the hall was she obliged to grasp at the
banister to keep from falling, and knowing that such excessive
agitation would be remarked, she seated herself upon the stairs until
she felt composed enough to enter the parlor. Fortunately, Mabel was
alone, and so absorbed in the fortunes of "Uncle True and little
Gerty," as