to tell, and in quite a passion Mrs.
Livingstone laid the case before her husband.

"Lena had been off that dark, rainy night, riding somewhere with
somebody, she wouldn't tell who, but she (Mrs. Livingstone) most knew
if was Durward, and something must be done."

Accordingly, next day; when they chanced to be alone, Mr. Livingstone
took the opportunity of questioning 'Lena, who dared not disobey him,
and with many tears she confessed the whole, saying that "if it were
wrong she was very sorry."

"You acted foolishly, to say the least of it," answered her uncle,
adding, dryly, that he thought she troubled herself altogether too
much about Anna, who seemed happy and contented.

Still he was ill at ease. 'Lena's fears disturbed him, and for many
days he watched his daughter narrowly, admitting to himself that
there was something strange about her. But possibly all engaged
girls acted so; his wife said they did; and hating anything like a
scene, he concluded to let matters take their course, half hoping,
and half believing, too, that something would occur to prevent the
marriage. What it would be, or by what agency it would be brought
about, he didn't know, but he resolved to let 'Lena alone, and when
his wife insisted upon his "lecturing her soundly for meddling," he
refused, venturing even to say, that, "she hadn't meddled."

Meantime a new idea had entered 'Lena's mind. She would write to Mr.
Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such
things in stories, and it could do no harm. Gradually as she wrote,
hope grew strong within her, and it became impressed upon her that
there had been some deep-laid, fiendish plot. If so, she dared not
trust her letter with old Caesar, who might be bribed by his
mistress. And how to convey it to the office was now the grand
difficulty. As if fortune favored her plan, Durward, that very
afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as he said, on his way to
Frankfort.

'Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but
to save Anna she could do almost any thing. Hastily securing the
letter, and throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn
and out upon the turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming.

"'Lena--excuse me--Miss Rivers, is it you?" asked Durward, touching
his hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if she
could trust him.

"Trust me? Yes, with anything," answered Durward, quickly
dismounting,