was about to sever
it, when 'Lena, divining her intentions, sprang up, and gathering up
her hair, exclaimed, "No, no, not these; take everything else, but
leave me my curls. Durward thought they were beautiful, and I cannot
lose them."

At the side door below, the noonday stage was unloading its passengers,
and as the tones of their voices came in at the open window, 'Lena
suddenly grew calmer, and assuming a listening attitude, whispered,
"Hark! He's come. Don't you hear him?"

But Aunt Betsey heard nothing, except her husband calling her to come
down, and leaving 'Lena, who had almost instantly become quiet, to the
care of a neighbor, she started for the kitchen, meeting in the lower
hall with Hetty, who was showing one of the passengers to a room where
he could wash and refresh himself after his dusty ride. As they passed
each other, Hetty asked, "Have you clipped her curls?"

"No," answered Mrs. Aldergrass, "she wouldn't let me touch 'em, for she
said that Durward, whom she talks so much about, liked 'em, and they
mustn't be cut off."

Instantly the stranger, whose elegant appearance both Hetty and her
mistress had been admiring, stopped, and turning to the latter, said,
"Of whom are you speaking?"

"Of a young girl that came in the stage, sick, five or six days ago,"
answered Mrs. Aldergrass.

"What is her name, and where does she live?" continued the stranger.

"She calls herself 'Lena, but the 'tother name I don't know, and I
guess she lives in Kentucky or Massachusetts."

The young man waited to hear no more, but mechanically followed Hetty
to his room, starting and turning pale as a wild, unnatural laugh fell
on his ear.

"It is the young lady, sir," said Hetty, observing his agitated manner.
"She raves most all the time, and the doctor says she'll die if she
don't stop."

The gentleman nodded, and the next moment he was as he wished to be,
alone. He had found her then--his lost 'Lena--sick, perhaps dying, and
his heart gave one agonized throb as he thought, "What if she should
die? Yet why should I wish her to live?" he asked, "when she is as
surely lost to me as if she were indeed resting in her grave!"

And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet
be well, else, perhaps, he had never followed her. Believing she would
stop at Mr. Everett's, he had come on thus far, finding her where he
least expected it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure
mingled