no more guilty than
_you_. By George, I most cried when I heard how nobly she worked to
save Anna from old Baldhead. And this is her reward! Gracious
Peter! I sometimes wish there wasn't a woman in the world!"

"If they'd all marry you, there wouldn't be long!" retorted Carrie.

"You've said it now, haven't you?" answered John Jr., while his
father suggested that they stop quarreling, adding, as an apology for
his own neglect, that Durward had gone after 'Lena, who was probably
at Mr. Everett's, and that he himself had advertised in all the
principal papers.

"Just like Bellmont! He's a fine fellow and deserves 'Lena, if
anybody does," exclaimed John Jr., while Carrie chimed in, "Pshaw!
I've no idea he's gone for her. Why, they've hardly spoken for
several months, and besides that, Mrs. Graham will never suffer him
to marry one of so low origin."

"The deary me!" said John Jr., mimicking his sister's manner, "how
much lower is her origin than yours?"

Carrie's reply was prevented by the appearance of her grandmother,
who, hearing that John Jr. was there, had hobbled in to see him.
Perfectly rational on all other subjects, Mrs. Nichols still
persisted in saying of 'Lena, that she had killed her, and now, when
her first greeting with John Jr. was over, she whispered in his ear,
"Have they told you 'Lena was dead? She is--I killed her--it says so
here," and she handed him the almost worn-out note which she
constantly carried with her. Rough as he seemed at times, there was
in John Jr.'s nature many a tender spot, and when he saw the look of
childish imbecility on his grandmother's face, he pressed his strong
arm around her, and a tear actually dropped upon her gray hair as he
told her 'Lena was not dead--he was going to find her and bring her
home. At that moment old Caesar, who had been to the post-office,
returned, bringing Mr. Graham's letter, which had just arrived.

"That's Mr. Graham's handwriting," said Carrie; glancing at the
superscription. "Perhaps _he_ knows something of 'Lena!" and she
looked meaningly at her mother, who, with a peculiar twist of her
mouth, replied, "Very likely."

"You are right. He _does_ know something of her," said Mr.
Livingstone, as he finished reading the letter. "She is with him at
a little village called Laurel Hill, somewhere in New York."

"There! I told you so. Poor Mrs. Graham. It will kill her. I must
go and see her immediately," exclaimed Mrs. Livingston