Chapter 21

later, hear of his present to ’Lena, and he well knew that such an event would surely be followed by a storm, but after what had taken place between them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for he had thought her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable of great things—as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband with his preference for ’Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.

“Say,” she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a slipper), “say—I will be answered. Don’t you like ’Lena better than you do me?”

Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated question, he at length replied, “God knows I’ve far more reason to love her than I have you.” At the same moment he left the room, in time to avoid a sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who did not expect such an answer, had fallen.

“Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?” he thought, as he wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew calmer, and cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what he was) whispered, “Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace.”

So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking how his conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him far than his own life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his wife lay upon 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 home 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 lived on the present, waiting anxiously for his coming, and striving hard to do the things which she thought would please him best.

True to her promise, Mabel had commenced giving her instructions upon the piano, and they were in the midst of their first lesson, when who should walk in, but Monsieur Du Pont, bowing, and saying “he had been hired by von nice gentleman, to give Mademoiselle Rivers lessons in musique.”

’Lena immediately thought of her uncle, who had once proposed her sharing in the instructions of her cousin, but who, as usual, was overruled by his wife.

“’Twas my uncle, was it not?” she asked of Du Pont, who replied, “I promised not to tell. He say, though, he connected with mademoiselle.”

And ’Lena, thinking it was of course Mr. Livingstone, who, on his wife’s account, wished it a secret, readily consented to receive Du Pont as a teacher in place of Mabel, who still expressed her willingness to assist her whenever it was necessary. Naturally fond of music, ’Lena’s improvement was rapid, and when she found how gratified Durward appeared, she redoubled her exertions, practicing always five, and sometimes six hours a day.