On their way home from Havana, Mr. Graham had proposed stopping a day in Cincinnati, taking rooms at the Burnet House, where the first individual whom they saw at the table was our old acquaintance, Joel Slocum. Not finding his business as profitable in Lexington as he could wish, he had recently removed to Cincinnati. Here his aspiring mind had prompted him to board at the Burnet House, until he’d seen the “Ohio elephant,” when he intended retiring to one of the cheaper boarding-houses. The moment he saw Mr. Graham, a grin of recognition became visible on his face, bringing to view a row of very long and very yellow teeth, apparently unacquainted with the use of either water or brush.
“Who is that loafer who seems to know you?” asked Mrs. Graham, directing her husband’s attention toward Joel.
Mr. Graham replied that “he had once seen him in Lexington, and that he took daguerreotypes.”
The moment dinner was over, Joel came forward, going through with one of his wonderful bows, and exclaiming, with his peculiar nasal twang, “Now you don’t say this is you. And this is your old woman, I s’pose. Miss Graham, how-dy-du? Darned if you don’t look like Aunt Nancy, only she’s lean and you are squatty. S’posin’ you give me a call and get your picters taken. I didn’t get an all-killin’ sight of practice in Lexington, for the plaguy greenhorns didn’t know enough to patternize me, and ’taint a tarnation sight better here; but you,” turning to Mr. Graham, “employed me once, and pretended to be suited.”
Mr. Graham turned scarlet, and saying something in an undertone to Joel, gave his wife his arm, leading her to their room, where he made an excuse for leaving her awhile. Looking from the window a moment after, Mrs. Graham saw him walking down the street in close conversation with Joel, who, by the way of showing his importance, lifted his white beaver to almost every man he met. Instantly her curiosity was roused, and when her husband returned, every motion of his was narrowly watched, the espionage resulting in the conviction that there was something in his possession which he did not wish her to see. Once, when she came unexpectedly upon him, he hastily thrust something into his pocket, appearing so much confused that she resolved to ferret out the secret.
Accordingly, that night, when assured by his heavy breathing that he was asleep, she crept softly from his side, and rummaging his pockets, found a daguerreotype, which by the full moonlight she saw was a fac-simile of the one she had in her possession. The arrangement of the hair—everything—was the same, and utterly confounded, she stood gazing first at one and then at the other, wondering what it meant. Could ’Lena be in the city? She thought not, and even if she were, the last daguerreotype was not so much like her, she fancied, as the first. At all events, she did not dare secrete it as she had done its companion, and stealthily returning it to its place, she crept back to bed.
The next night they reached Woodlawn, where they learned that Mabel was buried that day. Of course ’Lena could not have been absent from home. Mrs. Graham felt convinced of that, and gradually the conviction came upon her that another than ’Lena was the original of the daguerreotypes. And yet she was not generous enough to tell Durward so. She knew he was deceived—she wished him to remain so—and to effect it, she refrained from seeking an explanation from her husband, fearing lest ’Lena should be proved innocent. Her husband knew there was a misunderstanding between Durward and ’Lena, and if she were to ask him about the pictures, he would, she thought, at once suspect the cause of that misunderstanding, and as a matter of course, exonerate ’Lena from all blame. The consequence of this she foresaw, and therefore she resolved upon keeping her own counsel, satisfied if in the end she prevented Durward from making ’Lena his wife.
To effect this, she endeavored, during the winter, to keep the matter almost constantly before Durward’s mind, frequently referring to ’Lena’s agitation when she first learned that Mr. Graham had started for Europe. She had called with her son at Maple Grove on the very day of her husband’s departure. ’Lena had not met the lady before, since that night in Frankfort, and now, with the utmost hauteur, she returned her nod, and then, too proud to leave the room, resumed her seat near the window directly opposite the divan on which Durward was seated with Carrie.
She did not know before of Mrs. Graham’s return, and when her aunt casually asked, “Did your husband come back with you?” she involuntarily held her breath for the answer, which, when it came, sent the blood in torrents to her face and neck, while her eyes sparkled with joy. She should see him—he would explain everything—and she should be guiltless in Durward’s sight. This was the cause of her joy, which was quickly turned into sorrow by Mrs. Graham’s adding,
“But he started this morning for Europe, where he will remain three months, and perhaps longer, just according to his business.”