Lena Rivers

by Mary Jane Holmes

Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while he instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said concerning ’Lena’s attachment to Mr. Everett.

“Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,” said ’Lena, observing the expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness, “I assure you there is no harm in it.”

“Of course not,” answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and riding away more puzzled than ever, while ’Lena returned to the house, which everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials.

Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a box from the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs. Livingstone placed in her daughter’s waving hair, bidding her mark their effect. But not a muscle of Anna’s face changed; nothing moved her; and with the utmost indifference she gazed on the preparations around her. A stranger would have said ’Lena was the bride, for, with flushed cheeks and nervously anxious manner, she watched each sun as it rose and set, wondering what the result would be. Once, when asked whom she would have for her bridesmaid and groomsman, Anna had answered, “Nellie and John!” but that could not be, for the latter had imposed upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year ere he spoke to Nellie of that which lay nearest his heart, and in order the better to keep his vow, he had gone from home, first winning from her the promise that she would not become engaged until his return. And now, when he learned of his sister’s request, he refused to come, saying, “if she would make such a consummate fool of herself, he did not wish to see her.”

So Carrie and Durward were substituted, and as this arrangement brought the latter occasionally to the house, ’Lena had opportunities of asking him if there had yet come any answer to her letter; and much oftener than he would otherwise have done, Durward went down to Frankfort, for he felt that it was no unimportant matter which thus deeply interested ’Lena. At last, the day before the bridal came, Durward had gone to the city, and in a state of great excitement ’Lena awaited his return, watching with a trembling heart as the sun went down behind the western hills. Slowly the hours dragged on, and many a time she stole out in the deep darkness to listen, but there was nothing to be heard save the distant cry of the night-owl, and she was about retracing her steps for the fifth time, when from behind a clump of rose-bushes started a little dusky form, which whispered softly, “Is you Miss ’Leny?”

Repressing the scream which came near escaping her lips, ’Lena answered, “Yes; what do you want?” while at the same moment she recognized a little hunch back belonging to General Fontaine.

“Marster Everett tell me to fotch you this, and wait for the answer,” said the boy, passing her a tiny note.

“Master Everett! Is he here?” she exclaimed, catching the note and re-entering the house, where by the light of the hall lamp she read what he had written.

It was very short, but it told all—how he had written again and again, receiving no answer, and was about coming himself when a severe illness prevented. The marriage, he said, was that of his uncle, for whom he was named, and who had in truth gone on to Washington, the home of his second wife. It closed by asking her to meet him, with Anna, on one of the arbor bridges at midnight. Hastily tearing a blank leaf from a book which chanced to be lying in the hall, ’Lena wrote, “We will be there,” and giving it to the negro, bade him hasten back.

There was no longer need to wait for Durward, who, if he got no letter, was not to call, and trembling in every nerve, ’Lena sought her chamber, there to consider what she was next to do. For some time past Carrie had occupied a separate room from Anna, who, she said disturbed her with her late hours and restless turnings, so ’Lena’s part seemed comparatively easy. Waiting until the house was still, she entered Anna’s room, finding her, as she had expected, at her old place by the open window, her head resting upon the sill, and when she approached nearer, she saw that she was asleep.