“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. Livingstone, settling herself back quite composedly in her chair, while Carrie, turning to her brother, asked “what he thought of ’Lena now.”
“Just what I always did,” he replied. “There’s fraud somewhere. Will you let me see that, sir?” advancing toward his father, who, placing the letter in his hand, walked to the window to hide the varied emotions of his face.
Rapidly John Jr. perused it, comprehending the whole then, when it was finished, he seized his hat, and throwing it up in the air, shouted, “Hurrah! Hurrah for Miss ’Lena Rivers Graham, daughter of the Honorable Harry Rivers Graham. I was never so glad in my life. Hurrah!” and again the hat went up, upsetting in its descent a costly vase, the fragments of which followed in the direction of the hat, as the young man capered about the room, perfectly insane with joy.
“Is the boy crazy?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, catching him by the coat as he passed her, while Carrie attempted to snatch the letter from his hand.
“Crazy?—yes,” said he. “Who do you think ’Lena’s father is? No less a person than Mr. Graham himself. Now taunt her again, Cad, with her low origin, if you like. She isn’t coming here to live any more. She’s going to Woodlawn. She’ll marry Durward, while you’ll be a cross, dried-up old maid, eh, Cad?” and he chucked her under the chin, while she began to cry, bidding him let her alone.
“What do you mean?” interposed Mrs. Livingstone, trembling lest it might be true.
“I will read the letter and you can judge for yourself,” replied John.
Both Carrie and her mother were too much astonished to utter a syllable, while, in their hearts, each hoped it would prove untrue. Bending forward, grandma had listened eagerly, her dim eye lighting up as she occasionally caught the meaning of what she heard; but she could not understand it at once, and turning to her son, she said, “What is it, John? what does it mean?”
As well as they could, Mr. Livingstone and John Jr. explained it to her, and when at length she comprehended it, in her own peculiar way she exclaimed, “Thank God that ’Leny is a lady, at last—as good as the biggest on ’em. Oh, I wish Helleny had lived to know who her husband was. Poor critter! Mebby he’ll give me money to go back and see the old place, once more, afore I die.”