’Lena—­his ’Lena, he had fondly hoped to call her.  But that was over now—­she had deceived him—­told him a deliberate falsehood—­refused him her daguerreotype and given it to his father, whose secrecy concerning it indicated something wrong.  His faith was shaken, and yet for the sake of what she had been to him, he would spare her good name.  He could not bear to hear the world breathe aught against her, for possibly she might be innocent; but no, there was no mistaking the falsehood, and Durward groaned in bitterness as he handed the picture to his mother, bidding her return it where she found it.  Mrs. Graham had never seen her son thus moved, and obeying him, she placed her hand upon his arm, asking, “why he was so affected—­what she was to him?”

“Everything, everything,” said he, laying his face upon the table.  “’Lena Rivers was all the world to me.  I loved her as I shall never love again.”

And then, without withholding a thing, Durward told his mother all—­how he had that very morning gone to Frankfort with the intention of offering ’Lena his hand—­how he had partially done so, when they were interrupted by the entrance of a visitor, he did not say whom.

“Thank heaven for your escape.  I can bear your father’s conduct, if it is the means of saving you from her,” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, while her son continued:  “And now, mother, I have a request to make of you—­a request which you must grant.  I have loved ’Lena too well to cease from loving her so soon.  And though I can never again think to make her my wife, I will not hear her name lightly spoken by the world, who must never know what we do.  Promise me, mother, to keep secret whatever you may know against her.”

“Do you think me bereft of my senses,” asked Mrs. Graham petulantly, “that I should wish to proclaim my affairs to every one?”

“No, no, mother,” he answered, “but you are easily excited, and say things you had better not.  Mrs. Livingstone bears ’Lena no good will, you know, and sometimes when she is speaking disparagingly of her, you may be thrown off your guard, and tell what you know.  But this must not be.  Promise me, mother, will you?”

Durward was very pale, and the drops of sweat stood thickly about his mouth as he asked this of his mother who, mentally congratulating herself upon her son’s escape, promised what he asked, at the same time repeating to him all that she heard from Mrs. Livingstone concerning ’Lena, until Durward interrupted her with, “Stop, stop, I’ve heard enough.  Nothing which Mrs. Livingstone could say would have weighed a straw, but the conviction of my own eyes and ears have undeceived me, and henceforth ’Lena and I are as strangers.”

Nothing could please Mrs. Graham better, for the idea of her son’s marrying a poor, unknown girl, was dreadful, and though she felt indignant toward her husband so peculiar was her nature that she would not have had matters otherwise if she could and when Durward, who disliked scenes, suggested the propriety of her not speaking to his father on the subject at present he assented, saying that it would be more easy for her to refrain, as she was intending to start for Louisville on the morrow.