This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or not, made no answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon the prospect beyond, which for him had no attractions then.  The sight of that daguerreotype had stirred up many bitter memories, and for some time he stood gazing vacantly through the window, and thinking—­who shall say of what?  It would seem that the daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination for him, for after it had been duly examined and laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it minutely, asking where it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure a similar one.

“I have a fancy for such scenes,” said he, “and would like to have just such a picture.  Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say.  He can take one from this, I suppose.  I mean to see him;” and with his usual good-morning, he departed.

Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort, determining, if a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer ’Lena his heart and fortune.

He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day.  For a time they conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which was entirely foreign from that which lay nearest Durward’s heart.  At last the conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had heard.

“I really think, ’Lena,” said he, laughingly, “that you ought to patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the sake of seeing you.  Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for me, will you?”

Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls, ’Lena answered lightly, “Oh, no, no.  I have never had my picture taken in my life, and I shan’t begin with Joel.”

“Never had it taken!” repeated Durward, in some surprise.

“No, never,” said ’Lena, and Durward continued drawing her nearer to him, “It is time you had, then.  So have it taken for me.  I mean what I say,” he continued, as he met the glance of her merry eyes.  “There is nothing I should prize more than your miniature, except, indeed the original, which you will not refuse me, when I ask it, will you?”

’Lena’s mirth was all gone—­she knew he was in earnest now.  She felt it in the pressure of his arm, which encircled her waist; she saw it in his eye, and heard it in the tones of his voice.  But what should she say?  Closer he drew her to his side; she felt his breath upon her cheek; and an inaudible answer trembled on her lips, when noiselessly through the door came Mr. Graham, starting when he saw their position, and offering to withdraw if he was intruding.  ’Lena was surprised and excited, and springing up, she laid her hand upon his arm as he was about to leave the room, bidding him stay and saying he was always welcome there.

So he stayed, and with the first frown upon his brow which ’Lena had ever seen, Durward left—­left without receiving an answer to his question, or even referring to it again, though ’Lena accompanied him to the door, half dreading, yet hoping, he would repeat it.  But he did not, and wishing her much pleasure in his father’s company, he walked away, writing in his heart bitter things against him, not her.  On his way home he fell in with Du Pont, who, Frenchman-like, had taken a little too much wine, and was very talkative.