“I’ve been contemplating a visit there for some time and before Mr. Graham left home this morning, I had decided to go,” said she, at the same time proposing that Durward should accompany her.

To this consented willingly, for in the first shock of his disappointment, a change of place and scene was what he most desired.  The hot blood of the south, which burned in his veins, seemed all on fire, and he felt that he could not, for the present, at least be daily associated with his stepfather.  An absence of several days, he thought, might have the effect of calming him down.  It was accordingly decided that he should on the morrow, start with her for Louisville, to be gone two weeks; and with this understanding they parted, Durward going to his own chamber, there to review the past and strive, if possible, to efface from his heart every memory of ’Lena, whom he had loved so well.  But ’twas all in vain; he could not so soon forget her and far into the hours of night he sat alone striving to frame some excuse for her conduct.  The fact that his father possessed her daguerreotype might possibly be explained, without throwing censure upon her; but the falsehood—­never; and with the firm conviction that she was lost to him forever, he at last retired to rest, just as the clock in the ball below proclaimed the hour of midnight.

Meantime, Mrs. Graham was pondering in her own mind the probable result of a letter which, in the heat of passion, she had that day dispatched to ’Lena, accusing her of “marring the domestic peace of a hitherto happy family,” and while she cast some reflections upon her birth, commanding her never, under any circumstances, “to venture into her presence!”

This cruel letter had been sent to the office before Durward’s return, and as she well knew how much he would disapprove of it, she resolved not to tell him, secretly hoping ’Lena would keep her own counsel.  “Base creature!” said she, “to give my husband her likeness—­but he shall never see it again;” and with stealthy step she advanced toward the secret drawer, which she again opened, and taking from it both daguerreotype and ringlet, locked it, replacing the key in the pocket where she found it.  Then seizing the long, bright curl, she hurled it into the glowing grate, shuddering as she did so, and trembling, as if she really knew a wrong had been done to the dead.

Opening the case, she looked once more upon the hated features, which now seemed to regard her mournfully, as if reproaching her for what she had done.  No part of the dress was visible—­nothing except the head and neck, which was uncovered, and over which fell the chestnut curls, whose companion so recently lay seething and scorching on the burning coals.