In the meantime, ’Lena waited impatiently for an answer to the letter which she had sent to Mr. Graham, but day after day glided by, and still no tidings came.  At last, as if everything had conspired against her, she heard that he was lying dangerously ill of a fever at Havana, whither he had gone in quest of an individual whose presence was necessary in the settlement of the estate.

The letter which brought this intelligence to Mrs. Graham, also contained a request that she would come to him immediately, and within a few days after its receipt, she started for Cuba, together with Durward, who went without again seeing ’Lena.

They found him better than they expected.  The danger was past, but he was still too weak to move himself, and the physician said it would be many weeks ere he was able to travel.  This rather pleased Mrs. Graham than otherwise.  She was fond of change, and had often desired to visit Havana, so now that she was there, she made the best of it, and for once in her life enacted the part of a faithful, affectionate wife.

Often, during intervals of mental aberration, Mr. Graham spoke of “Helena,” imploring her forgiveness for his leaving her so long, and promising to return.  Sometimes he spoke of her as being dead, and in piteous accents he would ask of Durward to bring him back his “beautiful ’Lena,” who was sleeping far away among the New England mountains.

One day when the servant, as usual, came in with their letters, he brought one directed to Mr. Graham, which had been forwarded from Charleston, and which bore the post-marks of several places, it having been sent hither and thither, ere it reached its place of destination.  It was mailed at Frankfort, Kentucky, and in the superscription Durward readily recognized the handwriting of ’Lena.

“Worse and worse,” thought he, now fully assured of her worthlessness.

For a moment he felt tempted to break the seal, but from this act he instinctively shrank, thinking that whatever it might contain, it was not for him to read it.  But what should he do with it?  Must he give it to his mother who already had as much as she could bear?  No, ’twas not best for her to know aught about it, and as the surest means of preventing its doing further trouble, he destroyed it—­burned it to ashes—­repenting the next moment of the deed, wishing he had read it, and feeling not that he had wronged the dead, as his mother did when she burned the chestnut curl, but as if he had done a wrong to ’Lena.

In the course of two months he went back to Woodlawn, leaving his father and mother to travel leisurely from place to place, as the still feeble state of the former would admit.  ’Lena, who had returned from Frankfort, trembled lest he should come to Maple Grove, but he seemed equally desirous of avoiding a meeting, and after lingering about Woodlawn for several days, he suddenly departed for Louisville, where, for a time, we leave him, while we follow the fortunes of others connected with our story.