Greatly frustrated when she learned that the stylish looking gentleman wished to talk with her, Aunt Betsey rubbed her shining face with flour, and donning another cap, repaired to the sitting-room, where she commenced making excuses about herself, the house, and everything else, saying, “’twant what he was used to, she knew, but she hoped he’d try to put up with it.”

As soon as he was able to get in a word, Durward proceeded to ask her every particular concerning ’Lena’s illness, and whether she would probably recognize him should he venture into her presence,

“Bless your dear heart, no.  She hain’t known a soul on us these three days.  Sometimes she calls me ‘grandmother,’ and says when she’s dead I’ll know she’s innocent.  ‘Pears Like somebody has been slanderin’ her, for she begs and pleads with Durward, as she calls him, not to believe it.  Ain’t you the one she means?”

Durward nodded, and Mrs. Aldergrass continued: 

“I thought so, for when the stage driv up she was standin’ straight in the bed, ravin’ and screechin’, but the minit she heard your voice she dropped down, and has been as quiet ever since.  Will you go up now?”

Durward signified his willingness, and following his landlady, he soon stood in the close, pent-up room where, in an uneasy slumber, ’Lena lay panting for breath, and at intervals faintly moaning in her sleep.  She had fearfully changed since last he saw her, and with a groan, he bent over her, murmuring, “My poor ’Lena,” while he gently laid his cool, moist hand upon her burning brow.  As if there were something soothing in its touch, she quickly placed her little hot, parched hand on his, whispering, “Keep it there.  It will make me well.”

For a long time he sat by her, bathing her head and carefully removing from her face and neck the thick curls which Mrs. Aldergrass had thought to cut away.  At last she awoke, but Durward shrank almost in fear from the wild, bright eyes which gazed so fixedly upon him, for in them was no ray of reason.  She called him “John” blessing him for coming, and saying, “Did you tell Durward.  Does he know?”

“I am Durward,” said he.  “Don’t you recognize me?  Look again.”

“No, no,” she answered, with a mocking laugh, which made him shudder, it was so unlike the merry, ringing tones he had once loved to hear.  “No, no, you are not Durward.  He would not look at me as you do.  He thinks me guilty.”

It was in vain Durward strove to convince her of his identity.  She would only answer with a laugh, which grated so harshly on his ear that he finally desisted, and suffered her to think he was her cousin.  The smallness of her chamber troubled him, and when Mrs. Aldergrass came up he asked if there was no other apartment where ’Lena would be more comfortable.

“Of course there is,” said Aunt Betsy.  “There’s the best chamber I was goin’ to give to you.”