It would be both needless and tiresome to enumerate the many ways and means by which Lucy Bellmont sought to ensnare him.  Suffice it to say, that she at last succeeded, and he married her, finding in the companionship of her son more real pleasure than he ever experienced in her society.  After a time Mrs. Graham, growing weary of Charleston, where her haughty, overbearing manner made her unpopular, besought her husband to remove, which he finally did, going to Louisville, where he remained until the time of his removal to Woodlawn.  Fully believing what the old nurse had told him of the death of his wife and child, he had no idea of the existence of the latter, though often in the stillness of night the remembrance of the little girl whom Durward had pointed out to him in the cars, arose before him, haunting him with visions of the past, but it was not until he met her at Maple Grove that he entertained a thought of her being his daughter.

From that time his whole being seemed changed, for there was now an object for which to live.  Carefully had he guarded from his wife a knowledge of his first marriage, for he dreaded her sneering reproaches, and he could not hear his beloved Helena’s name breathed lightly by one so greatly her inferior.  When he saw ’Lena, however, his first impulse was to clasp her in his arms and compel his wife to own her, but day after day went by, and he still delayed, hoping for a more favorable opportunity, which never came.  Had he found her in less favorable circumstances, he might have done differently, but seeing only the brightest side of her life, he believed her comparatively happy.  She was well educated, accomplished, and beautiful, and so he waited, secure in the fact that he was near to see that no harm should befall her.  Once it occurred to him that possibly he might die suddenly, thus leaving his relationship to her a secret forever, and acting upon this thought, he immediately made his will, bequeathing all to ’Lena, whom he acknowledged to be his daughter, adding an explanation of the whole affair, together with a most touching letter to his child, who would never see it until he was dead.

This done, he felt greatly relieved, and each day found some good excuse for still keeping it from his wife, who worried him incessantly concerning his evident preference for ’Lena.  Many and many a time he resolved to tell her all, but as often postponed the matter, until, with the broad Atlantic between them, he ventured to write what he could not tell her verbally and, strange to say, the effect upon his wife was far different from what he had expected.  She did not faint, for there was no one by to see her, neither did she rave, for there was no one to hear her, but with her usual inconsistency, she blamed her husband for not telling her before.  Then came other thoughts of a different nature. She had helped to impair ’Lena’s reputation, and if disgrace attached to her, it would also fall