Durward made no reply, and Carrie continued:  “I’m always sorry when I speak against ’Lena; she is my cousin, and I wouldn’t prejudice any one against her; so you must forget my unkind remarks, which would never have been uttered in the presence of a stranger.  She is handsome and agreeable, and you must like her in spite of what I said.”

“I cannot refuse when so fair a lady pleads her cause,” was Durward’s gallant answer, and as the other young ladies then entered the room, the conversation ceased.

Meanwhile ’Lena was very differently employed.  Nearly a year had elapsed since she had seen her cousins, and her heart bounded with joy at the thought of meeting Anna, whom she dearly loved.  Carrie was to her an object of indifference, rather than dislike, and ofttimes had she thought, “If she would only let me love her.”  But it could not be, for there was no affinity between them.  Carrie was proud and overbearing—­jealous of her high-spirited cousin, who, as John Jr. had said, strove hard to subdue her temper, and who now seldom resented Carrie’s insults, except when they were leveled at her aged grandmother.

As we have before stated, news’ had been received at Maple Grove that Durward would accompany her cousins home.  Mr. Graham would, of course, join him there, and accordingly, extensive preparations were immediately commenced.  An unusual degree of sickness was prevailing among the female portion of Mrs. Livingstone’s servants, and the very day before the company was expected, Aunt Milly, the head cook was taken suddenly ill.  Coaxing, scolding, and threatening were alike ineffectual.  The old negress would not say she was well when she wasn’t, and as Hagar, the next in command, was also sick (lazy, as her mistress called it,) Mrs. Livingstone was herself obliged to superintend the cookery.

“Crosser than a bar,” as the little darkies said, she flew back and forth, from kitchen to pantry, her bunch of keys rattling, the corners of her mouth drawn back, and her hands raised ready to strike at anything that came in her way.  As if there were a fatality attending her movements, she was unfortunate in whatever she undertook.  The cake was burned black, the custard curdled, the preserves were found to be working, the big preserve dish got broken, a thunder shower soured the cream, and taking it all in all, she really had trouble enough to disconcert the most experienced housekeeper.  Still, the few negroes able to assist, thought “she needn’t be so fetch-ed cross.”

But cross she was, feeling more than once inclined to lay witchcraft to the charge of old Milly, who comfortably ensconced in bed, listened in dismay to the disastrous accounts brought her from time to time from the kitchen, mentally congratulating herself the while upon not being within hearing of her mistress’ tongue.  Once Mrs. Nichols attempted to help, but she was repulsed so angrily that ’Lena did