Durward’s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her ’Lena, and smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face.  As soon as possible ’Lena released herself from him, and drying her tears, proposed that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time for them to return home.  Accordingly, they passed on through room after room, ’Lena’s quick eye taking in and appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking of herself so frankly as she had done.  Many young ladies, he well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their home was once in a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and ’Lena’s truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar things connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance.

But little was said by either of them as they went over the house, until Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly asked his companion “how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?”

Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer, but ’Lena quickly replied, “Not at all,” laughingly giving as an insuperable objection, “the size of the house and the number of windows she would have to wash!”

With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home, and again mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which they reached just after the family had finished breakfast.  With the first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what might occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie, anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and ’Lena, cast wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had returned from his ride.”

“I’ve not seen him,” answered the lady, her scowl deepening and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at ease.

“Who’s gone to ride?” asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied that Durward and ’Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that “they must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so long.”

This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept company with Mrs. Graham’s scowl.  Chopping her steak into mince-meat, and almost biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at last found voice to ask, “what horse ’Lena rode!”

“Fleetfoot, of course,” said John Jr., at the same time telling his father he thought “he ought to give ’Lena a pony of her own, for she was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting old and clumsy.”