CHAPTER II.

Lenora and her mother.

From the windows of a small, white cottage, at the extremity of Glenwood village, Lenora Carter watched for her mother’s return.  “She stays long,” thought she, “but it bodes success to her plan; though when did she undertake a thing and fail!”

The fall of the gatelatch was heard, and in a moment Mrs. Carter was with her daughter, whose first exclamation was, “What a little eternity you’ve been gone!  Did you renew your early vows to the man?”

“I’ve no vows to renew,” answered Mrs. Carter, “but I’ve paved the way well, and got invited to call again.”

“Oh, capital!” said Lenora.  “It takes you, mother, to do up things, after all; but, really, was Mrs. Hamilton pleased with you?”

“Judging by the pressure of her hand when she bade me good-by I should say she was,” answered Mrs. Carter; and Lenora continued:  “Did you see old moneybags?”

“Lenora, child, you must not speak so disrespectfully of Mr. Hamilton,” said Mrs. Carter.

“I beg your pardon,” answered Lenora, while her mother continued:  “I saw him, but do not think he recognized me; and perhaps it is as well that he should not, until I have made myself indispensable to him and his family.”

“Which you will never do with the haughty Mag, I am sure,” said Lenora; “but tell me, is the interior of the house as handsome as the exterior?”

“Far more so,” was the reply; and Mrs. Carter proceeded to enumerate the many costly articles of furniture she had seen.

She was interrupted by Lenora, who asked, “How long, think you, will the incumbrance live?”

“Lenora,” said Mrs. Carter, “you shall not talk so.  No one wishes Mrs. Hamilton to die; but if such an afflictive dispensation does occur, I trust we shall all be resigned.”

“Oh, I keep forgetting that you are acting the part of a resigned widow; but I, thank fortune, have no part to act, and can say what I please.”

“And spoil all our plans, too, by your foolish babbling,” interposed Mrs. Carter.

“Let me alone for that,” answered Lenora.  “I haven’t been trained by such a mother for nothing.  But, seriously, how is Mrs. Hamilton’s health?”

“She is very low, and cannot possibly live long,” was the reply.

Here there was a pause in the conversation, during which we will take the opportunity of introducing more fully to our readers the estimable Mrs. Carter and her daughter.  Mr. Hamilton was right when he associated the resigned widow with his old flame, Luella Blackburn, whom be had never seriously thought of marrying, though by way of pastime he had frequently teased, tormented, and flattered her.  Luella was ambitious, artful, and designing.  Wealth and position was the goal at which she aimed.  Both of these she knew Ernest Hamilton possessed, and she had felt greatly pleased at his evident preference.  When, therefore, at the end of his college course he left her with a few commonplace remarks, such as he would have spoken to any familiar acquaintance, her rage knew no bounds; and in the anger of the moment she resolved, sooner or later, to be revenged upon him.