There was a footstep without—her husband had returned—and quick as thought was the daguerreotype concealed, while Mrs. Graham, forcing down her emotion, took up a book, which she seemed to be intently reading when her husband entered. After addressing to her a few commonplace remarks, all of which she answered civilly, he went to the wardrobe, and on pretense of looking for his knife, which, he said he believed he left in his vest pocket, he took out the key, and then carelessly proceeded to unlock his private drawer, his wife watching him the while, and keenly enjoying his look of consternation when he saw that his treasure was gone. Again and again was his drawer searched, but all to no purpose, and casting an anxious glance toward his wife, whose face, for a wonder, betrayed no secret, he commenced walking the floor in a very perturbed state of mind, his wife exulting in his discomfiture, and thinking herself amply avenged for all that she had endured. At last he spoke, telling her of a letter which he had that day received from South Carolina, containing the news of the death of a distant relative, who had left him some property. “It is not necessary for me to be there in person,” said he, “but still I should like to visit my old home once more. What do you think of it?” “Go, by all means,” said she, glad of anything which would place distance between him and ’Lena. “No one can attend to your business one-half as well as yourself. When will you start if you go?” “Immediately—before your return from Louisville—unless you wish to accompany me.” “I’m afraid I should be an incumbrance, and would rather not,” said she, in a way which puzzled him, causing him to wonder what had come over her. “You can do as you choose,” said he, “but I should be glad of your company.” “No, I thank you,” was her laconic reply, as she, in turn, wondered what had come over him. The next morning the carriage came up to the door to convey Mrs. Graham and Durward to Frankfort. The latter was purposely late, and he did not see his father until he came down, traveling-bag in hand, to enter the carriage. Then Mr. Graham asked, in some surprise, “where he was going?” “With my mother to Louisville, sir,” answered Durward, stiffly. “I am not willing she should travel alone, if you are;” and he sprang into the carriage, ordering the coachman to drive off ere another word could be spoken. “Gone, when I had nerved myself to tell him everything!—my usual luck!” mused Mr. Graham, as he returned to the house, and sure of no prying eyes, recommenced his search for the daguerreotype, which was nowhere to be found. Could she have found it? Impossible! for it was not in her jealous nature to have held her peace; and again he sought for it, but all to no purpose, and finally thinking he must have taken it with him and lost it, he gave it up, mourning more for the loss of the curl, which could never, never be replaced, while the picture might be found.