“Perhaps you expect my husband to stand by you and help you. I am sure it would be very ungentlemanly in him to desert you, now,” said Mrs. Graham, her manner conveying far more meaning than her words. ’Lena trembled from head to foot, and her voice was hardly distinct as she replied, “Will you explain yourself, or will you not? What have I done, that you should treat me thus?” “Done? Done enough, I should think! Haven’t you whiled him away from me with your artful manners? Has he ever been the same man since he saw you? Hasn’t he talked of you in his sleep? made you most valuable presents which a true woman would have refused? and in return, haven’t you bestowed upon him your daguerreotype, together with a lock of your hair, on which you no doubt pride yourself, but which to me and my son seem like so many coiling serpents?” ’Lena had sat down. She could stand no longer, and burying her face in her hands, she waited until Mrs. Graham had finished. Then, lifting up her head, she replied in a voice far more husky than the one in which she before had spoken—“You accuse me wrongfully, Mrs. Graham, for as I hope for heaven, I never entertained a feeling for your husband which I would not have done for my own father, and indeed, he has seemed to me more like a parent than a friend——” “Because you fancied he might some day be one, I dare say,” interrupted Mrs. Graham. ’Lena paid no attention to this sarcastic remark, but continued: “I know I accepted Vesta, but I never dreamed it was wrong, and if it was, I will make amends by immediately returning her, for much as I love her, I shall never use her again.” “But the daguerreotype?” interrupted Mrs. Graham, anxious to reach that point. “What have you to say about the daguerreotype? Perhaps you will presume to deny that, too.” Durward had arisen, and now in the doorway watched ’Lena, whose dark brown eyes flashed fire as she answered, “It is false, madam. You know it is false. I never yet have had my picture taken.” “But he has it in his possession; how do you account for that?” “Again I repeat, that is false!” said ’Lena, while Mrs. Graham, strengthened by the presence of her son, answered, “I can prove it, miss.” “I defy you to do so,” said ’Lena, strong in her own innocence. “Shall I show it to her, Durward,” asked Mrs. Graham, and ’Lena, turning suddenly round, became for the first time conscious of his presence. With a cry of anguish she stretched her arms imploringly toward him, asking him, in piteous tones, to save her from his mother. Durward would almost have laid down his life to prove her innocent, but he felt that could not be. So he made her no reply, and in his eye she read that he, too, was deceived. With a low, wailing moan she again covered her face with her hands, while Mrs. Graham repeated her question, “Shall I show it to her?” Durward was not aware that she had it in her possession, and he answered, “Why do you ask, when you know you cannot do so?”