Oh, how joyfully ’Lena started up; he did not believe it, after all, and if ever a look was expressive of gratitude, that was which she gave to Durward, who returned her no answering glance, save one of pity; and again that wailing cry smote painfully on his ear. Taking the case from her pocket, Mrs. Graham advanced toward ’Lena, saying, “Here, see for yourself, and then deny it if you can.” But ’Lena had no power to take it. Her faculties seemed benumbed and Durward, who, with folded arms and clouded brow stood leaning against the mantel, construed her hesitation into guilt, which dreaded to be convicted. “Why don’t you take it?” persisted Mrs. Graham. “You defied me to prove it, and here it is. I found it in my husband’s private drawer, together with one of those long curls, which last I burned out of my sight.” Durward shuddered, while ’Lena involuntarily thought of the mass of wavy tresses which they had told her clustered around her mother’s face, as she lay in her narrow coffin. Why thought she of her mother then? Was it because they were so strangely alike, that any allusion to her own personal appearance always reminded her of her lost parent? Perhaps so. But to return to our story ’Lena would have sworn that the likeness was not hers, and still an undefined dread crept over her, preventing her from moving. “You seem so unwilling to be convinced, allow me to assist you,” said Mrs. Graham, at the same time unclasping the case and holding to view the picture, on which with wondering eyes, ’Lena gazed in astonishment. “It is I—it is; but oh, heaven, how came he by it?” she gasped, and the next moment she fell fainting at Durward’s feet. In an instant he was bending over her, his mother exclaiming, “Pray, don’t touch her—she does it for effect.” But he knew better. He knew there was no feigning the corpse-like pallor of that face, and pushing his mother aside, he took the unconscious girl in his arms, and bearing her to the sofa, laid her gently upon it, removing her hand and smoothing back from her cold brow the thick, clustering curls which his mother had designated as “coiling serpents.” “Do not ring and expose her to the idle gaze of servants,” said he, to his mother, who had seized the bell-rope. “Bring some water from your bedroom, and we will take charge of her ourselves.”