Meantime a new idea had entered ’Lena’s mind. She would write to Mr. Everett. There might yet be some mistake; she had read of such things in stories, and it could do no harm. Gradually as she wrote, hope grew strong within her, and it became impressed upon her that there had been some deep-laid, fiendish plot. If so, she dared not trust her letter with old Cæsar, who might be bribed by his mistress. And how to convey it to the office was now the grand difficulty. As if fortune favored her plan, Durward, that very afternoon, called at Maple Grove, being as he said, on his way to Frankfort. ’Lena would have died rather than ask a favor of him for herself, but to save Anna she could do almost any thing. Hastily securing the letter, and throwing on her sun-bonnet, she sauntered down the lawn and out upon the turnpike, where by the gate she awaited his coming. “’Lena—excuse me—Miss Rivers, is it you?” asked Durward, touching his hat, as in evident confusion she came forward, asking if she could trust him. “Trust me? Yes, with anything,” answered Durward, quickly dismounting, and forgetting everything save the bright, beautiful face which looked up to him so eagerly. “Then,” answered ’Lena, “take this letter and see it deposited safely, will you?” Glancing at the superscription, Durward felt his face crimson, while he instantly remembered what Mrs. Livingstone had once said concerning ’Lena’s attachment to Mr. Everett. “Sometime, perhaps, I will explain,” said ’Lena, observing the expression of his countenance, and then adding, with some bitterness, “I assure you there is no harm in it.” “Of course not,” answered Durward, again mounting his horse, and riding away more puzzled than ever, while ’Lena returned to the house, which everywhere gave tokens of the approaching nuptials. Already had several costly bridal gifts arrived, and among them was a box from the captain, containing a set of diamonds, which Mrs. Livingstone placed in her daughter’s waving hair, bidding her mark their effect. But not a muscle of Anna’s face changed; nothing moved her; and with the utmost indifference she gazed on the preparations around her. A stranger would have said ’Lena was the bride, for, with flushed cheeks and nervously anxious manner, she watched each sun as it rose and set, wondering what the result would be. Once, when asked whom she would have for her bridesmaid and groomsman, Anna had answered, “Nellie and John!” but that could not be, for the latter had imposed upon himself the penance of waiting a whole year ere he spoke to Nellie of that which lay nearest his heart, and in order the better to keep his vow, he had gone from home, first winning from her the promise that she would not become engaged until his return. And now, when he learned of his sister’s request, he refused to come, saying, “if she would make such a consummate fool of herself, he did not wish to see her.”