“Two, only two,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie exclaimed, “Horrors! How old do you take me to be?” Adroitly changing the conversation, Mrs. Graham made no reply, and soon after they rose from the table. Scarcely had they returned to the parlor, when John Jr. was announced. “He had,” he said, “got his grandmother to sleep and put her to bed, and now he had come to pay his respects to _Miss Graham_!” Catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, “Little girl! I’m as much delighted with your good fortune as I should be had it happened to myself. But where is Bellmont?” he continued, looking about the room. Mr. Graham replied that he was not there. “Not here?” repeated John Jr. “What have you done with him, ’Lena?” Lifting her eyes, full of tears, to her cousin’s face, ’Lena said, softly, “Please don’t talk about it now.” “There’s something wrong,” thought John Jr. “I’ll bet I’ll have to shoot that dog yet.” ’Lena longed to pour out her troubles to some one, and knowing she could confide in John Jr., she soon found an opportunity of whispering to him, “Come tomorrow, and I will tell you all about it.” Between ten and eleven the company departed, Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie taking a most affectionate leave of ’Lena, urging her not to fail of coming over the next day, as they should be expecting her. The ludicrous expression of John Jr.’s face was a sufficient interpretation of his thoughts, as whispering aside to ’Lena, he said, “I can’t do it justice if I try!” The next morning Mr. Graham got out his carriage to carry ’Lena to Maple Grove, asking his wife to accompany them. But she excused herself, on the plea of a headache, and they set off without her. The meeting between ’Lena and her grandmother was affecting, and Carrie, in order to sustain the character she had assumed, walked to the window, to hide her emotions, probably—at least John Jr. thought so, for with the utmost gravity he passed her his silk pocket handkerchief! When the first transports of her interview with ’Lena were over, Mrs. Nichols fastened herself upon Mr. Graham, while John Jr. invited ’Lena to the garden, where he claimed from her the promised story, which she told him unreservedly. “Oh, that’s nothing, compared with my experience,” said John Jr., plucking at the rich, purple grapes which hung in heavy clusters above his head. “That’s easily settled. I’ll go after Durward myself, and bring him back, either dead or alive—the latter if possible, the former if necessary. So cheer up. I’ve faith to believe that you and Durward will be married about the same time that Nellie and I are. We are engaged—did I tell you?” Involuntarily ’Lena’s eyes wandered in the direction of the sunny slope and the little grave, as yet but nine months made.