Pity he could not have known how bitterly ’Lena had wept over her hasty action—not because _he_ witnessed it, but because she knew it was wrong! Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which she laid on Carrie’s work-box, and in which was written, “I am sorry, Carrie, that I hurt you so. I didn’t know what I was about, but I will try and not get so angry again.” Pity, too, that he did not see the look of contempt with which Carrie perused this note; and when the two girls accidentally met in the upper hall, and ’Lena laid her hand gently on Carrie’s arm, it is a thousand pities he was not present to see how fiercely she was repulsed, Carrie exclaiming, “Get out of my sight! _I hate you_, and so do all of them downstairs, Durward in particular.” Had he known all this he would have thought differently of ’Lena, who, feeling that she was not wanted in the parlor, kept herself entirely aloof, never again appearing during the remainder of his stay. Once Durward asked for her, and half laughingly Carrie replied, that “she had not yet recovered from her pouting fit.” Could he have known her real occupation, he might have changed his mind again. The stormy weather had so increased Mrs. Nichols’ rheumatic complaint, that now, perfectly crippled, she lay as helpless as a child, carefully nursed by ’Lena and old Aunt Polly, who, spite of her own infirmities, had hobbled in to wait upon her friend. Never but once did Mrs. Livingstone go near her mother’s sick-room—“the smell of herbs made her faint,” she said! But to do her justice, we must say that she gave Polly unqualified permission to order anything she pleased for the invalid. Toward the close of the third day, the company left. Nellie Douglass, who really liked ’Lena, and wished to bid her good-bye, whispered to John Jr., asking him to show her the way to his cousin’s room. No one except members of the family had ever been in Mrs. Nichols’ apartment, and for a moment John Jr. hesitated, knowing well that Nellie could not fail to observe the contrast it presented to the other richly-furnished chambers. “They ought to be mortified—it’ll serve ’em right,” he thought, at last, and motioning Nellie to fallow him, he silently led the way to his grandmother’s room, where their knock was answered by Aunt Polly’s gruff voice, which bade them “come in.” They obeyed, but Nellie started back when she saw how greatly inferior was this room to the others around it. In an instant her eye took in everything, and she readily comprehended the whole. “It isn’t my doings, by a jug-full!” whispered John Jr., himself reddening as he noted the different articles of furniture which had never before seemed so meager and poor.