Mr. Graham was a tall, finely-formed man, with a broad, good-humored face, whose expression instantly demanded respect from strangers, while his pleasant, affable deportment universally won the friendship of all who knew him. And ’Lena was not an exception to the general rule, for the moment his warm hand grasped hers and his kindly beaming eye rested upon her, her heart went toward him as a friend, while she wondered why he looked at her so long and earnestly, twice repeating her name—“Miss Rivers—_Rivers_.” From the first, ’Lena had recognized him as the same gentleman whom Durward had called father in the cars years ago, and when, as if to apologize for his singular conduct, he asked if they had never met before, she referred him to that time, saying “she thought it strange that he should remember her.” “Old acquaintances—ah—indeed !” and little Mrs. Graham nodded and fanned, while her round, florid face grew more florid, and her linen cambric went up to her forehead as if trying to smooth out the scowl which was of too long standing to be smoothed. “Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Graham, turning toward his wife, “I had entirely forgotten the circumstance, but it seems I saw her in the cars when we took our eastern tour six or seven years ago. You were quite a little girl then”—turning to ’Lena. “Only ten,” was the reply, and Mrs. Graham, ashamed of herself and anxious to make amends, softened considerable toward ’Lena, asking “how long she had lived in Kentucky—where she used to live—and where her mother was.” At this question, Mr. Graham, who was talking with Mr. Livingstone, suddenly stopped. “My mother is dead,” answered ’Lena. “And your father?” “Gone to Canada!” interrupted Durward, who had heard vague rumors of ’Lena’s parentage, and who did not quite like his mother’s being so inquisitive. Mrs. Graham laughed; she always did at whatever Durward said; while Mr. Graham replied to a remark made by Mr. Livingstone some time before. Here John Jr. appeared, and after being formally introduced, he seated himself by his cousin, addressing to her some trivial remark, and calling her ’_Lena_. It was well for Mr. Graham’s after peace that his wife was just then too much engrossed with Durward to observe the effect which that name produced upon him. Abruptly rising he turned toward Mr. Livingstone, saying, “You were telling me about a fine species of cactus which you have in your yard—suppose we go and see it.” The cactus having been duly examined, praised, and commented upon, Mr. Graham casually remarked, “Your niece is a fine-looking girl—’Lena, I think your son called her?” “Yes, or _Helena_, which was her mother’s name.” “And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?” “No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,” returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at once.