“Is it then so much more beautiful than anything you ever saw before?” he asked; and she replied, “Oh, yes, far more so,” at the same time giving him a laughable description of her amazement when she first saw the inside of her uncle’s house, and ending by saying, “But you can imagine it all, for you saw me in the cars, and can judge pretty well what were my ideas of the world.” Wishing to see if ’Lena would attempt to conceal her former humble mode of living Durward said, “I have never heard anything concerning your eastern home and how you lived there—will you please to tell me?” “There’s nothing to tell which will interest you,” answered ’Lena; but Durward thought there was, and leading her to a sofa, he bade her commence. Durward had a peculiar way of making people do what he pleased, and now at his bidding ’Lena told him of her mountain-home, with its low-roof, bare walls, and oaken floors—of herself, when, a bare-footed little girl, she picked _huckleberries_ with _Joel Slocum_! And then, in lower and more subdued tones, she spoke of her mother’s grave in the valley, near which her beloved grandfather—the only father she had ever known—was now sleeping. ’Lena never spoke of her grandfather without weeping. She could not help it. Her tears came naturally, as they did when first they told her he was dead, and now laying her head upon the arm of the sofa, she sobbed like a child. Durward’s sympathies were all enlisted, and without stopping to consider the propriety or impropriety of the act, he drew her gently toward him, trying to soothe her grief, calling her ’_Lena_, and smoothing back the curls which had fallen over her face. As soon as possible ’Lena released herself from him, and drying her tears, proposed that they should go over the house, as it was nearly time for them to return home. Accordingly, they passed on through room after room, ’Lena’s quick eye taking in and appreciating everything which she saw, while Durward was no less lost in admiration of her, for speaking of herself so frankly as she had done. Many young ladies, he well knew, would shrink from acknowledging that their home was once in a brown, old-fashioned house among wild and rugged mountains, and ’Lena’s truthfulness in speaking not only of this, but many similar things connected with her early history, inspired him with a respect of her which he had never before felt for any young lady of his acquaintance. But little was said by either of them as they went over the house, until Durward, prompted by something, he could not resist suddenly asked his companion “how she would like to be mistress of Woodlawn?” Had it been Carrie to whom this question was put, she would have blushed and simpered, expecting nothing short of an immediate offer, but ’Lena quickly replied, “Not at all,” laughingly giving as an insuperable objection, “the size of the house and the number of windows she would have to wash!”