detachment off, and bring her the last news of it. The request had been confidential—yet do you feel all that it had cost her haughty heart? During the absence of Mr. Clifton, suspense was wrought up to agony. Her days and nights were feverish, delirious, and so confused into each other, that she scarcely knew the fitful, disturbed visions of the night, from the wild and anxious broodings of the day. The day upon which her father was expected back, was the acme, the crisis of her suffering. Oblivious of pride and caution, careless of exposing herself to the malign sneers of Georgia, or the rude comments of the servants, she sat in the piazza, watching the road by which the carriage should come—one wild, anxious, despairing hope possessing her. “The drowning catch at straws”—and she, in her despair, had clutched one mad possibility, and clung to it, until to her weakened, confused, insane soul, it seemed a probability, and then almost a certainty. It was the hope that Clifton might return with her father! Oh, yes! That Clifton might resign his commission and come back to her. Oh! if indeed he loved her, as he had a thousand times sworn, if he sorrowed over their estrangement only half as much as she did, no hope of glory, no fear of disgrace would keep him back. The more she brooded over this, the more likely, the more certain it appeared to be. And she sat and gazed up the dim forest road. The sun sank to the edge of the horizon, and lit up all the mountain tops with fire, and then went down. And when she could no longer see, she still sat and strained her ear to catch the distant sound of wheels. The moon arose, and flooded all the mountain scenery with silver light, and flashed upon that distant bend of the river, until it seemed a silver lake, lying among the dark hills, and pointed the peaks of White Cliffs, until they stood up and glittered, like an enormous row of spears, against the deep blue sky. At last, at last the very distant sound of wheels came faintly like a doubt to her ear, and faded away again. Then it came more distinctly, nearer, and a moving object appeared upon the road. And she knew indeed it was her father’s carriage. She saw and recognized it in the moon light. It turned into the lawn gate, rolled rapidly around the circular drive, and swept swiftly up to the entrance, where it stopped. The steps were let down, the door opened, and old Mr. Clifton got out, followed by—no one. Carolyn had bent eagerly, unconsciously forward; now she started up and caught her father’s hand, and gazed silently, imploringly into his face, for the news she could not ask for.