But no sooner was the patient pronounced out of danger, and the excitement of anxiety over, than the nurse herself fell ill. And Mrs. Clifton, exhausted, prostrated, entered her carriage, and was driven to Hardbargain. CHAPTER XIII. ARCHER CLIFTON’S SKETCHES. The deepest sorrow that stern fate can bring In all her catalogue of suffering, An eating rust—the spirit’s direst pain— To love, adore—nor be beloved again, Or know between you lies a gulf that ever Your forms, your hopes, your destinies must sever—MRS. LEWIS. As soon as Mrs. Clifton reached home—leaning on the arm of her maid, she walked up stairs and entered her son’s deserted room, and when her attendant had relieved her of scarf and bonnet, she lay down upon his lounge, and sent Henny for Kate Kavanagh. In less than half an hour Kate entered. And the lady turned to her and said— “Catherine, my dear, I must take you into my confidence—yes, and into other people’s, too, whether they approve it or not. Draw Archer’s writing-desk up here to the side of the lounge. I want you to write a letter to him.” Catherine’s brow crimsoned, and she trembled very much as she obeyed. “My dear Catherine, I am sure you will be discreet, and never speak of what I am about to entrust to you. I can rely on you?” said the lady, interrogatively, raising those fever-brightened dark eyes to the girl’s face. Catherine nodded quickly, in her usual way, when the words would not come. “You see, my dear child, this most unhappy quarrel between Carolyn and Archer, is causing a great deal of unnecessary suffering to both—and Carolyn, as the frailer of the two, is nearly dying under it. Her brain fever was caused by it. And it was as much as Dr. Barnes and myself could do, to bring her safely through it with life and reason. This estrangement between them must not continue, or she _will_ die. She is not so strong as she looks to be. Indeed, she is very delicate, like her mother. Archer is far on his Western march now, and cannot return of course; but he must write to her, and comfort her. I wish you to write and tell him so. Now, then, child, you know the object. Open the desk, and lay out the paper, while I try to think what I want said, and how I want you to say it.” Catherine’s hands quivered as she turned down the leaf of the desk, and mechanically laid the paper out on the top. “Just date it, dear child, and then I will tell you how to begin.” Catherine dipped her pen in ink, and was just about to put it to paper, when something there caught and held her eyes, and she gazed with dilating pupils, and trembled more than ever.