“Did he? My dear good father! Oh, yes! now I think of it, it _was_ something like that, sure enough! Only my head is _so_ queer! He must not go to jail—oh, never!” “He _must_, unless you marry Major Cabell, and save him.” “Well, I can marry Major Cabell—it don’t matter much—do you think it does? Spirits up in Heaven know _nothing_ of what is going on on earth, or they know _all_ about it, and either is better than our deceptive half-knowledge. If spirits know anything, they will know _our_ spirit. Dear Frank will know—will know my spirit—nay, he does! I feel sure of it at this moment. I will marry Major Cabell.” “But, Zuleime, if your father thinks you dislike Major Cabell, he will not permit you to marry him.” “But I don’t dislike Major Cabell. I don’t dislike any one. I could not now. It seems to me that I feel sorry for every one. I pity every one. Every one has so much trouble, mamma! Mamma, I feel sorry for _you_. I do not know how it is, but I _do_ feel _very_ sorry for you. Have you any trouble?—You must have. Well, let God do as He pleases with you, because He knows best. Besides, it is only for a little while. And it will all come right. Kiss me, mamma. I don’t think I loved you well enough when you first came here a stranger. Never mind, I will try to love you more in the future.” Georgia let the poor girl kiss her, and then arose and made an excuse to go. Zuleime was weakening all her purposes. And she was obliged to escape as people fly sometimes from a sermon. “Please send Kate to me, mamma,” said Zuleime. And very soon Catherine entered. “Dear Kate! please come and comb and curl my hair, and put on my crimson dress, and make me decent and pretty to go down into the parlor to see Cousin Charles. It don’t matter, you know, Kate. Frank knows all about it. He thinks so, _too_. Because he sees my heart is breaking all the faster for it, and that I shall the sooner be with him. You see, Kate, it is the heart-strings that hold the soul down to the body, and when they snap—there! It is off—it is gone like a balloon,—when the cord is cut it ascends to Heaven. _I_ feel light like that, sometimes, as if only one little thread kept my soul down, and if it were to snap, I could go.” Catherine looked at the mourner in deep trouble. Then she began to take down her hair and comb its long sable tresses out, because she knew that in itself to be a soothing process. And she stood and combed and brushed it a long time, and then put it up, and bathed her face and hands. “Now, my crimson dress,” said Zuleime, quietly. Catherine sat down by her side, and embracing her affectionately, said— “Dear Zuleime, you are not quite well enough to go down into the parlor; and, besides, Major Cabell is not here. He is gone with some gentlemen upon the mountain to shoot birds.” Zuleime sat silent for a long time, enveloped by Catherine’s arms, and leaning upon her shoulder. At last Kate whispered—