She had no such pang of sudden recollection to dread. His memory—her sorrow—was ever present with her. Catherine watched her with deep and painful interest. She sought an opportunity, and once more had a serious conversation with her. “Zuleime, _don’t_ marry under present circumstances. If, as you say, your father is in the power of Major Cabell, it is bad. But if you marry him to deliver your father, it will be worse, and will not eventuate in any good. And two wrongs never make a right, Zuleime. Do no wrong, dearest, but trust in God for deliverance,” said Catherine, earnestly. “It seems to me that I am doing right. It will please Cousin Charles, and save father. And as for myself—it _can’t_ matter much, you know,” replied the despairing girl. And to this view of the case she adhered, with all the tenacity of a morbid resolution. A few days after this Catherine returned to her brother’s cabin, wondering what new misfortune would—against her fixed determination—throw her back among the Cliftons. Major Cabell had written to Richmond for his mother and sisters to come down and be present at his marriage. And one day, near the last of the week, the carriage of Mrs. Cabell rolled up to the door. Knowing nothing whatsoever of Zuleime’s attachment to the young soldier, and consequent deep grief at his fate, they were very much shocked to see her looking so ill, but quietly ascribed it to fatigue and anxiety in nursing Carolyn. And Mrs. Cabell was emphatic in demonstrations of motherly kindness, which the gentle girl acknowledged with grateful smiles, and by such attentions as she had the power to bestow. The city ladies had made a short stage that day, and were but little wearied, so that after a little slumber, and the refreshment of the bath, and of tea, they felt well enough to spend the evening in the parlor. The family were all around the evening fire, when Mrs. Cabell and her daughters entered. Major Cabell—who was as usual sitting by Zuleime, with his arm over the back of her chair in a property-holding sort of manner—arose, and handing his mother to a seat, received from her hand a roll of papers. “It is some new music, my son, for the dear girls. There are some beautiful songs of Moore’s just published. Carolyn, love, I have thirsted to hear your sweet voice again. Will you sing?” Miss Clifton’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned away her head. Zuleime stole to her aunt’s side, and while seeming to examine the music, whispered— “Dear Aunt Cabell, Carolyn has entirely lost her voice!” The lady was very much shocked to hear it, and grieved at her own unfortunate proposition, but durst not trust herself to reply, lest Carolyn should hear and understand the subject of their conversation. Major Cabell, who was turning over the music, suddenly had his gaze fixed by one particular piece. His eyes lighted up with a peculiar satisfaction, and turning to Zuleime, he said— “My own, you can read music at sight. Can you not?”