The old man feebly raised his hand, and placed it on her head and blessed her, adding— “I thank Thee, oh, Father! that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise!” The next morning, when the doctor came, he found the old man sinking fast, yet clinging as human nature will cling, to the wish for—the hope of—life. “Doctor, is there no other way of saving me than that you spoke of?” “None, whatever, my good friend; unless you consent to save yourself by taking alcohol, you must die.” “Then I will die[1]!” replied Carl Wetzel. Footnote 1: A Fact And within a week from this time the old man died and was buried. After the funeral was over, Mrs. Clifton invited and urged Catherine to come and take up her permanent residence at Hardbargain. There were now no reasons why Catherine should not, and many why she should, accept this very advantageous offer. Her brother Carl was about to bring home a wife, after which he would no longer need Catherine’s services. And now that the spring had fully opened, Mrs. Clifton’s health, as usual at that season, failed, and she really needed the companionship and care of our unprofessed Sister of Charity. And, therefore, Catherine accepted her proposal, and came to take possession of the room, Mrs. Clifton had fitted up for her adjoining her own chamber. It had once been Archer Clifton’s room. That was of no consequence to Catherine now, however. You need not now be told again that the girl was a true Christian. She had great faith—she believed in miracles, asserting that the days of miracles had not passed—could not pass until the days of God’s Omnipotence and man’s faith should be passed. When the passion of her heart was about to become the sin of her soul, she prayed to God to remove the last vestige of that erring, ill-fated love—and it was removed—gone! She could think of him, speak of him, without an altered pulse. She knew that he and his wife were soon expected at White Cliffs, and she felt that she would meet them again without any other emotion than pleasure. On the day of her removal to Hardbargain, Mrs. Clifton said to her— “Catherine! I see by the Richmond Standard, that Archer has resigned his post in the army.” “It is not possible, madam!” “Yes, indeed. I was very much astonished to see it.” “What in the world could have been his motive?” “I cannot even form an idea. No motive was assigned in the paper.” “And did he never mention his intention to you in any of his letters?” “Never, Kate. But indeed, I have not heard from him for six weeks. I cannot tell the reason why he does not write. Perhaps his letters have been lost—the foreign mails are so irregular. “Was he at Havana when you heard from him last, madam?”