Mrs. Clifton and Catherine never, never wearied of each other. They had many occupations for hands and heads—they were both strong, original thinkers, and above all, were both deeply interested in the same being—the absentee. And now Catherine enjoyed a very dear, but dangerous delight, in the perusal of Major Clifton’s letters of travel. These letters arrived about two in a month. And, ah! the evenings, when they came, were festivals indeed to the recluse lady and the maiden. Often when one was brought in, Mrs. Clifton reclining, through weakness, upon the sofa, shading her eyes with her hand, would say, “Break the seal and read it to me, dear Catherine.” And Kate would do so—drawing delicious draughts of perilous pleasure from the poetic and artistic spirit that pervaded every sentiment, narrative and description in the epistle. And on these long, quiet winter evenings, very often the conversation turned upon the absent son—the dear topic always introduced by his mother. It seemed as if Mrs. Clifton wished to make Catherine thoroughly acquainted with his character and disposition—with his faults and weaknesses, as well as with his virtues and powers. “My son has his serious imperfections, like other men, of course—though your eyes contradict me, Catherine; if I, his partial mother, see them, they exist, you may depend Archer is no demigod, my dear, in the estimation of any one, but—well, no matter—don’t blush so—I am his mother, and I love him, too, and think highly of him, of course, but I acknowledge he is no angel, Kate, and I should be sorry you should take him for one—disappointment would come of it, my dear. He is proud, jealous, and suspicious as a Spaniard, and while under the influence of these feelings, he is reserved and sullen as an Indian—yet these faults of character have been so transfigured in my dear Kate’s affection, that they have actually seemed virtues—the pride, jealousy and suspicion have seemed high sense of honor and intellectual acumen—and the reserve and sullenness—dignity! Is it not so, my dear?” Kate’s eyes lighted, and her cheeks flushed highly, but not with bashfulness—with an emotion that was swelling at her heart—and carried away from self-consciousness by enthusiasm, she answered—