“Oh, yes! yes! dear lady!” said Catherine, taking her hand, and pressing it to her bosom, and covering it with kisses. “Oh, yes, you are indeed like a mother to me, if I were only worthy to be your daughter! and I love and honor you more than ever a mother was loved and honored in this world before, I do believe!” “Then let there be no reserve between us, dear Kate. Let us be open with each other, as parent and child, whose loves, and hopes, and wishes are the same. I have been plain with you all along, only gradually unfolding your future, not to alarm your shyness—and to win your confidence. I have longed for this confidence—this perfect openness between us—that we might talk with more intelligence, and with more comfort—and I have courted it by my own frankness; but in return for all my candor, Catherine has shown me only reserve and blushes. Will she be more confiding now?” “Alas, dearest lady, what can I say to you, but that you are greatly mistaken—sadly mistaken—oh, yes, indeed, sadly mistaken,” replied Kate, almost weeping again. “I am not mistaken in supposing that Catherine loves my son. I am not mistaken in knowing that the fact gives me more happiness than anything else in the world. Yet I would like to hear Kate admit it.” “Well, dearest lady—yes!—down, pride!—if it will give you any pleasure to hear it, I must not withhold the confession—yes, I _do_ love your son—so much—so much—that it will make me an old maid!” Mrs. Clifton laughed, a little, low, jolly laugh. (The lady very seldom laughed, and when she did, it had a strange, exceedingly pleasant effect upon the hearer—it was a very agreeable surprise, revealing, as it were under that grave, stern surface, traces of a mine of wit, humor, fun and mischief, that must have existed, and frequently sparkled forth, ere the sorrow and the seriousness of life smothered and extinguished it.) She laughed her little, low, jolly laugh, and replied— “That were a strange effect of love, Catherine; but trust me, it will not be so with Archer’s consent.” “Dear Mrs. Clifton, forgive me for saying again, that you are very much mistaken—never, never in his life, has Major Clifton bestowed upon me one word, or look, that might be misconstrued by the vainest woman into a preference!” “Well, Kate! I know that! I know that he has never addressed you on the subject. But I know that he will do so. For he loves you, Catherine, and has loved you from the first hour he ever saw you—even from the—the night he sat and studied you in your brother’s cabin. And it is just as certain that you will be his wife, as that you both will live to marry. So, dearest, let there be no more reserve between us—consider this marriage sure, as it really is—(so far as any future event is sure)—and let me talk freely, for my time and opportunity is short.”