When prayers were over, and the servants dismissed, Catherine attended Mrs. Clifton to her chamber, and assisted her with affectionate care until she had retired to bed. Then, after receiving the lady’s parting kiss, she hastened into her own chamber, threw herself upon the bed, and gave way to a long-pent burst of sorrow. Within the last three years Catherine had seen much sickness, death, and bereavement—one after another of her associates or relations had faded and fallen, and she had mourned their loss; and her life had taken a sombre hue, and sunken into a depressed tone. But that this beloved friend, this kind benefactress, this dear, dear companion—this more than mother, sister, _all_ to her heart—should pass away from the earth and be seen no more! Oh! it brought a sense of desolation that threw a shadow and a chill over all the future—over even the bright hopes shining in the distance. And then the identity of the love she bore mother and son together forced itself upon her heart. And she felt that a union with the son could not give her perfect content, unless the mother were there to share her love and service, and to participate in their happiness. Without that mother’s presence, their plan of life would be unfinished—their circle of love incomplete. And oh! came the sharp, agonizing question, how could she ever bear to lose the light, and warmth, and strength, imparted daily, hourly, from that dear face—that face which had never looked on her but in affection—that face, the very image of Clifton’s own, except that it was sweeter, holier, and never, never harsh—how could she ever bear to lose her sweet resting place on that more than maternal bosom—that bosom on which she could ever lay her aching head, or aching heart, in perfect peace and confidence, sure of being understood, sure of being sympathized with? Oh! life would be darkened indeed when she should pass away. The sense of sorrow was so sharp, so agonizing, that the girl could have thrown herself upon the floor—could have wrestled with Heaven, in wild prayer, that this life might be saved, and this sharp anguish spared her. But Catherine was habitually self-restrained, and she bore this mental anguish as she would have endured severe physical pain—in silence, in patience, until her soul was subdued to the meekness of resignation. And then prayer brought comfort. And she met the lady in the morning with a cheerful countenance. And they spent the day as usual.